Category: English

The day the developer’s buyout money hit my account, my brother, Kevin, burst through the door, his face a mask of terror. “Sarah! Your daughter—Chloe—down the street, a van just grabbed her! They’re demanding ten million dollars, or they’ll kill her.” Before the words had even settled in the air, a heavy thud sounded at the front door. On the porch sat a black package. Inside, nestled in cotton, was half a human finger. Kevin’s face went white. “Get the money, Sarah, we have to get the money now! Before it’s too late!” I wasn’t panicking, not the way he expected. I looked at the gruesome trophy and spoke calmly. “A finger doesn’t prove anything. Not unless the kidnappers send an ear.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Chloe has a tiny pink mole on her right earlobe.” Kevin stared at me, his jaw slack, then turned and left without another word. That afternoon, a new package arrived. It contained a right ear, a small pink mole clearly visible. My parents, who had rushed over, collapsed into histrionics, wailing around the gruesome delivery. But I remained unmoved. “Plenty of people have moles,” I said, my voice flat. “Am I supposed to hand over ten million dollars to every crank who knows how to use a knife? I won’t believe a thing until I see the birthmark on Chloe’s thigh. A pale blue mark, shaped like a crescent moon.” The next day, a severed human leg, bloody and pale, was thrown onto our lawn. I watched Kevin, saw the flicker of triumph, of barely concealed excitement in his eyes, and I smiled a smile that no one else could see. Because the girl with the crescent-moon birthmark wasn’t my daughter. It was his. 1 “Sarah, what are you waiting for? Do you want to wait until they send Chloe back to you piece by piece before you pay the ransom?” Kevin’s brow was a knot of anxiety. He paced the living room, a convincing performance of a man consumed with worry for his niece. My husband, Mark, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shot up from the couch. “I’m getting the bank statements. I’ll wire the money.” I grabbed his arm and yanked him back down just as he stood up. Then, I hit play on the audio file the kidnappers had sent. A girl’s voice, sharp and hoarse, screamed with desperation. “Mom! Dad! Help me, please, I can’t take it anymore!” The sound shattered the room. Everyone fell silent, their faces etched with heartbreak. Everyone but me. I scoffed. “The deepfake technology these days is incredible. They can send fake limbs, fake ears… but they can’t fake a voice.” I leaned forward, my tone analytical and cold. “Every person’s vocal print is unique. And that is not Chloe.” Hearing my detached analysis, Mark finally exploded. “Sarah, how long are you going to keep lying to yourself? Do you need to see her body before you’ll finally believe it?” Kevin nodded furiously, jumping in to support him. “He’s right, sis. I know you just got the buyout money and you’re afraid to let it go, but this is life and death. You can always make more money. You can’t get another daughter.” He pulled a blood-stained piece of clothing from his backpack. “The kidnappers sent this to my house. It’s that Dior dress you bought for Chloe. I was with you when you got it, remember? The only one from that collection in the entire city.” The dress was a cheap, coarse knockoff. Tucked into the collar was a Post-it note. Last warning. Three days. If you don’t have the money, the next thing you get will be her head. The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Mark, his face burning with rage, shoved me hard. “If you’re really doing this because of the money, you don’t deserve to be a mother!” Just as I was about to stop him, my phone buzzed. A new photo. A close-up of a shattered mouth, teeth laid out in a neat, grotesque row. Kevin’s wife, Brenda, leaned over my shoulder, her voice dripping with exaggerated pity. “Oh, my God. Chloe is such a beautiful girl… but look how dirty her teeth are. She really needs to take better care of herself.” It was a throwaway comment, a piece of casual cruelty, but it changed everything. Mark heard her and snatched the phone from my hand. In the photo, half the teeth were riddled with cavities. They were yellowed, caked with plaque. He froze. Chloe was meticulous about her teeth, with dental check-ups every six months. Her teeth looked nothing like this. A flash of shock, then confusion, crossed his face. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. And that’s when I let myself break. Sobs tore from my chest, my body collapsing as if under a great weight. “It really is her,” I wailed. “It really is my baby girl. The money just came in, and now this… This is going to kill me!” Seeing me finally convinced, a glint of triumph flashed in the eyes of my brother, my sister-in-law, and my parents, who were still weeping theatrically on the floor. As they watched me, their faces full of greedy anticipation, I suddenly shook my head, my voice turning hard as stone. “No. No, I can’t. She’s just a girl, a money pit. Let her die. I’m not paying.” Kevin was stunned speechless. “Sarah… I thought she was the light of your life?” But I wasn’t listening. I started shoving them all toward the door. “Stop trying to convince me! I’m not paying unless you’re paying for it!” Once they were gone, Mark locked the door and turned to me, his voice a low whisper. “What the hell is going on?” I looked at him, and the tears that flowed now were real. Because in my last life, Kevin used this exact same scheme to steal my buyout money. And Mark and I, we believed him. We scraped together every penny, borrowed from anyone who would listen. Mark even sold one of his kidneys on the black market. But in the end, our daughter was still brutally murdered. Unable to face the truth, Mark jumped from a bridge. After I had numbly arranged the funerals, I saw him. On a street corner, laughing with the kidnapper as they split the ransom money. “That little brat kept insisting she wasn’t Chloe Wang,” the kidnapper said, lighting a cigarette. “A chopped finger convinced her otherwise.” Kevin took a long drag from his own cigarette, a cruel smirk on his face. “She’s just like her mother. If Sarah had just given me the money in the first place, none of this would have happened. Now she’s out a daughter, too.” The kidnapper’s words—insisting she wasn’t Chloe Wang—echoed in my head. I ran back to the morgue, to the headless corpse the police had found. The body was a close match to my daughter’s, about eight-tenths of the way there, but when I saw the pale, crescent-shaped birthmark on her thigh, my blood ran cold. It wasn’t Chloe. It was my niece, Ashley. In that instant, I knew the kidnappers had grabbed the wrong girl. At that very moment, my phone rang. It was Chloe, her voice faint. She’d been hiking in the mountains, lost her signal, and gotten lost for a few days. My daughter was safe. But my husband was dead. Consumed by a grief and rage so profound it burned away everything else, I drove to confront Kevin. I never made it. A truck ran a red light. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the kidnapping. After I finished explaining, Mark pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could feel the frantic beating of his heart against my own. “I believe you,” he whispered into my hair. “And this time, we’re going to make them pay.” 2 The next morning, Kevin arrived with my parents and a dozen other relatives in tow. He was holding his phone, live-streaming. “My sister might not be willing to pay the ransom for her own daughter,” he announced to his audience, his voice thick with false emotion, “but I can’t just stand by and watch my niece die. So I’m giving my sister my entire life’s savings. It’s all I have, but it’s a start.” He slapped a thin stack of cash on the table. Ten thousand dollars. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. His gesture, however, sent the live stream’s comment section into a frenzy. 【OMG, what an amazing uncle! He’s an angel compared to that heartless mother.】 【Look at her, dressed in designer clothes. It’s not like she doesn’t have the money.】 My parents joined the performance, raising their canes and bringing them down on my head and shoulders. “You ungrateful child! Your own brother is helping you like this, and you still won’t pay! If you don’t save your daughter, I’ll disown you!” They acted like they were on my side, but I knew the truth. In my last life, I learned they knew about Kevin’s plan all along. They actively helped him deceive me. I pushed down the hatred simmering in my gut and collapsed onto the floor, playing the part of a hysterical shrew. “No! I don’t have the money!” I screamed. “That buyout is for my new villa! Not a chance, not unless Kevin pays for half of it!” My father lunged at me and slapped me hard across the face, his eyes bulging. “You monster! How dare you try to take your brother’s money? Forget it!” Mark shoved him back, pulling me behind him. “My wife is right,” he snarled, adopting my greedy persona. “You want us to save her? Help us pay for it. Otherwise, we won’t.” He shrugged. “Besides, Chloe is just a girl. We can always have another one. A boy would be better. Cheaper than paying a ten-million-dollar ransom, that’s for sure.” The live stream exploded. 【Holy crap. These two are a perfect match. Shamelessness on a whole new level.】 【They’re so reluctant to pay… and talking about having a son instead. Wait a minute… what if they hired the kidnappers themselves?】 Kevin’s plan was to use public pressure to break me, but my skin was thicker than he could ever imagine. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. He pulled Brenda aside. They whispered furiously for a long time, weighing their options. Finally, they decided that five million was better than nothing. He made a call. To a loan shark. “I’ll do it,” he declared to the camera, his face a mask of saintly sacrifice. “To save my niece, I’ll do anything.” His audience swooned. The loan sharks were fast. In less than an hour, five million dollars appeared in my bank account. Kevin’s eyes gleamed. “Okay, sis. Now can we go save her?” He didn’t expect my reaction. I smiled sweetly, took my bank card, and locked it away in the safe. “Thank you so much, Kevin,” I chirped. “I’m so glad you finally paid back all the money you’ve borrowed from me over the years.” The realization dawned on his face, twisting his features into an ugly snarl. He clenched his fists. “What did you just say?” I looked him straight in the eye, my smile widening into a mocking grin. Over the past decade, he had bled me dry, nickel-and-diming me for millions with an endless stream of excuses, always claiming to be broke when it was time to pay it back. I spread my hands, a picture of innocence. “I’m just saying, the money is in my account now, which means it’s mine. And if you think I’m going to spend it on that little money pit, you’re crazy.” My shamelessness seemed to break something in him. He threw his phone aside and lunged, his fists raining down on my head. “You bitch! You tricked me!” Mark grabbed him by the collar, ripped him off me, and smashed a glass ashtray over his head. “Get out!” he roared. “My wife said no, and she meant it. Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on her?” Kevin, bleeding and enraged, was about to charge again when his phone, lying on the floor, buzzed. A video call request. From the kidnapper.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384436”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night I won Best Actress, haters leaked a video of me, six years ago, heavily pregnant. The room erupted. Reporters swarmed, their questions a barrage of noise. “Cora! Who is the child’s father?” I glanced over at Alistair Brain, his face a mask of pure shock. For the first time, the man of unshakable composure had lost it. I smiled at the reporters. “I don’t have a child.” The day Alistair left me for his childhood sweetheart, he sealed our fate. There would never be anything between us again. 1 “If you run into Charlotte Vance, pretend you don’t see her. Do not, under any circumstances, start another fight.” My agent’s words were a frantic hiss as I stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet. And why? Because Charlotte’s backer was Alistair Brain. The Brain family owned half of Hollywood. There was an old, crude saying in the industry: Want to be a star? Sleep with a Brain. And while it was crass, it was true. Every woman who’d ever been linked to Alistair had seen her career skyrocket. I was the one exception. I was the only woman to have publicly dated Alistair Brain and ended up nearly blacklisted. My crime? I had offended his precious childhood sweetheart. For the next six years, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much critics praised my performances, I never won a single award. Year after year of being the runner-up had worn away all my sharp edges. I learned to keep my distance. I avoided any event where Charlotte might be present. If she expressed interest in a script, I would graciously decline, citing scheduling conflicts. Perhaps my silent surrender had finally paid off. Or perhaps, with her and Alistair’s wedding on the horizon, she no longer saw me as a threat. Whatever the reason, this year, they had deigned to let an award slip through their fingers and into my hands. When my agent got the news, she nearly burst into tears. “Cora,” she’d said, her voice thick with emotion, “the hard times are finally over.” Alistair was finally willing to let me go. Even though our breakup hadn’t been my fault, I stood no chance against him. I had surrendered long ago. 2 My agent had just finished warning me about Charlotte when, as if on cue, Charlotte herself sashayed over and invited me to walk the red carpet with her. The Brain heir’s new flame and his old one, standing side-by-side. The photo op alone was a gossip columnist’s dream. I knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to humiliate me, and not just by flaunting her status as Alistair’s current girlfriend. We were both wearing gowns from the same designer. Hers, of course, was from the latest collection. Mine was last season’s. I could already picture the headlines, the sneering comments from her fans and my haters, mocking me for being a has-been. But it didn’t matter. I had no intention of competing with her over a dress, and I certainly had no illusions about Alistair coming back to me. If she wanted to be the star, I would be the quiet backdrop. But my compliance didn’t seem to satisfy her. She leaned in, her voice a low hiss. “Cora, did you know Alistair is coming tonight?” I didn’t. Alistair and I hadn’t spoken a word since the day we broke up. We had severed all ties completely. Still, the sound of his name made my heart skip a beat. Charlotte noticed, and a smug, mocking smile spread across her face. “Don’t get any ideas. He’s here for me, not you.” “I know.” While the Brains had their hands in everything, Alistair himself never attended industry events. Not even for me, not even when we were at our happiest. “We’re getting married soon,” she added, a final twist of the knife. I nodded and turned to her, forcing a sincere smile. “I wish you both happiness.” My meekness must have bored her, or maybe she was just anxious to find Alistair. The moment we were off the carpet, she vanished. I posed for the cameras and answered a few questions. The reporters were surprisingly tactful; no one mentioned Alistair. Our relationship had been a whirlwind romance, but the ending had been a spectacular, public crash. Alistair, the man himself, had found out he’d been dumped the same way the rest of the world did: by seeing it trending online. I was in an interview, and the reporters were fishing for details about our relationship. But all I gave them were five, quiet words. “We’ve broken up.” No warning. No explanation. 3 Alistair called me once after that. There was no explanation, no apology, not even a question of why. Just a cold confirmation. “Are you sure about this?” I murmured a soft, “Yes.” He was silent for a beat, and then he hung up. I had expected him to be furious. He’d spent his life being catered to, never once defied. And here I was, dumping him, and he wasn’t even the first to know. The hashtag #AlistairBrainGotDumped stayed at the top of the trending list for three days straight. He never had it taken down. My agency, terrified of offending the Brains, tried to have it removed, but it would reappear less than a minute later. It wasn’t about his humiliation. It was a warning to me. And sure enough, from that day on, my career became an uphill battle. Six years passed. Six years for his anger to cool. Six years, until he and Charlotte were about to be married. The memories flickered through my mind, leaving me dazed. The host called my name twice before I snapped back to the present. The applause was thunderous. Everyone was happy for me. Through the crowd, I glanced at the front row. Charlotte was there, an empty seat beside her. There was no nameplate, but everyone knew. That was Alistair’s seat. He hadn’t arrived yet. Good. That would save us both a lot of awkwardness. But as I stepped onto the stage and looked up to begin my acceptance speech, my breath caught in my throat. There he was. Sitting perfectly composed in his seat. It had been years. He carried himself with an even colder, more formidable air now. When our eyes met, his were completely devoid of emotion. He looked at me as if I were a stranger. I steadied myself and began my speech. 4 I was halfway through when a commotion started in the audience. It was more than just whispers. People were trying to be quiet, but the story was too shocking, their voices rising in pitch despite their best efforts. My haters had just leaked a video. A video of me, six years ago, heavily pregnant. It was from right after Alistair and I had broken up. I’d tried to lose myself in work, but just before filming was set to begin, I discovered I was pregnant. I dropped out of the film and disappeared from the public eye for an entire year. The footage was from a security camera in my old apartment building. I don’t remember where I was going that day, but I wasn’t wearing a mask. My face was perfectly clear. As I walked off stage, clutching my award, my agent and assistant rushed forward, trying to form a protective barrier around me. But it was too late. The reporters were on us like a pack of wolves. Cameras and microphones were shoved in my face, a cacophony of voices all asking the same question. “Ms. Evans, who is the child’s father?” I was trapped, unable to move. Across the room, Alistair sat untouched. No one dared to approach him. If we were still together, perhaps they would have shown me a little more courtesy. I saw the shock on Alistair’s face, the way his fingers, which had been resting casually on the armrest, were now clenched into a white-knuckled fist. He knew who the father was. And so, for the first time in public, the man of unshakable composure had lost it. I didn’t answer their question directly. Instead, I just smiled and denied it all. “I don’t have a child.” 5 I’ve never seen a Best Actress flee an awards show like a refugee. My gown was trampled and torn. I lost an earring in the chaos. A horde of reporters chased after me, turning my moment of triumph into a desperate escape. My agent and assistant were pale with shock. It wasn’t until we were safely in the car that they finally spoke. “What the hell was that? You have a kid? Alistair’s? Where is the child now?” There were too many questions. I managed a weak, bitter smile, not knowing where to begin. My current team wasn’t with me back then. Everything they knew about me and Alistair, they’d learned from gossip sites and rumors. When I vanished for that year, everyone assumed I’d been blacklisted. When I finally returned to the industry, the narrative shifted. They said I’d been so heartbroken that I’d needed a year to travel and heal. No one in the industry knew what really happened during that lost year. Not even my agent. Until tonight, when they, along with the rest of the world, saw that video and came to the only logical conclusion: I had gone away to have a baby.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384452”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A new teacher started at my daughter’s preschool, and the parents’ WhatsApp group was buzzing with praise. Everyone said their kids had become polite, well-behaved, and less picky with food. But that night, my daughter Maya whispered a secret to me: “They’re only good because they’re afraid to die.” She said Duke was taken away and killed for sneaking chips during nap. “When he died, his mouth was stuffed with chips and his belly was bloated.” Her serious tone chilled me. I quickly messaged Duke’s mom, who lives nearby. 【Hey, heard about Duke… please take care.】 She replied instantly with a photo of Duke sitting nicely and eating quietly: 【What are you talking about? He’s been an angel lately!】 I felt relieved, then annoyed at Maya for the scary story—until she pointed at the photo: “That’s not Duke. He’s left-handed. Why is he using his right hand?” 1 My heart skipped a beat. I zoomed in on the photo. Duke was, indeed, expertly scooping food with his right hand. Our families lived in the same complex, our kids were in the same class; we knew each other well. Just last week, over dinner, his mom had been complaining to me. She was at her wit’s end, she’d said, because she couldn’t get him to stop using his left hand. And now, just a few days later, he was completely switched? I turned to my daughter, my voice firm. “Maya, I need you to tell me the truth. Were you joking before?” She blinked her big, innocent eyes. “I really saw Duke die, Mommy. I’m not lying.” Hearing such terrifying words from my own child’s mouth, I felt a deep, unsettling cold. I had raised Maya myself; I knew she wasn’t the type to make up cruel jokes. But if what she was saying was true… A thought occurred to me. A child Maya’s age doesn’t fully grasp the concept of death. Maybe what she called “death” was just seeing someone lying on the ground, still and with their eyes closed. I chose my words carefully. “Maya, honey, you know there’s a difference between being dead and being asleep, right?” She nodded without hesitation. “I’m not a baby, Mommy. My storybooks explained what death is. I get it.” The knot of anxiety in my chest tightened. “Okay, then tell me everything. How did you see Duke get taken? And how did you see him… die?” Maya tilted her head, recalling the memory. “The person just appeared out of nowhere. They were wearing a cartoon mascot head.” “It was during nap time. I couldn’t sleep, so I was just lying there with my eyes barely open. That’s when I saw Duke sneaking chips from his bag. He only ate a few before the person grabbed him and dragged him out.” As she spoke, a shadow of fear crossed her face. “I know Duke calls me names and teases me sometimes, but I don’t hate him. I was worried when he was gone, so when the teacher wasn’t looking, I snuck out to find him. I found him in an empty classroom, lying on the floor. He wasn’t moving at all.” “Did you tell a teacher right away?” “Ms. Evans is new. I don’t know her very well, so I was too scared to say anything.” “Did you see Duke again in class later?” She seemed to struggle with the memory, her little face scrunched in concentration. “I… I don’t remember. I was so scared, the rest of the afternoon felt like a bad dream.” I pulled her into a tight hug. “It’s okay, sweetie, you don’t have to be scared anymore. But if anything like this ever happens again, you have to promise to tell Mommy immediately.” I poured her a glass of milk and put on her favorite cartoon, hoping to help her relax. Just as she was settling down, the doorbell rang. I peeked through the peephole. It was Duke’s mom. 2 I quickly opened the door and invited her in. She was carrying a tote bag, bulging with something I couldn’t quite make out. The moment she stepped inside, she was beaming. “My Duke is finally growing up! He’s so thoughtful now! I’ve never seen him eat so well!” she gushed. “This new teacher is a miracle worker! She cured his picky eating in a single day!” I hesitated, then decided I had to say something. “That’s wonderful, but… don’t you think the change is a little sudden? Could something have happened? Maybe he was bullied, or something scared him?” “You should ask him carefully about what happened at school today.” I told her everything Maya had seen, and my own theory. A story about Duke dying and coming back to life was too bizarre. The more plausible explanation, I suggested, was that a staff member wearing a mask had threatened the children. Maya had probably witnessed Duke being punished and, in her child’s mind, misinterpreted it as death. It meant there was someone dangerous at that school, someone preying on the children in secret. As I spoke, the color drained from her face. Her hand went slack, and the tote bag fell to the floor with a soft thud. Without another word, she turned and bolted for the door, rushing back home. I figured that once she questioned Duke, the truth would come out. Then we could go to the school administration together. It wasn’t long before my phone rang. It was her. The second I answered, she started screaming. “I can’t believe your daughter is such a pathological liar! What a sick, twisted joke! I asked my son! He said none of what your daughter said happened! He was sleeping soundly the entire nap time! She’s not just a bad kid, she’s wishing death on my son! You’re just jealous that Duke is finally behaving!” Her accusations left me speechless, burning with shame. I glanced at Maya, who was still watching her cartoon, the picture of innocence. Could Maya have really made it all up? I sighed, and spent the next ten minutes apologizing profusely, begging for her forgiveness. 3 Later that night, after I had tucked Maya into bed, my husband, Mark, came home from work, looking exhausted. As we lay in bed, I told him about the day’s events. He burst out laughing. “Honey, our daughter just has a wild imagination. You can’t take it so seriously!” He reasoned, “Kids her age can’t always tell the difference between dreams and reality. She probably had a weird nightmare during her nap and woke up thinking it was real. Besides, there are security cameras everywhere in that school. Who would dare grab a kid in the middle of the day? You’re just scaring yourself.” His logic was sound. It was like a lightbulb went on. Maya had always loved adventure stories; I’d bought her dozens of fantasy books. Maybe she’d just had a strange dream inspired by one of her stories. In fact, Duke’s mom had come over to return one of those very books. Finally, I felt the tension in my shoulders release. Mark pulled me close. “It’s okay. I’ll take her to school tomorrow. I’ll have a little chat with her on the way.” The next morning, Mark dropped Maya off at preschool. He texted me a few minutes later to say he’d run into Duke’s mom at the gate and they had cleared the air. The two kids had even walked into the classroom together, laughing. I texted back: 【Thank God for you. I don’t know how long I would have kept spinning my wheels without you.】 With the house clean and some time to spare, I decided to treat myself to a manicure. I had just sat down and was discussing designs with the nail technician when my phone started buzzing nonstop in my purse. I pulled it out to see a flood of notifications from the parent’s WhatsApp group. In just a few moments, there were over 99 new messages. My stomach dropped. A cold, heavy sense of dread washed over me. I opened the chat. The first message I saw was from Duke’s mom. 【My poor boy! My sweet boy is gone! He was so good, so obedient! How could he have killed himself? Someone did this to him! Someone murdered my son!】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384468”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For fifteen years at the orphanage, I lived a quiet life. My younger sister was adopted by a wealthy socialite, while I was taken in by the dorm matron. The day the adoption papers were signed, a line of floating text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [The sister doesn’t know, does she? After she was taken in by the rich family, everyone looked down on her, and she ended up fighting dogs for food.] [The older sister has a better fate. Although she was adopted by the dorm matron, she met Mr. Brooks, the richest man in Port City, by chance and was later spoiled rotten by him.] [This is why it’s better to marry well than to be born well.] My sister suddenly rushed to the dorm matron, sweetly calling her “Mommy.” That’s when I knew. My sister could see the pop-up text too. 1 “Sister, you’ve always taken care of me since we were little. This time, you should go and enjoy life with the Sterling family.” My sister, still wearing the white dress she’d put on specifically to impress the wealthy Sterlings, now affectionately held the dorm matron’s hand. I watched the floating text appear before my eyes. That’s when I knew. My sister could see the pop-up text too. The sudden switch of children, both already chosen by their respective families, left the orphanage director in a difficult position as she consulted both parties. My sister, terrified that the dorm matron wouldn’t agree, sweetly called her “Mommy,” melting the matron’s expression. On the Sterling family side, Mrs. Sterling remained silent, making a phone call. Half an hour later, a young man, roughly my age, stepped out of a Rolls-Royce. He wore a casual black outfit, a brand I didn’t recognize, but it screamed expensive. His gaze darted between my sister and me, as if comparing two pieces of merchandise. I pursed my lips and smiled at the young man. He snorted. “Just her, then. She’s not as pretty as Sophie, but she looks more obedient.” The floating text above his head scrolled again. [The Sterlings just want a plaything for their son, Greg. The older sister is in for a hard time.] [The younger sister is smarter, giving up immediate temptation for a better future.] My sister smiled triumphantly. Her “Mommy” calls to the dorm matron grew even more affectionate. 2 Greg Sterling was the only heir to the Sterling family. Spoiled since childhood, his personality was notoriously difficult. The moment I stepped through the Sterling mansion doors, Greg tossed a dog collar at me and ordered me to put it on and bark. “Skylar, you only wanted to be adopted by my family because we’re rich, didn’t you?” His smile was malicious. “Bark once, I’ll give you ten thousand. How about it?” I obediently put on the collar. Under Greg’s disdainful gaze, I slowly spoke: “Then you mustn’t go back on your word, young master.” That day, I followed Greg, barking for a long time. So long, in fact, that Greg finally stopped me, his face filled with disgust. “Enough! Stop barking!” I smiled at Greg. “Understood, Young Master. That’s fifty-five thousand in total. How would you like to pay?” Greg impatiently threw a card at me. It contained sixty thousand. At dinner, it was just Greg and me. The housekeeper had still prepared a table full of food. As I was about to sit down, Greg stopped me. “Who said you could eat at the table?” Greg pointed to a new dog bowl nearby. “You like barking like a dog, don’t you? Then eat with the dog.” The food in the dog bowl was piled into a messy heap, a stark contrast to the beautifully plated dishes on the table. But compared to the leftovers at the orphanage, it was infinitely better. I ate heartily from the dog bowl. Just then, I saw my sister’s new social media post. It was a photo of her and her adoptive mother before dinner. On the simple round table sat a plate of bean sprouts and two bowls of rice. The caption read: “Though simple, it’s very happy.” After seeing it, the organic vegetables in my dog bowl tasted even better. Before bed, Greg claimed the room Mrs. Sterling had prepared for me, telling me to sleep with the dog. I looked at the 30-square-foot wooden cabin in the yard, hugged my blanket, and crawled inside. The German Shepherd was well-behaved. Seeing me, he shrank to the side, making plenty of room. It was much more spacious than the orphanage’s communal sleeping arrangements. I couldn’t help but sigh. At fifteen, I finally had a single room. It felt good. 3 A rich young master like Greg also had various lessons arranged by his parents, such as piano and golf. The next morning at 6:30, Greg dragged me out of the doghouse to accompany him on his morning run, then to his piano lesson. I thought he’d find some new way to humiliate me, but this time, he told me to join the class with him. This was only because Mr. Sterling would randomly check on his studies every weekend. “My dad only listens in passing. You can play for me when the door’s closed.” So I studied with particular seriousness. In the afternoon, Greg took me to his golf lesson. As I carried his golf bag, looking disheveled, following behind Greg, I ran into my sister, Sophie. She wore a pretty floral dress, affectionately holding her adoptive mother’s hand. “What a coincidence, Sister! I heard this golf course just opened. Mom and I are going for a walk in the fields. Want to join us?” I tucked the sweat-drenched strands of hair behind my ear and shook my head. “No, I have to stay with Young Master Sterling.” Sophie feigned surprise. “So the Sterlings adopted you just to have a free maid? They’re so mean!” “Skylar, come here.” Greg emerged from the pro shop and beckoned me over. “You’re adopted by the Sterlings, at least. Don’t talk to riff-raff.” His voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it was just enough for Sophie to hear. Sophie’s face paled for a moment. She tugged her adoptive mother’s hand and headed towards the fields but was stopped by a staff member. “Miss, please show your membership card.” Greg sneered, then walked through another gate with me. Sophie and her adoptive mother’s faces grew darker and darker. The floating text appeared again. [Skylar doesn’t think Young Master Sterling is taking her to play, does she?] [Greg is very good at training dogs. The field is huge here. Soon, he’ll be walking Skylar like a dog.] [Sophie is still lucky. Her family is so happy. Although they’re poor now, she’ll have endless money once she’s with Mr. Brooks, the richest man in Port City.] Sophie’s expression brightened at this. She pulled her adoptive mother’s hand, smiling ingratiatingly. “Mommy, don’t worry. When I’m with Mr. Brooks, the richest man in Port City, I’ll have him give this entire golf course to you!” 4 The entire afternoon, Greg certainly didn’t let me rest. To torment me, he deliberately cleared the field. He would stand at the tee, hitting balls, and I had to retrieve them within a minute. If I failed, he’d use me as a moving target, pelting me with balls. Greg was thoroughly entertained. Until one ball hit me directly on the bridge of my nose. The sharp ache made my eyes water, and then a warm liquid began to flow from my nose. I haphazardly wiped it away, then rushed back to Greg. My hands respectfully held up the ball. “Young Master, your ball.” Greg’s smile froze. He used his golf club to lift my chin. “Skylar, are you an idiot? Didn’t you think to dodge?” My eyes were red, but I smiled at Greg. He tossed a handkerchief at my face, annoyed. “Go wipe that off somewhere else. Don’t be disgusting.” After that, Greg didn’t boss me around as much. Not long after, he lost interest and took me home. Perhaps I had behaved well today. On the way back, Greg tossed me a mint. I grinned, saying, “Thank you, Young Master.” Greg seemed to be in a good mood. At dinner, he allowed me to sit at the table and even let me take a nice shower in the bathroom before making me return to the doghouse. He said it was because he didn’t want me to get the doghouse dirty. I continued to smile at Greg. An aunt at the orphanage once told me that while I wasn’t particularly beautiful, my smile was very endearing. And now, my primary goal was to survive in the Sterling household. And to thrive even more. 5 The next day, my transfer procedures were completed. To continue assisting Greg, I enrolled in the International Exchange Program. Students in this class were all wealthy and influential, each belonging to their own small circles. Most followed Greg because the Sterling family held significant sway in Port City. Perhaps Greg had given instructions beforehand, as most of my classmates looked at me with ill intent. They would mock my English pronunciation and deliberately misplace my homework, leading to me being punished by the teacher. For group projects, I was always the odd one out. Whenever I was in the most awkward situations, Greg would finally step in, extending his “helping hand.” [Greg Sterling is disgusting. If I were Skylar, I’d resist.] [Yes, you can’t just go along with these rich young masters. The more you resist, the more you pique their interest.] I looked at the lines of floating text. I gratefully accepted Greg’s help, then smiled and said, “Thank you, Young Master.” I knew that given my current circumstances, defying Greg would bring me no benefit whatsoever. Until one day, my painstakingly organized notebook was tossed into a bucket of dirty water. By the time I discovered it, the writing was already smudged beyond recognition. I held the notebook, looked at the gloating classmates behind me, and turned back to ask, “Who did this?” One of Greg’s most trusted cronies stepped forward, challenging me. “I did it, what are you going to do about it? You study all day, but you’re still not getting first place? Are you retarded or something?” More floating text appeared. [Greg is watching! Skylar must endure, that’s how she’ll get his pity.] [Rich young masters love strong, yet secretly enduring, innocent girls.] [Is this why Greg will eventually fall for Sophie?] [Sophie isn’t just likable, she’s also beautiful. Skylar probably doesn’t know that while she’s being bullied here, Sophie is being spoiled rotten in the regular classes.] Amidst the surrounding laughter, I picked up the bucket of dirty water and dumped it over his head. “Damn it!” The crony cursed, pushing me to the ground. The other lackeys swarmed me, kicking and punching. I lay on the ground, turning my head to look at Greg. He leaned against the window, watching me with an amused expression, showing no signs of helping. I covered my head and yelled, “You can bully me, but you can’t ruin the notes I prepared for Young Master!” “What did you say?” Greg frowned, stopping those who were hitting me. “Who told you to do those things?” he asked me. I looked into his eyes and replied, “Everything I have is from the Sterling family, so my things are Young Master’s things.” Greg laughed. “You think by sucking up to me, I’ll protect you?” After that, Greg allowed his cronies to continue bullying me, even more severely than before. The other classmates remained indifferent. The teachers paid no mind to the minor scuffles among these rich young masters. At that moment, I suddenly understood: to avoid being bullied in this circle, I had to make myself more valuable. So I began to plead: “Young Master! Young Master! They’re stepping on my hands! If my hands and arms get hurt, I won’t be able to help you this weekend! Young Master, if my legs get hurt, I won’t be able to retrieve the balls for you this weekend!” That night, Greg uncharacteristically threw me a bottle of pain relief spray. He asked, “You’re quite a fighter, aren’t you? Why didn’t you fight back when they hit you earlier?” I shook my head. “That’s different. I fought back because they ruined what I prepared for you, Young Master. But when they hit me, it was because you instructed them to. Since it was your wish, I would never resist.” My gaze was sincere. Greg, however, scoffed. “Skylar, are you actually retarded?” He suddenly leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “Then if I told you to die, would you?” 6 No, I wouldn’t. But very soon, I proved that I wasn’t an idiot. When Greg’s crony forgot to help him with his group project, I secretly slipped him a USB drive. That time, Greg’s group project took first place. After class, Greg found me. Before he could speak, I smiled at him. “Young Master, others can help you, and so can I.” Greg smiled back. “You want to help me that badly? Alright then.” After that, Greg dumped all his homework on me, including exams. Greg wanted me to help him with his final exams. “What’s wrong, Skylar? Don’t you want to help me?” I nodded obediently. “No problem, Young Master.” The final exams for the essay-based courses were easy. Only the last one was a written, closed-book exam. Greg and I weren’t even in the same testing room. So, I made a deal with Greg. Forty minutes into the exam, I would slip a note with the answers behind the fire hydrant. Just then, more floating text appeared. [Skylar usually seems so timid, I never thought she’d be so bold.] [If she’s caught cheating on the final, she’ll be expelled, right?] On the day of the final exam, as agreed, forty minutes in, I slipped the note with the answers behind the fire hydrant. However, at that moment, someone grabbed my wrist. “Sister, what are you doing?” Sophie pulled out the note and opened it, feigning surprise. “This is… exam answers, isn’t it?” I frowned. In my habit of ignoring the floating text, I had forgotten that Sophie could also see it. The regular classes and the International Exchange Program weren’t in the same building. Sophie’s appearance here was clearly a deliberate attempt to catch me. But she overlooked one thing. I asked her, “It’s exam period. What are you doing in the International Exchange building?” Sophie choked. Just then, the teacher arrived. Sophie handed my answer sheet to the teacher. “Teacher, I want to report a student for cheating.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384484”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At eighteen, Asher Vance shielded me with his body, letting a group of thugs beat him until he was bloodied and half-dead. Lying on a stretcher, someone asked him if he regretted it. He was barely conscious, but he laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Regret it? What’s a couple of broken legs?” “I’ve got a wife now, don’t I?” At twenty-eight, I slid the wedding ring from my finger and placed it on the table, along with the pink hair tie I’d found in his pocket. He picked up the hair tie, the one the little girl had used to taunt me. Leaning against the wall, he watched me with a smirk. “Joanna, sweetheart. You don’t really think this little drama is going to change my mind, do you?” 1 I didn’t answer, just kept packing my things. The hair tie was a soft, bubblegum pink, the kind that would perfectly suit a young, vibrant girl. Asher slipped it onto his own wrist with a soft click of his tongue. He smiled, as if the simple object conjured a sweet memory, the curve of his lips softening. The old me would have been screaming by now. A hysterical, raging mess, demanding to know if he was thinking about that little tramp again. But now, I just pushed the wedding ring closer to him. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. Asher didn’t respond. He just maintained that casual, indifferent posture, though his smile was now laced with contempt. I knew he didn’t believe me. Because I had said those two words countless times over the past few years. The first few times, he had panicked, just as I’d wanted. He’d sworn to me with tears in his eyes, promising it would never happen again. He’d used every trick in the book, begging me not to leave. Until the time the girl he was keeping got a high fever. I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. I told him if he went to her, we were done. It was my birthday. Asher didn’t come home. When the girl sent a video to my phone—a calculated, taunting clip of them in bed—I actually thought about ending it all. I stood by the open window, the wind chilling me to the bone. In the end, I turned back, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of pathetic, ugly sobs. When Asher finally came home, he crouched in front of me, his smile dripping with scorn. “Sweetheart, I thought we were getting a divorce?” he’d purred. “So why are you still here, waiting for me like a good little dog?” 2 “Asher, this time it’s for real.” I finished packing the last of my things and took a deep breath. He was starting to look annoyed. But just then, his phone rang, playing a melody that could only belong to a teenage girl. Asher straightened up, his features softening the moment he answered. He shot me a triumphant smirk and began to flirt, completely ignoring my presence. “What is it now, my little princess?” “Hmph, you have to ask? It’s Valentine’s Day!” “All the other girls have their boyfriends with them, and mine is stuck with some old hag.” The girl’s voice was young, vibrant, and undeniably sweet. Asher melted under her pouting. “Alright, alright. I’m on my way.” He hung up, the affectionate look still lingering in his eyes as he turned to me. But the words that came out of his mouth were ice cold. “Joanna, you’re not hitting menopause early, are you? What’s with all the drama?” I watched his retreating back and let out a soft sigh. I had loved him too desperately for too long. Now that I truly wanted to leave, no one would ever believe me. 3 After Asher left, a notification popped up on my phone from a contact named “Lily.” [Aunty, didn’t I tell you Asher would spend Valentine’s Day with me?] [Hehe. Looks like I was right.] Her provocations were childish, but they were effective. In the past, they would have sent me into a blind rage. But I knew exactly where her confidence came from. When Asher first started cheating, he wasn’t this brazen. He hid Lily’s texts, soothed me, begged me, and promised he would end it. I was in agony, unable to believe that the boy who had loved me so fiercely could be the one driving a knife into my heart. Like so many betrayed wives, I did all the cliché things. I stormed into his office, screaming about his infidelity in front of his entire staff. I tried to find the woman who was destroying my life, to make her suffer. But Asher had built a fortress around Lily. Until the day Lily, too impatient to wait, came to find me herself. I didn’t even have a chance to fight back. She slapped down a stack of photos—intimate, graphic pictures of her and Asher in bed—and my world shattered. “Aunty, Asher said it was love at first sight with me, but he told me he doesn’t date high schoolers.” “So he waited until I graduated to make me his. And right after, he took me on a trip to Europe to celebrate.” “Yeah, that’s right. It was while you were back home, dealing with your father’s funeral.” “See? That’s how much he loves me.” Lily stood there, her ponytail bouncing, smugly recounting Asher’s devotion. I lost my mind. I grabbed a glass and threw it at her. Then I picked up a shard and raked it across her face, wanting to destroy her perfect, mocking smile. Asher arrived in a flurry, pulling a sobbing Lily into his arms. He looked at me, his voice colder than I had ever heard it. “Joanna, I’ve let you get away with too much over the years.” “So much that you actually thought you had the right to touch what’s mine.” 4 After that day, Asher stopped hiding Lily. He brought her to company events, to dinners with friends, showing her off, their affection on full display for the world to see. He turned me into a joke. No matter how much I screamed or cried, he remained a detached, indifferent spectator to my pain. During that time, I felt like a zombie, a walking corpse. My nerves were constantly frayed. I was a madwoman. When did I finally decide to give up on him? It was probably the day my mother was in the hospital for a major surgery. I was exhausted, running back and forth, and eventually collapsed from the strain. That night, Asher brazenly threw a party at our house, bringing Lily and all their friends. I dragged my weak, sick body downstairs and heard one of Asher’s friends talking about our past. “Man, Ash used to be so in love with Joanna.” “He was a hell of a soccer player back then. Even got scouted by the national team. The guy had a golden future.” “And then he threw it all away to protect her from those thugs, got both his legs broken. He’s never been the same since.” Lily, overhearing this, pouted and demanded to know the details, refusing to believe Asher had ever been so devoted to me. Her displeasure soured Asher’s mood immediately. Another friend laughed, a sleazy edge to his voice. “It was simple, really. A bunch of guys cornered Joanna.” “They were dragging her into a bar, planning to… you know. By the time Ash got there, they’d already ripped her clothes off, groped her all over.” “She was a wreck. Crying her eyes out.” Lily covered her mouth, but a giggle escaped. She snuggled into Asher’s arms, her voice dripping with malicious glee. “If that were me, I’d have killed myself after being touched by all those disgusting men.” “Besides, flies are only drawn to rotting meat. Who knows, maybe she was asking for it?” “Sounds like she got what she deserved.” But as the words left her mouth, Asher’s face went cold. “Shut up,” he commanded. Lily stared at him in disbelief, her eyes welling with tears. She started sobbing, saying she wanted to go home. “I was just saying I feel bad for you! You got your legs broken for her, and this is how you treat me?” Asher couldn’t stand to see her cry. He immediately started trying to soothe her. Lily stubbornly wiped her tears away, refusing to be placated. She tugged on his tie, her voice thick with anger. “Then say it. Say you regret it. Say that if you could do it all over again, you wouldn’t save that old hag. You’d let her rot!” Asher sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I wouldn’t save her. Fine.” In that moment, it felt like my sick, broken body finally dissolved into nothing. My heart seized with a suffocating, absolute despair. And in that moment, I finally woke up. I realized that Asher was no longer the boy who had loved me. I had to let him go. For his sake, and for mine. So I gave myself one week to learn how to let go. Today was the final day. 5 The past was the past. I took one last, long look around our home. My gaze moved from the wild, carefree smile of the man in our wedding photo to the worn, tarnished ring on the coffee table. Asher had only taken Lily’s hair tie. He hadn’t even glanced at the ring. He must have forgotten that he had placed that ring on my finger himself, right after we graduated high school. His legs hadn’t even fully healed yet, but he had limped to a construction site every day for two months, earning exactly ten thousand, three hundred dollars. Ten thousand for the ring. Three hundred for a bouquet of flowers. He had promised me, his voice thick with guilt, that he would buy me a better one someday, when he had more money. The evening breeze was cool that night as the boy knelt on one knee, his handsome face lit by a smile that would become the cage I lived in for half my life. Later, he became successful. His company went public. He bought Lily a ring worth over a hundred thousand dollars, but he never mentioned getting me a new one. I took a deep breath, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door. Then I called my lawyer. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in about half an hour.” I had contacted the lawyer—an old classmate—a week ago. We sat in a coffee shop, going over the details of the divorce agreement. My name was on some of Asher’s company shares, and all of that had to be settled. The agreement was fair. I couldn’t see any reason for Asher to refuse. “This looks good,” I said, looking up at the man in the impeccably tailored suit. “Thank you.” He gave me a polite, professional smile. As he was leaving, he handed me a coat from the back of his chair. “It’s windy out,” he said. “Be careful on your way.” 6 Asher wasn’t at the office. I had a pretty good idea where he would be. Arriving at Lily’s university, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. But the sight of her snapped me back to reality. Asher had spoiled her. She was draped in luxury brands from head to toe, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning admirers. She carried herself with an air of arrogant entitlement. A stark contrast to my own college days, when I had scrimped and saved every penny to help Asher fund his startup. When Lily saw me, she frowned. “Ugh, what a buzzkill.” Her friends started whispering, asking who I was. I ignored them and spoke to her directly, my voice cold. “Get Asher. I need to talk to him.” But as I said this, one of Lily’s friends stepped forward and shoved me, hard. I was wearing heels and stumbled backward, my lower back slamming into the metal pole of a basketball hoop. A sharp, radiating pain shot through me. The girls surrounded me, acting like a pack of righteous vigilantes. “Shameless old hag. Are you really trying to steal a college student’s boyfriend?” “Aunty, are you that desperate for a man? Following him all the way to a university?” “Lily and her boyfriend are in love. Stop trying to be a homewrecker.” Lily stood behind them, a smug look on her face. I bit my lip, then I slapped the girl who had pushed me, hard across the face. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she started to curse at me. I didn’t give her the chance. I pulled out the marriage certificate I had brought with me. “Lily, every single thing Asher has given you over the past two years… I’m entitled to half of it. That’s my legal right as his wife.” “I hope you can afford to pay it back.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384500”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Martin Lewis, Manhattan’s crown prince, got rejected by Seraphina Vance for the ninety-ninth time. He turned and shoved a bouquet of blood-red roses—and his unlimited black card—into my hands. I was digging through a dumpster for food. Helicopters swarmed overhead, showering petals. He pinned me against the wall, his breath hot on my cheek. “Hey, little stray,” he growled. “Care to be my princess?” I saw Seraphina’s icy smirk. Broke and near dropout, I took the deal. My life became a whirlwind of champagne, tutors, and reckless spending. I burned his money like there was no tomorrow. On my eighteenth birthday, his fingers traced my collarbone. “Let’s make a video,” he whispered, “to commemorate our first time.” I knew then: this was the endgame. Seraphina’s mother was my father’s discarded mistress. Her revenge was to see me ruined. But I just smiled and waved my plane ticket and Harvard acceptance letter. “Your bed is soft, Martin, and your card’s limit is high.” My smile widened. “Too bad they can’t contain my future. Bye!” 1 “Miss Monroe, your visa application was successful. You can pick it up in seven days.” I hung up the phone just as Seraphina’s cloying, high-pitched laughter floated in from the living room. Inside the sprawling villa, the party was in full swing. Seraphina, hooking her strawberry-print panties with two fingers, spun around and playfully tucked them into Martin’s hand. “A little reward for you, baby.” She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “And if you get that video of Mia, the next reward… will be me.” A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. He tilted her chin up, his voice a gravelly, decadent purr. “Don’t worry, babe. I throw a little cash her way, and the little stray actually thinks I love her. She’s already agreed to give herself to me on her eighteenth birthday.” “Her eighteenth? That’s tomorrow!” Seraphina’s eyes lit up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a loud, wet kiss on his lips. “Just make sure you don’t get your hands dirty for real. I don’t want you after she’s touched you.” He let out a low chuckle, his hand roaming wickedly over the small of her back. His grin was lazy, dangerous. “By the time I’m done with her, she won’t just make a video. I could tell her to strip naked and crawl down Fifth Avenue, and she’d do it without a second thought.” The room erupted in jeers and laughter. “I thought she was the type to dig through trash rather than sell out? Guess everyone has a price!” “The pure, innocent Mia Monroe turning into a slut? Now that’s gonna be some explosive content!” I stood just outside the door, a faint, placid smile on my face. What would a bunch of trust-fund kids, who’d never known a day of hunger, understand about true desperation? I knew what it was like to scavenge for food in dumpsters, to sleep under bridges, to drink filthy water from park sprinklers. I’d licked the last crumbs from the paper bags of stale bread the bakeries threw out. I was twelve when I did those things. Now, I was eighteen. And I swiped Martin’s no-limit black card without batting an eye. Dignity? What’s the market price on that? The laughter inside continued. Someone’s voice cut through the noise, teasing Seraphina. “Sera, you sure about pushing Martin onto Mia like this? What if he actually falls for her?” Martin grabbed a silk pillow and tossed it at the speaker, a smirk on his face. “My eyes are only on Sera. Got it?” Honestly, I couldn’t care less who Martin loved. I only cared about his money. The funny thing is, my family was rich. Very rich. My mother was a high-stakes lawyer with a crippling gambling addiction. My father was a renowned tycoon with a wandering eye. And trapped between them was me, a girl who sometimes couldn’t even afford a box of tampons. Neither of them cared about me. I was just a bargaining chip in their miserable marriage. If it weren’t for Martin, I would have already rotted away in that swamp of a home. And I had Seraphina to thank for all of it. Her hatred for me was so potent, so all-consuming, that she couldn’t wait to shove Martin into my life, just so she could be the one to orchestrate my destruction. 2 When I was twelve, my mother lost two million dollars at a poker table. She smashed the piggy bank where I’d saved up my school fees and threatened me not to tell my father. Her only form of apology was using my own money to buy me some greasy fried chicken from a street cart. As we stood there, surrounded by the stench of old oil, we saw him. My father, his arm wrapped around his mistress as they walked out of a designer boutique. Trailing behind them, clutching a shopping bag, was their illegitimate daughter: Seraphina. That night, my mother forced a bottle of drain cleaner down my throat, screaming at my father over the phone that if he didn’t break it off with that woman, she’d kill me. The chemical burn was a bitter agony. The glare of the surgical lights made me wish for death. It took three full-body blood transfusions to save my life. And that’s what it took to get my father to promise to come home, to patch together the hollow shell of our family. Seraphina hated me. She hated that I hadn’t died. Hated that my survival had led to her mother being abandoned. Hated the stain of being an illegitimate child. She wanted to destroy me with her own two hands. The truth is, I was there for every one of Martin’s over-the-top, school-wide declarations of love for her. He was handsome, magnetic, and obscenely rich. Money was just a game to him. Seraphina basked in his attention, reveling in the feeling of finally having something over me. And so, she always kept him at arm’s length, never saying yes. There was a time when I was sick with jealousy. I hated that I wasn’t the one being showered with roses and money. I hated being trapped in poverty, struggling to escape a swamp that only pulled me deeper. So one day, I posted a cryptic message online: “Being abandoned is the original sin. There’s no washing it away.” That was all it took. Seraphina couldn’t stand it. When Martin landed a helicopter on the academy’s football field, unleashing a rain of petals, I knew the show was about to begin. “Hey, little stray,” he’d said with that devilish grin, holding out his hand. “Care to be my princess?” He was offering to pull me straight to hell. That same night, Seraphina posted on the school’s forum: “So-called ‘pure and innocent girl.’ Turns out her price was just a little high.” She was right. I wanted money. Lots and lots of it. Enough to weave into a pair of wings that could carry me out of this godforsaken life. My parents always told me it was my fault they couldn’t get a divorce. But they were the sinners, and I was the one with the life sentence. My father would come home drunk, a storm of rage, beating me until my head was bleeding before he’d finally pass out in his room. My mother, after her gambling binges, would tear the house apart looking for money. She once spent an hour on her hands and knees, digging a single quarter out from under my bed. Leftovers, garbage, and endless beatings. I was done. Every time I got my report card back, I’d stare at the perfect red ‘A’ and imagine it turning into a pair of wings, flying me far away from my twisted, suffocating family. On my desk was a tattered romance novel I’d read a hundred times, where a prince lavished a broken girl with untold riches. I used to fantasize about that. That a prince would appear for me, too, throwing money at my problems and lifting me out of the dirt. I never would have crossed paths with someone like Martin Lewis on my own. But then Seraphina used herself as bait, sharpening Martin into the perfect weapon to use against me. He stepped right out of the pages of my book: from a powerful family, worth billions, handsome as a fallen angel, with a crowd of admirers wherever he went. Most importantly, he threw money around like it was nothing. That was enough. I just needed another two hundred thousand dollars. Enough to get out of the country and start over. 3 Choosing my moment, I pushed the door open, feigning ignorance as I held up a bottle of tequila. “Got the booze.” Seraphina slowly, deliberately, slid off Martin’s lap, giving him a look freighted with meaning. The man lazily crossed his long legs and patted the empty space beside him. “Come here.” I had just settled obediently beside him when Seraphina lunged, snatching the diamond bracelet from my wrist. “This is pretty. Must have been expensive.” “It was. A gift from Martin.” Someone in the room snorted. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the freebie that came with the necklace Sera’s wearing.” The room filled with mocking laughter. They’d been building up to this moment all night, waiting for me to finally crack. But I didn’t. I met their gazes coolly. “Freebie or not, it’s from Martin. So I’ll treasure it.” I saw Martin’s hand, the one holding his cigarette, freeze for a fraction of a second. A flicker of something dark and unreadable crossed his eyes. That was exactly the reaction I wanted. I knew where his soft spots were. I knew which buttons to push. The truth was, I’d already found a buyer for the bracelet. It would fetch six thousand dollars—enough to cover two months of living expenses once I was gone. Humiliation like this? I hoped they’d give me more. Someone was about to pile on with another jab, but Martin cut them off, his voice cold. “The drinks are here. Let’s play a game.” Truth or Dare. I lost the first round. Seraphina held up her phone, ready to document my every humiliation. “Truth: Have you and Martin slept together?” I picked up my shot glass and downed it in one go. I chose dare. Second round. I lost again. Seraphina smirked. “Truth: Do you love Martin, or his money?” I drank again. With everyone ganging up on me, I lost the third round, too. I can hold my liquor, but after the third shot, it was time for my performance. I had to be drunk, and I had to end up in Martin’s arms. Like I said, I knew exactly how to play him. So when I swayed, mumbling, and collapsed against him, I felt his arm tighten around me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Fourth round. Seraphina was relentless, her phone still pointed at me. “Mia. Truth: Do you think you’re a vain, gold-digging bitch?” I reached for another shot, but a hand clamped down on my wrist. Martin’s. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “That’s enough for tonight.” Later, in the bathroom. Martin pinned me against the tiled wall, his body a furnace against mine, his breath scorching my skin. “Why didn’t you answer her questions?” I lifted my eyes, making them wide and wet, and stared into the bottomless depths of his. Perfect. When a player starts asking why, it means he’s already caught feelings. He just doesn’t know it yet. I bit my lip and said nothing, my silence a weapon. Finally, he dipped his head, his lips brushing against my collarbone. “Sera was out of line tonight,” he rasped. “I’ll make it up to you.” A notification pinged on my phone. A wire transfer. One hundred thousand dollars. Before I left the bathroom, I deliberately messed up my clothes, pulling my collar askew. Seraphina was waiting right outside the door, her face a mask of fury. She mouthed a silent message to Martin. Don’t you forget our deal. As the party wound down and the clock struck midnight, Martin’s patience finally snapped. He pushed me back onto the sofa, his mouth crashing down on my neck in a feverish kiss that sent shivers down my spine. “Darling,” he whispered against my skin. “Time to hold up your end of the bargain.” He swept me into his arms and carried me toward the bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, a hazy, intimate fog. His shirt was half-open, revealing a hard, muscular chest that radiated an almost dangerous heat. As if to punish me for my earlier silence, his kiss was bruising, savage, not letting up until the coppery taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. I glanced at the headboard and saw his phone, propped up and already recording. I allowed his hand to slip under the hem of my dress. I knew it was time for my next move. 4 Just as his fingers brushed against the last button of my blouse, I timed it perfectly, pushing him away. I reached into my bag and pulled out a small, hand-carved wooden sculpture. It depicted a mother and child, clinging to one another. The craftsmanship was amateurish. But it was a perfect replica of the one raw nerve he had left. Just as I’d predicted, lust gave way to a cold, terrifying rage. His eyes locked onto the sculpture, his face turning into a dark, thunderous mask. “When I was… helping you tidy up once, I saw a broken sculpture you’d wrapped up so carefully. I thought it must be important to you, so I tried to carve a new one…” Before I could finish, his hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my throat in a vice grip. “Who told you you could touch my things?” As the world began to blur and my lungs burned for air, a strange sense of relief washed over me. A guy like him had a thousand ways to destroy me. I could escape this time, but not the next. But what if I could become the very thing he couldn’t bear to break? The original sculpture had been a birthday gift from his mother. The last gift she ever gave him before she clutched it to her chest and jumped from the roof of their penthouse. It shattered when she hit the ground. She must have been in so much pain. And so was he. I didn’t struggle. I just looked at him, forcing the words from my constricted throat. “I’m… sorry… I couldn’t make you happy.” His eyes widened, a flicker of shock in their depths. The pressure on my neck instantly loosened. As air rushed back into my lungs, I knew the fish had taken the bait. I watched him. He held the sculpture aloft, his hand trembling as if he were about to smash it to pieces, but in the end, he couldn’t. I had won. I let my hand fall to my side, casually revealing the patchwork of faint scars and fresh cuts on my skin. All deliberately inflicted while I carved his gift. When his gaze fell upon my hand, his whole body went rigid. His lips started to tremble. With a roar of frustration, he kicked over a nearby table, sending his phone clattering to the floor. “Are we… still doing this?” I asked softly. His face was a storm cloud. He grabbed his jacket, wrapped it tightly around me, and snatched his phone off the floor. He thumbed the screen for a moment. Another bank alert. Another hundred thousand dollars. “That’s for your trouble,” he bit out, his voice raw. “I don’t owe anyone anything.” When he left, he took the sculpture with him. I knew then. His heart was in chaos. After graduation, I sold off all the jewelry and designer bags he’d ever given me. I had more than enough money for my escape. I had played my part. He had fallen for it. It was time to end the game. And this time, I was the one holding the controller. 5 The next day, Martin threw a massive birthday party for me, inviting our entire graduating class. His original plan had been simple: to project my sex tape onto a giant screen for everyone to see, a final, brutal act of revenge on Seraphina’s behalf. The atmosphere should have been cold, humiliating. But today, the venue was filled with my favorite flowers—Ecuadorian roses—and a cake he’d baked himself. Seraphina stared at these small, thoughtful details, her face twisting with suspicion. She pulled him aside. “Did you do it with her?” “No,” Martin said, his gaze fixed on the floor. Seraphina visibly relaxed, a cruel smile returning to her lips. “Then you have the video? Well, what are you waiting for? Play it! You’re killing me with the suspense!” Silence. A heavy, dead silence. The afternoon sun sliced across his aristocratic features, casting half of him in light, the other in shadow. I stood a few feet away, dipping my finger into the cake’s frosting. Mm. Sweet. Ignoring the escalating argument nearby, I poured myself a glass of champagne. And downed it in one go. In my peripheral vision, I saw Seraphina shove Martin in a fit of rage. But I was the one who fell. A strange, numbing tingle shot up from the pit of my stomach. That’s when I realized. Oh, hell. The champagne was drugged. The floor rushed up to meet me, and I collapsed onto the cold, hard marble. “You bitch,” Seraphina’s voice was a triumphant hiss as she stalked toward me. She gestured to a group of leering guys. “I have plenty of ways to deal with you.” “Have your fun,” she sneered. “Just make sure you film it.” Through a thick, disorienting haze, I heard Martin’s furious roar. “This wasn’t the plan!” “The plan?” Seraphina laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. “Martin Lewis, don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her.” “I… no.” “Good. Then tell me right now. Her or me? Who do you choose?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384293”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day my brother, Caleb Ashford, and the girl who stole my life came to collect me, I was out back, hacking through weeds for the hog feed. Caleb’s gaze landed on the raw, angry gash on my forearm, and his face twisted in disgust. “Get in the car.” A flicker of triumph crossed the face of the girl, Chloe. She was already positioning herself for one of her signature, saccharine performances. But then, something shifted. Caleb grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly tight. His eyes, which had been clouded with a distant annoyance, suddenly sharpened with a shocking clarity. He bit out the words through a clenched jaw. “Who did this?” My blood ran cold. Oh god, this was it. In the novel I was trapped in, Caleb Ashford wasn’t just obsessively protective of his sister—he was a notorious clean freak. He wasn’t going to look at this ugly, mangled arm and decide to just… get rid of it, was he? “My foster father,” I whispered. “He said I was working too slow… he used the scythe.” I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain of a severed limb. Instead, I heard Caleb’s voice, dangerously calm, directed at one of the men in black suits standing by the car. “Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father.” Chloe and the bodyguards all stared at him, stunned. As for me? I could only think one thing: Did I get a bootleg copy of the book? 1 Caleb’s order—“Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father”—hung in the thick, humid air. The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances, hesitating. My foster father, however, did not hesitate. He dropped to his knees with a wet thud, his face hitting the mud. Chloe’s carefully composed expression crumbled. “Caleb!” she cried, rushing to his side. Her hand, delicate and soft, fluttered onto his sleeve. Her eyes instantly welled with tears, her voice a fragile sob. “Don’t be rash, I know you’re worried about our sister…” “But he did raise her all these years. Even if he made a mistake, we can’t just—” She never finished. Caleb’s gaze, as cold and sharp as splintered ice, fell on her. “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched as if struck. Her hand dropped from his sleeve. “I… that’s not what I mean. I just think—” “Be quiet.” He cut her off without a shred of warmth. “Chloe, are you telling me how to handle my affairs?” he pressed, his voice dangerously low. “Or are you suggesting that my sister deserved to have her arm laid open with a scythe?” Chloe was completely thrown. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I stared at Caleb’s profile, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was wrong. This was all wrong. In the book, Caleb was Chloe’s staunchest defender. He would have rained hellfire on anyone who dared to make her shed a single tear. Why would he ever speak to her with that tone? On the ground, my foster father was a sniveling mess of tears and snot, slamming his forehead against the gravel-strewn dirt until it bled. “Mr. Ashford, sir, have mercy! I was wrong! I ain’t human! I’ll never do it again!” Caleb finally tore his gaze away from Chloe, his eyes sweeping over my foster father as if he were a piece of trash on the roadside. His lips barely moved. “He can do it himself.” The head of security stepped forward. “Mr. Ashford?” “Tell him to destroy the hand that he used on my sister.” Caleb’s voice was flat, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Three fingers,” he added. “A bargain for his arm, I think.” A gasp escaped my own lips. That was worse, somehow. More personal. More cruel. My foster father’s wails choked off, replaced by a look of pure, hollow despair. The bodyguards, their faces impassive, dragged the man, now limp as a ragdoll, into the dirt-caked shack we called a house. A moment later, a raw, gut-wrenching scream tore through the air. The color drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it the color of paper. Caleb didn’t even flinch. He turned, his dark, intense eyes landing on me. Then he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket—a piece of clothing that was obviously handmade, impossibly expensive, and utterly spotless. He draped it over my shoulders, covering the girl who had just emerged from a pigsty, covered in filth and bits of straw. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a fraction softer. I nodded, still reeling from the shock. Chloe, biting her lip so hard it had to hurt, trailed silently behind us, tears swimming in her eyes. In the back of the black Bentley, Chloe sat in the passenger seat, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. According to the plot I knew, this was the moment Caleb was supposed to notice her distress, pull her into a gentle embrace, and murmur words of comfort, maybe shooting a warning glance at me—the interloper—for upsetting his precious sister. But the Caleb in this car didn’t so much as glance at her in the rearview mirror. My confusion deepened. What version of the story was this? It had to be a pirated edition. 2 The Bentley glided to a stop before an ornate, wrought-iron gate. This was the Ashford estate. The book’s brief descriptions of its luxury were now my staggering reality. The second the car door opened, Chloe seemed to find her footing again. “Dad! Mom!” There, standing anxiously by the grand entrance, were our parents. My mother—my biological mother, Eleanor—swept Chloe into her arms. “Chloe, darling, why are you crying? Who upset you?” “Caleb… he was so scary…” Chloe buried her face in Eleanor’s shoulder, her sobs finally breaking free. My father, Richard Ashford, scowled. “Caleb, what’s the meaning of this?” Caleb ignored him, walking around the front of the car to open my door. “Get out, Maya.” I moved my stiff limbs, the heavy, expensive jacket draped over me, and stepped into the magnificent entryway of my new home. Instantly, every eye was on me, each gaze dripping with disdain. A bitter smile touched my lips. This, at least, was exactly as it was written. Next up was Chloe’s masterclass in twisting the truth, followed by my parents’ furious condemnation of the “feral girl from the countryside,” culminating in them demanding I kneel and apologize to her. After that, the endless torture would begin. I lowered my eyes, calculating my first move for survival in this house. Should I swallow my pride and endure it, or should I burn the whole thing down? Just then, Chloe lifted her head from Eleanor’s embrace, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with a pitiful sorrow as she looked at me. “That man back in the country… he did raise our sister for eighteen years. He may not have been perfect, but he was there for her…” she began, her voice trembling. “When Caleb wanted someone to… to break the man’s fingers, all I did was suggest he reconsider…” She choked on a sob. “And Caleb… he told me to shut up.” Her tears spilled over again, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. “I know he’s just being protective of his sister now that she’s back, but we can’t be so unreasonable, can we?” It was a flawless performance. She painted herself as the victim while branding me as “unreasonable” and Caleb as cruel and impulsive. As expected, Eleanor hugged her tighter. “You poor thing. It’s not your fault, sweetheart.” She then turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “Maya, is it? I understand you’ve had a difficult life, but the Ashfords are a reasonable family.” “Chloe is your sister. She was only looking out for you. How could you let your brother treat her like that?” Richard let out a sharp, cold grunt. “No manners at all! You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already turning the house upside down! Apologize to your sister this instant!” I stood there, silent. Anything I said now would be wrong. “Apologize?” Caleb’s voice cut through the tension, cold as a winter wind. “Chloe, I’ll ask you again.” “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched at his tone, shrinking back into Eleanor’s arms. “I… I just felt that…” “That he was right to take a scythe to my sister’s arm?” Caleb’s voice rose, sharp and dangerous. The expressions on Richard and Eleanor’s faces froze. “A scythe?” Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at me. Caleb gave no one a chance to recover. He strode over to me, grabbed my wrist, and yanked up my filthy sleeve. The wound was laid bare for all to see—a jagged gash where the flesh was peeled back, the blood dried to a dark, grotesque crust. It was hideous. “Do you see it clearly now?” he demanded, holding my arm out as if for inspection. “This is what the man your ‘good daughter’ Chloe was defending did to her!” Eleanor’s breath hitched. She covered her mouth, her eyes filled with shock. Richard’s face went from stern to ashen. “Now,” Caleb said, his gaze locking back onto the terrified Chloe. “You tell me. Who should my sister be apologizing to?” Chloe’s lips trembled, but not a single sound escaped. I watched the hard line of Caleb’s jaw, my heart pounding in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm. Who was this man? This was absolutely not the Caleb Ashford from the book—the brother who would have burned the world down for Chloe. 3 Richard and Eleanor’s faces were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions, the most prominent being a flicker of guilt—a shamefully late arrival for their biological daughter. Chloe was as white as a ghost. While I was still processing, Caleb pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Dr. Evans, I need you at the house immediately.” Less than ten minutes later, a silver-haired man carrying a medical bag hurried in. Dr. Evans sucked in a breath when he saw my arm. “This was made by a sharp blade. It needs to be cleaned and stitched at once, or it will get infected. It could even cause permanent damage.” Eleanor swayed on her feet, her eyes instantly reddening. Caleb guided me to the sofa and watched intently as Dr. Evans treated the wound. When the antiseptic wipe touched the raw flesh, my whole body seized with pain, but I clamped my jaw shut and didn’t make a sound. This was nothing compared to the eighteen years I’d already endured. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of what looked like jealousy in Chloe’s expression. She couldn’t seem to grasp why the center of attention had suddenly shifted to me. At dinner, Chloe sat beside Eleanor, trying several times to start a conversation, only to be silenced by a cold glare from Caleb. Finally, she plastered on a bright smile, picked up the largest shrimp from a platter, and placed it in my bowl. “Maya, you have to try this. Mrs. Gable’s scampi is the best you’ll ever have.” Her smile tightened. “I bet you never got seafood this fresh… back where you were from, did you?” Before I could respond, Caleb set down his fork. He reached over, took my bowl, and swapped it with his own. “She’s allergic to shellfish.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Maya, I… I didn’t know…” She immediately adopted a wounded, on-the-verge-of-tears expression and looked to our parents for sympathy. “I was just trying to make sure she ate well…” “You didn’t know?” Caleb’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Her file has been on my desk for a week. You looked at it yesterday.” The blood drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it completely colorless. For the first time, Richard and Eleanor looked at her with a glimmer of suspicion. After dinner, Caleb led me upstairs to the second floor. He pushed open the door to the largest room at the end of the hall. “You’ll stay here from now on.” The room was decorated in minimalist shades of black, white, and grey, dominated by a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the estate’s gardens. It had the best view in the house. “Caleb, we haven’t had a chance to get Maya any clothes yet…” Chloe had followed us, her voice timid. “The dress I wore after my shower this afternoon was one of Chloe’s,” I added quietly. The dress was faded, the style was years old, and it fit me terribly. I knew exactly what Chloe was doing: reminding everyone that I was still the country bumpkin who had to wear her hand-me-downs. “If you don’t mind, Maya, you can wear some of my things for now. They’re all a bit old, but…” She didn’t get to finish. Caleb snapped his fingers. Several clerks in sharp uniforms appeared, pushing a long rack of clothing into the room. Louis Vuitton. Chanel. Dior. Everything from casual wear to evening gowns, shoes to accessories. All of it brand new. “It was all purchased in your size,” Caleb said, his gaze fixed on me. Then he glanced at Chloe. “Her old things can be thrown out.” Standing before a mountain of luxury goods, Chloe looked like she was grinding her teeth to dust. Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, there was a knock on the door. It was Chloe, with Richard and Eleanor standing behind her. “Maya,” Eleanor began, her tone strained, “this room… Chloe has always wanted to turn it into her playroom.” Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she tugged on Eleanor’s sleeve. “Mom and Dad promised me. They said for my birthday they would fill it with presents just for me…” Richard frowned. “It’s just a room. You just got here, you can take the smaller one next door for now. Let your sister have this one.” There it was again. The casual, deeply ingrained favoritism. They still couldn’t grasp who their real daughter was. I was about to speak when a cool voice came from behind them. “Fine.” Caleb was leaning against the far wall of the hallway, hands in his pockets. “She can have it.” A triumphant smirk flashed across Chloe’s face. “However,” Caleb continued, his gaze pinning her in place, “Maya will move into your room.” Chloe’s smile froze. “She is the true heir of this family. She deserves the best room in the house, after the master suite.” He didn’t give them an inch. “Since Mom and Dad already promised you this one as a playroom, I won’t interfere.” He lifted his chin slightly. “You,” he said to Chloe, “can move into the guest room.” Before anyone could protest, he spoke to the butler who stood silently down the hall. “Go and have all of Miss Chloe’s things removed from her room. Everything.” 4 The butler bowed his head. “Yes, sir.” He turned to carry out the order. Chloe finally broke. “Why?” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face, her swollen eyes locked on Caleb. “Tell me why, Caleb! Why have you been targeting me ever since I came back?” “You… you used to love me most of all!” Eleanor could no longer stay silent, her face a mask of disapproval. “Caleb, how can you treat Chloe this way? She’s your sister!” Richard’s face was dark with anger. “This is ridiculous! What has Chloe done to deserve being kicked out of her room?” I watched from the sidelines, a cold observer. Not a single one of them, not even now, saw me as part of this family. Seeing her parents rush to her defense, Chloe’s crying intensified. She stumbled forward and grabbed Caleb’s sleeve. “Brother, please tell me, did I do something to offend you? Tell me and I’ll change, I promise I’ll fix it, okay?” Caleb’s gaze slowly swept over the three of them. He ignored Chloe’s desperate pleas. “Dad, Mom. Is there something you’re failing to understand here?” Richard and Eleanor froze. “Who,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously quiet, “is your actual daughter.” The question was a knife, twisting directly into our parents’ hearts. Their eyes involuntarily darted toward me, toward the face that was a clear echo of Eleanor’s, the eyes so like Richard’s. Eleanor’s lips parted, her expression a war of guilt and internal conflict. Richard’s throat worked. Finally, he managed to force the words out. “But… but Chloe… we raised her for eighteen years. There are feelings involved…” “Feelings?” Caleb let out a short, sharp laugh. “So, your feelings trump blood? They trump justice?” He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming. “Have you ever stopped to think that if Maya hadn’t been stolen, the life Chloe has been living would have been hers? This house, these clothes, this very room—it was all meant for her!” His voice rose with each word. “And yet you stand here acting as if she’s the intruder, the one who doesn’t belong!” Every syllable he spoke drained more color from Richard and Eleanor’s faces, leaving them speechless and pale. Sensing the tide turning against her, Chloe panicked. She quickly wiped her tears, transforming into a picture of mature understanding and heartbreaking sorrow. “Caleb, don’t blame Mom and Dad. It’s all my fault.” She lowered her head, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have fought with my sister over a room. I… I’ll move out right now.” She looked at our parents, pleading. “Please, just don’t send me away.” Then, she took a small step toward me and tugged on the sleeve of my shirt, fat tears plopping onto the floor. “Maya… I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.” A brilliant tactical retreat. But I knew that in this moment, I couldn’t say a word. Caleb was fighting this battle for me. If I softened now, if I played the part of the magnanimous sister and gave the room back, I would be throwing his efforts back in his face. It would be a slap in the face to him, and it would put me right back in the position of being the family doormat. After just one day, I understood the landscape of this house perfectly. My parents’ affection was fickle, and Chloe was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The only person I could rely on to secure my place here was the cold, powerful man standing before me. So I dropped my gaze and said nothing. Seeing her olive branch rejected, a flicker of pure venom crossed Chloe’s eyes before it was drowned again in a fresh wave of sorrow. In the end, under Caleb’s unwavering pressure, the scene concluded with Chloe sobbing as she was moved to the guest room. That night, lying in a bed so soft it felt alien, I tossed and turned. For eighteen years, I’d slept on hard wooden planks under damp, mildewed blankets. This sudden comfort felt strange, unsettling. I closed my eyes, but one sentence echoed in my mind. “She is the true heir of this family.” I slept without dreaming. The next day, my body’s internal clock woke me at the crack of dawn. I put on a set of the new clothes Caleb had bought for me, the silk a foreign, luxurious sensation against my skin. I opened my bedroom door, planning to head downstairs. I never expected to find Chloe kneeling on the floor right outside, her face streaked with tears.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384309”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To the world, Caleb Murney and I were the perfect, loving couple. Behind closed doors, we were poison to each other. Ours was a marriage of convenience, a business merger in human form. His heart belonged to Lillian, the heiress his family had raised, who had died seven years ago. After the wedding, he retaliated against our forced union by parading a string of new lovers in front of me. I struck back by poaching his clients and torpedoing his deals. It was a cold war of attrition, with no end in sight. Until last month. Drunk and reckless with his latest conquest, a young intern, Caleb played with fire—literally. He burned down my warehouse, the one storing millions in imported materials. I rushed to the police station, my world smoldering around me, and saw her: a college girl with a face that was an uncanny echo of Lillian’s. Caleb held her protectively, his arms a fortress around her. “It’s just a damn warehouse, Catherine!” he snarled. “Keep your voice down. You’re scaring Serena.” And in that moment, a profound exhaustion washed over me, heavier than any loss of money.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384324”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To change my boyfriend’s fate, to stop him from dying so young, I was reborn seven times. But every single time, he died saving me. Just as I was sinking into despair, the text appeared on my screen. A live feed of comments, scrolling across my vision. [This Player is on another level, lmao. Needs cash, so he runs the Nora route, fakes his death as soon as he wins, and cashes out. He’s just using her as a farming spot.] [Nora is the most tragic NPC ever. She probably has no idea Asher Vance is about to get married in the real world. She’s sitting here thinking she got him killed.] [This run was too smooth, though. The payout was only a tenth of the usual. That’s not gonna last him long. He’ll probably start a new run soon…] The next second, the world bled to gray, and a profound silence fell. When I opened my eyes again, an eighteen-year-old Asher Vance was smiling down at me, his eyes curved into crescents. “Excuse me? Can I get your number?” 1 “Hey, miss?” When I didn’t respond, a blush crept up his neck. “Can I… get your number?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t mean any harm, I just… I’d like to be your friend.” I stared at him, my mind a complete blank. It wasn’t until he shyly averted his gaze that reality crashed back in. It was real. I was back. Again. Reborn on the exact day I first met Asher Vance. And right now, in the space before my eyes, translucent text was scrolling, refreshing with new comments. [Seriously? Not this opening again. It’s so old.] [Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Nora falls for it every single time. This move is gold!] [Seven times with the same opening line. I’m bored even if the NPC isn’t. Can’t Asher try a different strategy for once? Stop recycling the same playthrough.] [You don’t get it. Asher’s only here for the money. The faster he completes the mission, the better.] My fingers clenched, my mind reeling. I stared at the word that kept appearing over and over again. Strategy. Route. Playthrough. In an instant, my memories came rushing back. 2 This was my seventh rebirth. Each time, I returned with all my memories from the previous life. And with a single, desperate mission. My first love, Asher, had died saving me. I was reborn to avert that tragedy, to prevent his death, to marry him and grow old with him. But every single time, I failed. The first time, he shoved me out of the raging surf and onto the beach, only to be swept away by a rogue wave. The second time, he carried my unconscious body from a burning building. He went back for the engagement ring he’d planned to give me and died of smoke inhalation. The third time, he held me up with the last of his strength from beneath a collapsed ruin, bleeding out before the rescue team could arrive. The fourth time, the fifth, the sixth… The accidents were always different. The outcome was always the same. I was helpless, broken, consumed by a rage against a cruel fate that always tore us apart. But now… These lines of text scrolling before my eyes told a different story. The love I thought was eternal, the life-and-death stakes that shattered my heart, the endless cycle of losing Asher… It was all just a game. Asher was the Player, following a script. And I… I was just an NPC, waiting to be conquered. 3 It was too absurd. I couldn’t accept it. It was impossible. Asher and I had fallen in love seven times. He gave everything for me. He loved me more than he loved himself, more than life itself. How could he be a Player? I blinked hard, trying to will the ridiculous text away, but it was no use. The feed kept scrolling, faster than before. [What’s with Nora this time? She’s not biting. Asher’s getting antsy.] [See? Even the classics need an update. Even a sweet, naive NPC like Nora can glitch out sometimes.] [Okay, place your bets. If Nora doesn’t give him her number, what’s Asher’s next move?] [Is that even a question? In this situation, he’ll obviously play the victim.] [“I’m sorry, I was being too forward today.”] [“This is the first time I’ve ever worked up the courage to ask for a girl’s number…”] After those comments, a wave of “LMAO” and “HAHAHAHA” flooded the screen. It took a while for a new discussion to appear. [I guess everyone remembers the first NPC Asher ever conquered?] [She was nothing like Nora. Not nearly as sweet or easy to fool. Asher had to pull out all the stops to win her over. So when he found an easy target like Nora, he latched on. It’s like farming a boss. He’s just run the same route over and over.] [This is the seventh time, right?] 4 The seventh time. A cold sweat prickled my back. The seed of doubt had been planted, and it was beginning to sprout. How could they know these details? “Nora…” Asher’s eyes were red-rimmed as he looked at me, his expression wounded. He took a step forward, reaching for my sleeve, but I flinched away. “We don’t know each other. Don’t touch me.” He froze for a second, then gave a bitter, wounded smile. “I’m sorry. I was being too forward today. I just… I wanted to be your friend. I’ve always been pretty shy, not very popular with girls. This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way about someone, the first time I’ve ever worked up the courage to ask for a number…” “I’m sorry if I bothered you.” He turned away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Just before he left, he glanced back at me, a single, crystalline tear tracing a path down his cheek. Honestly, one look at Asher’s face was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat. The first time we met, I was completely mesmerized. Every time our eyes met after that, my cheeks would flush and my pulse would race. But now… Looking at him, I felt none of that girlish flutter. He was playing the victim, just as the comments had predicted. Every word out of his mouth was an exact match to the text on my screen. They not only knew the intimate details of our past lives but could also predict his every move with chilling accuracy. I had no choice but to believe it. Maybe everything the comments were saying… was true. 5 Back in my dorm room, I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted. I replayed my seven lives with Asher, the memories flickering through my mind like an old film. Only now did I realize that the signs had been there all along. The meeting, the confession, the first kiss, the proposal, the accident. Five distinct points in a timeline I had repeated with Asher six times. The same opening line. The same surprise proposal. The only thing that changed was the duration. Each cycle grew shorter. From three years the first time, down to just six months the last. I’d had a fleeting thought once that our relationship felt like a game, with Asher as the player, speeding through the same story faster each time. But I had dismissed it, attributing it to our deepening connection. Because we had loved before, falling in love again would naturally be faster. So, even though each rebirth cost me a portion of my own lifespan, even though our time together might be shorter each time… I would have done anything for even the slimmest chance of keeping him alive. It was only after Asher died for the sixth time that the on-screen text appeared, and the truth was laid bare. The pain was so sharp it was hard to breathe. A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. The next second, the comments returned. [What’s going on? Why is Nora crying?] [This isn’t part of the script. Nora’s character profile is ‘sweet and naive.’ She’s not supposed to reject Asher.] [It’s about time something changed. The first playthrough in a parallel world doesn’t affect the NPC, but Asher has no scruples. The rewards he gets from conquering Nora are literally converted from her own life force. That’s why her health is getting worse, her grades are slipping from a top-tier university to a state college, her family situation is deteriorating, and she’s already lost thirty years off her lifespan…] [Asher is probably raging right now, lmao!] [TBH, I wonder what would happen if Nora saw Asher when he’s throwing a tantrum?] 6 For some reason, after that last comment, a new window opened in my vision. It was a live feed of Asher. He was in an empty room, pacing and muttering to himself. “Fucking bitch. Thinks I don’t know her type? All I have to do is crook my finger and she comes crawling. Who the hell is she trying to fool with this act?” “Look at her. If it wasn’t for the mission, you think I’d even glance her way?” “System! When this run is over, I want triple the rewards! You hear me?” “Of course I know it’ll drain her life force and lifespan! But there are countless trash NPCs like her. Who cares if one of them dies? Being my target is an honor, you got it?” … A bone-deep chill washed over me. I shot up in bed, my body trembling uncontrollably. So this was the real Asher. All that tenderness, all that affection… it was all a carefully constructed lie. The real him was cruel, vile, and utterly despicable. In the feed, Asher was still cursing. I listened to his filth, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. My heart felt like a stone, plummeting into a bottomless abyss. Then, his expression suddenly changed to one of panic. “System! System! Why did Nora’s Love Meter for me just drop by ten points?!” With that, the feed vanished. In its place, the comments started scrolling frantically. [Whoa, whoa, whoa, what was that?] [If I remember correctly, Nora’s Love Meter for Asher starts at 60%, right? A ten-point drop right off the bat?] [Asher was so confident about this run. He set the mission timer for only one month! The mods told him to change it, but he said a naive girl like Nora would be a one-week job, max. A month was overkill. And now he’s down ten points on day one. LOL. Serves him right.] [LMAOOOOOOO!] [But they changed the rules a few days ago! If a Player fails their conquest, they have to swap lives with the NPC! The Player becomes the NPC, and the NPC enters the real world and inherits all of the Player’s assets…] [Swap lives? Now that’s interesting. Asher’s bought a mansion and a fleet of luxury cars with his winnings over the years. But Nora is just a poor student right now. I wonder how he’ll handle that kind of life.] Those last few comments flashed by quickly, unnoticed by the others. I grabbed a notebook from my nightstand and wrote down that single, crucial sentence. Staring at the words “swap lives,” I fell deep into thought.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384340”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day my six-year-old biological daughter was returned to me, she refused to let me near her. My husband, Stephen, said she just needed time to adjust. “Why don’t you go on your business trip?” he suggested gently. “When you come back with lots of gifts, I’m sure she’ll warm up to you.” I was about to leave when I heard it—a small, terrified voice that wasn’t spoken aloud. Should I tell Mommy that my sister is always hitting me? Daddy said Mommy doesn’t like kids who tattle. He said she doesn’t like me. But if I don’t tell her… I don’t think I’ll be alive when she comes back. My heart seized. My head snapped toward the corner of the room, where my daughter, Violet, was huddled. Our eyes met, and hers were filled with tears. She didn’t open her mouth, but the voice came again, clear as day. Maybe I was reborn because I missed Mommy so much. Stephen saw me frozen in place. “Honey, you’re going to miss your flight.” I turned and slapped him across the face, the sound cracking through the quiet house. A business trip? To hell with that. I was staying right here with my baby girl, and I’d kill anyone who tried to hurt my child. … Stephen cupped his cheek, his face a mask of shocked disbelief. I’ve always been assertive, but I’d never laid a hand on anyone. Seeing my genuine fury, he quickly made an excuse about an urgent matter at the office and fled the house. The moment he was gone, Violet, who had been standing near me, shrank behind a marble pillar. Mommy is just as scary as Daddy said. Hearing her thoughts again, I was taken aback. The slap had been a knee-jerk reaction, pure rage fueled by the fear that my daughter’s life was in danger. I could be impatient, yes, but scary? Why would Stephen tell her that? After Violet was found and the devastating hospital mix-up was revealed, Stephen had been the perfect, caring father. He’d even created a detailed file for me on how to best interact with a child who had spent her first six years in an orphanage. He had always been the patient one in our marriage, the one who took on the bulk of the childcare. It had to be a misunderstanding. Looking at the tiny, trembling girl, I felt an overwhelming urge to hold her. I knelt down, forcing a gentle smile. “Mommy’s not going to work today. How about we go visit your new school instead?” Violet’s eyes widened in surprise, and she nodded. I scooped her into my arms, and her thoughts flooded my mind again, soft and wondrous. Mommy smells so nice. Her hug is so warm. It’s a shame that the first time Mommy held me in my last life, I was already dead. I couldn’t feel how warm she was. A cold dread gripped me. According to her, by this point in her previous life, I was already out of the country. Well, this time I was here. And I was going to find out which son of a bitch dared to lay a hand on my daughter. I dressed Violet in a beautiful new dress. I only went upstairs for a moment to grab my purse, but when I came back down, I found Jenny—the daughter I had raised for six years, the one mistakenly swapped with mine—jabbing a finger in Violet’s face. “You little peasant, who said you could wear that dress?” Jenny shrieked. “This is a one-of-a-kind piece! I am the only princess in this house!” “You’re trash! Just because you live here now doesn’t make you one of us!” With that, Jenny lunged forward and began tearing at the delicate fabric of Violet’s dress. I saw red. I rushed down the stairs, but by the time I reached them, Jenny was already on the floor, a piece of torn fabric clutched in her hand. She held her arms out to me, tears streaming down her face. “Mommy, I don’t know why she hit me!” she wailed. “Mommy, I didn’t!” Violet cried, her voice trembling. “You did!” Jenny sobbed. “You said I stole your place for three years and that you wanted me to die! Mommy, I can leave and give her back her spot, just please don’t let me die! I’m scared I won’t see you again if I die!” Violet opened her mouth to argue, but then clamped it shut, her head bowed. If I try to explain, Mommy will just think I’m a bad kid who won’t admit when I’m wrong. In my last life, whenever Jenny bullied me, Daddy and my brothers only ever believed her. They thought I was a liar who started fights and then played the victim. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I looked at my timid, cautious daughter, already preparing to apologize for something she didn’t do. I immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her with my body. “Jenny, I saw the whole thing,” I said, my voice cold and even. “You were the one who started tearing at Violet’s dress. Why are you lying and saying she hit you?” Jenny stared at me, her face a picture of disbelief. “You don’t believe me? You believe this… this stray?” she screamed. “You’re her real mother, so I’m the outsider! You’re ganging up on me! You promised you would still love me even after she came back, but you lied!” With a final, theatrical sob, Jenny ran upstairs and slammed her bedroom door. As angry as I was, a part of me understood. She’d been the pampered center of our universe for six years. To suddenly learn she wasn’t our biological child had to be a terrible shock. Her hostility toward Violet was… understandable, for a child. I took a deep breath, ready to go up and have a calm, patient talk with her. But as I approached her door, I heard her voice, dripping with venom. “That old hag is already taking her side. I’m crying my eyes out, and she actually cares about the ‘truth.’ The truth is that little beast should just die! Just wait until she’s not home. I’ll teach that animal a lesson she’ll never forget.” My hand, raised to knock, froze in mid-air. I couldn’t believe the child I had nurtured and adored could harbor such ugly thoughts. Just then, Violet came up behind me, tugging timidly on my sleeve. “Mommy, I don’t want to go to school anymore,” she whispered, her eyes wet with tears. Jenny is so mad today. She’s going to kill me. I don’t want to be locked in the kennel with the dog like last time. The dog bites so hard. It bit off my nose and my ears. Hearing this, the last of my restraint shattered. After Violet was returned to us, I’d felt pity for Jenny. I wanted to treat them both equally. But she wasn’t just acting like a princess; she was a monster, tormenting my real daughter. I immediately called for the nanny. “Pack Miss Jenny’s things,” I ordered, my voice ringing through the hall. “She’s being sent to a group home.” The stream of curses from Jenny’s room stopped abruptly. The nanny just stared at me. “Ma’am, how can you be so biased?” she clucked disapprovingly. “Miss Jenny is heartbroken. How can you be so cruel? People will talk.” She sniffed. “Besides, Miss Jenny is so bright and clever, she’ll be a great success one day. Unlike Violet… so timid and weak. Who knows what will become of her.” I slapped the nanny so hard her head snapped to the side. “Who the hell do you think you are, judging my daughters?” I snarled. “You have two choices: take Jenny to the home now, or pack your own bags and get out!” The nanny panicked. “Ma’am, maybe we should wait for Mr. Stephen to come home. The man should be the one to make these decisions…” I laughed, a cold, bitter sound. This entire house, this entire fortune, was mine. Stephen had married into my family. And this nanny, with her archaic ideas, dared to lecture me? “Even when Stephen gets here, he’ll do as I say,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “And you? You’re fired.” I called the estate manager right then and there and had her terminated. As the security guards threw her luggage onto the curb, the nanny shrieked that Stephen would make me pay. I watched the front gate close on her, a grim satisfaction settling in my heart. In the car, I turned to Violet. “If anyone, and I mean anyone, ever bullies you again, you tell Mommy immediately. I will always protect you.” Tears welled in Violet’s eyes, but then she broke into a radiant smile and nodded fiercely. And then, I heard her thoughts again. Mommy is nothing like the mommy Daddy told me about. Was Daddy lying? Does Mommy actually love me? But then why… why in my last life, when I was dying and begged Daddy to call her, did he tell me Mommy didn’t want to see me? My blood ran cold. Was Stephen involved in this? My suspicion solidified the moment we arrived at the prestigious academy. The headmistress informed me that Violet wasn’t on the enrollment list. I had explicitly told Stephen to register both girls and to gift each of them 10% of my company’s stock as an enrollment present. “Please, check again,” I insisted. “Jenny and Violet Sinclair were registered together.” The headmistress shot a contemptuous look at Violet. “Mr. Stephen came by himself,” she said smugly. “He said that he would be gifting the full twenty percent of Sinclair Industries stock to his daughter, Jenny. As for this one,” she gestured dismissively at Violet, “is she an illegitimate child or something? She certainly isn’t entitled to any shares.” “How dare you?” I exploded. “How dare you slander my daughter? The Sinclair stock is mine, and I’ll give it to whomever I damn well please!” She smirked, but before she could retort, her expression morphed into one of fawning adoration. “Mr. Stephen! What a pleasant surprise!” I turned and saw him hurrying toward us. He ignored the headmistress, his face a mask of concern. “Honey, what happened at home? I heard Jenny was hysterical.” I slapped him again. “Why didn’t you enroll our daughter?” He finally seemed to notice the situation, stammering, “Violet just came from an orphanage… I was worried she wouldn’t adapt to a private academy. I didn’t want her to be bullied.” “Violet is the sole heiress to Sinclair Industries. Who would dare bully her?” I shot back. “And if they did, she needs to learn to fight back. How else will she run a multi-billion dollar corporation?” Stephen froze. “What do you mean, sole heiress? What about Jenny? And what about our three sons? How can you be so biased?” “Our family business has always been passed down to the women,” I said coolly. “You didn’t seem to have a problem when I said I was giving it to Jenny. Why is it an issue now that it’s Violet’s turn? And don’t you dare talk to me about bias. This woman just told me you were giving twenty percent of my company to Jenny.” Stephen looked at the headmistress in shock. The headmistress, completely misreading the situation, pointed a finger at me. “A mistress should know her place! Don’t get too arrogant. Mr. Stephen can replace you in a heartbeat!” “What the hell are you talking about?” Stephen roared, his face turning purple. “I’m the one who can’t live without my wife!” The headmistress finally realized her mistake and shrank back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384357”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel