Category: English

My fiancé, Ben, composed a piece for our ten-year love story. He called it Ten Years, a concerto for piano and violin, his specialty. It was to be his most personal gift to me at our wedding. “I’ll play the piano, of course,” he’d said, his fingers gently clasping mine. “As for the violin… Selene, I’ll have to entrust it to you.” Selene, my best friend of twenty years, accepted with a radiant smile. Tears of joy welled in her eyes as she hugged me. “Elara, to play for your and Jules’s wedding… it’s the greatest honor of my life.” During one of our final rehearsals, with me as the vocalist, something shifted. As they reached the cadenza, the most brilliant and difficult part of the piece, I watched them. The way their eyes met, the seamless flow of their music—a deep, unnerving intuition washed over me. The dialogue between the piano and violin was no mere melody; it was an aching, tender conversation, a lover’s lament that transcended friendship. It was filled with the whispered confessions and struggles of two people deeply, hopelessly intertwined. And in that moment, I finally understood. The story this song told, this masterpiece named Ten Years, was never about his decade with me. It was about his decade with her. 1 “Stop! Elara, you came in early.” Selene’s bow lifted from the strings, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Jules and I have worked on this tempo countless times. We have our own way with this part.” Ben, seated at the grand piano, said nothing. His silence was an agreement. We tried again. His long, elegant fingers struck the final chord, and Selene’s bow drew its last, lingering note in perfect sync. “Perfect,” she said, her eyes shining as she looked at him. “Jules, this cadenza… only we can really pull it off.” They exchanged a smile, a silent language forged in a decade of shared studies and practice rooms. A world I, his fiancée of ten years, could never seem to enter. Ben turned to me, his tone gentle. “Elara, you were still a little behind the beat that time.” “Was I?” I stared at the sheet music. “Maybe it’s because the interplay between the piano and violin is so dense here. I can’t find an opening.” Selene walked over, draping a familiar arm over my shoulder, but her words were for Ben. “She doesn’t have the formal training, Jules. Maybe ease up on the perfectionism for a minute, huh?” “Jules.” Her special name for him, a relic from their conservatory days that had never faded. He shook his head with a resigned sigh, but his eyes held no trace of annoyance. Only… a soft spot. An indulgence reserved just for her. She released me and moved to Ben’s side, leaning over to look at his score. A lock of her long, dark hair brushed against his cheek. “Right here, Jules,” she said, pointing. “This transition would be smoother if we tweaked it.” “You’re always right,” he murmured, his voice laced with an unmistakable affection. I stood frozen, watching their shoulders touch as they sat together on the piano bench, my hands crumpling the sheet music I was holding. It was always like this. When we were picking out my wedding dress, Selene had run her hand over the mermaid gown I adored. “This one’s beautiful,” she’d told the designer, “but she won’t be able to move in it. Let’s switch the main gown to the satin one with the train.” Ben had agreed without a second’s thought. At the menu tasting, she’d taken a small bite of the cake sample. “The chocolate is too bitter,” she’d announced to the manager. “Jules doesn’t like it. Change it to vanilla.” She hadn’t even glanced at me, the bride. And now, even with the theme song for our wedding, I was the outsider, the one who needed correcting. The wedding planner’s assistant bustled in, beaming as she walked straight to Selene. “Ms. Selene, here is the final event schedule you confirmed. Also, the bridesmaid dresses have arrived. Would you like to try yours on now?” The assistant’s gaze flickered past me as if I were a piece of the furniture. Selene took the papers, then waved me over with a bright smile. “Elara, come look! You’re going to love the timeline I planned for you!” I watched her and Ben standing side-by-side. And I suddenly felt that this wedding, the day I had dreamed of for so long, was nothing but an elaborate stage play. And I had been cast in the wrong role. 2 I left early, using the excuse of not feeling well. The moment I got home, Ben’s call came. “Elara, the on-site rehearsal has started.” His voice was warm, but in the background, I could faintly hear Selene giving directions. “If you’re not feeling well, don’t worry about coming back. It’s just a run-through. Selene can stand in for you.” I hung up and opened the group chat for the wedding, “Happily Ever After.” Just then, the assistant accidentally posted a video from the rehearsal. She retracted it almost instantly. But a few seconds was all it took. There on the screen, Selene was wearing my wedding gown, standing opposite Ben. They were practicing the part of the ceremony reserved for the bride and groom: the embrace, the kiss, the intertwined arms as they drank champagne. Her fingers were clenched tightly on his sleeve, her knuckles white. She was looking up at him, a soft, intimate smile playing on her lips. And in his eyes, there was only her. The image froze in my mind, a portrait of two people so perfectly matched it burned. 3 My hands trembled as I pulled out the leather-bound book where Ben kept his original compositions. There it was. Ten Years. The song he wrote “for me.” In the blank space at the end of the final, brilliant cadenza, a single line was written in his sharp, slanted handwriting. “My moonlight, why won’t you stay for me?” The words, pressed deep into the page with a desperate, restrained force, hit me like a physical blow. Selene. Her name meant moon goddess. His moon. Our entire relationship had started with her. She had dragged me to a party our sophomore year, pointed to the quiet, handsome boy playing piano in the corner, and whispered in my ear, “See him? That’s the campus heartthrob. Total catch, and a good friend of mine. Want an introduction?” She was the one who sent me his number. I remembered it all so clearly. That summer, I brought Ben home to meet my “best friend” for the first time as my boyfriend. Selene had answered the door in slippers, her eyes widening for a split second when she saw our joined hands. Then she’d thrown an arm around Ben’s shoulder, laughing her carefree laugh. “Well, look at you, Jules! Stole my girl right out from under me!” She’d playfully put him in a headlock. “You better treat her right, you hear me? Elara’s my sister. You hurt her, and you’ll answer to me first.” She planned our anniversary dates. She mediated our fights. She was our self-proclaimed “matchmaker” and “buddy,” a constant, welcome presence in every corner of our relationship, its most steadfast champion. Over the years, I’d watched her cycle through a string of boyfriends. Once, drunk and leaning on my shoulder, she’d slurred, “I envy you, Elara. You still believe in love. Someone like me, from my kind of family… I’m already broken. Watching you two be happy… it’s like I get to be happy, too.” So she was always at my place, sharing my parents, my home, and “incidentally,” every detail of my life with Ben. But now, this single page of music, this desperate, heartfelt plea, ripped her carefully constructed lies to shreds. The “matchmaker.” The “buddy” who didn’t believe in love. She had been in the shadows all along, stealing my happiness in the one way I never thought to guard against. 4 A chilling cold spread through me. I started retracing every “rehearsal” they’d ever had. I drove to the studio they frequented and, claiming I’d lost something, asked the manager to pull up the security footage from one specific afternoon. The video showed them just after they’d finished playing. Ben’s hands were still resting on the keys when Selene put down her violin and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. “Jules,” her voice was a seductive murmur, “our song… it even made her cry.” Ben turned, capturing her wrists. “And you? Did it move you?” “I don’t dare to be moved.” She pressed closer, their noses almost touching. “You know I don’t believe in any of this.” “But I believe in you,” Ben whispered, cupping her face in his hands. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t impulsive. It was a practiced, hungry kiss. His hand slid expertly under the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on her waist. She answered him, her own fingers tangling in his hair. “Enough…” Selene breathed, pushing him away gently, though her forehead remained pressed against his chest. “I don’t believe in love. I don’t do marriage. You know that.” “I know,” Ben’s voice was hoarse with pain. “That’s why I can only love you by loving her. For ten years, every single day, I’ve been searching for you in her.” Selene laughed softly against his chest. “And did you find me?” “I did,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Every time she smiles, it’s like you. The way she talks, it’s like you. Even when she wears the clothes you recommend, or the perfume you like… it all makes me feel like I’m with you.” I leaned against the wall, my legs threatening to give out. For ten years, I was nothing but a mirror. A pathetic substitute. He was looking through me, at another woman. And she was reveling in a stolen intimacy without ever having to bear an ounce of responsibility. They were the two people I had chosen as my family, bound to me not by blood, but by a love I thought was real. And they had used my body, my life, as a vessel for their own sordid, decade-long affair. 5 The images from the monitor, the cruel, whispered words, were a thousand needles piercing my heart. I stumbled back to my apartment, a space once filled with happy memories of the three of us that now felt suffocating. I started tearing through the place like a madwoman, purging everything that belonged to Ben, as if erasing his presence could erase the searing pain. While clearing out his old, rarely used tablet, a private, double-password-protected photo album popped up. Some dark instinct guided my fingers. I typed in Selene’s birthday. Access granted. If the security footage had exposed their present betrayal, this album ripped open their past, revealing a truth more twisted and vile than my darkest imaginings. The first photo made my blood run cold. It was an ultrasound image. Selene’s name was printed clearly at the top. The date was from six months ago. The same month Ben had supposedly been on a “study trip” abroad. I scrolled down, my hands shaking. A positive pregnancy test. The caption read: “Welcome, my little melody.” Then, an invoice for an abortion procedure. Scrawled across it in Ben’s handwriting were the words: “My little melody, I’m sorry. Daddy couldn’t keep you.” There was even a screenshot of a text exchange between them. Ben: Have the baby. I’ll break up with her tomorrow. We’ll get married. Selene: No. You know my parents… I could never be a good mother. I don’t need marriage, and I certainly don’t want a child. Ben: But it’s my fault. I was careless… Selene: Jules, I don’t blame you. And I don’t need you to take responsibility. Just stay with me like this, forever. That’s enough… Elara is your responsibility. The last few photos were of Selene, sitting by a hotel window in her pajamas, a melancholy silhouette against the city lights. In the reflection, Ben was holding her from behind, his expression etched with guilt and heartache. His month-long “study trip” had been a recovery retreat for her. I collapsed onto the floor, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach. For the past six months, he had been meticulously planning our wedding while secretly grieving the loss of his child with another woman. He had been ready to throw me away in a heartbeat for that baby. It was only Selene’s “no-marriage” stance that had allowed me to keep my position as his fiancée. How utterly laughable. The marriage I treasured, the future I cherished, was nothing more than the leftover scraps she couldn’t be bothered to accept. 6 I don’t know how long I sat on the floor, my limbs stiff, my tears dried up. When I finally looked up, the face staring back from the mirror was pale but unnervingly calm. My phone vibrated on the table. “Ben” flashed on the screen. I stared at the name for a long moment before answering. “Elara,” his voice was so gentle it felt like liquid velvet. “What are you doing? Miss me?” My fingers tightened on the phone, knuckles turning white, but my voice was soft, warm. “Just getting my things ready for tomorrow. My mom says it’s bad luck for us to see each other, so I have no choice but to miss you.” I even managed a light laugh. He chuckled back, his low, magnetic voice the same one that had once captivated me. “I miss you, too. So much I can’t sleep. I can’t wait for tomorrow.” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “My bride.” My bride. Such beautiful words. Now they tasted like poison-laced honey. From his end of the line, I heard a tiny, almost imperceptible sound—a suppressed breath, as if someone nearby was holding theirs. It was followed by the faint rustle of fabric. I feigned ignorance, my tone perfectly natural. “What about you? What are you up to? Sounds like you have company.” “Oh, just a few guys from the orchestra,” he answered smoothly. “They insisted on taking me out for one last drink. Celebrating my last night of freedom.” “Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “I’ll only have one. I’ll be in perfect shape for tomorrow.” “Okay,” I murmured. “Don’t drink too much. Get some rest.” We exchanged a few more meaningless sweet nothings. He spoke of his “excitement” for the wedding. I played the part of the blissfully happy, trusting bride-to-be. After we hung up, the silence in the room was absolute. I sat motionless, the phone still in my hand. His tender words echoed in my ears, but all I could see was the image of him and Selene entwined in the dark studio, the reflection of his arms around her in that hotel window. How much of his tenderness tonight was real? And how much was the residual warmth from another woman’s arms, a performance fueled by guilt? I knew he wasn’t with his “friends.” That quiet breath, that rustle of cloth… they were the ghosts in the machine, the silent proof that someone else was with him. Someone he couldn’t name, but someone he was with on the very eve of our wedding. My heart felt hollowed out, beyond pain. All that was left was a cold, sharp resolve. The desire for revenge grew like a toxic vine, consuming my every thought. Slowly, I lowered the phone. In the mirror, a chilling smile touched my lips. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow? Neither could I. 7 By the time I had methodically packed up my life and had a courier service remove every last trace of me from that apartment, the sky was beginning to lighten. In the bridal suite, I calmly slipped into the wedding gown. I sat at the vanity, allowing the makeup artist to paint the face of a perfect, radiant bride. The woman in the mirror was breathtakingly beautiful. And as cold as ice. Selene placed the veil on my head herself. In the reflection, she stood behind me, her eyes slightly red, her sincerity flawless. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate lace. “Watching you get ready to walk down the aisle to Jules… it suddenly makes me think… maybe marriage isn’t so terrifying after all.” I met her gaze in the mirror, my heart feeling like it had been pierced by an icicle. This moment of feigned affection was more nauseating than all her lies. I curved my lips into a perfect, matching smile. “Really? That’s wonderful.” The ceremony began. The lights dimmed, and the opening notes of Ten Years drifted through the grand ballroom. Ben was at the piano on stage, Selene beside him with her violin. They were lost in their melody, their souls intertwined in the music. It was my turn to sing. I picked up the microphone, but the planned lyrics never left my lips. As the music swelled, my voice, clear and cold, rang out through the speakers. “This piece is beautiful. It’s a gift Ben spent a year composing for our ‘ten years of love’.” The guests smiled, listening intently. “But it was only yesterday that I finally understood the other ten years hidden in its melody.” The piano faltered, a single discordant note hanging in the air. Ben looked up, his face instantly ashen. Selene’s bow skidded across the strings, producing a screech of feedback. I went on, my gaze sweeping calmly over the two of them. “The cadenza was a private piece they wrote together in college. It doesn’t belong at my wedding. It’s far too… intimate.” A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd. “This song, meant to celebrate my love, is filled with evidence of their affair in every single measure I could never quite fit into!” I raised a remote and pointed it at the massive screen behind the stage. And I pressed play. The carefully curated evidence appeared, scanned, edited, and set to the haunting score of their precious Ten Years. The security footage from the studio played, with Ben’s voice on a loop: “I can only love you by loving her…” The more passionate the music, the more damning the images. The ultrasound. The positive pregnancy test. The invoice for the procedure. The text messages. The photo of them in the hotel room. The ballroom fell into a dead silence, followed by a collective gasp of horror. “Stop it! Elara! Please, stop it!” Selene finally broke, dropping her violin and screaming. Ben slammed his hands down on the piano keys, creating a deafening, chaotic crash of sound. Amid the wreckage, I looked past Ben, my eyes locking onto Selene. “This song he wrote for you. This wedding I dreamed of for a thousand nights like a fool…” “I’m giving it all back to you.” I pulled the veil from my head and tossed it onto the stage, a final, discarded piece of a filthy decade. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

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The third year Alan and I were crammed into that tiny apartment was the year the floodwaters took our home. I buried my face in his shoulder, miserable and shivering. He told me it broke his heart to see me this way. Then he turned around and donated a hundred million dollars to the city’s relief fund without batting an eye. On the news, he was Alan Hayes: heir to a dynasty, a philanthropist whose casual generosity was legendary. He was a stranger to me. I heard the laughter of his friends, the gilded youth of Manhattan’s elite, through the half-open door of the private room. “All those heiresses throwing themselves at you, and you’re still messing with some broke girl?” Alan’s handsome eyes, the color of warm whiskey, crinkled at the corners. He let out a low chuckle. “My girl worked three jobs a day just to save up for a ring for me. Can they do that?” Someone else piped up, their voice sharp. “But what if she actually proposes? Aren’t you getting engaged to Diana Donovan next week?” “It’s just a game,” Alan scoffed. “You don’t seriously think I’d marry her, do you?” After a pause, his voice dripped with absolute certainty. “Besides, Willow will never find out.” He didn’t know I was standing right outside the door. 1 I had raced through a torrential downpour to find him. My lab coat, soaked through, clung to me like a second skin of ice, the chill sinking into my bones. But it was nothing compared to the cold shard of his words driving straight through my heart, a pain so sharp it made my whole body recoil. Inside the opulent room, the conversation flowed on. “Damn right. She’d lose her mind if she knew.” “The pretty boy she’s been keeping for three years makes a hundred-million-dollar donation on a whim. You can’t even write this stuff in a movie, hahaha.” “So, Alan, you’re just gonna shut her down when the time comes?” Alan gestured for the waiter to open another bottle of champagne, his voice a casual drawl. “Shut her down? Why would I do that? I’m not done playing with her.” He stroked his chin, a thoughtful look on his face. Then, a wicked, playful smile spread across his lips, making the small mole near the corner of his eye seem even more vibrant. “You know, I was thinking… maybe I’ll break up with her first. Just to scare her a little. After all,” he said, his voice mock-serious, “a guy making three grand a month can’t hold her back, right?” “You’re playing with fire, man. What if she actually leaves?” “You don’t know Willow,” another voice chimed in, smug. “He’s tried breaking up with her how many times? And every single time, she’s the one crying, begging him to take her back.” Alan clearly savored that, lazily raising his glass in a toast to the speaker, who puffed up with pride. Then, someone else clicked their tongue. “That’s just pathetic. Like some stray dog nobody wants, just begging to get screwed over for free…” Outside, I couldn’t listen anymore. I dragged my leaden feet away, my heart a hollow drum. My hand went to my pocket, and when my fingers brushed against the small, velvet ring box, I snatched it back as if I’d been burned. Behind me, the boisterous room fell silent. Alan, one arm draped over the back of his chair, swirled the champagne in his glass. His face was a blank mask as he leveled a cold, sideways glance at the man who had just spoken. Everyone watched him, the air thick with tension. They were all part of the city’s elite, but there were levels to this game. The Hayes family was practically New York royalty, with influence stretching from Wall Street to Washington. And Alan, groomed by the old patriarch himself, was the heir apparent. No one dared to cross him. “Alan, man, I’m sorry. I was drunk, I shouldn’t have said that about your girl,” the guy, Rick, stammered, slapping his own face in a clumsy show of remorse. Others jumped in to smooth things over. “You idiot, don’t you know she’s a researcher at Columbia? A bona fide genius. You’re not worthy of even speaking her name.” Only when a red welt began to form on Rick’s cheek did Alan speak, his voice soft but edged with steel. “That’s enough.” He leaned forward. “You’re from the King family, right? Pharmaceuticals?” Rick nodded vigorously. Alan leaned back, propping his cheek on one hand while casually gesturing with his glass. “Columbia’s been doing some interesting research lately…” “I get it, Alan, I get it!” Rick cut in, tripping over his words. “Thank you for the opportunity to… uh… show my respect. For Willow.” 2 I stumbled home in a daze, their words echoing in my mind. “That girl is a real fool. She kind of deserves to be played.” “Remember three years ago? Alan lost a dare and had to pretend to be a host at that karaoke bar on K-Town.” “A few women went in before her, they all got the joke. But her? She actually believed it.” I was a fool. A complete and utter fool. I didn’t recognize that the strategically distressed sweater he wore was fresh off a Paris runway. I didn’t know the simple silver watch on his wrist was a Richard Mille that cost more than a brownstone. I heard his sob story—a gambling father, a sick mother—and in him, I saw a reflection of my own painful past. I looked at that beautiful face, like something out of a Japanese drama, and my heart melted. I never imagined he was sizing me up, thinking, God, what an idiot. How could anyone fall for such a ridiculous lie? I moved heaven and earth to get him out of that life. I helped him find a “real” job. I had just started as a research assistant myself, barely making a few thousand a month. But I didn’t hesitate to spend two thousand on a decent suit for him, so he could look the part. Meanwhile, I wore the same trench coat for three years. And him? He would always narrow those captivating eyes into a lazy, charming smile. “My beautiful girl, you’re too good to me. I’ll have to find a way to repay you properly.” Then he would pull me into his arms, and we’d become a tangle of limbs. He was twenty, a young man with an endless, raw energy that he poured into me, over and over again. The walls of our old apartment were paper-thin. The more I bit my lip to stay quiet, the more determined he was to draw a sound from me. Every time, he’d push me to the edge until I was whispering pleas for him to stop, again and again, before he would finally relent. He was beautiful. He loved to be coddled. He loved to cook for me. I truly believed we would be tangled up like that forever. I was even planning to propose, taking on two extra freelance gigs to save up for the perfect ring. 3 On my way home, I passed the subway station Alan usually used. A crowd had gathered at the entrance: firefighters, paramedics, shell-shocked survivors wrapped in foil blankets. I stopped, my feet rooted to the spot. A message buzzed on my phone. [Hey, baby. My phone fell in the water, just got it fixed.] [Brought you a little cake. Almost home~] It was followed by a sticker of a cartoon puppy holding up a heart. The caption read: [Puppy loves you most!] For a moment, the world tilted. After a long time, I typed back with trembling fingers: [I’m at the subway station. The Broadway exit at 116th.] It didn’t take long for him to appear around the corner. The young man was tall and lean, his skin so pale it seemed to glow under the streetlights. A simple white t-shirt, a gray hoodie, and dark blue jeans—on him, it looked like a high-fashion ensemble. He turned heads; people were stealing glances at him. “I thought I told you to stay home and rest,” he chided, shrugging off his hoodie and draping it over my shoulders. “You know how easily you get sick, and you still run out in the rain.” The familiar scent of pine and clean earth enveloped me, and a sharp, sudden ache filled my sinuses. “I thought you were dead,” I said, pointing a shaking finger toward the station entrance. I expected to be hysterical, to scream and cry, but my throat felt like a broken pipe—raw, hoarse, and utterly exhausted. “You texted that you were just getting on the train, and then… nothing. The news said the station was flooded. I was terrified. I ran for miles in this storm to get here. They wouldn’t let me go down. I told them I had to, that my boyfriend was in there, and if he was going to die, we were going to die together.” “Alan—” I looked up, my eyes red-rimmed, staring directly into his. “While I was so worried about you I was ready to die, where were you?” He lowered his long, dark lashes, hiding those perpetually smiling eyes, concealing the storm that was surely brewing within them. Maybe the game had gone further than he’d intended. Or maybe he was laughing inside, thinking, This stupid woman, she’d actually do something like that. He just turned his face away and offered a light, breezy smile. “On my way to buy you a cake, of course.” No, you weren’t. You were with your trust-fund friends, drinking and laughing. You were taking my heart and grinding it into the dirt with the heel of your expensive shoe. Before I could press him further, he turned and crouched down in front of me. “Get on. Let’s get you home before you really get sick.” And just like that, Alan carried me on his back, wading through the muddy, waist-deep water. My voice was a hollow whisper next to his ear. “What home? Alan, we don’t have a home anymore.” 4 Our apartment was on the ground floor of an old, pre-war building. A relic from the nineties with a drainage system to match. When we pushed the door open, we were met with utter devastation. Three feet of murky water filled the space, and floating in the grim soup were the matching couple’s mugs Alan had bought, the his-and-hers slippers, the carefully curated photo wall… In those pictures, we were laughing, smearing birthday cake on each other’s faces. We were drawing hearts in the air with sparklers on New Year’s Eve. So many perfect moments, now warped and blurred by the flood. “It’s all ruined. You can’t even see them anymore,” Alan murmured, his brow furrowing deeper as he fished out one sodden photo after another, setting me down on top of the shoe cabinet. I opened my mouth, wanting so badly to ask, Is it really worth feeling sad over these moments when it was all just a game? But all I said was, “They’re gone, so they’re gone. It’s not like they were important.” “Not important?” He stared at me, a wounded look in his eyes. “If this isn’t important, then what is?” Is it because they’re trophies from the three years you successfully conned a woman out of her love? Is that why they’re so important? I squeezed my hands into fists, my lips pressed into a thin line. I didn’t ask. 5 The apartment was uninhabitable. Every hotel nearby was either fully booked or charging astronomical prices. One place quoted us four thousand dollars for a single night. We ended up huddled in the crowded lobby, leaning against a corner wall, trying to figure out what to do next. A couple of young women next to us were chatting. “God, I wish some random trust-fund baby would just fall madly in love with me and drop a million dollars in my lap.” “Forget that, did you see the top trending story? I’m so jealous of Diana Donovan. Being a famous actress and a Manhattan socialite isn’t enough, her fiancé just casually donates a hundred million dollars. It’s insane.” “And get this—he made the donation in both of their names. Talk about being head-over-heels in love.” Behind me, I felt Alan’s muscles tighten. He leaned in, his voice a sweet, cloying whisper in my ear. “Baby, let’s just pay the four thousand. Please? Let’s just get a room.” The warmth from his body radiated against my back, but I could feel a slight tremor running through him. It was late autumn, and he’d given me his hoodie, leaving himself in just a t-shirt. Before, my heart would have ached for him. I would have gladly spent a third of my salary just to keep him comfortable. But now, I pinched his thigh, hard. My voice was flat. “You made your bed, now lie in it. You deserve this.” I paused, then added in a casual, mocking tone, “If you were like her fiancé, throwing around a hundred million like it was pocket change, do you think I’d be living this miserable life?” As soon as the words were out, a violent coughing fit seized me. Alan gently patted my back. When I finally caught my breath, he lowered his head and nibbled on my earlobe, his voice a soft, manufactured whine. “I get it. You think I’m poor now. It’s my fault. I can’t give you a mansion… I let you get sick, shivering in the cold with nowhere to go. It’s all my fault…” I thought I was done crying. But hearing him spin that same, tired, oh-so-sincere script about not being able to give me a better life, a fresh wave of bitterness stung my eyes. For a thousand days, he had watched me struggle, watched me sacrifice for him, and then soothed it all with a few empty, beautiful words. He probably got a sick thrill out of it. “Yes,” I said, cutting him off. “It is all your fault.” He froze, his litany of self-pity dying on his lips. His face went blank. Of course. In the past, I would have immediately comforted him. Don’t you dare blame yourself. It hurts me to hear you say that, you know? But this time, I turned to face him, locking my eyes on his, and spoke each word with chilling clarity. “Who else would it be? You make three thousand dollars a month. You can’t even afford a bathroom in this city. You think I want you holding me back for the rest of my life? You didn’t actually believe I wanted to spend forever with you in that tiny, rundown apartment, did you?” Alan just stared, stunned. It took him a long moment to force a stiff, awkward smile and raise his hands in surrender. “I… I can work overtime—” I couldn’t listen to another lie. I pushed him away. “I’m just kidding,” I said lightly. In my peripheral vision, I saw his tense shoulders finally slump in relief.

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The last time I saw him, I left him standing alone on a street corner on Valentine’s Day and walked away without a backward glance. Years later, we met again. He was a titan of industry now, wielding immense power. He appeared at an exclusive event, bidding on a necklace for his girlfriend. Someone teased him, “Wedding bells in the near future, Mr. Prescott?” Cain Prescott lifted his gaze, a lazy disinterest in his eyes. “Just a bit of fun. It’s not serious.” And then he saw me. The smile on his lips froze. Before the watchful eyes of everyone present, he rose from his seat and walked toward me, his stride calm and measured. My mind went blank. All I could manage to think of was a simple greeting: “It’s been a long time—” The next second, a hand of steel clamped around my throat, pinning me to the wall. “You dare come back?” He smiled, a chillingly pleasant expression on his face. “Didn’t I tell you? If you ever showed your face again, I would destroy you.” 1 The air conditioning in the auction hall was glacial. I’d been plied with chilled champagne at dinner, and now a sharp cramp twisted in my stomach. Not far off, a cluster of socialites were gossiping. “Are those wedding bells I hear? Mr. Prescott buying another necklace to win the lady’s favor?” Cain lifted his eyes, a lazy boredom in them. “Just a bit of fun. It’s not serious.” Even seated among the city’s elite, he was a star in its own orbit, incandescent. Every gesture radiated an aristocratic power that was both innate and intimidating. The entire upper echelon of New York society revered him. A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest. Why him? Why here? I had checked… I had specifically checked the guest list. I was standing behind the auction stage, slightly hunched over from the pain in my stomach. The movement caused the fabric of my form-fitting gown, once perfectly smooth, to wrinkle. This was my first auction since returning to the States, the first time I was presenting my own work. Someone’s voice drifted over, laced with curiosity. “Could it be because of what happened back then…” Cain let out a short, derisive laugh. “Her? She wishes.” The house lights began to dim, shrouding Cain’s sharp features in shadow, his expression unreadable. I was plunged into an icy memory of the last phone call he ever made to me. People who play with hearts, he’d said, his voice cold as the grave, go to hell. He told me he would never forgive me. Not in this lifetime. “Miss Miller, would you like to come up and introduce your piece?” the auctioneer’s voice boomed, suddenly calling me out. A single spotlight pierced the darkness from above, trapping me in its brilliant glare, making me the center of everyone’s attention. The audience was a sea of shadows. I couldn’t see Cain’s face, couldn’t guess at his reaction. Silence descended upon the hall as everyone waited for me to speak. I clutched the microphone, my knuckles white, and deliberately fixed my gaze on a point far beyond where I knew he was sitting. “Good evening, everyone. I am Elara Miller, the jewelry designer of tonight’s featured piece. It’s an honor to present my work to you all…” The entire time, I was on autopilot, my words a meaningless blur. A desperate prayer echoed in my mind: Maybe he’s already left. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. Clinging to that sliver of hope, I slipped off the stage, aiming for the dimly lit fire escape on the side of the hall. Just as I reached for the door, a small, menacing point of red light flared in the darkness ahead—the burning tip of a cigarette. A tall silhouette detached itself from the shadows and moved toward me. A pair of long, impeccably tailored legs entered my vision. Before I could process it, a hand was around my neck. My back slammed against the cold, hard wall. A familiar, aggressive scent of cold mint and tobacco filled my senses. Cain’s voice, a low and dangerous murmur, reached my ears. “You dare come back?” he repeated. “Didn’t I tell you? If I ever saw you again, I would destroy you.” I tilted my head back, forced to look into those once-familiar eyes. The deep affection that used to reside there was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. I leaned against the wall, meeting his gaze in a silent standoff. He suddenly broke the silence with a laugh. “Cat got your tongue?” “I have nothing to say.” The hand on my jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. Cain’s voice dropped to a whisper, each word a shard of ice. “Elara. Say that again. I dare you.” The sound of high heels echoed from the stairwell. A soft, feminine voice called out hesitantly, “Cain? Are you in there? The auction is over.” Cain squeezed his eyes shut, visibly suppressing the fury simmering within them. The pressure on my neck abruptly vanished. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped his hand, as if he’d just touched something filthy. “Stay out there,” he called back, his voice steady. “It’s cold in here.” The footsteps stopped immediately. “Okay,” the woman replied. “Don’t be long.” I slumped against the wall, gasping for air, loosening the collar of my gown. A sheen of cold sweat had broken out on my forehead. Our ragged breaths mingled in the tight space. Cain gave me one last, lingering look before pushing the door open and disappearing into the hall. 2 The necklace sold for fifty million dollars. To Cain Prescott. It would be some time before the funds cleared, however, which meant I was stuck in the city for the foreseeable future. Two weeks later, I met its new owner at a gallery opening hosted by a major jeweler. “Elara?” She recognized me first, greeting me with an effusive warmth that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s been ages!” Her name was Helena Vance. We’d been in the same high school. Daughter of a wealthy family, she’d sailed through life on a sea of privilege. The year I dropped out, we’d had… a falling out. I blinked, feigning a look of pleasant surprise. “Helena! I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?” The multi-million-dollar sapphire necklace—my creation—rested against the elegant column of her throat, its brilliance almost blinding. Her eyes swept over me, a subtle, sharp appraisal. “Did you finally make it big?” she asked, the implication clear: only the rich and powerful received invitations to events like this. I forced a tight smile. “I’m the designer of your necklace. I managed to pull some strings for an invitation.” A person’s expression is a marvel of subtlety. A smile, for instance, can so easily mask a sneer. She waved a hand towards someone behind me, her voice exaggeratedly bright. “Cain, look who I ran into!” I didn’t turn around, but I could feel a hostile gaze boring into my back, sharp and cold. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers,” Cain’s voice drifted over, laced with condescension. “You never know what kind of trouble they’ll drag you into.” I kept my head down, pretending I hadn’t heard. Helena, ever the instigator, fanned the flames. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You have some experience with that, don’t you? Swindled out of your money, your heart, your… everything. So tragic. Right, Elara?” The gallery owner, a portly man with beady eyes, perked up at the scent of gossip. “Someone had the nerve to scam Mr. Prescott? Who would be that foolish?” Helena shot me a sideways glance, a picture of polished grace. “Oh, just some nobody from the gutter. It’s too embarrassing to even mention her name.” The owner nodded sagely. “Quite right. Girls from that background are fine for a bit of fun, but for marriage? Utterly unsuitable.” Through it all, Cain stood back, a silent, cold observer to the entire spectacle. “Ah, Ms. Miller, you look a little pale,” the gallery owner finally noticed me. “Would you like some water?” I managed a brittle smile. “No, thank you. I have to be going. Please, excuse me.” The sun was a fiery smear on the horizon as I stepped out of the gallery. I leaned against the cool stone of the building, trying to catch my breath. My reflection in the glass door was pale, almost ghostly. An email from my best friend popped up on my phone: Did you sort it out? Layoff notices are coming next month, absolute latest. You need to get a client to commit to the Paris gala. I took a deep breath. Yeah, I know. I… I ran into someone I shouldn’t have. She paused on her end. Don’t tell me. The person who bought your necklace… it was Cain Prescott? That was precisely why I couldn’t ask. A heavy silence stretched between us. My friend tried to sound comforting. “Just focus on getting the payment for now. We can figure out the rest later…” My history with Cain was… complicated. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and prepared to hail a cab back to my hotel. Suddenly, the roar of an engine shattered the evening quiet. I turned. A black Ferrari had just ignited, its headlights pointed directly at me. The last rays of sunset slicked its chassis with a brilliant, liquid gold. The engine’s roar escalated, a symphony of aggression. And then, the car shot forward, hurtling directly towards me. He was behind the wheel, his dark eyes locked on mine. If you ever showed your face again, I would destroy you. For a few heart-stopping seconds, my mind was a white void of terror. I watched, paralyzed, as the car devoured the distance between us. Ten feet. Five. Two. Screeeech! The shriek of tires on pavement echoed through the street, sending a flock of birds scattering from the nearby trees. The bumper kissed my shins, a perfect, terrifying calculation. Reality crashed back in, and a wave of pure, unadulterated fear washed over me. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground. The driver’s side window slid down with a soft whir, revealing a pair of cold, merciless eyes. “Get in.” 3 The last sliver of sunset vanished below the horizon, and night fell like a net, closing in from all sides. The car was silent. I huddled in the passenger seat, not daring to speak. “So, you won’t even talk to me now?” Cain’s voice was sharp with ridicule. “I’ll be gone as soon as the payment clears,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” A piece of paper fluttered onto my lap. It was a blank check. Seeing my confusion, Cain’s voice turned to ice. “There’s your money. Are you going to leave, or are you expecting me to ride that goddamn roller coaster again, just so you can make a fool of me twice?” Once, long ago, I’d told him I wouldn’t break up with him if he rode the roller coaster. He was terrified of heights, but he did it, his jaw set in grim determination. I walked away anyway. In the years since, Cain had aggressively expanded his business empire overseas, his methods ruthless. It was as if he was trying to scour the earth just to find me. Then, suddenly, he stopped. A woman appeared by his side. He guarded her fiercely, scrubbing every photo, every mention of her from the press. To this day, no one knew who she was. Until I saw Helena. Then it all made sense. I moistened my lips. “Mr. Prescott, you misunderstand. I only want the payment I’m owed from the auction—” “Is there a difference?” He tapped a finger against the steering wheel. “Sign a waiver forfeiting the auction payment, and I’ll give you double. You can be on a plane by tomorrow morning.” His meaning was crystal clear. He was afraid Helena would get the wrong idea, and he wanted me gone. Immediately. Double the price was more than enough for me to report back to my company. “Thank you.” I booked a flight back to Europe for the next day and returned to my hotel to pack. The television was on, broadcasting a segment about Cain’s latest social appearance. For the first time, Helena’s identity was revealed to the public. The media called them a “match made in heaven.” My friend’s voice crackled over the phone. “That was supposed to be your wedding necklace, the one you designed for yourself. Are you really just going to let it go?” “Cain seems to really care for her. It’s just a necklace. It doesn’t matter who wears it.” “Think of it as…” I paused, looking up from my suitcase and letting out a slow breath. “My wedding gift to them. I have other designs. I can just find other clients…” She could hear the strain in my voice and didn’t know what to say. When I first arrived in Europe, I was broke and alone. The design for that necklace had been my key, the thing that convinced my mentor to take me under his wing. After all these years, for it to return to its origin this way… it was supposed to be my way of making peace with the past. “Elara, listen,” she said gently. “For people like them, in that world… sometimes, not ending up together is a blessing. You lived it. You know how much it can break you.” “Haha, don’t worry about me.” I went back to folding my clothes, trying to sound cheerful. “When you’re young, you think love is all you need. But honestly, a little realism makes life a lot easier…” Knock, knock. Someone was at the door. “Who’s that so late?” my friend asked. I stood up. “Just room service.” I opened the door. It was Cain. He smelled faintly of alcohol, one hand braced against the doorframe, his body casting a long shadow into my room. “What are you doing here?” I tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his arm. “I can’t be here?” His brow was furrowed, a drunken haze clouding his sharp features. His tie was loosened, the knot askew. He looked up at me, his handsome face a captivating play of light and shadow. “No, it’s just… our business is concluded.” “Concluded?” The word was slurred, tinged with a lazy, drunken drawl. He looked down and scoffed. “To hell with ‘concluded’.” I gripped the doorknob tightly. “You’re drunk. Let me call your assistant—” His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “If I ride the roller coaster again… will you stay?” The question came out of nowhere, stunning me into silence. The heat from his palm seemed to scorch my skin. I tried to pull my hand back, but he held fast. I sighed. “We’re not kids anymore, Cain.” I didn’t realize my own voice was trembling. He looked up, his dark eyes boring into mine, and roughly tore off his tie, revealing the pale skin and sharp lines of his collarbones. “Then let’s do this like adults.” He took my hand and pressed it against his chest. His voice was raw. “Sleep with me.” “Elara. You sleep with me, and everything I have is yours.” The powerful, steady beat of his heart thrummed against my palm. I flinched as if burned, trying to wrench my hand away. “Cain, someone will see…” “Let them,” he bit out. “It’s my reputation on the line, not yours.” Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner of the hallway. In my moment of distraction, he saw his chance and pushed his way inside. Click. The door shut behind him. The entryway was dark. Cain pinned me against the wall, and the world shrank to the sound of our breathing, a frantic, intimate rhythm in the blackness. Neither of us spoke. This reunion, this contact after so many years, was both strange and achingly familiar. He leaned in closer. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I turned my head away. His mouth brushed against my cheek, and my heart hammered against my ribs. Cain froze. He rested his forehead against the wall beside my head and took a deep, shuddering breath. His voice was hoarse. “Get away from me. I won’t touch you.” I looked up at him, my heart in my throat, and saw that the drunken haze in his eyes had cleared. A cool breeze slipped through a crack in the window, dissipating the fragile, charged atmosphere between us. The arm that had trapped me fell away. I was free. I stumbled back, escaping his orbit. Cain remained where he was, his eyes closed. The alcohol must have worn off, his usual cold composure restored. I turned away, busying myself with stuffing my scattered clothes back into my suitcase, trying to hide my panic. Then, he spoke, his voice quiet. “The check is void.” My hands stilled. I looked up, confused. He stood in the shadows. “There’s a problem at the company. I can’t issue that check right now. I’m sorry.” His face was a blank mask, impossible to read. I couldn’t tell if he was lying. “Then…” “Cancel your flight. I’ll reimburse you for the ticket.” I numbly placed the clothes back on the bed and stood. “Okay.” The conversation was over, but I kept staring at him. He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to leave?” “Yes.” “I can’t. Not yet.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “I’m being followed. There are paparazzi outside my door just waiting for a scandal. Elara, I assume you don’t want to be on the morning news with me?” But I was so tired. I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to leave. The minutes ticked by. Cain remained by the door, unmoving. Gradually, a heavy wave of exhaustion washed over me. My head lolled to one side, and I fell back against the soft pillows. As the last wisp of consciousness slipped away, I thought I heard him whisper, “Good night.” 4 My sleep has always been light. The first ray of dawn touched my eyelids. I stretched my arm and brushed against someone. The scent was familiar. Even after ten years, I would know it anywhere. He seemed to stir at my movement. An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer. My eyes flew open, and I found myself staring directly into his. Cain was still half-asleep, his voice a groggy murmur. “Mornin’…” It took a moment for my brain to catch up. Then, I scrambled up, grabbed a pillow, and started hitting him with it. “Pervert!” After a few solid thwacks, Cain’s expression soured. “Getting bold, are we, Elara?” “You’re shameless!” I clutched the collar of my pajamas, which were thankfully still intact, my face pale with shock. He squinted against the morning light streaming into the room, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked around to me. His dress shirt was a mess of wrinkles, as if it had been through a spin cycle. The usual sharp edges of his demeanor were gone, replaced by a deep frown of annoyance. My panic escalated. “Don’t… don’t come any closer.” He gently lifted a lock of my hair and followed it down to the end, where a single shirt button was hopelessly tangled. “As if I’d want to touch you,” he said without looking up. “Is your sleepwalking still not cured?” I paused, only then noticing that a button was missing from the collar of his shirt. As he worked to free my hair, a cold smirk played on his lips. “You hooked my button and then ran off in your sleep. What was I supposed to do?” I was speechless for a second. “You could have just cut my hair.” “And have you never speak to me again? No thanks.” He was surprisingly patient. He could have just yanked it free, but instead, he stood there, meticulously untangling the knot like it was a complex puzzle. It reminded me of a time, long ago, when we were together. He’d been in one of his moods and snipped off a lock of my hair. I’d started crying and walked away, leaving him behind. He’d followed me, pleading, “Elara, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. Here, you can cut mine, just please don’t cry.” Watching his reflection in the mirror as he worked, I asked, “I’m not strong enough to pull a button off. How did it happen?” He finally freed the button and leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head. He studied my face for a long moment before answering, his expression completely serious. “I ripped it off myself. Figured if I fell asleep, I didn’t want you waking up in pain.” My heart skipped a beat. I just stared at him, frozen. With that, he straightened up and disappeared into the bathroom. I sniffed my hair. It smelled of him. I wondered what cologne he wore. My phone rang. It was my friend. “Elara, are you on the plane yet?” I’d forgotten to tell her my plans had changed. “I’m not coming back just yet. I still haven’t gotten the payment.” “Oh, well that’s actually great news. Headquarters just called. They want you to personally invite Cain Prescott to the gala. It’s… not a request.” “He’ll never agree.” “You have to at least try.” “Try what?” Cain’s voice cut in unexpectedly. My friend froze. “Holy sh— You’re not… This is intense…” I hastily hung up the phone, turning to find Cain leaning against the bathroom doorway in a robe, his eyes narrowed in thought as he watched me. “Why are you out here?” He averted his gaze, his tone cool. “What am I being invited to?” “My brand’s jewelry gala… It’s next month. In Paris.” Perhaps he saw the flicker of hope in my eyes, because a small smirk touched his lips. “Next month is a long way away. We’ll see.” I knew it. There was no way he would agree. A knock sounded at the door. Cain answered it before I could move. A moment later, he returned with a paper bag and tossed it to me. “Change.” “What is this?” “Clothes.” He was at the mirror, knotting his tie. “You want me at your gala, you have to accompany me to an event first.” 5 It was a gown of ink-wash silk. Custom-made, it lacked the aggressive glamour of a Western ball gown, instead lending its wearer an air of gentle elegance. Cain leaned against the wall, slowly fastening his watch, his dark eyes fixed on my back. In the mirror, the two of us were a study in contrasts, the height difference just right. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, the epitome of understated luxury. Standing next to me in the silk gown, we had a strange, East-meets-West beauty. I pressed my lips together. “Is there a jacket?” The gown clung to every curve, and his gaze was an undisguised, searing heat on my skin. “No,” he said, his eyes flicking briefly to the small of my back. “It looks beautiful.” I never would have guessed that Cain was taking me to a family dinner. The familiar villa, even after ten years, stood unchanged. I had been to this place before, more than once, without Cain’s knowledge. All of my worst memories were born here. Cain opened the car door for me. “You’ve never met my stepmother or my half-brother, have you?” My palms were slick with sweat. “Why did you bring me here?” A corner of his mouth lifted. He leaned down and offered me his arm. “Nervous about meeting the family?” He stood silhouetted against the night sky, a rare hint of gentleness in his eyes. “…” He mistook my terror for simple nerves, taking my hand in his. “It’s just a dinner.” Lights glowed from within the villa. We walked through a small, fragrant garden to the front door. The muffled sound of conversation drifted through the wood; it sounded crowded. I could just make out a woman’s voice, dripping with false modesty. “Cain’s marriage? How could I have a say? I’m not his real mother, after all…” Hearing that voice again after so many years sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. “Brother, you’re back.” A shaft of light spilled out as the door opened, illuminating the rug at our feet. The figure was backlit, his face in shadow, but I instinctively shrank behind Cain. It was his half-brother, Ross. Cain gave a curt nod and led me inside. As we passed Ross, I happened to glance up and our eyes met. Recognition dawned on his face instantly. After a flicker of surprise, a familiar, predatory amusement filled his dark eyes—the same look he’d given me when he used to call me worthless trash. “Still a fan of leftovers, brother?” he murmured as he fell into step behind me, his arm brushing unnervingly against my back. I gripped Cain’s arm tighter, trying to put more space between myself and Ross. Cain sensed my discomfort and shot Ross a glacial look. “Get lost.” Ross smirked at me one last time before sauntering away. As we moved through the house, people constantly stopped to greet Cain. “Mr. Prescott, good to see you.” He would just nod curtly in response. Eyes followed us as we entered the main living room. At the center of a glittering crowd stood a glamorous middle-aged woman. Cain’s stepmother, Sandra. And standing right beside her was Helena Vance. The moment she saw me, she subtly nudged Sandra’s arm. The conversation died. Heads turned. A variety of expressions, from curiosity to disapproval, settled on their faces. Sandra arched an eyebrow, her expression mirroring Ross’s from moments before. She knew exactly who I was. “And who might this be?” One of her friends chimed in, “Cain, Helena is right here. What is the meaning of bringing another woman?” Cain’s hand rested on the small of my back. “Plans changed,” he stated flatly. “You’re not a child anymore, Cain. Must you always be so impulsive?” Sandra’s displeasure was obvious. “Do you even know who you’re associating with?” The question was loaded. I had no doubt that Sandra had already shared my sordid history with everyone here. The only one still in the dark was Cain. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Go get yourself something to eat from the buffet over there. I’ll join you in a bit.” Sandra’s stare was making my skin crawl. I nodded and quickly walked away. The dessert table was near the kitchen, in a quiet corner of the room. As I rounded the corner, a hand shot out, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the kitchen. The door swung shut. The suffocating scent of cheap cologne filled my nostrils. “Back to screwing my brother again?” Ross’s vicious laugh echoed in the small space. “Elara, have you forgotten what you are? What we did to you?” A chill ran down my spine, and my blood turned to ice. “Let go of me!” He slammed me against the wall, his fingers digging into my chin. “Look at you… even prettier than before…” His face was too close, his breath a foul mix of smoke and liquor. “You’re in luck. All your old friends are here tonight. How about a repeat performance?” I turned my head away, my voice hard. “Ross, what you’re doing is illegal.” He yanked my hair, slamming my head back against the wall, just as he had all those years ago when he’d held my head over a toilet. “A piece of trash like you wants to talk to me about the law?” “Guess we didn’t teach you your lesson properly the first time, did we?” “Helena still has the pictures, you know. Hmm? Should we show everyone?” The agonizing memories came rushing back. I struggled violently, a hysterical scream building in my throat. “Ross, go to hell!” His eyes lit up with sick excitement. “Alright, Elara. Let’s make a bet. Let’s see who destroys who first.” “You were just a cheap little pawn my mother hired to seduce Cain. Do you really think he’ll still protect you when he finds out the truth?” With that, he started unbuckling his pants. Despair washed over me as I fought against him, tears streaming from my eyes. The past was happening all over again. The day before summer vacation, I had gone to Sandra to quit. She held a thin cigarette between her fingers, her chin held high. “You took the money. You think you can just walk away?” I placed the bank card on her desk. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” She laughed. “And you think you and Cain can have a happy ending? In your dreams.” That same day, Helena and her friends cornered me in the girls’ bathroom. They tore the clothes from my body with practiced ease. “So you’re the little whore Sandra hired,” Helena said, arms crossed, her tone dripping with scorn. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I take a few pictures.” My struggles were futile against their numbers. I was eighteen. On a hot summer day filled with the drone of cicadas, my dignity was shattered in a cramped, filthy bathroom stall. They doused me with dirty water, washing away my pride, their taunts and jeers poisoning my soul. And then Ross’s final act of defilement shattered what little dignity I had left. “I’m calling the police,” I’d choked out, my body bruised and broken. “You poor, stupid girl. Don’t you know anything?” Ross grabbed a fistful of my hair, a grin on his face. “All I did was mess up your pretty face. That’s not rape. And unless you manage to kill me, I will make your life a living hell.” In the end, the incident was buried. There was no evidence. The party raged on just outside the kitchen door. Ross was drunk, and he had already ripped my gown up to my waist. He had my arms pinned behind my back, and my screams for help were swallowed by the noise. “Get off… get off me!” I sobbed, and with a surge of adrenaline, I sank my teeth into his shoulder. He howled in pain, his grip slackening for a split second. I bolted for the door. He was fast. He caught me by the hair and dragged me back. A blinding pain shot through my scalp. A voice screamed inside my head. Do you hate him? What did I do to deserve this? To be hurt again and again? Why are some people born evil? My hand fumbled blindly across the countertop and closed around the cool, heavy glass of a wine bottle. “You bitch! What does it matter if I take you again?” Through a blur of tears, I spun around, raised the bottle high above my head, and brought it down on his with all my strength. There was a sickening crack. The world went silent.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385163”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

We’d agreed to finally swap photos. So when my online boyfriend sent me a picture from a magazine interview with the billionaire tycoon Alexander Sterling, I had to laugh. I shot back a professionally shot photo of a famous actress. [Dumbass, if you’re going to use a fake pic, at least pick someone less famous.] Then, I blocked and deleted him without a second thought. That night, the tycoon himself posted on his official social media account, launching a nationwide search. [My girlfriend blocked me. Can anyone help me explain?] The attached screenshot was of my final message, followed by a string of red exclamation points where his replies had failed to send. My world tilted on its axis. 1 After breakfast, I sat by the window and did my makeup, waiting for the perfect light. Today was the day. The day my online boyfriend and I had agreed to finally see each other. [Babe, you ready?] his message popped up. I quickly typed back: [I’m a little nervous, babe.] We clicked on every level. We could talk for hours about anything and everything. But there was one thing I hadn’t told him: I was a celebrity. A somewhat infamous one, but still, I was moderately successful. I was worried he wouldn’t believe me, so my plan was to video call him after the photo swap. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. He replied almost instantly. [I’m nervous too. I’m scared you’ll think I’m ugly.] [Babe, I tried my best to pick the most flattering picture I have.] [You won’t hate me, will you, babe?] He’d expressed his insecurities to me more than once. But after years in the entertainment industry, I’d met every type of person imaginable. Looks really didn’t matter to me. [Of course not. As long as you don’t send me a fake photo, I’ll like you no matter what you look like.] [Good. Kisses, babe QAQ.] [Kisses.] He was clingy, and I found it endearing. He went quiet for a few minutes, probably building up his courage. Then, a photo appeared. A man in a sharp suit, surrounded by a sea of microphones, his gaze piercing and his presence commanding. I recognized him instantly. It was Alexander Sterling, the notoriously private billionaire tycoon. His interviews were rare, but his looks were so legendary that every single one produced a viral photo. This was his most famous one. A new message followed. [Babe, this is me. What do you think?] [nervouslyfidgeting.jpg] I stared at the screen, stunned. I’d always thought my online boyfriend was smart, principled, and refreshingly down-to-earth. We connected on a level I’d never experienced before. But what the hell was this? Was he trying to tell me that the billionaire Alexander Sterling was spending his nights chatting with strangers online? Was I dreaming, or was he? And I had explicitly told him not to send a fake photo! Did I really seem that naive? That easy to fool? If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being lied to. A hot flash of anger surged through me. I found an obscure promotional photo of myself from a few years back and fired it off to him. [Dumbass, if you’re going to use a fake pic, at least pick someone less famous.] Before he could reply, I blocked him. 2 We had met playing a video game. I went into the game and unfriended him, deleting the character with whom I had a maxed-out “Intimacy” score. Now there was no way for him to contact me. I tossed my phone aside, wiped off the makeup I’d spent all morning applying, and curled up on the sofa to stew in my anger. All those pictures he’d sent me before—the abs, the V-cut—they were probably all stolen from the internet too. And to think I’d genuinely admired and complimented his physique! Fucking liar! Fuming, I buried my face in a cushion and fell into a fitful sleep. That evening, a call from my agent woke me. Her voice was strange. “Ava, have you seen what’s trending?” “What is it?” I mumbled, forcing my eyes open and tapping into my social media app. A hashtag was exploding. #EvenBillionairesGetCatfished A jolt of alarm shot through me, waking me up completely. This couldn’t be what I thought it was, could it? I cautiously clicked on the tag. Alexander Sterling, who hadn’t posted on his personal account in years, had just published a new status. [My girlfriend blocked me. Can anyone help me explain?] The attached screenshot looked disturbingly familiar. It was the last conversation I’d had with my online boyfriend. But his version had a series of red exclamation points next to messages that never went through. [Huh?] [It’s not a fake pic, babe. That’s really me.] [Babe?] [Why did you delete me? Can you at least let me explain?] [Babe… #crying#] The internet was losing its mind. [What? The Alexander Sterling is dating someone he met online?] [Who is this girl?? Did she save a galaxy in a past life to land Alexander Sterling in a random chat?] [But she thought he was fake, LMAO. I’m dying.] [Honestly, that’s fair. If it were me, I’d assume it was a troll too, hahaha.] [So he’s basically asking the internet to help find her? Does anyone know who this girl is?] [If you know her, please say something! The man is so desperate he’s posting on his public socials!] … I scrolled through the comments, my eyes wide with disbelief. So, my online boyfriend… wasn’t a liar? He really was Alexander Sterling. As I was reeling from the shock, a new hashtag started trending. #TheBillionaireAndTheStarlet My heart leaped into my throat. No, they couldn’t have found me that fast, could they? I nervously tapped on it. It led to a new post from Isabelle Thorne, one of the most popular young actresses right now. [No need for anyone to explain, it was all just a misunderstanding~] The implication was so strong, she might as well have quote-tweeted Alexander’s post directly. The internet went wild. [The power of the internet! Found her in minutes!] [So his online girlfriend is Isabelle Thorne?! OMG! A starlet and a tycoon, this is the most epic online romance ever!] [Isabelle is so cute. Even as a celebrity herself, she didn’t believe a tycoon would be dating someone online, hahaha.] [OMG, they’re a perfect match. Isabelle is about to marry into one of the most powerful families in the country!] 3 My agent’s voice crackled through the phone again. “See it now? I was about to get you a spot on that new cooking show to boost your public image, but now with this news about Isabelle and the tycoon, all the buzz is going to be about her. This could ruin you!” I paused. My cooking skills were one of my few universally liked traits, and we had specifically chosen a laid-back, lifestyle cooking show to try and salvage my disastrous public reputation. The show was set to start filming tomorrow. Now, with all the attention on Isabelle, I was just going to be the bitter, washed-up side character again. I gritted my teeth. “What if… what if I’m the one he was dating?” I had used a private, anonymous account for my online life, completely separate from my professional one. Not even my agent knew. I explained the whole story to her. She was stunned. “Isabelle would dare to impersonate her? Is she insane?” Everyone knew Alexander Sterling wasn’t just ruthless; he was vindictive. Nobody crossed him, and nobody lied to him. Even I, knowing I was the real girl, was too scared to come forward and admit it. Not only had I blocked him, I had called him a dumbass. My agent and I stayed up all night, brainstorming, but we couldn’t come up with a single foolproof plan. The next morning, running on fumes and a hastily applied layer of makeup, I was shoved into a car and sent to the studio. When I arrived, a small crowd had already formed around Isabelle. “Isabelle! What’s it like to date a tycoon you met online?” “You’re a master at this!” “What’s he like in private?” “So, now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, have you unblocked him yet?” The barrage of questions made Isabelle blush. She covered her mouth with her hand. “He hasn’t found me on his own yet, so the block list… I think he’ll stay there for now.” It was an answer no one expected. “What? You haven’t unblocked him yet?!” “You might be the only person in the world who would dare to do that to Alexander Sterling!” “I can’t even imagine how much he must spoil you!” … Isabelle just smiled demurely. “Oh, stop it, you guys.” Everyone was swooning. Only I was frowning. He’s still on the block list because he’s on my block list, you idiot. My expression was immediately captured by the cameras and dissected by the online audience. [What is Ava doing? What’s with that look on her face?] [She’s probably just insanely jealous that Isabelle is dating the tycoon. She can’t even hide it!] [LOL, some people just don’t have Isabelle’s luck.] [Why did they even cast her on this show? To watch her scowl the whole time?] … Isabelle saw me and approached with a bright smile. “Ava, you’re finally here! The host said they have a huge surprise for us as soon as everyone arrived. We were just waiting for you.” I glanced at the time. Filming was scheduled to start at 8:30. It was just past 8:00. Because of the whole Alexander situation, I’d only gotten to sleep at 5 a.m. I wasn’t early, but I wasn’t late either. But the online audience had already made up their minds. [So Ava still hasn’t kicked her habit of acting like a diva?] [The entire cast and crew waiting for her. The nerve!] [Only our sweet Isabelle would still be able to smile at her after all that waiting!] [Ugh, get Ava off this show. She’s so annoying.] 4 I desperately wanted to roll my eyes at her. But I restrained myself. “What’s the big surprise?” I asked the host. The host gave me a mysterious smile. The large screen behind him flickered to life, displaying a screenshot of a social media post. It was from Alexander Sterling, posted just three minutes ago. Seven simple words: [Going where you are.] The accompanying image was the logo for our show. The host announced, “That’s right! Our show is honored to welcome a very special guest—the CEO of Sterling Industries, Mr. Alexander Sterling himself!” The internet exploded. [Going where you are? He’s chasing his girlfriend all the way to a reality show set!] [Remember what Isabelle just said? That he hadn’t found her yet, so she was keeping him blocked? And now he’s literally showing up on her show to win her back! This is SO romantic!] [This is a man who schedules his interviews months in advance, and he’s just dropping everything to be on a reality show. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is!] [I can’t even imagine how sweet it’s going to be when he actually gets here!] [Can I please have Isabelle’s life in my next reincarnation?] Isabelle’s reaction was a masterclass in feigned surprise. Her eyes widened, her hand flew to her mouth, and she lowered her head in a display of shy disbelief. Someone immediately teased her. “Isabelle, the man is chasing you all the way here. I think it’s time to unblock him, don’t you?” She covered her face, embarrassed. “Oh, stop! We’ll see how he behaves when he gets here~” This, of course, led to another round of excited squeals from the cast. I was utterly baffled. Did Alexander really believe Isabelle was the one? So much so that he was willing to come on a reality show for her? I couldn’t help but remember my online chats with him. Whenever he made me mad, he would wire me money. If I ignored him, he’d send me pictures of his abs. If I kept ignoring him, the waistband of his sweatpants would get progressively lower in each photo. He was definitely a charmer. But he was charming me. How had he become this puppet that Isabelle could so easily manipulate? I couldn’t stop myself. I looked directly at Isabelle. “And if he behaves, are you sure you’ll be able to unblock him?” Isabelle froze for a second, then quickly nodded. “Of course.” Another cast member, confused, turned to me. “Ava, why would you ask that?” I didn’t answer right away. If I said, Because I’m the one he was dating, would I be torn to shreds? The online audience was already starting. [What is wrong with Ava? Why would she say something so weird?] [Her jealousy is literally pouring out of the screen. She’s probably never experienced a man being that devoted to her.] [Seriously, what is there to question? Alexander is coming on the show for Isabelle!] [She’s so rude. But don’t worry, everyone. As soon as Mr. Sterling gets here, he’ll put her in her place! He’ll get her kicked off the show!] Isabelle, seeing my hesitation, seemed to regain her confidence. She straightened her back and frowned at me. “Yes, what do you mean by that? If I can’t, are you saying you can?” Her tone was challenging, her eyes glinting with defiance. “Ava, are you…” She left the sentence hanging, but the insinuation was clear. Are you jealous? Are you envious? Are you just trying to stir up trouble? Everyone turned to stare at me. The pressure was mounting, and my patience finally snapped. “Yeah, I can,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “He’s on my block list right now. Want to see?”

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They framed me for a celebrity’s death. My fiancé provided the false evidence, and my beautiful new colleague shed crocodile tears as my life went up in flames. After they destroyed my career, a crazed fan finished the job with a bottle of acid. But then, I woke up—back on the morning of the day it all went wrong. This time, the trap they’re setting for me is one they won’t be walking away from. 1 The first thing I did after I was reborn was trade my shift. When my fiancé found out, he told me I was insane. Kelsey, the beautiful new nurse, burst into tears. In my last life, it had gone so differently. A patient was rushed into the ER with acute pulmonary hypertension. He wasn’t just anyone; he was Liam Croft, Hollywood’s golden boy, fresh off a string of award season victories. A true A-lister. Every available doctor in the emergency department was pulled into the effort to save him. After the marathon surgery, my shift began. I spent the next twenty-four hours glued to his bedside, a constant vigil to ensure his stability. But just as I was about to clock out, he coded. A sudden, catastrophic event, and he was gone. That’s when Kelsey made her move. “Nora has no work ethic,” she’d announced to our superiors, her voice trembling with faux sincerity. “I know she likes to slip into the hallway to play on her phone during her shifts…” Her eyes filled with tears. “But that was a human life. How could you be so negligent?” And Ethan, my fiancé, stood right beside her. He held up his phone and played a recording of me venting after a brutal triple shift, complaining about how exhausted I was. It was his proof. “I know you’re tired of this job, Nora,” he’d said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “But that doesn’t give you the right to be reckless with people’s lives.” After that, it was a landslide. Liam Croft’s family and his legion of rabid fans ignored my desperate explanations, filing lawsuits and official complaints. The hospital fired me. The depression that followed was a suffocating blanket. Then came the “superfan” who showed up at my door with a bottle of industrial-strength drain cleaner. I died in a haze of white-hot, chemical agony. And after I died, I watched. I saw Kelsey get promoted to head nurse. I saw her marry Ethan. I saw them live a long, happy life. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back. Back on the very day Liam Croft was wheeled into our ER, fighting for his life. 1 “We need him in Trauma Room 3! Stat!” “Nora, what are you doing just standing there?” The familiar controlled chaos of the ER snapped me back to reality. The sea of blue scrubs, the rhythmic beep of monitors, the urgent, clipped voices of doctors and nurses. I saw him then, lying on the gurney being rushed past me—Liam Croft. It was real. I was reborn. And I was back on the day it all began. “Nora, if you’re not going to help, at least get out of the way,” Kelsey snapped, bumping my shoulder as she hurried to the side of our department chief, Dr. Albright, eager to make an impression. I watched her, the rage a furnace in my chest. She was the one who had destroyed my reputation, who had set the stage for my horrifying death. This time, I vowed silently, I won’t let either of you win. Dr. Albright’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the vial in Kelsey’s hand. “That’s the wrong medication! Are you trying to kill him, Kelsey? Get out!” She’d only been in the ER for three months, and her incompetence was a liability. A cold smile touched my lips. “Chief, let me,” I said, stepping forward smoothly. I pushed past a stunned Kelsey and took my place at his side. She glared at me, her face a mask of fury, before retreating from the trauma room. Just like last time, Liam’s surgery was a success. And just like last time, I was scheduled for the overnight watch. Unlike last time, the first thing I did was find the head nurse and request a shift swap. Once it was done, I drove home to my condo at Willow Creek. It was the one my parents had bought for me, paid in full. After Ethan and I got engaged, he’d made himself right at home, practically moving in. He claimed it was to take care of me, but he treated the place like it was his own. 2 In my previous life, Ethan and I had gotten together after being set up by Dr. Albright. His family was working-class, but he was ambitious and driven. We’d been dating for nearly a year, and when I told him I wanted to wait to be intimate, he said he respected my decision. Only after my death did I learn the truth: he’d been sleeping with Kelsey all along. I slept soundly and deeply in my own bed. The next morning, on my way out, I changed the code on the keypad lock to my front door. After that small act of liberation, I drove to the hospital. I had just changed into my scrubs when I ran into Kelsey in the hallway near the patient rooms. “Well, well. You’re looking surprisingly fresh for someone who just pulled an all-nighter,” she said, her tone dripping with passive-aggressive sweetness. “What moisturizer do you use? You have to tell me.” I ignored her and kept walking. She scoffed. “Did you see the news this morning? That patient from yesterday—that was Liam Croft. The Liam Croft. The one who just won a Golden Globe.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “His fans are camped outside the hospital. If anything happens to him, they’ll tear this place apart.” She paused for effect. “So, you know, whoever is watching him needs to be extremely careful. One little mistake, and it’s over for them.” Her words were laced with poison, a thinly veiled threat. It was as if she already knew something was going to happen. She’d said something similar to me in my past life, but I’d been too naive to understand. Now, I saw it clearly. Liam Croft’s death was no accident. And Kelsey was involved. As I was processing this, the hospital-wide alert blared through the speakers. A code blue. Liam Croft was crashing. Massive internal bleeding. Just like before, the hospital exploded into action. Staff from every department converged on the ICU. Kelsey, putting on a masterful performance of panic, rushed in to “help” with the resuscitation efforts. A few minutes later, she and Dr. Albright emerged from the room, their faces grim. By then, Liam’s agent, his parents, and the president of his official fan club had arrived, crowding the hallway outside the ICU. “What the hell happened?” his agent demanded. “Yesterday you people guaranteed us he was stable! What is going on?” “You swore he was out of the woods!” his mother cried. “Now he’s dying? You have to give us an answer!” Dr. Albright stood before them, his expression grave. “He was stable. His vitals were normalizing. I don’t understand how he could have declined so rapidly overnight…” His words were cut off by Liam’s father. “My God! If my son dies, this hospital will be held fully responsible!” The chief’s face darkened. As chaos erupted, Kelsey glanced at me, her eyes glinting, and spoke in a soft, concerned voice. “Nora was the one on duty last night, watching him,” she murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s hemorrhaging, and he has a high fever with signs of a severe infection. The anti-inflammatory and fever-reducing meds were supposed to be administered every three hours. If they were given on time, this shouldn’t be happening…” She let the implication hang in the air before continuing. “The only way this could happen is if the attending nurse didn’t give him his medication on schedule.” She took a deep breath, her gaze locking onto mine. “Nora, I know you like to slip into the hall to play on your phone during your shifts… but that was a human life. How could you be so negligent?” She didn’t have to say it outright. With those two sentences, she painted a target on my back. The girl I’d swapped shifts with was already home, and our head nurse was on vacation. No one else knew I hadn’t been there. “What?” Liam’s mother shrieked, her voice cracking. “You were playing on your phone while my son was dying?” His agent saw his opening. “We’re suing this hospital for everything it’s worth. You’ll all pay for this. Especially you,” he snarled, pointing a trembling finger at me. “If Liam doesn’t make it, I will destroy you.” I was about to speak, to defend myself, when the door to the ICU slid open. It was Ethan. He pulled his surgical mask down, his face a mask of professional sorrow. “He’s in shock,” he announced to the room. “We’re losing him.” The family, the agent, the fan club president—they all looked as if the world had just ended. 3 Liam Croft’s parents crumpled to the floor, their bodies wracked with sobs. His agent went pale, stumbling back against the wall. The fan club president fumbled for her phone, her fingers flying across the screen, no doubt updating her network. The scene was pure pandemonium. Just then, the hospital administrator, alerted to the crisis, arrived on the scene. And somehow, the reporters who had been camped outside had breached security. A flood of them poured into the hallway, cameras flashing, microphones extended. Seeing the media, Liam’s mother found a new surge of strength. She scrambled to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at me. “It was her!” she screamed, her voice raw with grief. “She was supposed to be watching my son, but she was playing on her phone! She didn’t give him his medicine! If my son dies, it’s on this hospital and this worthless bitch!” The cameras turned to me, a blinding volley of flashes. The reporters swarmed the administrator. “Sir, is it true your hospital is guilty of fatal negligence?” “Why would you assign such an irresponsible nurse to a high-profile patient? Was this intentional?” The administrator was speechless. Liam’s mother lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my scrubs. I could barely breathe. “You murderer!” she shrieked. “Give me back my son!” “I didn’t…” I choked out. Hearing my denial, Kelsey’s face flushed with righteous indignation. “Don’t lie, Nora. It was your shift. I saw you this morning, right in the hallway, staring at your phone.” “It wasn’t me…” Before I could explain, Ethan stepped forward, holding up his phone just as he had in my last life. “Nora, you’ve gone too far this time. As a doctor, I can’t cover for you.” He pressed play. The recording filled the tense silence—my voice, exhausted after a 72-hour stretch of shifts, complaining to him at home. I’d forgotten about that conversation. I never imagined he could be so vile as to record it. The administrator’s face turned to stone. “Nora,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” I let out a long, slow breath. “Do you all really think it was me?” I asked calmly. “Listen to her attitude!” the fan club president shouted. “Someone like her should be in jail!” The reporters and paparazzi went into another frenzy, their cameras focused on me. Ethan and Kelsey saw their moment. “There’s no use running from this, Nora,” Ethan said, his voice a perfect blend of pity and condemnation. “You brought this on yourself.” “Just confess,” Kelsey added softly. “If you fight this, it will only be worse for you.” “Nora, just tell the truth,” Ethan urged. All eyes were on me, waiting for my confession. A slow smile spread across my face. “You’re all so certain it was my fault?” “Of course it was!” Kelsey snapped. “The patient’s condition is a direct result of the attending nurse’s negligence. You can’t talk your way out of this.” Ethan turned to the administrator. “Sir, I recommend the immediate termination of the nurse on duty last night. This is criminal. Our hospital cannot protect someone like that.” I had waited so long for this. It was finally here. I didn’t get angry. I laughed. Then, in a clear, steady voice that cut through the chaos, I said, “Since you’re all so sure it’s the fault of the nurse on duty, then you should be talking to Amelia Reed. We traded shifts last night.” The words had barely left my lips when Kelsey gasped. “That’s impossible! I saw you in the hallway this morning playing on your phone!” I chuckled. “That’s because I had just gotten here and was clocking in for my shift.” I turned my gaze to Dr. Albright. “Chief, Amelia is your daughter, isn’t she? I swapped with her last night.” The effect was instantaneous. Dr. Albright’s face went rigid. Kelsey and Ethan just stood there, their mouths hanging open, looking like they’d been turned to stone.

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When my boyfriend found out I wasn’t going to grad school, he was so furious he slapped me. “Is it because I told your sister to apply to the same program as us?” I didn’t say anything, which he took as a yes. He laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Fine. Just fine. I’m trying to help you two mend fences, and you’re throwing away your future out of spite!” “From now on, don’t you come crawling back to me!” I watched him storm out, a small, secret smile on my lips. He had no idea. I had been accepted into a top-secret, highly classified Ph.D. program in aerospace engineering. The one that builds missiles for the government. It was an eight-year, fully immersive, off-the-grid commitment. I was leaving in ten days. And he was right. I was never coming back. * 1 “Why do you have to be so stubborn? She’s your sister!” Outside, the sky was a canvas of bruised, angry clouds. Inside, Mark’s face was a mirror of the storm, all impatience and frustration. “Let’s break up,” I said again, my voice flat. He just arched an eyebrow. “Chloe, do you really think you can threaten me like this?” I was taken aback. “I’m not trying to threaten—” “Enough,” he cut me off. “I don’t have time for your games. You need to cool down and think about this. I’m doing this for both of you. Ashley understands what I’m trying to do. Why can’t you?” A wave of exhaustion washed over me. “Whatever you say. But as of today, we’re done.” I turned to leave. We were in the library, and our argument was already drawing annoyed looks from the other students. But of course, that’s when Ashley appeared. She was holding a stack of books, and she looked at Mark with a wide, innocent smile. “Mark, I’m getting ready for my program interview, and there are a few things I’m not sure about. I was hoping you could help me.” I let out a short, humorless laugh and started to walk away. But Ashley’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm. “Little sister, you’re not still fighting with Mark because of me, are you?” Her face was a perfect picture of concerned helplessness. “You’re a grown-up now, Chloe. You should be more mature. We’re sisters. We’re family.” The word “sisters” was a lit match to the gasoline of my anger. “Sisters? I have no intention of being sisters with the daughter of a homewrecker.” Ashley’s face went white. “How could you say that? Even if you don’t like me, Mark is your boyfriend. He’s trying so hard to fix things between us. You should at least appreciate his efforts.” Mark shot her a look of pure, unadulterated gratitude. “Ashley, don’t waste your breath on her. She’s always been selfish. The only person she cares about is herself.” I laughed. “Oh, I’m so selfish. So selfish that when I was in the hospital with a heart condition, I actually hoped my boyfriend would come visit me instead of going on a trip with another woman. So selfish that when my boyfriend drained my bank account, I actually hoped he’d leave me enough money for food instead of spending it all on gifts for someone else. And so selfish that when I decided to go to grad school, I actually wanted to go to a good school, in a field I was passionate about, instead of listening to my boyfriend and applying to a worse school in a completely unrelated major. I’m just the worst.” Mark froze. He frowned. “Those are all minor things. Why are you so hung up on the past? Ashley is your family too. As your boyfriend, it’s my job to care about your family.” I stared at him, my voice a low, dangerous growl. “I will never, ever, consider the bastard child of the woman who killed my mother ‘family.’” “Okay, okay, it’s all my fault,” Ashley said, her voice full of a tragic, self-sacrificing drama. “I’ll stay away from you two from now on. Don’t let me ruin your relationship.” She turned and walked away, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Mark’s face was a mask of fury. “Look what you’ve done! I’m telling you, Chloe, after what you just said, you could get on your knees and beg, and I would never take you back.” He turned and ran after her. I just stood there and laughed. Take me back? Don’t worry, Mark. I’m never coming back. 2 I went back to my dorm and packed my books. A few minutes later, a picture from Ashley appeared in the family group chat. In the photo, she and Mark were sitting close together, their heads touching as they looked at the same book. The caption read: “Every single second I get to study with you is a treasure.” My relatives, who had no idea what was going on, started commenting. “Is this Ashley’s new boyfriend? He’s so handsome!” “They make a beautiful couple!” “Ashley is just like her mother. So charming. All the boys must be in love with her.” That last comment seemed to cast a spell. The chat went silent. A few minutes later, another message from Ashley appeared. “Oops, wrong chat! My bad. I can’t delete it now, so just pretend you didn’t see it. Mark and I are just friends.” I fought the urge to leave the group chat and just turned my phone off. But the screen lit up again. It was a message from Mark. *If you really don’t want to go into Ashley’s field, you can just apply again next year. To whatever you want.* I just laughed and blocked his number. I was exhausted. All I wanted was to sleep. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen. It was the end of the semester, and everyone was going their separate ways. It was a never-ending parade of goodbye dinners and parties. Tonight was the last meeting of the kickboxing club. 3 When I walked into the private room at the restaurant, it was already packed. The air was thick with the smell of beer and loud chatter. I found a quiet corner and sat down, partially hidden by a large plant. No one noticed me. And no one noticed that I could clearly hear the conversation from the booth next to ours. It was Mark. He sighed dramatically. “I really tried my best.” “When I found out she didn’t get into any grad programs, I was so worried. I even texted her and told her to try again next year. And she just blocked me.” A few sympathetic sighs from his audience. A girl’s voice piped up. “Mark, you’re just too nice. She doesn’t deserve you. She’s the one who didn’t try hard enough, and she’s taking it out on you. So ungrateful.” Mark’s voice dropped even lower. “Maybe it was the way I said it. But still, I was just trying to help her. I was trying to mend her relationship with her family, to plan for her future. And she just threw it all back in my face.” I squeezed my glass, my knuckles turning white. I should have known this was a bad idea. I stood up, ready to say a quick goodbye and get out of there. But as I took a step, someone stumbled into me. It was Ashley. She was holding an empty wine glass, a look of fake surprise on her face. “Oh, little sister! You’re here!” she said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. The wine from her glass had soaked the front of my white dress. She looked at the stain, then laughed. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t see you. But I’m sure you don’t mind, right? You bought this dress for your grad school interviews, and since you didn’t get in… it’s not like you’ll need it anymore. When you finally do get in, I’ll buy you a new one.” A few people snickered. I looked down at the spreading stain. “I do mind,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “This dress was six hundred dollars. Cash or Venmo?” The smile on Ashley’s face froze. “We’re sisters. You don’t have to be so petty, do you?” She put on that familiar, cloying smile. “I’ll buy you a new one. Next time Mark and I go shopping.” I knew she never would. It was her signature move. Ever since she’d moved in with my dad, she’d “accidentally” broken countless things of mine, always promising to replace them. But when I’d ask, she’d just raise her voice. “Are you still hung up on that? You’re so petty. You’re just like your mother. And you know what happens to petty people like her? They die young.” Her words still echoed in my ears. I pulled out my phone and opened my Venmo app. “Now. Six hundred dollars.” Ashley’s face finally crumbled. “Do you have to be like this? It’s just a dress…” Just then, Mark appeared, stepping between us. He looked at me with a profound disappointment. “Do you really have to make a scene? Ashley said she’d replace it. Why are you being so aggressive? And besides, your mother left you plenty of money. Why are you so obsessed with Ashley?! Chloe, don’t take it too far.” He frowned, his face a mask of righteous indignation. The same expression I had once found so charming. Now, it just made me sick. I looked at the two of them, standing side by side. “So, she ‘accidentally’ bumps into me and ruins my dress, and I’m the one who’s supposed to just take it?” Mark faltered. “That’s not what I’m saying… but can’t you just be the bigger person?” Behind him, Ashley was smiling a triumphant little smile. 4 Suddenly, Matt, the president of the kickboxing club, was at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, we’re all friends here. Let’s not fight over something so silly.” He turned to Ashley. “Ashley, you did ruin her dress. You should pay for it.” Then he gave me a look. “Chloe, just calm down.” Ashley reluctantly took out her phone and scanned my Venmo code. “Six hundred dollars. Sent. Are you happy now?” she said, her voice full of a sullen resentment. I looked at the notification on my phone, then at Mark’s disapproving face. I felt no satisfaction at all. How had we ended up here? He used to be so different. He used to love me. He used to put me first. My sophomore year, he’d spent a whole day driving all over the city just to find a signed copy of my favorite author’s book. He’d said my eyes lit up when I read, and he wanted to protect that light. He hated ballet, but because my mother had been a dancer, he’d sat through countless performances with me, just to help me feel close to her. We had made so many plans, so many promises. And then… he met Ashley. The signed book was “accidentally” ruined by a spilled glass of water. Mark had stopped me from getting angry. “She didn’t mean to. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” For our group project, he’d added Ashley to our team without even asking me. She’d changed my data, and we were disqualified. Half a year of my work, gone. Mark just told me to be more understanding. “She was just trying to help. She had good intentions.” He’d promised to go to a ballet with me, but then Ashley called, saying she had a stomach ache, and he’d rushed to the hospital, leaving me waiting in the rain for three hours. Later, I saw them outside the hospital, arm in arm, laughing and eating ice cream. When he saw me, he’d just frowned. “Are you following me? Ashley wasn’t feeling well. Can’t you be more considerate? You can watch a hundred ballets, it’s not going to bring your mother back to life. What’s the point of watching all that depressing stuff anyway?” The memories flashed through my mind, each one a fresh wave of ice in my veins. I turned and walked out of the restaurant without another word. Mark called after me. I didn’t turn back. And he didn’t follow.

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My sister gave birth, then skipped the country. So I took the baby she’d abandoned, walked into the lion’s den, and claimed I was the woman who’d spent one-night with the Thorne family heir. And it worked. I parlayed a baby into a life of luxury, becoming the new Mrs. Thorne. Seven years later, my sister came back. She wrapped the boy in a gentle hug, looked at me, and smiled. “You’ve been playing my part long enough,” she said. “It’s time to give it back.” I was quiet for a long time. Then I agreed, with only one condition. “Give me enough money to disappear,” I told her. “Wait until I’m settled somewhere far away before you tell everyone the truth.” Because if Julian Thorne, with his infamous temper and long memory, found out I’d deceived him for seven years… well, he wouldn’t just divorce me. He’d destroy me. 1 “Mom.” Leo was standing at the door, his little backpack slung over his shoulder. “Hey, sweetie.” I smiled and walked over, ruffling his hair. “Tough day at school?” “There was a lady,” he said, his eyes full of uncertainty. “She said she was your sister.” I froze. It took me a second to find my voice. “She looked a little like you,” Leo said, grabbing my hand. “But when I called her ‘auntie,’ she got weird. She said she wasn’t my aunt.” My fingers trembled. “What else did she say?” My voice was a dry rasp. “She told me to tell you I saw her,” he answered dutifully. “And that you’d know how to get in touch.” I leaned against the wall, the world tilting under my feet. Seven years ago. Isabelle had just given birth to Leo and was dead set on leaving. Without the baby. I’d tried to stop her. “You haven’t even recovered from childbirth… Why don’t you just take the baby to the Thornes? He’s their flesh and blood, they won’t turn you away.” Isabelle’s voice cracked. “They never even wanted this baby! I kept him a secret. Do you think they’d ever respect me? Ever let me through the door? The best I could hope for is they take the baby and kick me to the curb!” I didn’t know what to say. “So, what about him?” Her face was stone. “He’ll just hold me back if I take him abroad. Just… leave him on the steps of an orphanage or something.” And then she was gone. On a cold winter day, she left me, and she left her son. I was so broke back then, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abandon this tiny, wrinkled little person. So I bundled him up, took a bus to the richest part of town, and walked up to the gates of the Thorne estate. I ignored the looks I got—the suspicion, the contempt, the pity. I just said, “I need to see Julian Thorne. I’ve had his child.” It didn’t happen the way Isabelle predicted. They didn’t throw me out. In fact, they invited me in. A DNA test was ordered before I could even sit down. When Julian Thorne finally got home, his mother, the family matriarch, announced coolly, “It seems the Thorne family has an heir.” The man was tall and lean, radiating an unnerving stillness. He gave me a single, dismissive glance. I immediately looked down, my heart pounding. My whole plan was based on one detail Isabelle had told me: it was dark. She and Julian had been in a dark room. He’d never gotten a clear look at her face. But now, with this intensely intimidating man standing right in front of me, I felt my confidence shrivel. I was sure he’d see right through me. Thankfully, Julian didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at the baby. His mother cleared her throat. “This young woman went through a lot, carrying this child for nine months…” “I’ll marry her,” Julian cut in. The room went silent. I stared at him, dumbfounded. My only plan was to make sure the baby was safe with his real family. I hadn’t thought for a second about what would happen to me. The silence stretched on. Julian’s gaze finally landed on my face, cool and unreadable. “I made the mess,” he said. “I’ll clean it up.” His mother considered this for a moment, rubbing her temples. “Fine. Do what you want. Start planning the wedding.” In that moment, I clutched the fabric of my cheap dress so hard my knuckles turned white. I had no idea what his angle was. He could have any woman he wanted. There was a line of socialites in this city who would kill to be Leo’s stepmother. But he chose me, a woman who supposedly hid his child from him for nine months. Was it for the baby? To give him a complete family? I couldn’t know. But I was just a poor, unlucky girl, and the chance to marry into a world of unbelievable wealth was staring me in the face. I couldn’t turn it down. Besides, the baby was my nephew, my own blood. So, I lifted my chin and met Julian’s gaze with a small, determined smile. “I’ll be a good wife,” I promised. “And a good mother.” And just like that, a lie was born. And it lasted for seven years. 2 “You’re a million miles away.” Julian’s arm was around my waist. He tilted his head, his expression calm and observant. I snapped back to reality, leaning into him. “I was just thinking about Leo,” I murmured. “He’s lost a little weight. He’s going to waste away if he gets any thinner.” Julian frowned, a cool edge to his voice. “You spend too much time focused on him.” With that, he tipped my chin up and kissed me, a possessive move that left no room for argument. He didn’t stop until I was breathless. Then, he pulled me onto his lap. He looked down at me, his eyes sharp. “You’ve got something on your mind.” His perceptiveness always terrified me. But I had my defenses ready. I went back to my usual script. “Leo’s teacher told me he’s having a hard time making friends at school. Do you think… maybe we should find a child psychologist? I’m worried he’s…” “Ava,” Julian cut me off, his eyes dark pools. “You need to get a life of your own.” I paused, then sighed. “Okay.” I sat there on his lap, watching his long fingers fly across the keyboard as he worked. He didn’t press the issue, and I’d dodged another bullet. But Isabelle was back. There was no dodging that. All she had to do was show the Thornes a DNA test proving she was Leo’s mother, and my entire world would shatter. I, the impostor, would be exposed. Days had passed, and I still hadn’t contacted her. I twisted my fingers in my lap, taking a deep breath, then letting it out. In, out. In, out. Julian finally slammed his laptop shut, his patience gone. He narrowed his eyes. “Forget about Leo for a minute. You should be more worried about yourself.” The moment his hand slid up under my nightgown, my mind went clear. I tried to push him away. “Wait, wait, I just remembered I have to—I have to bake something for Leo…” He caught both my wrists with one hand, pinning them above my head. Then he used his other hand to pull the hem of my nightgown up, motioning for me to bite down on the fabric. He smirked. “Too many words, sweetheart.” I glared at him, my protests muffled. He held my hips, his voice a low rumble. “Just like that. It’s cute.” 3 I don’t know how much time passed. I was sprawled on the couch, feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. Julian was already dressed, looking as cool and pristine as ever. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’m heading to the office. Don’t wait up for dinner.” I nodded, too tired to speak. My relationship with Julian was strange. It was more than a marriage of convenience—there were moments of sweetness, of intimacy—but it was far from a passionate love affair. He rarely ate dinner at home and almost never asked about Leo. The only warmth between us seemed reserved for moments like these. And even then, it was fleeting. Outside of the bedroom, we didn’t have much to talk about. I was dozing on the sofa in the master bedroom when I heard the front door open downstairs. Leo was home from school. I slipped on my slippers and went downstairs. “Leo? How come you’re so late to—” My voice died in my throat. Isabelle was standing in the doorway, holding Leo’s hand. My lips moved, but no sound came out. Finally, I managed one word: “Isabelle.” Leo beamed at me. “Mom, she took me to the amusement park after school!” I forced a smile and walked toward him, crouching down to squeeze his cheek. “Was the housekeeper with you? And the driver?” He nodded. “Okay, good,” I said, my voice strained. “But next time, please have them call me first, okay?” Leo nodded again. “I have to say,” Isabelle said suddenly, her voice cool. “You’re surprisingly good at this whole mom thing.” I looked up at her. She hadn’t changed much in seven years. She wore a stylish trench coat and carried a designer bag, looking a world away from the desperate woman who’d fled the city all those years ago. I didn’t answer. She pulled Leo into a gentle hug, then looked at me. “You’ve been playing my part long enough,” she said. “It’s time to give it back.” Her tone was soft enough that Leo didn’t notice anything was wrong. He just blinked, confused. “What part?” I flinched, my fists clenching at my sides. Isabelle leaned in, her voice a whisper only I could hear. “We’re sisters. I’m not going to make a scene about you impersonating me and stealing my life. But if you try to fight me on this, you have no chance of winning.” She straightened up, patting Leo’s shoulder and giving me a tight smile. “Leo,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Did you have fun today?” Leo’s personality was a lot like Julian’s—quiet and reserved. But for once, he had a little smile on his face. He glanced up at Isabelle. “Yeah.” “So…” I struggled to get the words out. “The parent-teacher conference is the day after tomorrow. If… if both of us could go, who would you want to go with you?” He paused. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and took Isabelle’s hand. I was silent for a long time. Then I patted his back. “Go on up to your room and start your homework, okay?” After Leo was gone, Isabelle and I just stood there, staring at each other. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I’ll leave. Just give me enough money to get settled somewhere far away. Once I’m gone for good, you can tell them the truth.” Otherwise, knowing Julian’s vengeful nature… he would destroy me for lying to him for seven years. Isabelle frowned. “How much?” “I raised your son for seven years,” I said, taking a step back. “A million dollars.” She scoffed. “And here I was almost feeling sorry for you. Selling a child for cash. Classy.” I just stared at her. After a few tense minutes, she said, “Fine. But I only have two hundred thousand right now. It’s enough to get you started. I’ll send you the rest after everything is settled.” “Okay,” I whispered. 4 That night, Julian texted me: *Not coming home tonight.* *Okay, honey,* I typed back, short and sweet. He replied a second later: *?* I stared at the question mark. Usually, when he told me he wasn’t coming home, I’d lay on the “good wife” act. *Don’t work too hard, darling. I’ll be waiting up for you. Will you be home tomorrow?* That kind of thing. But my contract as the perfect wife and mother was about to expire. I was done pretending. I stretched and started packing. As I started filling suitcases, I realized I didn’t want to leave anything behind. The clothes, the jewelry, the bags… they were all precious to me. I had five large trunks sent up to the room. I got so lost in the process that I didn’t even notice when Julian opened the door and leaned against the frame, watching me. It wasn’t until all five trunks were packed and I was stretching my aching back that I looked up and met his deep, unreadable eyes. I froze. “Uh… hi, honey. Good evening. I thought you weren’t coming home?” A slow, terrifying smile spread across his lips. “If I hadn’t, where were you planning on going?” “Oh!” I forced a laugh. “I’ve just been so worried about Leo lately, I haven’t been sleeping well. I decided I needed to get away for a little while, clear my head…” Julian just stared at me for a long moment. But then, unexpectedly, he didn’t press me. He just nodded. “Fine.” I bit my lip. “While I’m gone, you should spend more time with Leo. He’s so quiet, and you two barely talk. And tell the kitchen to make him more steak, he’s a growing boy…” “Ava,” Julian cut me off, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Even without you here, nobody in this house is going to let him starve.” I faltered. “…Right.” There were other things I wanted to say. That I’d been happy here. That his mother had always been kind to me, and that Leo was a wonderful kid. And that I would miss Julian. But I wasn’t the woman he’d slept with that night. And I certainly wasn’t Leo’s mother. I’d had seven years of playing house in a billionaire’s mansion. It was more than I ever deserved. But why… why did it still hurt so much? Julian turned to leave. “Stay away for a while,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t rush back.” He walked toward his study without a backward glance. My fingers curled into fists. “Okay,” I whispered. 5 The flight was over fourteen hours. The moment I landed and turned on my phone, I got a picture from Isabelle. Leo was sitting next to her, drawing quietly. In the picture he was drawing, a woman with long, wavy hair was holding a cup of coffee. It was Isabelle. I stared at it for a long time. It made sense, I guess. The bond between a mother and child is primal. It was only natural they’d be drawn to each other. *I wish you both happiness,* I texted back. I meant it. Her reply came instantly: *You did a mediocre job raising him.* I wanted to defend myself, to tell her that I had poured my entire soul into being Leo’s mother and Julian’s wife. But I knew she would just see it as an attack. So I deleted my angry response and simply wrote: *Well, he has you now. You can make up for all my mistakes.* She didn’t reply. I settled in a small town on the coast of Portugal. I didn’t know a soul and had to rely on a translation app to get by, but the scenery was as beautiful as a postcard. A few days later, a text came from Julian. *Leo really likes one of his new tutors. I’ve asked her to stay on.* *A live-in tutor?* I asked. *Yes.* I typed: *Okay.* I didn’t need to ask who it was. And it was for the best. It would give them a chance to bond. Isabelle, whose social media had been dormant for years, suddenly started posting pictures of Leo. In them, the little boy would even offer the camera a shy smile. I’d always just thought he was a serious kid. I turned off my phone. For the first few days, I was completely lost. For seven years, my life had revolved around Julian and Leo. I had no time for myself. Suddenly faced with endless free time, I didn’t know what to do other than study the local language. Slowly, methodically, I deleted every picture of Leo from my phone. I forwarded all the contact information for his school and his teachers to Isabelle. Then, I saw it on a gossip site. A picture of Julian and Isabelle walking together, looking very much like a couple. The headline speculated about the chic magazine editor who had captured the elusive billionaire’s attention. Isabelle, it turned out, had become quite successful abroad. The fashion world was buzzing, calling them a “power couple.” I blinked slowly. My chest felt hollow. Of course they were a power couple. They even had a child together. 6 The day the rest of the money hit my account, I moved fast. I logged out of all my social media accounts, deleted them, and swapped the SIM card in my phone for a new one I’d bought weeks ago. Sure enough, just a few hours after the wire transfer went through, the news broke. #ThorneHeir’sRealMotherRevealed was trending everywhere. But by then, no one could reach me. The money was already in a new, untraceable account. I pushed down the complicated knot of feelings in my stomach and took a bite of a warm pastry. The divorce papers I’d signed and left in my bedside table had surely been delivered to Julian by now. From now on, the world was wide open. And I was no longer Mrs. Thorne.

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After my divorce, I paid five million for the city’s most sought-after woman. Money truly does buy perfection. She introduced me to undreamed-of pleasures. A photo of us entangled on my balcony went viral overnight. The following morning, my ex-wife Seraphina appeared. After having the woman dragged away, she turned on me, her voice sharp. “Did she touch you there?” I grinned recklessly. “Lips, chest, everywhere you used to love.” Fury ignited in her eyes. She ordered her guards, “Break her legs and dump her with the beggars.” I shrugged. “Do whatever you want.” This began three years ago. My friend Harry, a renowned surgeon, called, furious I’d hidden a terminal illness and let our daughter donate her liver to save me. I was baffled, holding a clean health report. He sent a video of our daughter Zoey in a hospital bed, proudly declaring her wish to save me. My blood ran cold. I immediately canceled my wife and daughter’s credit cards and filed for divorce, renouncing custody. Let her be the ‘filial’ daughter she so wanted to be. … Following the address Harry sent, I raced to a private hospital on the outskirts of the city. Harry, having just rushed from the airport himself, met me at the entrance, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. I cut him off before he could speak. “No time for questions. We’re going to catch a cheater.” As we approached the VIP floor, we were stopped by security. “Sorry, sirs. This entire floor has been reserved by Mrs. Sterling for her husband’s liver transplant. No unauthorized personnel allowed.” Harry’s brow furrowed as he looked me up and down. “Mrs. Sterling… isn’t that your wife? Ethan, are you seriously not sick? Don’t hide this from me, man. If you’re ill, I’m the one who can fix it.” I shot him an irritated look. “You’re the one who needs his head checked.” Then, I turned to the guard, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m a… friend of Seraphina Sterling. I’m here to see her husband, Ethan, and their daughter, Zoey.” The guard let out a derisive snort. “You don’t even know the husband’s name and you’re trying to claim you’re a friend? Listen, pal, Mrs. Sterling’s husband is Caleb Goblin. Heir to the entire Linwood Enterprises fortune.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve seen plenty of guys like you, trying to suck up by bringing gifts. Just leave whatever you brought and get lost. Don’t cause trouble.” Harry’s frown deepened. “Linwood Enterprises? Isn’t that your family’s company? And who the hell is Caleb Goblin?” Rage coiled in my gut. The pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture more hideous than I could have imagined. Caleb Goblin. Seraphina’s closest confidant, her “best friend.” And, apparently, the man my daughter Zoey now called “Dad.” The realization hit Harry like a physical blow. His eyes widened in disbelief as he finally understood the gravity of the situation. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his credentials. “I’m the lead surgeon for this operation. I just flew in from an international conference.” The guards exchanged uncertain glances. The name and face on the ID were unmistakable. They stepped aside, their arrogance replaced by a nervous deference. The hallway outside the VIP suite was bustling with people. It was impossible to miss them. Seraphina was clinging to Caleb’s arm, the two of them basking in the congratulations and well-wishes of the crowd. “Mr. Goblin, Mrs. Sterling, you two are the perfect couple! So much in love, it makes us all envious!” “What’s truly admirable is the wonderful, devoted daughter you’ve raised!” “She’s so young, yet willing to risk her own life to save her father! She’s truly Daddy’s little girl!” Caleb beamed, his chest puffed out with pride. “What can I say? I’m a total sucker for my daughter. I had to beg Seraphina to try out eighteen different positions before we finally conceived her!” I flinched. Seraphina had always been conservative, almost frigid, in our marriage. Any talk of intimacy was met with a cold stare and accusations of being shameless. But now? She wasn’t angry at all. A blush crept up her cheeks as she playfully slapped his arm. “How can you say something like that in public?” Caleb wrapped his arm around her slim waist, his hand roaming freely. “Am I wrong? I worked my ass off to give you our precious Zoey. I’d say I’m the real hero here!” The crowd erupted in laughter. Someone even jokingly asked him to share his “advanced techniques.” Caleb just laughed, pulling Seraphina closer as if to demonstrate. In that instant, something inside me snapped. “You bastard!” I lunged forward, my fist connecting with Caleb’s jaw in a solid, satisfying crunch. It happened so fast no one had time to react. Seraphina cried out, rushing to steady Caleb as he stumbled back. Her eyes, when they found me, were filled with venom. “Who the hell has the nerve to lay a hand on my husband?” Zoey, who had been resting in the adjacent room, came running out. “Dad, are you okay?” The moment she saw me, both her and Seraphina’s faces froze. Zoey instinctively shrank back. A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Seraphina, you’ve really outdone yourself. How dare you let my daughter donate her liver to your lover?” The words hung in the air, sucking all the sound from the hallway. A dead silence fell. Dozens of pairs of eyes darted between me and Zoey, flickering with shock and morbid curiosity. “Did he just say… the girl is his daughter?” “Then what about Mr. Goblin? Is Mrs. Sterling cheating on him?” The whispers grew, and Seraphina’s face flushed a deep, angry red. “What kind of nonsense are you spouting? Zoey is Caleb’s daughter! Who gave you the right to slander us?” she shrieked, tightening her grip on Caleb’s arm. “Ethan, I’m begging you, stop harassing me! I’ve told you a hundred times, I have a husband and a child now…” Caleb, recovering, shot me a smug look and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t let his pathetic attempts to stir up trouble get to me. After all, you spend every night finding new ways to please me in bed, except for a few days a month. When would you even have the energy to cheat?” His words were a masterstroke. In a few sentences, he’d painted me as the obsessive, delusional homewrecker. The crowd’s gaze shifted, now burning with contempt and disgust. I was so furious I could only laugh. “Seraphina, look me in the eye and say it again. Who is the one wrecking a home here? Who is Zoey’s real father?” Harry, his face a mask of thunder, stepped forward. “This is absolute madness! Without the consent of her biological father, Ethan, none of you have the right to authorize Zoey to donate an organ to anyone!” Caleb scoffed. “And who the hell are you? Nobody asked for your opinion.” Seraphina took a deep, steadying breath, her decision made. “Let me make this perfectly clear, one last time. My husband is Caleb Goblin. Zoey is our daughter,” she declared, her voice ringing with finality. “And you, Ethan… don’t think I don’t see your sick little game. You’re trying to sabotage my husband’s surgery so you can swoop in when he’s gone, aren’t you? Pathetic. Guards, get them out of here!” The onlookers gasped, a wave of understanding—the wrong understanding—rippling through them. “That homewrecker is disgusting! He knows Mr. Goblin is about to have surgery. This is practically attempted murder!” “What are you all waiting for? Someone call the police!” “Thank God we didn’t fall for his lies. Can you imagine the fury of Linwood Enterprises if we’d delayed the surgery?” Caleb shook his head with a theatrical sigh, his eyes locking onto mine with pure provocation. “I guess it’s my own fault for having such an irresistible wife,” he said. “But I’m afraid you’re out of luck, Ethan. Seraphina’s heart belongs only to me. To be honest, I didn’t want Zoey to go through this either. But she loves her daddy so much, she begged and cried until I agreed to let her donate.” My entire body trembled with a rage so profound it felt like it would tear me apart. “Are you even human? She’s only fourteen!” Though two of Seraphina’s bodyguards had grabbed my arms, I broke free with a surge of adrenaline and drove my foot into Caleb’s stomach. His face went white, and he crumpled to the floor, clutching his middle. “Seraphina… I… it hurts so much! Am I… am I going to die before I can even have the surgery?” Seraphina scrambled to his side, her voice a raw scream of fury directed at me. “Hold him down!” The guards, given their order, no longer held back. They seized my arms and slammed me face-first onto the ground. My cheek slammed against the cold, sterile floor with a sickening crack. The taste of blood filled my mouth. “Seraphina, are you insane? You’re doing this to me, for him?” Ignoring me, she handed Caleb over to the nurses and stalked toward me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She snatched a rubber baton from one of the guards and brought it down on my head with all her strength. A searing, white-hot pain exploded across my skull. Blood trickled down, blurring my vision. Then, she planted her high heel on the back of my head, grinding it into the floor. “If anything happens to Caleb’s surgery,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, “I will have your life.”

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So, I hired someone to sit in my lecture for me. Minor problem: I accidentally hired a guy. When the professor called my name, “Chloe Reed?” a dude’s voice boomed from the back, “Here!” The professor squinted. “Chloe Reed… grew a beard?” The guy froze for a second, then his brain kicked into high gear. “Actually,” he said smoothly, “I’m her boyfriend. She’s sick, so she asked me to record the lecture for her. She’s super dedicated, didn’t want to fall behind.” The whole lecture hall buzzed. Then, from the front row, Dylan Sterling stood up. He gave the guy a polite, tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, but *I’m* Chloe Reed’s boyfriend,” he said, his voice dripping with ice. “Who are you?” Here’s the thing about Dylan: he’s the golden boy of the Computer Science department. A campus legend. And me? I’m the ghost hovering on the edge of failing. We hadn’t seen each other in a month. His first words to me weren’t “I miss you.” They were: “Chloe, if you don’t get serious, you’re just going to end up as a burnout, stuck in the mud.” He checked his watch three times while saying it. Like every second spent with me was a waste of his precious, billable hours. I just nodded, my voice surprisingly calm. “You’re right. I’m a burnout. I don’t deserve you. Let’s break up.” To finally get away from him, I’d asked the class-sitter to pretend to be my new boyfriend. After Dylan stormed off and the breakup was official, my fake boyfriend’s eyes lit up. “Awesome! So… does this mean the boyfriend position is officially open?” * 1 My phone buzzed while I was in the art studio, where I’d been parked for a solid ten hours, lost in a painting. It was my roommate, Sarah. “Chloe, you have to check the campus gossip blog! You’re famous!” she shrieked. “And maybe you should, like, call Dylan and explain?” I flexed my stiff, paint-splattered fingers and pulled up the site. The top post was a video. There it was: the professor calling my name, the random guy answering, the professor’s confusion, and his “brilliant” ad-lib about being my devoted boyfriend. Followed, of course, by my *actual* boyfriend doing a live fact-check. The comments were a dumpster fire of hilarity. > *【Did the CS golden boy just get played? LMAO】* > *【Dude was 100% a hired gun from ClassPal. Epic fail.】* > *【A for effort, F for execution. Didn’t count on the real BF being in the same class. Ouch.】* I buried my face in my hands and pulled up the chat with the guy I’d hired. Me: You might have mentioned you were a GUY. The plan was simple. I’d hire a girl from the app, she’d wear a mask, sit in the back, and the professor, who knew our faces but not our souls, would be none the wiser. The profile on the app said female, so I didn’t think twice. He replied instantly. Him: Omg I am SO sorry! It was my first time doing this, I totally messed up the process. 😿 Him: I just panicked! I had no idea your boyfriend was in there! 😭😭 Him: I explained it to him after, I don’t think he’s mad anymore? No drama caused, I promise! 🙏 Him: Seriously, I feel terrible. Let me buy you dinner or something to make up for it? 😥 I clicked off the screen and sighed. This was bad. Now Dylan was going to be furious about me skipping class again. It’s what started the massive fight a month ago that led to us giving each other the silent treatment. 2 Dylan and I grew up across the street from each other. He was always the intense, self-disciplined kid, while I was… not. When other kids were playing tag, he was dragging me inside to do my homework. He’d stand over me, his face dead serious. “You got this wrong. Write it out ten times.” It was torture. In high school, he engineered it so we were lab partners and sat together in every class, constantly pushing me. “You have to work hard, Chloe. We’ll go to Blackwood University *together*.” He’d always say that, his ears turning a little red on the “together” part, this tiny crack in his usual cool, calm facade. For that one word, “together,” I studied like my life depended on it. And we did it. We both got into Blackwood’s top-ranked Computer Science program. My parents practically cried with joy. They said Dylan was a godsend, the only reason I hadn’t “veered off track and ruined my future.” The day I got my acceptance letter, everyone was celebrating. But on that sunny July afternoon, I felt like I’d been plunged into an icy lake. I was shaking uncontrollably. Because in the list of majors I had painstakingly submitted on my application, Computer Science was nowhere to be found. And my scores were way too high to have been auto-assigned. Someone had changed my application. 3 Day one of college, I knew I hated coding. The rigid logic, the endless rules—it felt like a cage. So I started skipping. A lot. I found the campus art studio and secretly started teaching myself how to paint. I couldn’t let Dylan know. But you can’t hide something like that forever. When he found out I was ditching Data Structures for charcoal sketches, he just frowned, his voice clipped. “That’s a waste of time.” He sounded exactly like my parents. The big blow-up last month happened because I’d officially filed the paperwork to transfer my major to Fine Arts. Dylan was livid. He said I was being impulsive, throwing my future away. In that moment, I just felt exhausted. I didn’t have the energy to try to make him understand anymore. 4 I stared at Dylan’s name in my contact list. Our last texts were from a month ago. I took a deep breath and started typing. Me: Hey Dyl, guess what today is! ✨ No response. Me: If you don’t guess right, the penalty is one kiss. 😘 An hour passed. Me: Okay, okay, I know you’re just pretending not to know so you can get that kiss. 😉 Me: It’s World Oceans Day! We should get dinner to celebrate! Me: Where are you? I can come find youuuu. I felt a familiar frustration bubbling up. I was practically waving a white flag, and he couldn’t even be bothered to text back. I sat in the dining hall, eating with one hand and refreshing my phone with the other, just in case the bad campus Wi-Fi was delaying his reply. I dragged out my meal for over an hour. Crickets. 5 I ended up texting one of Dylan’s roommates, who told me he was at the lab. When I got there, he was hunched over a monitor, debugging code, completely in his element. “Dylan!” I waved, trying to sound cheerful. His head snapped up. He glanced at me, then quickly looked away, trying to act casual. “What are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around his from behind and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Hey, you. Let’s not be mad anymore, okay? I’m sorry.” The tips of his ears turned that faint shade of pink I knew so well. The icy wall he’d built up started to melt. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Sorry for what?” “…Let’s go get dinner,” I said, dodging the question. “You have dark circles under your eyes. You pulled another all-nighter, didn’t you? You probably haven’t even eaten.” Just as I was about to steer him out the door, his expression hardened again. “Excuse me, you two,” a voice cut in. “He can’t really leave for dinner yet.” I turned. It was Mia, Dylan’s go-to partner for every hackathon and competition. She gave me a smile that felt more like a baring of teeth. “There’s a major competition deadline coming up. Dylan and I really have to grind this out. Sorry, but he can’t go with you.” She gestured to some takeout containers on a desk. “I already ordered food. It’ll be here any minute. You’re welcome to stay, if you want.” There was an undercurrent of smugness in her tone that rubbed me the wrong way. But Dylan had told me how important this competition was. “Oh. Okay, then I won’t bother you guys.” I turned back to Dylan. “Well, text me when you’re not so busy. We can get dinner then.” All I got was a faint “Mm-hmm.” Mia smiled. “Okay, see you around!” The last thing I saw before the lab door clicked shut was Dylan and Mia leaning in close together, pointing at the same screen, completely in sync. A sour knot formed in my stomach. 6 It turns out “not so busy” was a time that never came. Another month went by after that day at the lab. Not a single text from him. I heard from his roommate that he was basically living in the lab. Ever since we got to college, he was always *busy*. Too busy to text back. Way too busy to text first. This past month, I’d thrown myself into my painting and hadn’t reached out to him either. The result? A month of absolute silence. It was hard to believe we were even in the same major, let alone the same city. We were living in two different universes. His was a world of GPAs, research, and competitions. Mine was a world of skipping class to mess with oil paints. He was collecting awards and becoming the CS department’s golden boy. I was collecting warnings from my academic advisor and trying not to flunk out. When had we drifted so far apart? 7 I finally broke down and called him. While the phone was ringing, a notification popped up in my dorm’s group chat. I tapped on it. It was a link to the university’s newsletter. The headline was about Dylan and Mia winning first place in that big competition. The photo showed the two of them on stage, holding a trophy, beaming. They looked good together. Powerful. My roommate had tagged me: *【@Chloe Your BF is a freaking genius!】* Before I could even type a reply, another notification appeared—a recommended article from a news app. *【Power Couple of STEM: Blackwood’s Finest Secure Early Admission to Prestigious Grad Program…】* I slammed the “dislike” button on the article, but a wave of sadness washed over me anyway. Suddenly, the call connected. Dylan’s tired voice came through the line. “What’s up?” My mind was still stuck on that headline. The words tumbled out, sounding more hurt than I intended. “Dylan, why haven’t you talked to me? I just saw that you and—” “Busy,” he cut me off. “…Okay. Well, can you make time for dinner with me?” “Where.” “Just the dining hall. It’ll be quick, I won’t take up too much of your time. Five o’clock?” “Fine.” “See you there?” “Yep.” He hung up. 8 I stood outside the dining hall for an hour and twenty-one minutes. Dylan finally showed up as the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the quad. “Sorry,” he said, not breaking his stride. “Something came up.” I opened my mouth to ask, *Couldn’t you have sent a text?* but I clamped it shut. I didn’t want to start a fight. We were finally together. I got in line for the build-your-own noodle bowl station while he went to the grab-and-go section for a pre-packaged salad. It was his usual. No line, fast to eat. For a genius like him, even eating was a waste of time. By the time I sat down with my steaming bowl, he was already halfway done. He glanced at my food and frowned slightly but said nothing. My noodles were piping hot, so I carefully picked out the cilantro I hated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dylan lift his wrist and check his watch. *One.* I started a silent count. It was a habit of his, something he started in high school—timing how long a meal took. When he finished his salad, he glanced at his watch again. *Two.* I pretended not to notice the impatient tapping of his foot. I tried to fill the silence, to connect with him. “Hey, so the school is having a student art show,” I said, trying to sound excited. “And even though I’m not an art major or anything, one of my paintings got accepted! I was so—” He lifted his wrist. A third, pointed look at his watch. It was like every single second he had to spend with me, listening to my stupid little life, was an agony he had to endure. 9 “Chloe, if you don’t get serious, you’re just going to end up as a burnout, stuck in the mud.” After a month of silence, that was the first real sentence he’d said to me. I slowly swallowed the noodles in my mouth. I looked up, meeting his cold, impatient gaze. “You’re right,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “I’m a burnout. And I don’t deserve you.” “Let’s break up.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385260”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Rich Blackwood’s younger brother was filming a reality dating show at the family estate. And as it turned out, Rich and I became the unwitting control group for this celebrity couple. At first, the internet mocked me. I was just the wallpaper wife, the bland backdrop to a glittering romance. My husband was distant, my mother-in-law impossible. But then… the comments started to change. Netizens began tagging the show’s producers: [@Showrunners We’re here for Rich and his wife! A million of us are begging you, give them more screen time!] [I live for squinting at the corners of the screen, just to catch a crumb of their sweetness!] [My blood sugar is crashing. I need a dose of the main couple, stat!] 1 Leo Blackwood’s love life was a whirlwind romance, the kind that lit up the gossip columns and trended on social media every other day. His girlfriend was Seraphina Vance, one of the most celebrated actresses of her generation. The infamous playboy was finally settling down. He’d spent a month wearing down his older brother, Rich, until he finally relented and agreed to let them film their new reality show at the historic Blackwood estate. Rich didn’t bother telling me until a week before the cameras were due to arrive. “It’s just for a few segments,” he said, his voice even. “If you don’t want to be on camera, we can move out for the duration of the shoot.” I was sprawled lazily across our bed, the smooth curve of my shoulder and neck a pale glimmer against the cascade of my dark hair. “Forget it,” I murmured. “Too much effort to move.” I’d been married to Rich for three years, and the estate had become my home. The thought of packing up and relocating, even temporarily, was exhausting. 2 The day filming began, I drifted downstairs in a sleepy haze, my eyes still heavy with sleep. Rich had already instructed the crew not to film me without permission. The ground floor was already buzzing with activity. Seraphina stood in the center of it all, a queen holding court, flanked by an entourage. She was already playing the part of the lady of the manor. She caught sight of me descending the grand staircase and, with a flourish of warmth, called out to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Gable, could you please prepare breakfast for my sister-in-law as well?” Mrs. Gable hesitated, her eyes flicking to me for confirmation. I let out a soft yawn and gave a slight nod. Only then did she signal to the kitchen staff. Leo, already at the dining table, greeted me with a cheerful, “Morning, Nora.” I blinked slowly, my mind still foggy. “Morning.” “Rich already left for the office?” he asked. “Hm? I guess so,” I replied, the uncertainty clear in my voice. After all, the man rose with the sun. Even a night of passionate reunion after a week apart couldn’t disrupt his clockwork precision. But that was Rich Blackwood for you. As the heir to the Blackwood fortune, he was the embodiment of discipline and self-control, forged from a lifetime of expectation. He never allowed himself to lose his composure. Even our intimacy was governed by a quiet, unspoken schedule. While I waited for my food, Seraphina suddenly glided over and sat beside me, looping her arm through mine with a practiced smile aimed at a nearby camera. “This is Nora’s first time on camera, so she might be a little shy,” she cooed to her audience. “I hope all my wonderful fans will be gentle with her!” She turned to me, her smile unwavering. “Don’t be nervous, Nora. My fans are the sweetest people.” And just like that, with no makeup and a thoroughly bewildered expression, I made my television debut. Seraphina kept one eye on the live comment feed, her lips curved in a saccharine smile as she cherry-picked questions to answer. “You think Nora looks familiar? Hmm, maybe it’s because she has one of those classic, relatable faces.” “You’re asking her age? Shhh! It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, you know.” After a few more carefully selected questions, she noticed the audience’s attention was still stubbornly fixed on me. With a slight huff, she shifted back to her original seat, trying to reclaim the spotlight. The live chat, however, was still on fire. [So that’s Leo’s sister-in-law? The wife of the Blackwood Corporation’s CEO?] [She really does look familiar! And not in a ‘relatable face’ way. I swear I’ve seen her on TV before!] [Is she trying to ride Sera’s coattails to get famous?] [Sera is too kind, letting her steal the spotlight for free.] [I’m only here for Seraphina! She’s so gorgeous!!!] [Sera is living the dream. A fiancé that handsome, that rich, and he adores her!] And me? I was a million miles away. Tired. I was just so profoundly tired. Rich had just returned from a week-long business trip. The ever-so-proper man had been possessed by a feverish energy the night before, determined to make up for a week of lost time. My body was still paying the price. 3 After breakfast, Leo disappeared into the study to handle some business. This left me vulnerable, and Seraphina, ever the enthusiast, seized the opportunity. She pulled me onto the sofa to help her choose a wedding dress. She and Leo were engaged, with the wedding just around the corner. “Nora, what do you think of this one? Isn’t it divine?” I glanced from her face to the glossy pages of the bridal catalogue. “It’s beautiful.” “And this one?” Another glance. “Also beautiful.” “Nora,” she began, flipping a page with feigned casualness, “I heard you and Rich never had a wedding ceremony.” I took a loud crunch of my apple. CRUNCH. A beat later, I replied, “We didn’t.” Seraphina gasped, her hand flying to her lips in theatrical shock. “Rich wouldn’t even give you a wedding?” I shook my head, offering a simple explanation. “I was the one who didn’t want one.” Our marriage was an arrangement between two powerful families, a merger of assets, not hearts. There were no feelings involved. Before we signed the papers, he had asked me, “When would you like to have the wedding? A church or a beach ceremony?” At the time, I held no grand illusions about our union. We were strangers who knew each other only by name. The thought of standing before a priest, exchanging rings and a kiss with a man I didn’t know… it was absurd. “Let’s just skip it,” I’d said without a second thought. “It feels pointless.” I remember how he’d watched me then, his gaze deep and unreadable. After a long silence, he’d simply agreed. Whenever anyone asked, he told them it was his decision not to have a ceremony, shouldering all the gossip and judgment himself. Seraphina seemed not to have heard me, lost in her own monologue. “Every woman dreams of her perfect wedding day,” she lamented, her voice dripping with sympathy for me. “How could Rich deny you that?” Seeing her pitying look, I decided it wasn’t worth explaining further. I just stayed silent. “Leo told me he’s going to give me the wedding of the century,” she went on, her tone a delicate blend of complaint and boast. “I told him not to be so extravagant, but he insisted. He said he would never give me a single reason to regret marrying him.” She sighed dramatically. “But all of these gowns are just so exquisite. I’m completely overwhelmed with choices!” It was a performance of blissful agony, and her fans online were eating it up. [Leo spoils her so much! Seraphina is the luckiest woman alive.] [This is what I’m here for! Sera and Leo are so sweet, it’s giving me a toothache.] [Talk about a reality check. Look at Nora’s face, she’s totally sour.] [Can you blame her? Her marriage is just a business deal. I bet Rich was the one who refused to have a wedding.] “Nora, my head is spinning,” Seraphina said, pushing the catalogue towards me. “Why don’t you pick one for me?” I idly flipped through a few pages, then pointed to a design. “This one’s very elegant.” Seraphina gave it a dismissive glance. “The waistline isn’t very flattering.” She snapped the book shut. “Oh, never mind. I’ll just have Leo help me choose later. He has impeccable taste.” 4 After wedding dresses came the rings. “Nora, didn’t Rich get you a wedding ring?” Seraphina asked, her eyes fixed on my left hand. On my ring finger sat a simple, unadorned band. The sigil etched into it was strange, almost like something you’d find in a two-dollar trinket shop. “He did.” I glanced down at the ring. The day we got our marriage license, I’d found two boxes on the nightstand. One held a diamond ring so large and brilliant it was blinding. The other held this one. Rich had asked which one I preferred. While I found this one a bit ugly, the diamond was so enormous it felt impractical for daily life. Without much thought, I’d chosen the simple band. “That’s it? Did he buy it from a corner store? Haha,” she laughed, a little too loudly. “Oh, Nora, you know me, I’m always joking. Don’t take it personally.” She stuck her tongue out playfully for the camera. Then, she held up her own slender hand, showcasing the massive diamond sparkling on her middle finger—her engagement ring from Leo. She waved it around. “I told Leo not to be so extravagant. A diamond this big is just heavy, and it gets in the way. But he wouldn’t listen, he’s just so stubborn.” She sighed again, a picture of put-upon adoration. “And just the other day, he told me I have to pick a wedding ring that’s even bigger than this one.” “Nora, you have to help me choose.” “Of course,” I said. I had nothing better to do, so I started flipping through the catalogue of rings. Just then, Leo finished his work and emerged from the study. He wrapped his arms around Seraphina’s shoulders, planting a kiss on her cheek. “How’s the ring shopping going, my love?” Seraphina blushed prettily. “Nora and I were just looking.” Then, she changed the subject. “Leo, your brother is really something else. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy Nora a proper ring.” “Why don’t we buy one for her?” she suggested, her voice full of magnanimous concern. “It would be like we’re making up for Rich’s oversight.” She must have expected him to agree immediately, to praise her thoughtfulness. Instead, Leo’s eyes flicked to my hand, and a bemused smile touched his lips. “Sera, honey, you shouldn’t underestimate that ring,” he said casually. “That’s not just any piece of jewelry. That’s the Blackwood family signet, passed down through generations. It marks the matriarch of the family.” He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “As long as she wears that ring, seeing her is the same as seeing my brother. She could walk anywhere in this city and command respect.” The words hung in the air. Seraphina’s perfect smile vanished. For the first time, she looked genuinely stunned. Her gaze snapped back to my ring, now filled with a mixture of disbelief, assessment, and a raw, unconcealed longing. I froze. This ugly little ring meant that? Why hadn’t Rich told me? I thought it was just a simple, lightweight band. That’s the only reason I’d been wearing it all this time. [WHOA. I knew that ring was special! If you look closely, that symbol on it is the Blackwood family crest!] [I thought Rich didn’t care about her, but he gave her the ultimate symbol of power!] [Don’t worry, Sera, you’ll get one too when you marry Leo.] [Probably not. There’s only one matriarch. Unless something happens to Rich and Leo takes over the family business.] [Why shouldn’t Sera get one?! Just because Leo is the younger brother, she can’t be the matriarch and wear the ring?!] [Rich is supposed to dislike Nora, right? So why would he give it to her?] [She’s his wife, and he’s the heir. Who else would he give it to, you?] The online chat exploded into a fierce debate over the ring. Seraphina was seething with jealousy, her eyes glued to my hand. It took Leo prompting her—”Sera, what’s wrong?”—for her to finally tear her gaze away. She quickly grabbed Leo and pulled him to the other end of the sofa to look at rings, far away from me. 5 That evening, I found Rich in his study. He’d come home late, but instead of being buried in work as usual, he was watching something on his tablet. A closer look revealed it was a recording of our reality show from earlier that day. “Come here,” he said, patting his lap. I went over without a word and settled onto his lap as he wrapped an arm around my waist. It was a familiar routine. Our first year of marriage had been spent as polite strangers. He was always traveling for work, and I was busy with my own career. We barely saw each other. Then came New Year’s Eve. I was at the estate with his parents, watching the televised countdown. Outside the large French windows, fireworks exploded in silent, brilliant bursts against the night sky. In the flickering light, I heard a sound from the foyer. I turned to look. It was Rich. He was standing there in a long, black overcoat, a suitcase at his feet. His mother had said he wouldn’t be back until after the holiday. With his parents watching, a strange impulse took over me. I walked over, took his coat from him, and hung it up. When I turned back, I froze. I’d surprised myself. He looked just as surprised. From that day on, something shifted. Rich’s pace slowed. He stopped living out of a suitcase. And slowly, steadily, we settled into the quiet, comfortable rhythm of married life. Now, sitting on his lap felt as natural as breathing. “You never told me this ring was so important,” I said, slipping the band off my finger. I held it up to the porcelain-white light of the lamp, squinting at the tiny, intricate crest. He’d given it to me so casually. I’d worn it just as casually. I had no idea this unassuming little thing carried so much weight. Rich took my hand, gently taking the ring from me and sliding it back onto my finger. “It was never important on its own,” he said, his eyes fixed on my hand as he toyed with my fingers. “It’s only important because it’s on yours.” 6 To show their enthusiastic support for their future daughter-in-law, Rich’s parents made a special trip back to the estate for a family dinner, despite their chaotic schedules. Faced with a house full of cameras, they were understandably a little stiff, but they did their best to act naturally. For once, Rich was home from work on time. As he was taking off his shoes in the foyer, the camera crew, ever the opportunists, pretended to pan across the room, letting the lens linger on him for a split second before darting away. It was only a second, but it was enough to send the online audience into a frenzy. [IS THAT RICH?! OH MY GOD! THE LEGEND FINALLY SHOWS HIS FACE! HE’S GORGEOUS!] [He’s just as handsome as Leo, maybe even more so with that powerful aura he has!] [Nora is living the good life. With a husband like that, who cares about a wedding? I’d marry him in a heartbeat!] That one-second glimpse of Rich sent a new wave of viewers flooding into the livestream. At the dinner table, Seraphina was the perfect prospective bride, charming and sweet, and the atmosphere was pleasant. As the conversation flowed, Rich’s mother turned her gaze to me. Noticing my constant yawning, her eyes drifted down to my stomach. “Still no news from you two?” she asked pointedly. [Here we go. The classic ‘heir-pressure’ scene in every wealthy family drama.] [You can tell his mom doesn’t like Nora. The first thing she does is ask about a baby.] [She’s so calculating. She’s probably saying it for Seraphina’s benefit, a little warning shot.] I shot a look at Rich. He was eating quietly, pretending not to have heard a thing. “Mom,” I said, a sly smile playing on my lips. “You’ll have to ask him about that.” I passed the buck squarely to him, giving him a meaningful stare. His mother’s attention shifted to her eldest son, waiting for his answer. Rich met my gaze, his expression calm. Then, he announced to the table, “We’re working on it. We’re aiming for two in three years.” Excuse me? Under the table, I reached over and pinched his thigh. It was solid muscle, hard to get a good grip. I mouthed at him silently: What the hell are you talking about? Didn’t we agree I could have kids whenever I wanted? He captured my hand under the table, his warm palm easily enveloping mine. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. I shot him another angry glare. Rich just smiled, a faint, teasing light in his eyes, and mouthed back: Behave. His mother watched our silent, flirtatious battle, and a slow smile spread across her face. She slid a gold credit card across the table towards me. “Nora, dear, you’ve been putting up with a lot lately. Take this and buy yourself something nice. If it’s not enough, just ask for more.” I hadn’t even finished spending the money on the last card she gave me. That one had a seven-figure limit. This one was probably even more. Seraphina’s eyes widened with envy as she stared at the card lying casually on the table. But she wasn’t officially a Blackwood yet, not Mrs. Leo Blackwood, so she couldn’t very well ask for one herself. She forced a bright smile. “Nora, Mrs. Blackwood is so good to you. She treats you just like her own daughter.” Rich’s mother beamed with pride. “Of course she is. Having Nora marry into our family was the best thing that could have happened to us.” Seraphina’s smile faltered for a moment. His mother, sensing the shift, quickly added, “Of course, you’re wonderful too, Seraphina.” Leo jumped in to smooth things over. “Don’t worry, Sera. My mom is very generous. She treats everyone equally. Whatever Nora has, you’ll have too.” Only then did Seraphina’s smile become genuine again. “Thank you, Mrs. Blackwood.” “Thank you, Mom,” I said, cheerfully pocketing the card. My personal slush fund was overflowing again. I was so pleased that I even ate the piece of carrot Rich had placed in my bowl—a vegetable I despised. Seeing this, he promptly placed another serving of carrots in my bowl. I glanced at him, but he was completely composed, focusing intently on his meal. I pouted and pushed the offending vegetable to the side. [I love this mother-in-law. When in doubt, just throw money at the problem. Sign me up.] [Guys, I think… I think I’m starting to ship Nora and Rich!] [Scavenging for crumbs in the corner of the frame again!] [This? You call this shipping material? You’re desperate. Go watch Sera and Leo, they’re the real deal.] 7 After dinner, my in-laws left for another social engagement. The Blackwood brothers disappeared into the study to talk business. Once again, it was just me and Seraphina downstairs. I was about to head up to my room and give her the space, but she caught my arm. Seraphina was the brand ambassador for a major domestic luxury label. Recently, the brand had organized a high-profile charity fundraiser, and as the face of the company, she was expected to make a significant opening donation. But she clearly didn’t want to be the only one writing a big check. While nibbling on a post-dinner pastry, she casually brought it up. “Nora, would you be interested in donating as well?” As she explained the cause, I quietly pulled out my phone and messaged my assistant, asking her to verify the legitimacy of the charity project. Seeing my silence, Seraphina pressed on. “Of course, it’s fine if you’d rather not. It’s just, my heart breaks for those poor children in the mountains. They don’t have enough to eat or warm clothes to wear. Donating a little something is the least we can do.” She paused, as if calculating. “I saw some of the other celebrities pledged fifty thousand… so I was thinking, maybe I’ll donate one hundred…” Her sentence was cut short by my response. “I’ll donate one million.” My assistant had just replied, confirming the project was legitimate. Seraphina stared at me, speechless. “The money will come from me,” I continued, “but please put it under my mother-in-law’s name. By the way, how much did you say you were donating?” A moment ago, Seraphina had been preening, proud of her intended six-figure donation. After all, not many celebrities could afford to part with that kind of money. She was only offering that much because she was on camera and didn’t want to appear cheap. But I had just raised the stakes to a million. In front of millions of viewers, she couldn’t afford to back down.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385276”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel