Category: English

After a month of relentless heat and drought, the temperature finally began to drop. Karen, my neighbor, saw me moving out and sneered, “What’s this? Finally decided to get lost?” Little did she know that our neighborhood was about to become an isolated zone of high-temperature acid rain. Those who couldn’t escape were doomed to die. I woke up from a nightmare, the pain of acid rain corroding my skin and bones still lingering, causing me to shiver uncontrollably. In the dream, a strange acid rain fell, residents scattered to escape, only to find that the neighborhood was covered by an invisible dome. Those inside couldn’t get out, and those outside couldn’t get in. I’ve always had a habit of hoarding things, so I could barely manage with the food I had at home. Karen, the neighbor downstairs, had a good relationship with me, so when I heard her plea for food, I immediately opened the door. But I never expected that Karen’s family was waiting at the door. As soon as I opened a crack, they violently pushed their way in. They ransacked my stored food and drinking water, tied me up, and pushed me out of the building. The acid rain fell on my body, corroding my skin into blisters. I cried out in pain and despair in the rain, trying to awaken a shred of conscience in them. They just gave me a cold look, “You little bitch, you were hiding quite a lot! It’s enough for our family to live on for a while!” My voice gradually grew weaker. The laughter of Karen’s family was still piercing, mixing with the sound of rain to form a horrifying symphony. Since heaven has given me this chance, I must survive at all costs.

After graduating from college, I went to work in another city. My parents, wanting me to live comfortably, bought a small two-bedroom apartment near my workplace. On the first day I moved in, Karen, the neighbor, came to talk to me proactively. She was the security guard for this area, her husband worked at the same company as me, and she had a son in high school preparing for his final exams. Being new to the city, Karen’s enthusiasm made me feel welcome. After learning that her husband worked with me, I let my guard down even more. Our company had good benefits, often distributing fruits and flour during holidays. I always used the excuse of living alone to give part of my benefits to her family. She would always accept them with a smile, not forgetting to compliment me. Looking back now, Karen seemed to always be taking things from me, but never gave me anything in return. Those light compliments were far less substantial than actual material goods. I couldn’t help but recall the pain of slowly losing my life in the acid rain in my dream. The moonlight outside the window flowed slowly, the neighborhood was peaceful, showing no signs of the hell on earth that would come in half a month. Karen’s cursing voice next door was particularly clear: “I must have been blind to marry into this family, I’m so unlucky to live with you people, a husband who doesn’t strive for success, a son who doesn’t study, how can my life be so miserable!” Then came the sound of dishes and bowls being smashed. I took out my phone and sent Karen a voice message on SnapChat, “You’re really noisy, even if your family life is bad, you shouldn’t disturb others in the middle of the night.”

Perhaps my sudden change surprised Karen for a moment. After half a minute of silence, Karen started smashing tables and chairs at home with renewed vigor. “Fine, you all bully me, and you, little bitch next door, don’t be so smug, you’ll have your day of misfortune!” Neighbors nearby were gradually woken up by the noise, but everyone tacitly remained silent. I should have realized earlier that in this neighborhood, no one associated with this family. Only I was still foolishly being kind to them. Realizing that no one was responding to her, Karen’s noise gradually died down. As soon as I woke up, I sent a message to a real estate agency, asking them to keep an eye out for a house nearby but in a different neighborhood. I needed to move. In the days before moving, I definitely couldn’t let Karen’s family have a comfortable life. The pain I suffered had to be returned in full.

The high temperature of over 40°C (104°F) had lasted for more than half a month. The company boss, considering the difficulty of employees coming to work, had arranged for an early vacation. I set an alarm for 4 AM, planning to go to a distant market to buy some living supplies first. Even though the days of acid rain might not affect me after moving out, I still needed to prepare for the abnormally high temperatures in the coming months. Although it was still half dark when I left home, I felt a wave of high temperature as soon as I stepped out. I quickly drove to the market, bought freeze-dried vegetables, sausages, and bottled water from several scattered stalls, then went to supermarkets and convenience stores to buy instant food and sanitary napkins and other daily necessities. Only after filling the trunk and back seat to the brim did I finally feel at ease. On the way back to the city, the real estate agent called me, saying there was a house for sale nearby. It wasn’t large, and because it was old, the price was cheap. I stopped the car by the roadside and talked to the agent on the phone, roughly understanding the situation of the house. The owner of the house lived abroad permanently and had only recently thought of selling the house. The landlord was cheerful and said that if I decided to buy, I could move in first, and the transfer procedures could be completed after he returned to the country. After repeatedly thanking the landlord, I moved the supplies I had bought into the new house.

When I returned to the neighborhood after moving the supplies, Karen was sitting in the shade of a tree to cool off. The continuous high temperature made the rooms very stuffy, and Karen, being of a stingy nature, absolutely wouldn’t turn on the air conditioning. Karen glanced at me coldly, muttering to herself, “You little bitch, still wandering around in such hot weather, you’ll be cooked into an idiot sooner or later.” I didn’t respond to her. Seeing this, Karen immediately became smug, “Little bitch, you don’t dare to speak after being scolded a couple of times. You’ve clearly been educated into stupidity, not as smart as my son.” I stood still under my parasol, staring at her. Karen became a bit nervous, “Little bitch, what are you standing there like a stick for?” I took out my phone, pointed at the camera by the building, and said, “When I first moved in, I was worried about the security here, so I paid to install this camera. I’ve recorded all the videos of you cursing just now. You wouldn’t want this video to appear in the neighborhood group chat and your husband’s work group, would you?” Karen stood up at once, looking like a short, dumpy bread man. She angrily pointed at me for a while: “You… you…” I replied with a smile: “Pretending to stutter isn’t good.” Karen was so angry that she wanted to walk out of the shade to hit me, but her legs were numb from sitting for too long. She tripped over her own feet, losing balance and falling flat on her face. Her left cheek touched the ground directly, and the scorching ground immediately blistered her skin. She tried to support herself up with her hands, grimacing, but her arm strength was simply not enough to support her body. The parts of her palms and arms that touched the ground quickly turned red, and she instinctively cried out “Ouch, ouch!” Her “good” son heard the commotion upstairs and ran down in slippers. There was a small step at the entrance of the building, and he stumbled, falling right on top of Karen. I couldn’t help but gasp, “What a beautiful scene.” Karen was in too much pain to speak now. She tried to push her son away, but the weight of a 200-pound grown man was not something an old woman could move. I sighed, took my phone, and went upstairs. Half an hour later, the property management staff found Karen and her son, and it took a great effort to pull them up. I roughly understood from the intermittent cursing from downstairs. — Karen’s son had fractured a bone, and the two of them had been baked into human jerky before someone came to rescue them.

Just as night fell, I heard someone frantically knocking on the door. I knew right away that it must be Karen’s family coming to make trouble. I bit into an ice pop and went to the door, looking through the peephole. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I saw two people wrapped up like mummies. Hearing my laughter, Karen angrily slapped her thigh. Probably because her eyesight was poor after the fall, she slapped her son’s freshly fractured leg. A high-pitched male soprano lit up the motion-sensor lights of the entire building. The man who had just returned from work looked helplessly at their farce, “Have you had enough? If you’ve had enough, hurry back home. Are you trying to make sure everyone at our company knows about your misdeeds?” Karen cried out, “What have we done? It’s clearly this little bitch who’s shameless! She’s the one who cursed us for no reason! You heartless man, instead of standing up for us, you’re helping outsiders!” The man angrily slapped Karen’s arm, “The property management has already told me everything. You were clearly the one who cursed her first! I’m still trying to get ahead in the company, hurry up and get downstairs.” The man cursed as he led Karen downstairs, the son hopping alone behind them. Looking at the state of their family, the anger in my heart subsided a bit. The acid rain was coming soon, and I needed to move out in the shortest time possible.

In the following days, I went out early every day to purchase living supplies, and packed my luggage late at night, completely reversing my schedule with others. Looking at the refreshed old house, I breathed a sigh of relief. The north-facing bedroom had been converted into a storage room, filled to the brim with various necessities. In my spare time, I prepared power banks and books, and downloaded many songs, variety shows, and web dramas onto a hard drive. After all, I didn’t know how long the high temperature weather would last, and I needed to find something to do. With everything prepared, I started to casually hint to nearby neighbors that my work was being transferred and I would soon be living in a new city. These days, the temperature seemed to be dropping slightly, and I knew that the acid rain was coming. Finally, on the day before the acid rain came, I loaded the remaining items into the car, ready to bid farewell to this place for good. Karen was still sitting in the shade of the tree, eyeing me sideways. The burns on her face hadn’t healed properly, making her look particularly comical: “What? Finally going to get lost?” I said, “Yes, you’ll never see me again.” Sitting on the sofa in my new home, a light rain started to fall. The rain had finally come.

Through the rain curtain, I could see a transparent barrier rising around the neighborhood I used to live in, extending from the ground all the way up into the cloud layer. The leaves quickly turned yellow and fell off under the rain’s wash. As raindrops hit the cement ground, a strange white smoke rose. The internet was in an uproar, and the local police department quickly issued several announcements. “Due to the current abnormal weather, please stay quietly at home and wait for further notice. Do not go out! Do not go out! Do not go out!” Karen quickly commented under the announcement: “You tell me not to go out and I won’t go out? My family’s living expenses depend on my husband going to work! You heartless police, just trying to avoid responsibility by troubling the citizens!” The police department ignored her and continued to post messages calling for people to stay indoors. Seeing no one responding to her, Karen became even more agitated: “I’m going out anyway, it’s so cool outside in the rain!” The police department finally got annoyed: “Dear netizen, it’s acid rain outside. For your own safety, please stay at home.” Karen continued to bombard with comments: “You say it’s acid rain and it’s acid rain? I’m going out anyway! I’m going to start a live stream, I’ll fight it out with those bastards at the police department today!” With that, Karen posted a live stream link to the neighborhood group chat. I switched to a small account and clicked into the live stream. There were already dozens of viewers in the stream, and looking at the nicknames, they were mostly residents of the neighborhood. Karen went downstairs holding her phone, not even bothering with an umbrella. “Hello everyone in the live stream, I’m going out in the rain now. Why won’t the police let us go out!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294710”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #校园School #魔幻Magic

Because of my kindness toward a dog, I was gifted $5 billion. All I had to do was spend it, and my liver cancer would miraculously disappear. I stared at the balance on my phone, wiping away my tears. If I could spend to my heart’s content before I die, it was worth it! The day I was diagnosed with liver cancer was Christmas. The streets were filled with the sound of Christmas carols, and the atmosphere was lively and cheerful. I drifted down the street with the lab results in my hand. “Liver cancer, late-stage” were the words glaring at me from the medical report. The doctor’s words still echoed in my mind. “If there’s something you want to do, do it quickly.” “Treatment isn’t going to help you. You only have a few months.” I had sensed something was wrong with my body for a while, so the news wasn’t a surprise. There was just this feeling of, “Well, that figures.” Maybe it was the years of overworking. Maybe it was all the dinners and drinks with clients. Maybe it was the malnutrition from my teenage years catching up to me. My phone screen lit up. It was a message from my boyfriend, Tyler Martin. [Baby, I have to work late tonight. I can’t spend Christmas with you.] I looked up and saw two people locked in an embrace, not far away. So, this was what he meant by “working late.” Suddenly, being cheated on didn’t seem like such a big deal in the face of death. But did he really have to flaunt it in front of me? I walked up to them and yanked the two of them apart. A loud slap landed square on Tyler’s face. “Working late?” He looked stunned. He turned to see me, his eyes wide with shock, and just as he was about to explode in anger, I slapped him again, this time across his right cheek. “Working late with her face?” I had fallen for that gentle, nerdy face of his. He seemed cultured and sweet. Sure, he had his faults—he wasn’t exactly strong, and he had a ton of quirks—but I liked him anyway. So, I played the naïve girlfriend for three years. Who would’ve thought he’d turn out to be such scum? I still wasn’t satisfied. I raised my hand and slapped him once more. This time, he lost it, clenching his fists and charging at me, breathless with rage. I kicked him square in the chest, and he stumbled back a few steps, gasping for air, unable to form coherent words. “Carrie Mitchell, are you insane?!” I smirked. “Yeah, I am. I’m dying, actually.” I kicked him again, sending him sprawling to the ground. Tyler lay there, groaning in pain, barely able to breathe. I stepped on him, grinding my foot into his chest for good measure, and glanced around at the crowd forming nearby. People were starting to gather, some even pulling out their phones to record the scene. “I’m just dealing with a cheating scumbag. Any of you want to defend him, or do you want to be next?” As soon as the words left my mouth, the crowd scattered. Soon, it was just me and the pale-faced girl standing there. She looked young, probably just graduated from college. “How long have you been dating him?” She mumbled, “Not even six months.” “Did you know he had a girlfriend?” The girl shook her head furiously, eyes wide. “No! Not until now! I’m done with him! I swear!” I nodded in approval. “Then what are you waiting for? Leave.” “Right! Right, I’m going! Wishing you—” I cut her off, annoyed. “Don’t bother wishing me anything. I don’t have a thing for secondhand men.” Once the girl was gone, I grabbed Tyler by the collar and dragged him to the railing. I was strong by nature, and a few years of martial arts training had made sure I could handle someone like him without breaking a sweat. “Now let’s talk about us.” “We’ve been together for three years. How much have I spent on you?” Tyler’s face was swollen and red, looking nothing like the clean-cut guy I used to like. “Uh… maybe $30,000? No, wait, $50,000.” “Are you sure?” “And the $30,000 you loaned me. So, $80,000 total.” “No interest?” Tyler quickly changed his answer. “Okay, okay! $100,000! I owe you $100,000!” I stuffed my medical report back into my coat pocket. “Pay up. Cash or transfer?” “Transfer, transfer!” I stared coldly at him. “Don’t forget to add a note.” He flinched and immediately added a note before shakily entering his password to make the transfer. My phone buzzed with the notification. $100,000 received, labeled as “Repayment.”

Before leaving, I gave him one last chance. “Do you need me to call the cops for you?” Tyler was trembling like a leaf, looking pitiful. “No! I, uh, fell. I haven’t seen you today!” I lost interest. “Fine then.” “I like your hands. It’d be a shame if they got broken because you didn’t behave.” “Now get lost.” Tyler stumbled to his feet and fled. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my body, and I could barely stand. Sweat poured down my face as I crouched, hugging my knees. It took a while for the pain to pass. I slowly made my way home, but then my mom called. “Carrie, you haven’t sent this month’s money yet.” My heart sank to the bottom. I finally realized how meaningless all my efforts for my family had been. I was dying. Yet the only thing my family cared about was why I hadn’t sent money this month. These were the people I’d been planning to leave my inheritance to. “What, is $5,000 a month not enough for you and Dad?” “It’s enough, but your brother just graduated. He needs to pay rent, and he’s got a car loan. He’s short on cash.” I scoffed coldly, “So now I’m the ATM? What am I, his parent?” Her voice immediately rose. “Carrie Mitchell, how can you say that? Don’t forget, when you were a kid, your brother saved your life!” Saved me? David was two years younger than me but always better fed and healthier. He pushed me into the river because I wouldn’t let him ride on my back like a horse. Mom, Ellen, knew the truth. But she had used that story to guilt-trip me my whole life, making me feel like I owed them everything. Out of love for my family, I kept quiet about it. But now, I no longer had to. I cut her off, “Do you think I don’t remember?” “Maybe I should ask Uncle Wayne, the one who actually saved me, what he thinks.” Mom fell silent. She tried to start yelling again, but I didn’t give her the chance. “I’ve kept records of every transfer. I paid for the house’s down payment and mortgage too.” “I’ve repaid what you spent raising me. You’ve got enough for retirement.” “If you still want to make a fuss, I’ll make sure your precious son pays for it.” “We’ll see who cares more.” Her angry curses filled the phone. I hung up and blocked all contact with them. A sense of calm settled over me. All the resentment I’d bottled up for years suddenly seemed insignificant in the face of death. In my final months, all I wanted was to treat myself better. As I walked through Briarwood Alley, I heard a rustling behind me. Under the dim streetlight, a hulking man with a scruffy beard was approaching, holding a knife. Despite his efforts to seem calm, his hands were shaking. A newbie? I said, “Are you robbing me?” “Y-yeah, but aren’t you scared?” I cut him off. “Would $5,000 be enough? Give me your number, I’ll send it over.” Better to give it to this guy than let my family drain me dry. The man looked confused. I grabbed his hand, fished out his phone, and pulled up the payment screen, transferring $5,000 to him. He still hadn’t recovered from the shock. I frowned. “Is $5,000 not enough? Asking for more would be rude.” “W-why are you being so cooperative?” Honestly, he seemed kind of dumb—like a big bear with a scruffy face. I pulled out my medical report. “See this? Stage four liver cancer. I’m terminal.” The man’s face changed, and tears welled up in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away and transferred the money back to me. Then, he pulled out a wad of cash from his pockets and stuffed it into my hands. “I’m sorry, sis! My grandpa had cancer too. I didn’t know what else to do.” “Please, get treatment! You’ll be okay, I swear!” He hurried off, still crying. I stared at the crumpled bills in my hands, feeling a lump rise in my throat. A stranger had more compassion for me than my own family ever did.

Near the trash cans by Oakwood Apartments, I found a stray dog, its fur matted and filthy. Something tugged at my heart. I took off my coat, wrapped the little dog in it, and rushed it to the Brooklyn Veterinary Clinic. Thankfully, I brought it in just in time, and they managed to save its life. As I was carrying the little dog back home, I noticed someone following me. Another mugger? I spun around. It was an older man, his hair streaked with gray, and he looked tired and worn out. His eyes were locked on the little puppy in my arms, filled with a strange mix of pain, sorrow, and… relief? Something about him felt off. “Miss, can I have my grandson back?” I clutched the puppy tighter. “And how do you plan to prove it?” His throat made a strange, guttural noise, almost inhuman, sending a shiver down my spine. Then, the puppy, which had been barely moving, perked up. It opened its eyes and started wriggling in his direction, its little paws reaching out. The man took the dog and stroked its head gently. “Thank you for saving him, miss. Let me offer you a reward for your trouble.” I shook my head. “No need. I’m dying soon anyway, so money’s not much use to me.” The man’s eyes shifted color—his once dark pupils turned a glowing green, scanning me up and down as if he could see straight through me. My skin crawled. “Good deeds don’t go unrewarded. You saved my grandson, and for that, my family is forever grateful.” “If you can spend this money within three months, your illness will be cured.” I blinked in confusion. “What?” My phone buzzed, and when I looked at the screen, a new account had appeared, linked to a Chase Platinum Card. I did a quick count. $5 billion. I glanced back at the man and the dog, but they were already gone. My coat pocket felt heavier than before. I reached in and pulled out a sleek black credit card. Was this some kind of joke? Curious, I decided to test it. I emptied my Amazon cart, hitting checkout, expecting it to fail—but the transaction went through. That man wasn’t lying! I flagged down an Uber and headed straight for the city center. If I was going to die, I might as well go out in style. I arrived at the Galleria on Fifth Avenue, looking as pale as a ghost, with my clothes still covered in dirt from the dog. Even the little dog had gotten my coat all dirty. The sales associate who approached me looked barely older than twenty, nervous and shy. Probably new on the job, otherwise, they wouldn’t have sent her to deal with me. She seemed nice enough, though. She even offered me a cup of hot water when she noticed I didn’t have a jacket. I pointed to two coats and asked her to ring them up. “Don’t you want to try them on first, miss?” she asked hesitantly. I shook my head. “No need. Just bill me.” After the transaction, I pulled out my phone to check the balance. Sure enough, the card had worked, and a tiny progress bar had appeared on my phone screen. It read: 99.98%. I called out to another sales associate who had been watching me from the moment I stepped in, her nose high in the air. She barely hid her disdain as she sauntered over. “Excuse me, could I—” She cut me off with a sneer, rolling her eyes. “We don’t accept returns or exchanges on purchases here.” I raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t asking for that.” “You’re blocking my view.” Turning to the first girl, who seemed much kinder, I waved her over. “Miss, can you help me out?” “Of course! What would you like?” I pointed to several bags on display. “You see those three rows of bags? Grab the second one on the first row, the first one on the second row, and the fourth one on the third row.” The girl hurried off to retrieve them. “Would you like them gift-wrapped?” “No, thanks.” The snooty sales associate looked like she was about to say something again, but before she could open her mouth, I continued. “I’ll take everything else in those three rows. Pack them up, and put them all on her sale.” I pointed to the kind associate.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294726”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #校园School #魔幻Magic #励志Inspiring #惊悚Thriller #浪漫Romance #擦边Steamy #重生Reborn

My husband, Ryan Thompson, is a well-known celebrity hairstylist in the industry. His clients? All wealthy, high-society women. Late at night, he comes home, strips off his clothes, and falls straight into bed. But tonight, I found a receipt in his jacket pocket. Only one item was listed—condoms. It was purchased at 8:16 p.m. tonight. I froze. Ryan and I hadn’t been intimate in months. So who was he planning to use them with? My name is Melissa Thompson, 26 years old. After graduating, I started working at a bank, mostly dealing with investments and financial planning. My parents are both teachers, and they were always strict with me growing up. They never imagined I’d marry someone from a completely different background than mine. Ryan was the kind of guy any woman would fall for at first glance—handsome, charming, with an easy smile. At the time, he worked as a stylist at a high-end salon near my office. I would often stop by for a haircut after work. Over time, we got to know each other. Ryan’s good looks and sharp sense of humor stood out. He was mature and composed, totally different from the loud, immature guys I knew in college. I fell for him, and soon we started dating. When my father found out, he was furious. He yelled at me for hours. I cried so hard, and my mother, seeing how much pain I was in, finally stepped in to mediate between us. In the end, my father gave in reluctantly. I thought being with the man I loved would be like living in a fairytale, but after we got married, the stress started to pile up. I couldn’t sleep, had nightmares, my hair started falling out, and I looked more and more exhausted every day. Every time I looked in the mirror, it was like staring at a ghost. I’d glance over at Ryan, sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone, his toned abs peeking out from under his shirt. Next to him, I felt worse than ever. My parents were heartbroken when they saw how I looked. After our wedding, they spent most of their savings to buy us a house in a good school district. They even gave Ryan money to help him attend a hairdressing course. The training paid off. Ryan quickly became the star of the salon, eventually being promoted to Lead Stylist. But once he became Lead Stylist, he only got busier. He was out early, back late, and I rarely saw him anymore. When he did come home late, he reeked of alcohol and perfume, too tired to even take off his clothes before passing out in bed. That night was no different. Ryan came home in the middle of the night, collapsed onto the bed without taking off his jacket, and was snoring almost immediately. I felt bad for him, so I reached out to take off his jacket. As I shook it loose, a few strands of long, red, curly hair fell to the floor. I didn’t think much of it at the time—after all, Ryan worked as a stylist and was always covered in different women’s hair. I was used to it by now. I picked up the strands and tossed them in the trash, then hung his jacket over a chair. But then something fell out of his pocket—a crumpled piece of paper. Curious, I unfolded it and saw it was a receipt from the supermarket. Only one item was listed: condoms. It was purchased at 8:16 p.m. that evening. I froze. Ryan and I hadn’t been intimate in ages, so who were the condoms for? Once the thought crossed my mind, it started to take root. I grabbed his jacket and began searching through it more carefully. Finally, I spotted a deep red lipstick stain on the collar. Ryan had always told me how many women were around him at work—flirty receptionists, young clients, and charming female stylists. But his most frequent clients? Wealthy, married women.

From the day we got married, I chose to trust him. I never questioned his work or what he did. But seeing that lipstick stain and the condoms… I couldn’t help it. My mind was racing, spinning out of control. It started affecting my work, so I took a day off and headed straight for Westside Hair Salon. I’d never visited Ryan at work since we got married, and he never invited me to any of his social events. Over time, I realized I didn’t know any of his friends or coworkers. After some asking around, I found the salon at Westfield Century City, taking up a large space on the fifth floor with clear glass walls. As soon as I stepped off the elevator, I saw the huge “Westside Hair Salon” sign. Through the glass doors, I could see a girl with short green hair leaning over the front desk, laughing with Ryan. Ryan had a mischievous grin on his face as he ran his fingers through her hair, making her smile even wider. His eyes trailed over her body, and then he playfully pinched her waist. The girl didn’t pull away. In fact, she leaned into his hand, pressing closer. The chemistry between them was unmistakable. I was frozen in place. Is this what my husband does at work? It felt like my legs were filled with lead. I couldn’t move. Ryan whispered something in the girl’s ear, then turned and walked deeper into the salon. I quickly walked inside, my eyes following him as he disappeared into the VIP suite. The girl at the front desk glanced at me, her face twisting in disdain. “Are you here for a cut or color? Do you have a regular stylist?” I shook my head. “No, just find me whoever’s available.” She called out loudly, “Kevin! A client’s here. Wash her hair.” A slim guy with dyed blonde hair came out from the back. His features were delicate, almost feminine. He smiled at me. “Hey, beautiful. Come with me.” As I followed him, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a mess, and hearing him call me “beautiful” felt like a cruel joke. How could anyone in this business lie so easily? Kevin quickly washed my hair and seated me in a chair tucked away in a corner. He placed a white towel over my face and asked, “How do you want your hair cut?” “Whatever,” I muttered. He let my hair down and started cutting, making small talk as he worked. I took the opportunity to get some information. “How’d you hear about us?” he asked. “A friend recommended this place. She’s one of Ryan’s clients. But I didn’t see him out front,” I said, trying to sound casual. Kevin scoffed, clearly irritated. “Ryan? Oh, he’s busy. You need this,” he rubbed his fingers together, implying money. “Oh?” I feigned curiosity. “How much are we talking?” Kevin studied my face for a moment before lowering his voice and leaning in. “Look, you seem nice. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

It was clear Kevin knew a lot. I looked at his face in the mirror and said, “Tell me what you know about Ryan, and I’ll sign up for a VIP membership right here.” Kevin’s eyes lit up, and he grinned. “You got a thing for Ryan too? Trust me, you’re not the only one. His clients are all over him. They drive the nicest cars.” He kept talking as he cut my hair, telling me everything. Apparently, Ryan only handled VIP clients, and to get into the VIP suite, you had to have spent over $100,000 at the salon. “That much?” I asked, surprised. Kevin shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Ryan’s worth it. He’s got a way with those rich women. They just hand him their money.” His voice dripped with jealousy. I looked at Kevin. He was younger and not bad-looking. “You’re good-looking too. I bet those women like your type.” Kevin paused, then burst out laughing. “You’re funny.” He set down the scissors and leaned closer to me. “Ryan has a way of making those women fall for him. They give him whatever he wants.” I raised my eyebrows. “How does he manage that?” Kevin sighed and shook his head, clearly exasperated. “It’s his game. He doesn’t do emotions. If a woman’s hot, he uses her for sex. If she’s rich, he uses her for money.” Just then, we heard a voice from the front. “I want Ryan! I know he’s here. No one else will do.” A young woman was standing at the front desk, arms crossed, shouting. No one seemed to care, continuing with their work. I was shocked. “Aren’t you going to do something?” Kevin hushed me. “This happens all the time. Just wait—someone will always show up looking for Ryan.” I glanced at the girl, her face flushed with anger. No matter how much she yelled, no one paid her any attention. Finally, the green-haired receptionist snapped at her, “If you really want Ryan, I can book you an appointment.” The girl exploded. “Book an appointment? Are you serious? Do you even know what we are to each other?” She waved her finger in the air. “Let me tell you, I slept with him last night. And now he won’t even acknowledge me!” Kevin snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. But I couldn’t laugh. My mind was reeling—my husband, Ryan, was cheating on me. I sat there, staring at the scene, too numb to process it. While I was still in shock, Ryan came out of the VIP suite. The girl immediately dropped her attitude and rushed over to him, her voice dripping with sweetness. “Baby, I’ve been looking for you all day. Why didn’t you come out sooner?” Ryan scowled at her. “This is my workplace. Don’t make a scene.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294742”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #校园School #魔幻Magic #励志Inspiring #惊悚Thriller #浪漫Romance #擦边Steamy #重生Reborn

When the apocalypse arrived, the zombie outbreak began. I sat comfortably in the cool, old, abandoned Cold War bunker, watching the people who had bullied me in school now turning on each other like dogs fighting over scraps. The sight filled me with satisfaction, so I sent them a picture of me enjoying a warm bowl of chicken soup while my dogs, Max and Bella, happily gnawed on steaks. “Want some?” I asked, posting it in our class group chat. I watched their threats turn into desperate pleas, and all I responded with was: “Idiots. Keep dreaming.” 1 October 21, 2021 It’s been three days since the zombie outbreak, and the stable order at Ridgewood High School was already beginning to crumble. On the first day, the school had frantically called us all into the designated safe house, giving us a brief sense of safety. They provided us with a week’s worth of food. But human nature is unpredictable. Some students stole extra food to secure their own survival, and as supplies dwindled, the tension rose. Soon, our connection to the outside world was completely cut off, and fear began to dominate everyone’s minds. What started as solidarity quickly gave way to a breakdown in humanity. Fights broke out over how much food someone had eaten, and today was no different. “Let Chloe go outside. She’s brave enough to handle it, right?” Vanessa Gray’s voice pierced the room, just loud enough for everyone to hear. All eyes turned to me. “Yeah, Chloe’s dad was a weirdo, right? Bet she’s not scared of this kind of stuff.” “She’s tall, too. Maybe she could carry back a lot of supplies.” The whispers around me grew louder. They all stared at me like I was their ticket to salvation, speaking so casually, yet their eyes were filled with threat. They must’ve forgotten I’m just a girl. Before I could react, someone shoved me toward the door, pretending to cheer me on, “You got this!” I glanced outside at the zombie horde, then back at the people inside. They stood there, expressionless, more terrifying than the undead. They pushed me out the door as I fought to stay, the noise attracting the attention of nearby zombies. They stumbled toward me, and the people behind me locked the door tight. Through the crack in the door, I saw Vanessa smirking at me. Her face was gleeful as I took hesitant steps toward the zombies… 2 The sharp pain woke me up suddenly, and I jumped to my feet. The entire class turned to look at me, some stifling their laughter. “Chloe Reed! What are you doing?!” The voice of my English teacher cut through the confusion still lingering from the dream, and I realized I was back in the classroom. Was it all just a dream? That sickeningly familiar voice from the side interrupted my thoughts, dripping with sarcasm, “Maybe Chloe’s dad sent her a message from the afterlife. Isn’t he dead?” The whole class burst into laughter. “Enough! Chloe, take your book and go stand at the back of the room!” Mrs. Miller slammed her desk to regain control. I quietly grabbed my things and moved to the back of the classroom. My mind was still racing, trying to process that dream. If it was just a dream, why did it feel so real? The sensation of the zombies biting me still lingered in my hand. As soon as class ended, I rushed to the bathroom, pulling out my phone to search the internet for anything about zombies. Sure enough, I found a video. In it, a man stumbled toward the camera. His body was covered in blood, his face barely recognizable. His skin was veined with black and green. I knew immediately—he wasn’t human anymore. He was a zombie. Exactly like in my dream. I wasn’t dreaming at all. I had been reborn. I quickly checked the date on my phone: September 28, 202

There was still a month before the zombie outbreak. I had one month to find a safe place. Bang bang bang! The door to the bathroom rattled as someone banged on it. “Chloe, hurry up!” It was Vanessa. I clenched my fists, remembering everything she did in my past life. She was more than capable of it all. I forced myself to stay calm. It wasn’t the right time yet. I stepped out of the stall, facing her and her two lackeys. Vanessa smacked me across the face without hesitation, her voice dripping with cold disdain, “Move faster next time!” “You were in there forever. Did a ghost drag you down?” her sidekick, Ashley, sneered. “Why would she be scared? Maybe she inherited her dad’s psychic powers,” Vanessa added, her mocking smile twisting her face. They only said I wasn’t afraid because my dad used to tell fortunes. My mom died when I was young, so it was just my dad and me. I never felt ashamed of what he did for a living, but I learned early on to avoid the subject around my classmates. Then my dad died of stomach cancer, and Vanessa, pretending to care, came to my house with the principal, Mrs. Miller, in tow. When I returned to school, I became the target of their jokes. They didn’t care that I was now an orphan. To them, it was just fun. Vanessa led the charge. During gym, they threw balls at me. Once one person started, the rest followed. They even poured toilet water into my water bottle. They smeared glue on my chair, wrote disgusting things on my desk. Every time I tried to get help, the bullying only got worse. Some people suffer in silence. I was one of those people. I ignored them and walked out of the bathroom. Their filthy insults grew louder behind me. I went straight to Mrs. Miller’s office. “Mrs. Miller, I’ve been feeling really off lately. I’d like to take a few days off.” My voice shook slightly. I knew exactly why I was trembling. In my last life, I ended up dead because of them. I wasn’t about to let that happen again. Mrs. Miller noticed the red mark on my face, probably assuming I was self-harming. She quickly signed the leave form, granting me a week off, and told me to take time to relax. I took the slip, thanked her, and walked out of the school. There was no way I was going back to that nightmare of a class. 3 Everyone knew Vanessa was bullying me, but no one ever stepped in to help. I wasn’t some saint. I just wanted to get as far away from them as possible. Their survival wasn’t my concern. I walked out of the school gates and called for a taxi to take me home. My dad may have been an eccentric fortune teller, but he had helped countless wealthy executives. These people were all generous with their money. Over the years, my dad had saved up a small fortune for me. When I got home, I pulled out the two savings books he’d given me before he passed away. One was the dowry he’d been putting aside for me, and the other was a hefty life insurance policy he had taken out, which would pay me $10 million after his death. Together, the two accounts amounted to $17 million. At his funeral, all kinds of people came to pay their respects. Many of them owed their success to my father’s guidance. Seeing I was now alone, they decided to band together and set up an education fund for me. At first, I didn’t want to accept the money, but they insisted. Now, I was grateful. They’d given me $300,000. I looked around at the modest house. It wasn’t big, but it was in the heart of Ridgewood, so it was worth a fortune. A city center home was no longer safe. I had to sell it and find somewhere safer. I quickly contacted a real estate agency and asked them to sell the house within three days, even if it meant lowering the price. Next up was finding a safe place to lay low. 4 I took out my phone and searched for homes in the rural areas outside the city. I figured the farther I was from people, the fewer zombies there would be. While browsing listings, I stumbled upon something interesting: an old abandoned Cold War bunker was up for sale. I didn’t hesitate. I decided to buy it immediately. It was huge, naturally cool in the summer and warm in the winter, and way cheaper than any small suburban house! I contacted the seller and told him I wanted to buy it on the spot. I needed to inspect it immediately. To avoid raising suspicion, I lied, saying I wanted to convert it into a weekend retreat and asked him to keep it a secret. He seemed convinced by my enthusiasm and assured me no one else would find out. We quickly signed the contract. With 29 days left until the outbreak, I had found my safe house. Now, I just needed to fill it with supplies. For the next two days, I worked non-stop, furnishing my new bunker. Paranoia set in, so I made sure to contact the largest construction market in the next city and gave them strict instructions. I replaced the bunker’s entrance with the best security doors available—three layers thick. I hired workers to build a two-story house inside the bunker, to be completed within 10 days, with the finest materials available. The foreman gave me a confused look, so I lied again, telling him I was building a private luxury hotel to ensure my guests’ privacy. I paid him so well that he didn’t ask any more questions. He just shook his head and said, “Rich people sure know how to have fun.” In my past life, I died early, so I didn’t know how long the apocalypse would last. To make sure I survived this time, I started stockpiling supplies like crazy. I ordered 50 solar-powered batteries in case the power went out. Cooking was another issue, so I bought 100 gas canisters and a stove. To be safe, I bought 50 boxes of charcoal. While the bunker was being renovated, I focused on buying essential supplies, self-defense items, and things to pass the time. Sitting in my room, I made a list of everything I needed. Toilet paper runs out faster than you think, so I ordered 2,000 rolls. 200 boxes of tampons, too. Since I wouldn’t be going out once the zombies arrived, I bought five sets of pajamas for each season. I stocked up on underwear, laundry detergent, toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo, body wash, face wash, and skincare products, enough to last me three years. Satisfied with my list, I finally fell asleep, planning to head to the wholesale market first thing in the morning. 5 On the third day after my rebirth, I woke up and immediately checked the time on my phone. I was still paranoid that this might all be a dream. Seeing the date reassured me. I quickly got dressed and headed to the wholesale market. On my way, I stopped by my favorite breakfast place. I ordered my usual, savoring the taste. Who knew when I’d be able to enjoy something like this again? At the market, I bought everything on my list, instructing the merchants to deliver everything in a week. The owner’s face lit up at my large order, smiling from ear to ear. After I finished shopping, I got a call from the real estate agent. “Hello, Ms. Reed. I’m happy to inform you that we’ve found a buyer for your house.” “Can they pay in full?” I asked, getting straight to the point. I knew the house would sell quickly, but what I needed was cash. The agent’s voice was practically buzzing with excitement. “Yes, the buyer can pay the full amount upfront.” I sighed in relief. “Great. You handle the rest. I’ll move out within the week.” As soon as I hung up, my phone buzzed with a new text. The message was from an unknown number: “Chloe, don’t think you can escape just because you’re taking a break. I know where you live. You better come back soon. Without you, we don’t have anyone to pick on.” I didn’t need to guess. It was Vanessa. My body tensed with fear, my hand trembling as I held the phone. Vanessa always knew how to get under my skin. She said she knew my address, and for now, I had nowhere to hide. Remembering the school’s so-called “safe house” from my past life, I had an idea. I’d be back in a few days. Two days later, I had finalized the sale of my house. With that settled, I checked into a hotel for the time being and returned to school with some of my belongings. As expected, Vanessa “welcomed” me with one of her signature moves—garbage raining down on me as soon as I walked through the door. No one in the class helped. In fact, they found it amusing. They laughed, mocking my disheveled appearance. I clenched my fists and held it together. Their reckoning was coming, and soon. I made my way to my desk. Just before the bell rang, I picked up my backpack and walked out of the classroom. I knew they’d go and tell the teacher, but I didn’t care. I headed straight to the so-called “safe house,” which was really just the school auditorium. In my last life, this auditorium had been set up by emergency responders as a temporary shelter before they left to assist others. Only 80 of us survived in this very hall. I remembered how some of the teachers, desperate to reunite with their families, left and turned into zombies on the way home. Others stayed to help maintain order, working with the military. Flashes of those memories played in my mind. This was the place where they shoved me into the horde. I opened my backpack and pulled out ten hidden cameras I had purchased, discreetly setting them up in different corners of the auditorium. Once they were all in place, I left the school, satisfied. Just as I stepped outside, I got a call from the foreman handling the bunker renovations. He informed me that everything was done to my specifications and the place was spotless, ready for my inspection. I paid them well, so the work was done quickly and efficiently. I couldn’t help but think, Money really does solve everything. I called the manager at the wholesale market, letting him know they could deliver my supplies the next day. He practically jumped at the opportunity and assured me it would all be delivered on time. Next on my list was more furniture shopping. I headed to the furniture store and bought plenty of soft furnishings—top-quality sofas, beds, everything. Since the $1.2 million from the house sale was now in my account, I had no problem splurging on what I needed. Afterward, I stopped by an electronics store and bought two laptops, three tablets, and fifty portable chargers. Feeling accomplished, I took a cab straight to the bunker. As I stepped into the bunker, I marveled at the work. Money really can buy anything. I was beyond pleased with the results. I even gave each worker an extra $1,000 as a bonus. They seemed surprised and insisted they were just doing their job. Before they left, I couldn’t resist giving them a small warning. “Hey, with the pandemic and everything going on, it might be a good idea to stock up on some essentials. I heard the next town over is seeing a resurgence of cases.” I said it casually, looking off in the distance like it was no big deal. I couldn’t save everyone. In my last life, I died because of people. This time, I was saving myself. After the renovation crew left, the deliveries from the wholesale and furniture stores arrived. I used the same cover story to explain the massive amount of supplies being delivered, and no one questioned me. Once everything was inside and organized, I felt a wave of calm wash over me. 6 With 10 days left until the zombie outbreak, I knew it was time to stock up on long-lasting supplies. Fresh produce could wait until later. As I headed down the hill, I noticed two small dogs trailing behind me, their tails wagging excitedly. Looking at their playful, curious faces, I thought maybe adopting them would be a good idea. It might add a bit of joy to this otherwise grim existence. I called them over, and the little ones ran right up to me—one black, one white. They were so small I could easily carry one in each hand. After settling them into their new home, I headed straight to the largest market in town. This market had everything—whatever you could think of in terms of food and essentials, they had it. And the best part? No one cared how much you bought. It was exactly what I needed. I bought 50 cases of instant noodles, 100 cases of soda, 10 cases each of various canned goods, 100 bags of rice, 50 jugs of cooking oil, 10 cases of dehydrated vegetables, 20 bottles of each type of seasoning, plus tons of flour, pasta, and peanuts. Then came the fun part—snacks. I grabbed 20 bags each of almond milk, black sesame paste, milk, and yogurt. For treats, I loaded up on chocolate, nuts, sunflower seeds, chips, jerky, dried beef, and fruit snacks, ten cases of each. Of course, I couldn’t forget the dogs. I ordered 50 large bags of dog food, 20 cans of puppy formula, and 5 cases of other dog treats. I watched in satisfaction as the vendors loaded everything onto two large trucks. I instructed the drivers to head straight to the bunker. Fortunately, my cover story worked, and no one questioned the enormous order. Once everything was delivered, I felt a sense of calm. The supplies were all safely inside, and the bunker doors were tightly shut. As a final precaution, I decided to install additional cameras outside, just in case anything unexpected happened. With everything finally in order, I lay down on the bed and took a deep breath, finally able to relax. While the power and internet were still working, I signed up for every streaming service I could and downloaded all my favorite shows, along with ones I hadn’t watched yet, onto my laptops, tablets, and USB drives. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID—it was Vanessa. I answered the call with a blank expression. The moment I answered, I heard her mocking laughter, like she was showing off to someone. “See? I told you she wouldn’t dare ignore me.” I stayed silent. Her voice grew even more smug. “Chloe, did you forget the message I sent you? You forget what it feels like to get your ass beat?” I listened quietly, clenching my fist, but kept my cool. It wasn’t time yet. I needed to wait until they were truly desperate before I struck back. When I didn’t respond, Vanessa grew frustrated. “You think you can just stay quiet? Don’t forget, I’ve got dirt on you, b****!” That was it. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Vanessa, have you forgotten you’re 18 now? Everything you’ve done is a criminal offense. One call to the cops and you’re done.” My voice was cold and steady. 7 Vanessa had repeated a grade. She should’ve been a senior by now, but because of her terrible grades, she was held back. To save face, she took a year off, so now, at 18, she was still a freshman. Hearing my words, Vanessa stammered a bit but quickly raised her voice to save face. “You think you’re so tough? You don’t know who you’re messing with! I’ll post your photos in the group chat!” “Do it,” I challenged. “We’ll meet at the police station after that.” I hung up before she could respond. She wouldn’t post the photos. Bullies like her were all bark and no bite when it came to facing real consequences. She understood the reality of her being 18 now. She was scared, and I knew she wouldn’t follow through. The photos Vanessa had were from when she and her gang dragged me into the bathroom, beat me, tore off my clothes, and took the most humiliating pictures they could. Back then, I was too afraid to fight back. I was alone, no family to turn to. But with the zombie outbreak on the horizon, fear was a thing of the past. Thinking back to that day, I couldn’t help but cry. Sensing my distress, the two little dogs came over, gently licking my face. Their presence calmed me, and I quickly fell asleep. The next day, I woke up knowing it was time for my final round of shopping. I returned to the market and bought a whole cow, two pigs, thirty chickens, twenty ducks, and an assortment of frozen fish and seafood. When the butcher delivered everything, I stocked my two massive freezers to the brim, feeling completely satisfied. Now, all that was left to do was wait. 8 On the second day in the bunker, with just five days left until the outbreak, I got a call from Mrs. Miller, my homeroom teacher. I hesitated but decided to answer. Her voice was gentle, cautious. “Chloe, are you feeling any better?” I could tell she was worried about my emotional state. Rubbing my nose, I responded, “I’m doing much better, but I’d like to take another week off. I’ll study from home.” She quickly jumped in. “No, no, Chloe. I’m not worried about your grades. I care more about how you’re feeling. It’s okay to take a break and focus on yourself.” Her concern hit me hard, and my throat tightened with emotion. Since my dad’s death, no one had shown this kind of care for me. My relatives kept their distance, worried I’d become a burden. With a slight sniffle, I replied, “Thank you, Mrs. Miller. I’ll work on taking care of myself.” She sighed in relief, her voice soft. “Good. Just rest at home, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ll let you go now.” “Wait!” I blurted out before she could hang up. “What is it?” I hesitated. “Mrs. Miller, with everything going on, it might be a good idea to stock up on food. Just in case.” She chuckled lightly. “I’ll take your advice, Chloe. Thank you.” After we hung up, I turned my attention to the remaining cameras I hadn’t yet installed. Even with the reinforced doors, you could never be too careful. I decided to place them at the front entrance, so I could keep an eye on anything—or anyone—approaching. The little dogs followed closely as I stepped outside to install the cameras. Once the cameras were set up, I did another inventory check of my supplies. And that’s when I realized—I hadn’t stocked up on water. I nearly panicked at the oversight. Looking around the empty landscape, I wondered if it was possible to dig a well. I immediately called the same foreman who had helped with the bunker, asking him about it. He assured me it was doable and would only take a day. With time running out, I offered him extra money to get the job done as quickly as possible. Three hours later, the crew arrived with their equipment. The foreman smiled as he set up. “This won’t take long, but it’s going to be loud.” I waved off his concerns. “Don’t worry about the noise. I’m in a hurry, just get it done.” The team quickly got to work, and I stood by, watching. I couldn’t help but feel a strange fascination with the machinery. It wasn’t just boys who found this stuff cool—girls could too. Max and Bella, however, were terrified of the noise and ran inside to hide. By 11:30 that night, water started flowing from the well. I couldn’t help but laugh in relief. The foreman even placed stones around the well and installed a proper cover for me. I tipped him generously, and with a grin, he waved and left. Once he was gone, I settled into life in the bunker. Today, steak. Tomorrow, lamb. I was living the life. But as time passed, fear crept back in. Even though I had survived the last zombie massacre, I couldn’t shake the dread that came with knowing what was about to happen. 9 The day before the zombie outbreak, a video titled “Real-Life Train to Busan” suddenly trended online. But within less than a minute, it was taken down. I knew this was the government’s way of trying to keep the public calm. My hands started to tremble, and a cold chill ran through my body. Sensing that something was wrong, the two little pups came over and nuzzled my hands. Their warmth slowly brought me back to reality. I opened the feed from the cameras I had set up in the school’s safe house, just to check if anyone had entered yet, and what I saw made my stomach turn. It was evening, during study hall, and Vanessa and a senior boy walked into the school auditorium. I knew this boy all too well. In my previous life, he was the one who shoved me out into the crowd of zombies. I could never forget his face. But what made it worse was that I remembered this boy, Jason, had a girlfriend. His girlfriend knew Vanessa too. They used to be in the same grade, but Vanessa got held back and was now two years behind them. As soon as they stepped into the auditorium, Jason pinned Vanessa against the door, and they immediately started making out. The spot where they were standing happened to be right in front of one of the hidden cameras I’d installed. Their movements became more heated, and soon, the sounds coming from the camera were disgusting. I almost gagged. I’d always known Vanessa was vile, but I didn’t expect this. Doing something this repulsive, in the school, no less. Despite my nausea, I kept the camera rolling, recording the whole thing. Then, I heard their conversation. Vanessa, breathless, asked, “Did you… did you tell that b**** yet?” Jason, sounding greedy and impatient, replied, “Her family’s rich. I’m keeping her around for that.” They continued their sleazy activities, but the noise finally stopped. Vanessa, lying in Jason’s arms, let out a satisfied sigh, “Good. I was worried you actually had feelings for her.” Jason kissed her, clearly irritated, “No way. She doesn’t have your body, and she’s stuck up. It’s only because she’s loaded. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother with her.” Listening to their whispers made me feel sick all over again. I edited the video, making sure to capture all the worst parts. To destroy someone, death wasn’t enough. Letting them die would be too easy. With 12 hours left until the outbreak, I sat comfortably on my bed, watching the news. At the 10-hour mark, reports came in from the neighboring city. Zombies were starting to emerge from hiding, but our town was still quiet. With 8 hours remaining, every student and teacher at Ridgewood High received a video on their phones—everyone except Vanessa, Jason, and their friends. At the 6-hour mark, Vanessa arrived at school. Her classmates gave her dirty looks, and people whispered as she walked by, pointing and smirking. By the 5-hour mark, Vanessa was fuming. “Who the hell filmed this?!” That’s when she got a text: Vanessa, enjoying yourself? At the 4-hour mark, the principal stormed into our classroom, his face red with anger. “Vanessa Gray! Get to my office! And call your parents—now!” By the 3-hour mark, Vanessa found Jason in the auditorium, panicked, “Jason, what do we do?” Jason snapped at her, his face twisted with annoyance. “Why the hell are you here? Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” Vanessa, seeing his reaction, became furious. “Jason! You sure enjoyed yourself when we were doing it! Now you’re turning on me?” Their argument grew louder and more heated. Then, Jason’s girlfriend, Madison, walked over, her face twisted in a mocking smile. “So this is the trash you’ve been with? Pathetic.” Her words weren’t outright vicious, but they dripped with humiliation. Vanessa’s face turned pale, then red with rage. With only 1 hour until the outbreak, a man in hiking gear appeared on a street in the city center. His movements were slow and jerky as he stumbled toward the nearest person. 10 At first, no one noticed him. Until… he staggered toward a girl at the bus stop, listening to music while waiting for her ride, and bit into her neck. That’s when people saw his face. His eyes were clouded, with no pupils, just pale blue sclera. His skin was marbled with dark, bulging veins. He let out a horrifying scream, his teeth jagged like chainsaw blades, sending people running in all directions. He tore into the girl’s neck, ripping and swallowing chunks of her flesh. Many people fled, but a few reckless ones stayed behind to record it on their phones. His body, now rejuvenated from feeding, moved faster. He sprinted toward one of the bystanders, sinking his teeth into the man’s skull. Meanwhile, the girl he had attacked earlier, now a bloody, exposed skeleton, started to stir. She shouldn’t have been able to move—yet she did. The zombie outbreak had officially begun. I sat in my safe house, watching everything unfold through multiple perspectives on my phone. 11 At the same time, back at the school, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence, bringing Vanessa and Jason’s argument to an abrupt halt. On the field, people who had collapsed moments before were rising again. Their movements were slow, but they marched in unison, heading toward the crowded classrooms. I switched to the camera feed from inside the auditorium. The school reacted quickly, moving some of the students and staff into the safe house. Among those evacuated were, of course, Vanessa and her lackeys, along with Jason. I scanned the faces on the camera, seeing the same people as in my previous life, except for one new face—a classmate of mine who, like me, had been a victim of Vanessa’s bullying. Chills ran down my spine. It hit me: my rebirth hadn’t changed anything. I may have escaped my fate, but now someone else was paying the price. Just like last time, the school distributed what little food they had to the survivors in the auditorium, telling them to wait for rescue. I couldn’t bear to watch as some of the teachers, desperate to see their families one last time, tried to leave the safe house. Some stayed behind to help, while others ran, only to meet their doom. This time, I wasn’t going to sit back and suffer. I had the power to protect myself, and I wasn’t about to let anyone else decide my fate.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294758”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #惊悚Thriller

I died, and the killer turned my corpse into a wax figure, giving it to my brother as a birthday gift. That day, they celebrated wildly next to my body, even smearing cake on my face, laughing and saying “Happy Birthday.” It’s as if they remembered today was my birthday too, but how could they remember? After all, they didn’t even know I was dead, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t care. The day I died, it was raining heavily, probably heavier than any storm you’ve ever seen. I felt like even my floating soul was soaked through. I hurried back home, hesitating at the doorstep, afraid that water droplets from my body would stain the doormat and Mom would yell at me again. Oh right, I’m a ghost now. Even if I had water on me, it wouldn’t drip onto the mat. I don’t have to fear Mom scolding me anymore. I happily stomped on the doormat, and when I was done, I entered the house. The living room was warm with the heater on. It felt so cozy. My brother suddenly looked in my direction, tilted his head in confusion, then went back to playing his game. The aroma of braised pork and cola chicken wings wafted from the kitchen, along with Mom’s voice. “Leo, call Lily. Why isn’t she back yet?” Mom still cares about me. “If she doesn’t come back soon, tell her to never come back. Just asking her to buy a gift for Ryan, and she’s making such a fuss. It would’ve been better to raise a pig than to raise her.” I had earned $1,200 for tuition from part-time jobs and summer work, and Mom wanted me to give $1,000 to buy a phone for my brother. She even asked me to pay $200 for household expenses, not leaving me a single penny, indirectly forcing me to drop out of school. “If it weren’t for her, Ryan wouldn’t be… like this…” Mom started mumbling complaints about how I caused my brother to become mentally challenged. I could recite it by heart now. It was always about how I stole my brother’s nutrients in the womb, and how I rushed to be born first, causing my brother to be born later and suffer oxygen deprivation. I weighed five pounds at birth, while my brother was just over three pounds. But I was just a fetus then, what did I know? I sat on the sofa, looking up at the Ultraman-themed birthday backdrop. It read “Happy 20th Birthday Ryan” and had his photo printed on it. My brother and I were born on the same day. It was raining that day, so I was named Lily Rain. Because my brother was born a minute later than me, he suffered oxygen deprivation and almost didn’t make it. Mom and Dad named him Ryan Long, hoping he would live a long life. Dad was unpacking a very tall and large package: “We can’t have raised her for over a decade for nothing. She still needs to come back to take care of Ryan. Otherwise, what will happen to Ryan after we’re gone?” My brother was playing Snake on his phone. He was really good at it, the snake’s body quickly filling up the phone screen, reaching first place. “Ah!” Dad’s scream startled Mom who was cooking in the kitchen and my brother, who was so shocked that his snake hit another snake, ending the game. He stomped his feet, shouting and throwing a tantrum, “I’m dead, I’m dead.” Dad quickly tried to calm him down: “Don’t say such unlucky things. Even if your sister dies, you won’t.” Mom came out and was also startled, because Dad had finished unpacking that big package. It was a wax figure, a lifelike wax figure that looked exactly like me, as if crafted by a master wax artist. I looked at the smiling wax figure and trembled in fear. This wasn’t a wax figure, it was my corpse!

Looking at my corpse wax figure, smiling but unable to hide the fear, still holding a phone in its right hand. I remembered. I remembered how I died. I was working as a housekeeper to earn money, and the killer was the client I worked for yesterday. He wore glasses and looked gentle and refined, seeming very kind. He said he had been looking forward to meeting me for a long time. He said tomorrow was my birthday, so he wanted to make me a birthday gift. I asked him strangely if we knew each other. The killer said he knew me from a post titled “What does it feel like when your parents don’t love you?”. My answer was “Probably that if I died somewhere, they wouldn’t know for a month, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care.” Because of a casual answer, I was targeted by the killer. Really, it’s so helpless and scary to be alone on the internet. The killer looked gentle, and even when he killed me, he was gentle. He was afraid I would be in pain, so he fed me sleeping pills, gave me anesthesia, and then drained my blood. He was even gentler than when my parents beat me. He really made me cry to death. Before I died, he let me call my parents. He said if they called me “precious daughter” just once, he would let me go. But Dad didn’t answer. I called ten times, and he never picked up. Mom answered quickly, but she started scolding me as soon as she picked up, yelling at me for not coming home to cook and for not taking good care of my brother. She cried and scolded, “How did I give birth to such a jinx like you? I should have drowned you in the toilet when you were born.” With the anesthesia, I couldn’t feel the pain in my wrists, but waves of pain kept hitting my heart. “Mom, I’m dying. Can you call me your precious daughter just once?” Mom cursed again, mixed with the sound of her cooking. “If you want to die, buy your brother’s phone first, then go die. Even if you die, I’ll arrange a ghost marriage for you and use the bride price to find a wife for your brother.” “Precious daughter? What a joke. You’re nothing but a jinx.” The call ended, and with it, my chance to live. As my blood drained away, my corpse still held the phone. Dad received a timed text message sent from my phone by the killer and read it out loud. “Mom, Dad, this is the last gift I’ll ever give to my brother, an unforgettable gift. Do you like it?” Mom, holding a spatula, stared at my corpse wax figure, very angry. “Yesterday she said she was going to die, and today she sends a wax figure back. Why didn’t she send her corpse back? I could have at least burned some money for her.” I stood next to the corpse wax figure, mimicking its pose of holding up a phone. Mom, this is my corpse. Mom, please burn more money for me. I was already so poor when I was alive, having to work as a child laborer since middle school. I don’t want to have to work after death too. Mom, you need to burn some clothes for me too. My clothes are all wet, and it’s very cold. I’ve tried to wring out my clothes several times, but they’re still soaking wet. Good thing I’m a ghost, the water droplets on my clothes stay on me forever. Otherwise, if they dripped on the floor, Mom would scold me again. Like when I was little, it was raining outside, and I waited until dark, but Mom never came to pick me up. I walked home in the rain by myself, and the water dripping from my body dirtied the doormat and wet the floor. When my brother came out, he slipped and fell, and Mom scolded me, beating me hard with a clothes hanger. Dad just stood by, smoking, and advised Mom. “Don’t hit the kid’s face. If you leave scars, we won’t be able to sell her for a good price when she grows up.” He talked about me like I was a pig being raised for slaughter. Oh, in their eyes, I was even less than a pig. After all, a pig doesn’t come out of Mom’s belly, doesn’t steal nutrients from a brother in Mom’s womb. Dad looked at my corpse wax figure and cursed it as unlucky, wanting to throw it away. But my brother liked it very much, hugging the corpse wax figure and not letting go. “This is my sister, my sister. We can’t throw her away. I want to play with my sister.” Because my brother was mentally challenged, as innocent as a child, our sibling relationship was still okay. In fact, it was my brother’s innocence that repeatedly healed the wounds I suffered in this family. When Mom hit me, my brother would clumsily protect me, saying, “No hit… sister… hurt.” When Mom wouldn’t give me food, my brother would secretly hide chicken legs for me to eat, always getting his clothes greasy. When Dad forced me to drop out of school to work, and I cried all night, it was still my brother who clumsily comforted me, making me laugh, threatening to run away from home to force Dad to let me go to school. My suffering wasn’t because of my brother, but because of my parents who didn’t love me. My brother wanted to keep my corpse wax figure, and our parents, who indulged him in everything, certainly had no objection. My brother happily brought out his paints and started coloring the wax figure. He tilted his head and looked at me, as if he could see me, and asked, “What color does sister like?” “Green.” I answered, and my brother picked out green paint. I like green because it symbolizes endless life. Mom stared at the wax figure for a long time, until she smelled something burning in the kitchen and cursed as she walked away. Dad took out his phone and called me. “Ring… Ring…” The sound of the call connecting was like my heartbeat. I became hopeful. The phone in the hand of the corpse wax figure wasn’t a model, it was my phone! Would Mom and Dad discover that I was dead, that this was my corpse? Would they regret it? Would they kneel in front of my corpse, crying bitterly, regretting how they never treated me well in these twenty years?

Unfortunately, the phone didn’t ring, and the screen didn’t light up. Dad tried calling twice and then gave up, only cursing that I didn’t even come back for my brother’s birthday, not caring about my safety or whether I was alive or dead. They wouldn’t wait for me to come back for dinner, let alone wait for me to cut the cake together. They ate the tender braised pork knuckles and delicious cola chicken wings. My brother even had a bowl of longevity noodles and two red eggs. I sat next to my brother, pretending I was part of this family, my hand passing through the chopsticks, pretending to pick up a piece of braised pork to eat. I closed my eyes, imagining how delicious it must be. It should taste similar to restaurant food. I had never eaten Mom’s cooking, and I wasn’t allowed at the table. Mom would only put the gnawed bones and leftover food in a copper basin, like feeding a dog, and leave it for me to eat. Indeed, all these years they had treated me like a dog. To them, giving birth to me and raising me was the greatest kindness, and I should be grateful and not ask for more. I wondered if they discovered I was dead, would they make me a birthday feast too, order a cake for me? Before they finished eating, my brother started clamoring for cake. Mom and Dad put a birthday crown on my brother, lit the birthday candles, and sang the birthday song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” “Happy 20th birthday, Ryan. Make a wish quickly, be sure to wish that you’ll become smart, exchange your sister’s life for your intelligence.” I stood by, smiling bitterly. My brother and I were twins, and every year on our birthday, Mom and Dad would mention me, but not to wish me well. Instead, they would have my brother make a birthday wish every year to exchange my life for his intelligence. In the past, I was always hurt by such words, but this time I sincerely hoped my brother’s wish would come true. I was already dead, it shouldn’t be for nothing, right? “Mom, this time brother’s wish will come true.” But my brother shook his head, “Don’t want sister to die, want sister to have happy birthday.” In this family, only my brother remembered that today was my birthday too. Mom and Dad remembered too, but they didn’t care, which hurt me even more. Mom angrily said with a stern face: “You can’t. You can only wish to exchange your sister’s life for your intelligence.” My brother didn’t understand what “life” meant, but he was very stubborn. This year, he just wouldn’t make that wish. It’s strange, when I was alive, my naive brother happily made this wish every year. Now that I’m dead, my brother refuses to make this wish. My brother insisted on not making the wish, and Mom got so angry she hit the back of his hand. My brother cried pitifully and suddenly lay on the ground, rolling around. My six-foot-tall, handsome brother was lying on the ground, throwing a tantrum and crying like a three-year-old. It really didn’t look good, and it wasn’t right. It was painful to watch. I crouched next to my brother, comforting him like I used to. “Brother, make the wish quickly. Sister is already dead, this time the wish will surely come true.” My kind and innocent brother should get better, should become smart. I don’t know if my brother heard what I said, he just kept throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want to be smart, I just want sister, I want sister.” Mom was so distressed she wiped away tears, then started cursing me again with all sorts of nasty words. Dad looked at my brother rolling on the ground, very annoyed. “It’s just a wish. We’ve been making this wish for twenty years, and we haven’t seen Lily die or Ryan become smart.” “If wishes really came true, I would have killed Lily long ago.” Dad angrily grabbed a handful of cake and smeared it on the neck of the corpse wax figure, the action really looked like killing someone. It’s not surprising. If they could choose, they would have preferred that I was the one who came out late, that I was the one who suffered oxygen deprivation and became mentally challenged. If I had been born later that year, if I had been the one with brain damage, would they have treated me the way they treated my brother, never giving up, spending all their money to give me rehabilitation training? Look at them, they know today is my birthday too, but they don’t bless me at all. Instead, they wish they could kill me. Seeing Dad’s action, my brother stopped crying, got up and grabbed some cake to smear on the wax figure’s mouth. “It’s sister’s birthday, eat cake, sister, eat cake quickly.” My brother was happy, and so were Mom and Dad. They all grabbed cake and smeared it on the wax figure. They were very happy, they were celebrating wildly. Perhaps they felt relieved that I was dead, and were celebrating. I didn’t care. I just pretended they were celebrating my birthday. This was the first time Dad, Mom, and my brother celebrated my birthday together. I happily sang the birthday song to myself: “Happy 20th birthday, Lily Rain.” “My wish is…” I seemed to have no wishes. I guess a dead person’s wish would probably be to have a better life in the next reincarnation. But I don’t want to be human anymore. So I’ll wish that in my next life, I won’t be human. I’ll be a cat or a dog, even a pig or a duck, anything but human. Being human is too tiring. After making my wish, I closed my eyes to blow out the candles. The candles went out, and the room suddenly went dark. When candles go out, wishes are supposed to come true. Ding dong. The sudden sharp doorbell sound startled my parents again. Dad pushed Mom out, telling her to answer the door. I followed behind Mom to open the door. Mom only opened half the door, saw it was a strange man, and asked warily, “Who are you looking for?” Seeing who it was, I fearfully stepped in front of Mom. Because this was the killer who murdered me!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294774”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn #魔幻Magic #励志Inspiring #浪漫Romance #擦边Steamy

My husband’s mistress died, murdered after being raped. That afternoon, my husband and I were taken to the police station. I actually had no idea my husband was having an affair. If it weren’t for this murder case, I might have been kept in the dark forever. To investigate the killer, the police took our fingerprints and asked about our whereabouts during the time of the victim’s death. The victim, Mandy Brooks, was 28 years old and an employee at a certain company. She died around 11 PM on July 30, 2019. The cause of death was a severed carotid artery, resulting in death from excessive blood loss. It had been three days since Mandy’s death. With only three days having passed, I naturally remembered the time frame clearly. I distinctly recalled that my husband was with me that night, sleeping very deeply, so I told the truth without hesitation. My husband and I were questioned separately by the police. I was questioned by a man and a woman. The man, Mike Lee, was around thirty years old and the deputy leader of the major crimes unit. The woman, Sharon West, looked to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight and was quite beautiful. Perhaps because they saw I was pregnant and had just learned about my husband’s infidelity, seeing my red-rimmed eyes, they were afraid I couldn’t handle it psychologically. They were very gentle when questioning me. Sharon, in particular, looked at me with gentle eyes and asked, “Mrs. Thompson, please think carefully. Are you absolutely sure your husband didn’t leave the house that night? Or is it possible that he snuck out while you were sound asleep?” I was taken aback by her question. After considering for a moment, I said, “Officer West, since becoming pregnant, I’ve been sleeping more heavily. So I go to bed early every night. All I can say is that my husband was there when I fell asleep and when I woke up.” Sharon and Mike exchanged glances, and I curiously asked, “Officer West, isn’t it possible to extract DNA left in the victim’s body? If you suspect my husband, you can test for that.” As I said this, I was thinking to myself, they were already having an affair, why would he need to rape her? The killer definitely wasn’t my husband. Seeing my question, Sharon shook her head and said, “The killer was clever and didn’t leave any useful evidence, so this case is a bit complicated to investigate.” I let out an “oh,” and Sharon asked how far along I was in my pregnancy. I told her four and a half months. She smiled and looked at my belly, saying it looked quite large and might be twins. After saying this, she comforted me, saying pregnant women are prone to emotional outbursts and that I should try to stay positive about some things and take good care of myself at home. I was very touched by Sharon’s words and chatted with her for a few more minutes before leaving the police station. I thought my husband would be returning home with me, but Officer Lee told me that my husband still needed to assist with their investigation and couldn’t leave yet. With no other choice, I had to return home alone. Back in our neighborhood, I learned from neighbors that several police officers had come and retrieved surveillance footage from the complex. They had also questioned our neighbors, asking if they had heard our door open between 9 PM and early morning on July 30th. I asked the neighbor how she responded, and she said she hadn’t heard anything, so she answered truthfully. Hearing this, I felt very reassured. I thought my husband would be spending the night at the police station, and when I called him, he didn’t answer. Unexpectedly, just as I had finished dinner and was about to go to bed, he returned. He still had his usual cold demeanor. When I got up to heat some food for him, he stopped me. I asked, “Honey, why didn’t you answer my call earlier?” He said the police had taken his phone to copy his chat history and call records. Thinking about all the lovey-dovey messages between him and that woman on his phone, I felt some disgust. But considering the baby in my belly, I swallowed my feelings. After all, that woman was already dead, what more did I have to fret about? But I was wrong. My lack of concern didn’t mean others wouldn’t care. Just as I was falling asleep, I suddenly felt a violent choking sensation in my throat. Opening my eyes, I realized my husband was frantically squeezing my neck, trying to kill me.

I struggled desperately, pushing against him while gasping out, “Honey… I’m carrying your child… Do you… Do you really want both of us to die?” At the critical moment, my words had an effect. He slowly released my neck, forcefully gripping my shoulders instead. With bloodshot eyes glaring at me, he shouted, “Lyric, tell me, did you hire someone to kill Mandy Brooks?” His enraged appearance terrified me, and I hurriedly explained, “Honey, you’re… you’re wrong about me. I don’t have the guts to do something like that.” “Hmph! Is that so? You’d better hope I don’t find out it was you. Otherwise, I’ll strangle you with my own hands.” After saying this, my husband glared at me viciously one last time before getting off the bed and leaving. That night, he didn’t return to our bedroom, and I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My mind was filled with images of his furious face. It wasn’t until nearly dawn that I finally dozed off fitfully. The next time I woke up was to the sound of the doorbell ringing. After listening for a while and realizing no one was answering the door, I lazily got out of bed, intending to go downstairs and open it myself. But when I walked down the stairs and saw the state of the living room, I let out a scream of terror. Because I saw my husband, Ethan. He was now motionless, slumped against the sofa, and at his feet was a large pool of blood. My husband had slit his wrists in an apparent suicide, and a bloody scalpel lay discarded on the coffee table. Seeing this horrifying scene, I let out another scream. I didn’t dare look a second time because the image was too terrible. I only felt my whole body go weak and limp, collapsing to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. The doorbell outside kept ringing. Hearing my screams, the ringing became even more urgent. I wanted to go open the door, but I found I had no strength at all. I could only sit on the floor, sobbing. After who knows how long, the door was pried open from the outside. Sharon and Mike entered, followed by two uniformed police officers. When they saw my husband, they were all startled. Mike immediately called for the medical examiner, while Sharon, seeing me sitting on the floor crying, helped me up. The medical examiner arrived quickly and made a preliminary determination that my husband had committed suicide. The estimated time of death was around 2 AM. He didn’t die peacefully; his face was somewhat contorted as if he had experienced something terrifying just before death. Mike told me that my husband was indeed the killer of Mandy Brooks. I found it hard to believe, but he said the evidence was conclusive. He explained that the police had retrieved surveillance footage from both our complex and Mandy’s neighborhood. Although he had managed to avoid the cameras in our complex by using blind spots, because he wasn’t as familiar with the area where Mandy lived, they had captured footage of him at around 10 PM on the night of the incident on one of the cameras. I listened in disbelief as Mike continued, saying that they had found SnapChat messages between my husband and Mandy on his phone, confirming they had planned to meet during those days. So they initially concluded that my husband had committed suicide out of guilt. Hearing this, I felt overwhelmed with grief. I crouched down on the floor, my body shaking uncontrollably like a sieve. My husband’s body was taken away by the police, who said they needed to conduct further examinations. Our home had become a crime scene, with the entire living room cordoned off by police tape. Especially that pool of blood on the floor – it made me feel terrified just looking at it. After I finished giving my statement, Sharon seemed very sympathetic towards me. She put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me, then asked in a low voice, “Lyric, I see bruises on your neck. Did Ethan abuse you?” Her question reminded me of last night’s events. I wiped away my tears and cautiously said, “Last night I confronted him about the affair. He was in a bad mood, so he got physical with me.” Sharon listened thoughtfully, then after a moment of silence said, “The neck is a vital area. He was trying to kill you. Why didn’t you call the police?”

Sharon’s words startled me. I took a deep breath and said, covering my neck, “Officer West, he was my husband, the father of my unborn child.” Seeing me respond this way, Sharon didn’t say anything more. As they prepared to leave, Sharon advised me that if I felt scared staying at home, I could temporarily move to a nearby hotel. She also told me to call her if anything came up. I nodded in agreement and saw them off. I’m a girl from the countryside. My parents still live in our rural hometown, quite far from here. Ethan’s parents are from Concord. After university, both Ethan and I found jobs here, so we bought our marital home in this city. I just never imagined that this spacious 2000 square foot house would now be occupied by me alone. Thinking about this made me feel incredibly sad. I could only go upstairs to pack a few changes of clothes and check into a nearby hotel. After eating a little something, I took out several of my husband’s bank cards and called the online banking customer service. When I checked the balances, I was shocked to discover that my husband had over $5 million in savings across his accounts. Actually, I didn’t know the PINs for my husband’s bank cards. But recently, I had deliberately asked him to take me shopping for baby items at the supermarket. During those repeated payment transactions, I secretly memorized his mobile payment PIN. I guessed that most people, like me, use the same PIN across their mobile payment apps and bank cards to avoid forgetting. Sure enough, my guess was correct – it worked on the first try. Ever since I became pregnant, I had suffered from severe morning sickness, forcing me to quit my job as a makeup artist at a photo studio. My husband was very guarded about money and only gave me $300 a month for living expenses. This was something that really bothered me. After securing the bank cards, feeling exhausted and tired, I unconsciously dozed off on the bed. I ended up having a nightmare. In my dream, I was lying on the bed unable to move, while Mandy Brooks and my husband Ethan were both grinning at me eerily, reaching out their hands to choke me. I suddenly woke up, realizing it was just a dream. Feeling parched, I was about to get up for some water when my phone on the bedside table rang. I picked it up and saw it was Sharon calling, which made my heart skip a beat. I took a deep breath before answering the call. Sharon asked which hotel I was staying at, saying there were some more things they needed to understand. I could only tell her the hotel name. About half an hour later, Sharon arrived, this time by herself without Mike. I let her into the room, and Sharon smiled, asking, “Mrs. Thompson, although your husband’s cause of death appears to be suicide, the autopsy found traces of alprazolam in his system, and quite a high dose at that. Did he usually suffer from any related conditions?” “Alprazolam?” I pondered the drug name for a moment before realizing, “Oh, you mean the sleeping medication? My husband had insomnia. He would only take two pills when he couldn’t sleep.” “Is that so? But the amount detected in your husband’s body wasn’t just two pills. It was at least a dose of five pills. How do you explain that?” Hearing Sharon’s words, I smiled.

I smiled in a way that was more painful than crying. Sighing, I said, “Officer West, if you put yourself in his shoes – if you were my husband and your lover had suddenly died in such a manner, could you sleep peacefully? If he didn’t want to suffer, given his pre-existing insomnia, wouldn’t it make sense to increase the dosage?” My words left Sharon speechless. After a while, she gave me a meaningful look and said, “Mrs. Thompson, I thought that with your husband just deceased, you would be at a loss and deeply saddened. I didn’t expect you to immediately check your husband’s account balances.” Sharon’s words startled me. She continued, “According to our investigation, your husband’s parents are still alive. Now that their only son has died, shouldn’t you notify them?” “My in-laws are elderly. I haven’t figured out how to break the news to them yet. I’m pregnant now, and there will be many expenses in the future. I have to plan ahead. Officer West, the police seem to be quite involved in many aspects.” My tone was not at all polite. Sharon probably didn’t expect someone who looked as gentle and weak as me to speak so firmly. She smiled awkwardly and apologized. Before leaving, she revealed one piece of information to me. She said that a security camera had been installed on the building opposite ours. Due to a recent circuit malfunction in that household, the camera had somehow ended up pointing towards our living room window, capturing partial footage of our living room. She gave me a meaningful smile before departing. Her words left me tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep well. Sure enough, the next day I received another call from Sharon, asking me to come to the police station. She said there were new developments regarding my husband’s cause of death. With an anxious heart, I arrived at the police station and was taken directly to the interrogation room. The interrogators were still Sharon and Mike. I sat silently, waiting for them to speak first. Mike played a video clip on the large screen behind him. It showed a woman wearing a cheongsam. The image was a bit blurry, but the woman’s entire face was captured. She had long, messy hair and looked quite terrifying, like a female ghost. In the footage, she slowly came down the stairs, walked to the window, and drew the curtains. Then nothing more could be seen. I watched in confusion, but even though the living room image wasn’t very clear, I could tell at a glance that it was my home. After watching the video, I asked perplexedly, “Officer West, Officer Lee, who is this woman? How did she get into my house?” Hearing my words, Sharon and Mike exchanged smiles. Sharon said, “Mrs. Thompson, on the night before last, which was when your husband died, only you and he were at home. Are you saying this person isn’t you?” “But that’s not me,” I said angrily. “It doesn’t look like you, but if someone whitened their face and deliberately applied ghost-like makeup, it’s not impossible,” Mike said. “But I’m pregnant. The person in the photo couldn’t be me.” My words left Sharon and Mike looking at each other, unable to refute. Seeing my reaction, Sharon said firmly, “The person in the photo does look very much like the deceased Mandy Brooks, but we absolutely don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. Lyric, can you let me see your belly?” Hearing this, I laughed bitterly, “So you suspect I’m faking my pregnancy?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294790”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn #魔幻Magic #励志Inspiring #浪漫Romance #擦边Steamy

When I was 16, my father saved Mr. Malcolm Monroe’s life. In return, I became engaged to the Monroe family as their daughter-in-law. By 21, I had transformed into a lady, admired in high society. At 22, I married Elijah Monroe. At 26, I gave birth to our first child. He, like Elijah, never liked me. I worked hard to play the perfect daughter-in-law in the Monroe family. One day, Elijah asked what I wanted for my birthday. I handed him the divorce papers. “Elijah, I want a divorce.” Elijah gave me a cold look. “Serena, stop being ridiculous.” Even Gavin, our son, chimed in, “Mom, stop wasting everyone’s time.” I signed my name and looked at Elijah again. “Elijah, I want a divorce.” “Why?” Elijah’s voice was as cold and distant as ever. I sat down, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s nothing to explain. It’s just pointless.” The diamond bracelet on my wrist, a gift from Elijah for my 30th birthday, sparkled faintly under the light. To everyone else, Elijah was a perfect husband, always attentive in public, but only I knew how cold his heart truly was. “Mom, it’s almost midnight. Stop wasting everyone’s time,” Gavin called down impatiently from the stairs. I looked at the child I had nearly died giving birth to, still wearing the same patient expression I always wore around him. “You’ll stay with the Monroe family. You won’t need my support. I have nothing to give you; I’m an orphan. Consider my absence from your life my final gift to you.” Gavin, mature for his age, understood what I meant. Turning back to Elijah, I said, “I’m not greedy. I don’t understand much about property or wealth. I only want the house you transferred to my name recently. I like it. Everything else belongs to the Monroes. I won’t take a thing.” I removed the diamond bracelet from my wrist. “This was meant for your wife, but I don’t think I ever truly was your wife. And I’ve never liked the title Mrs. Monroe. You should have it back.” I took off each piece of jewelry and placed them on the table, one by one. Elijah remained silent, watching me quietly from across the table. Finally, he spoke, “Serena, are you just trying to get my attention?” “Isn’t being Mrs. Monroe enough for you? No matter what you do, in my heart, you’ll never matter.” “Let’s go to court and finalize the divorce. The sooner, the better. We don’t have to wait a month. Sign the papers quickly—I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

I headed upstairs. Gavin had already gone to bed. Like his father, Gavin had a strict schedule and never wasted a second for anyone. Especially not for me, the mother he didn’t like. From the day my father died in a car accident after saving Mr. Monroe, I became trapped in the Monroe family. On that very day, Mr. Monroe held my hand and declared that I was to be their future daughter-in-law, and I lost my identity completely. At that time, I was grieving my father’s death, trapped in a fog of despair. I had stopped speaking, incapable of uttering a word. Mrs. Monroe stormed into my house, dragged me out, and forced me into a series of etiquette lessons. She looked down at me and said, “You have one month to start speaking again. The Monroe family doesn’t need a mute woman as its mistress.” I tried to resist, but Mr. Monroe’s public announcement made my fate clear. I was trapped. I was brainwashed. By the time I was released, Mrs. Monroe asked me what my duty was. I responded automatically, “To be the perfect daughter-in-law of the Monroe family.” From the age of 16 to 21, I transformed from a helpless girl into a poised woman, admired by high society in Manhattan. At 22, I married Elijah under the watchful eyes of everyone. Four years later, I gave birth to Gavin. My life became focused on managing the household and raising Gavin. Attending galas with Elijah was my full-time role. The most frequent sight I saw was the small garden at the Monroe Family Estate, where I planted many flowers. Elijah ripped them out with his own hands because the person in his heart was allergic to pollen.

Thinking about it now, I packed my bags faster. In Elijah’s heart, there was a dead girl he had loved—a girl like a delicate white flower, taken by acute leukemia. By the time Elijah realized, she was already gone. From then on, he hated me for occupying the position of the Monroe family’s daughter-in-law, and he hated the family for keeping it from him. Gavin, too, was the result of a drugged night. When Elijah woke up, he locked himself in the bathroom for an entire day. He thought I was dirty. I tossed a dress out of my suitcase—the one I wore to an event with Elijah. Bad luck. When I finished packing, all my belongings fit into one small suitcase. As I walked out, Elijah was still downstairs. He frowned as usual when he saw me. “There’s no need to rush. We aren’t divorced yet.” I smiled at him. “I can’t stay here a minute longer.” The moment I stepped outside, I felt free for the first time. The house I liked had been empty for a while, so I checked into a hotel nearby until I could get it cleaned. For the next month, I stayed in that house. The day of the divorce arrived quickly, and I waited outside the New York County Court. Elijah arrived with Gavin in tow. When they saw the smile on my face, their expressions turned cold. “Serena, are you happy about the divorce?” Elijah asked. “Let’s hurry. I have a plane to catch.” Without further words, I dragged Elijah to take the necessary photos. After receiving the divorce certificate, I rushed to the airport. Aside from not loving me, Elijah had no faults. He transferred $50 million to my account, along with the house. I was finally free to live my life. I decided to go on an expedition in the Arctic.

As the ship rocked under the massive waves, I watched the sea and laughed. My father and I were both thrill-seekers. We had plans to challenge the most exciting adventures around the world, not end up trapped in a box buried beneath a headstone. That’s why I brought his ashes with me on this trip. When the sea was calm, I scattered his ashes into the water. “Dad, this is the ocean you’ve always dreamed of,” I whispered to myself. That night, just as I was falling asleep, my phone rang. It was Elijah’s voice on the other end. “There’s a party tomorrow with Mr. Williams. He’s asking about the wine from last year. What was it again?” Mr. Williams was one of Elijah’s key business partners. Every year, I agonized over what gift to bring to his birthday party. The wine he was talking about was one I’d spent months searching for—a rare bottle from a renowned winemaker. Being woken up at night was frustrating enough, but the way Elijah ordered me around as if we were still married was infuriating. I snapped, “We’re divorced. Stop acting like a man-child.” “And maybe think before you call someone in the middle of the night. Don’t be a rude man-child.” With that, I hung up and turned off my phone. The next day, I planned to take pictures of the stunning glaciers. When I turned my phone on, I saw a dozen missed calls from Elijah. More than he’d called me in an entire year. Usually, I was the one asking when he’d be home or when Gavin’s school events were, since both parents needed to attend. Elijah’s responses were always the same: “Hmm,” followed by a date and time for the next social event I was expected to prepare for. I put on the perfect dress, held Elijah’s arm, and played the role of the perfect Mrs. Monroe. This time, I blocked his number and focused on the beauty of the glaciers. That night, just before falling asleep, a strange number called me. A woman’s voice asked, “Are you Gavin Monroe’s mother?” “No. I don’t have any children. I’m single now. If you need something, contact his father.” “You’re lying.” It was Gavin’s voice, filled with disbelief. “I don’t think I am. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you anymore either. You can pretend I’m not your mother, and I’ll do the same. Don’t call this number again. Consider me a stranger.”

After hanging up, I decided that once I got back to shore, I would change my number. The Arctic was breathtaking, the towering glaciers impossible to describe with words. On a calm day, the crew lowered a kayak into the water. A foreign tourist next to me asked if I wanted to join them in diving into the sea. I put on my life jacket and stood on the makeshift platform. With a leap, I plunged into the icy water. The cold was intense, but the exhilaration was worth it. In the distance, I could hear the excited chatter of other tourists. I ducked my head underwater, where the noise was muffled. Once back on shore, I dried off and went to check out the kayaks again. By the time I returned to shore, it had been half a month since I’d started this journey. When I landed at the airport, it was already midnight. I got home and fell into bed, sinking into a deep sleep. I woke up in the afternoon, still in a dreamlike state. In my dreams, Mrs. Monroe’s voice echoed, saying how fortunate I was. Then the scene shifted to whispers behind my back, mocking me—”A sparrow can’t become a swan.” Finally, the image settled on the first time Elijah saw me. He stood in the sunlight, wearing a crisp white shirt, each strand of his hair glistening in the light. The moment he looked at me, he held the hand of another girl and promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll never love her.” Elijah really did manage to never love me. When we first got married, Mrs. Monroe pressured me to quickly have a child with Elijah. Under her coercion, I wore embarrassing outfits to seduce him. But that day, in Elijah’s cold gaze, I felt like an ancient courtesan desperately seeking favor. I hurried to get dressed and fled to my room, and from that moment on, I stopped expecting any affection from him. Even on that night when he took traditional medicine, he didn’t call my name.

Waking up now, my head felt heavy. I remembered the two people I despised in my dreams and decided to head downstairs to shake off the bad vibes. I figured I might as well grab a bite to eat. As I stepped into the elevator, I found Elijah standing inside. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked like he could go to a meeting in a moment. His expression didn’t change when he saw me. “I’m giving you one last chance, Serena. Come back and continue being Mrs. Monroe. Don’t venture too far next time; if something goes wrong, public relations could become messy.” A sarcastic smile spread across my face. To Elijah, my death would only complicate things for the Monroe family’s public relations team. To him, my life was merely a symbol of stability for the shareholders. “Mr. Monroe, we’re divorced. Please respect our agreement and don’t bother me,” I replied, my voice steady. Elijah’s face showed doubt as he opened his mouth to speak, but I turned and walked toward the other elevator. When I reached the ground floor, I spotted Gavin waiting by the car. As I stepped out, he opened the door and climbed in, saying, “Mom, I have an enrichment class later. Don’t waste everyone’s time.” I ignored Gavin and walked directly to the side of the car. Suddenly, I heard a faint mewing sound from under the tires. That sound was all too familiar; it reminded me of the first orange tabby cat I rescued as a child. When I saw the little orange kitten with its tail held high, I couldn’t help but gasp. It looked just like my childhood pet, Dreamer, down to the short, broken tail. Carefully, I picked up the kitten, thinking maybe this was Dreamer’s way of coming back to me. Ignoring Elijah and Gavin, who were both staring at me, I rushed out with the kitten in my arms. At the entrance of the community, I took the kitten to Riverside Animal Hospital, where the doctor took it off my hands, and I finally felt relieved. Sitting in the chair, I couldn’t believe I had found my long-lost companion. Though I knew this kitten wasn’t really Dreamer, it still felt like a part of my heart had returned. Gavin appeared behind me. “I’m allergic to cat hair! Why did you adopt a cat?”

During the early days of my marriage to Elijah, I often found myself alone in the estate, with no one to talk to. I wanted to get an orange cat, just like Dreamer, but Elijah thought cats were a nuisance. After much pleading, I finally convinced him to let me keep one. However, when Gavin was born, we discovered he was allergic to cat hair. The kitten was sent away less than a day after it arrived. My focus then shifted entirely to Gavin. Now, hearing Gavin’s words again, I didn’t hold back. “I’m not your mother anymore. Didn’t you understand what I said that day?” Gavin’s eyes showed a flicker of confusion, as if he couldn’t believe I truly didn’t love him anymore. In his mind, I should always be the one standing behind him, patient and caring, no matter how he treated me. “Even if I opened a cat café now, that’s my business.” “There’s nothing more to discuss. You and your father should stay out of my life. Seeing both of you is exhausting.” “Fine, walk away. You’ll regret being alone one day,” Gavin retorted angrily as he stormed off. I remained seated, waiting for the doctor to return with the results. An hour later, the doctor emerged holding a beautiful little orange tabby, its teeth bared in a cute little grin. As soon as it saw me, it let out a series of adorable meows. I took the kitten from the doctor and gently tapped its nose. “From now on, your name is Beauty, okay?” Initially, I had wanted to name it Dreamer, but it only responded to the name Dreamer. Now, I finally had my dream cat. I bought a bunch of supplies from the pet store and had them delivered. Holding Beauty, I said, “From now on, you’re a princess. Let’s see who dares to call you a little stray.” Once home, I set up Beauty’s new space before making a phone call. While on the Arctic ship, I met three children planning to travel from Xinjiang all the way to Iceland. They asked if I wanted to join them. Now, I needed to figure out what paperwork I’d need to take Beauty overseas. After sorting everything out, a month had passed, and I was waiting at the meeting point for them. Once everyone had gathered, we set off into the distance.

Beauty behaved perfectly on the road as another person and I took turns driving. The first thing he said when he got in the car was, “Hey, if the car breaks down, don’t blame me. This is my first time driving such an expensive car.” We drove through a deserted area for miles. We also landed in a hot air balloon, which was my first time lying down to get into one. Passing through a small town, a little girl tugged on my sleeve, pointing to her disabled father, asking if I could spare some change. We took a day to help her father get to the hospital. When we finally reached Alaska, we were a week behind schedule. Beauty had gone from being a timid little kitten to a bold, plump cat. Every time we arrived at a new accommodation, she was the first to jump down, patrol the area, and only then would she return to my side. The Northern Lights were breathtaking. I waited three hours in awe, marveling at the vibrant colors lighting up the sky. Beauty poked her head out of my jacket, the wind rustling her fur before she burrowed back inside. We had just agreed to go skiing next. Then, a strange number called my phone. “Serena, I’m your mother. Can we talk?” The unfamiliar voice took me back to the day of my father’s car accident. He had called me that day, excitedly telling me he had good news and wanted to introduce me to my mother. His voice had been filled with joy, stirring countless fantasies about meeting her. But soon after, I received the news of his passing, and the mother he spoke of never appeared. I handed the car keys over to them and boarded the plane with Beauty. At the airport, I stepped off the plane and saw Elijah. Standing next to him was a woman in a wheelchair. I recognized her immediately—she looked just like the woman in my father’s wallet. “Back already?” Elijah asked, but I pretended not to hear him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294806”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic

Emmanuel was an expert in giving me the silent treatment. Whenever he got even a little upset, he’d slam the door and disappear for ten days, sometimes two weeks. I had grown used to adjusting my emotions, smiling through the pain while taking care of Oliver. Until one day, I was helping him with his homework when I saw his wish. “Wish Mom would disappear. “The way she freaks out at Dad is terrifying.” That was the moment I woke up. Sunday nights were always the hardest. Oliver was dragging his feet, crying as he tried to finish the homework due the next day, while Emmanuel, drowning me out with his headphones, was fully immersed in his game. Nobody cared about me. Oliver cried harder after I scolded him, glaring at me with frustration, while Emmanuel pretended not to notice us, clearly annoyed. I stood at the dining table, gathering up the leftover scraps, silently convincing myself that everything was my fault. But inside, my heart ached. It was late. Emmanuel had retreated to his study to sleep, Oliver had cried himself to sleep with tear stains still on his face, and I stood in the bathroom, staring at my weary reflection. This marked the third month of Emmanuel’s silent treatment. Three long months. Long enough for me to forget why our cold war had even started. Living under the same roof, he hadn’t spoken a word to me, and I had stubbornly refused to back down. He was the one in the wrong. I wasn’t going to apologize. But I couldn’t sleep. I walked to Oliver’s room to tidy up his backpack. That’s when I saw it. In his notebook—his brand-new diary that I had bought him—his wish was written in small, childish handwriting. “I wish Mom would disappear.”

I rubbed my eyes, thinking I had made a mistake. I picked up the diary and walked into the living room. I read the words again. “I wish Mom would disappear. “She’s so scary when she freaks out at Dad. She made him leave.” I collapsed onto the couch, numb from the pain. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be so hurt that you’re beyond feeling. The light in Emmanuel’s study clicked off as he strolled out, his face cheerful—until he saw me. Immediately, he reverted to his cold, distant self. Without saying a word, he grabbed the car keys off the coffee table. As he passed by me, I smelled the familiar scent of sandalwood. That was the cologne I had picked out for him back when we were dating in college. Back then, he was just a nerdy guy with black-framed glasses, a white T-shirt, and shorts—someone who had no idea how to dress. I’d gradually updated his style, choosing my favorite cologne for him. “Wear cologne when you’re meeting girls—it’ll make them like you more,” I’d teased him. He’d said he cherished anything I chose for him. And he’d worn it ever since. The familiar scent unlocked a flood of memories, and suddenly, all the beautiful moments from our past came rushing back. I thought about our ridiculous standoff, about our son, whom I loved more than anything. The pain my son had caused me was overwhelming, and I desperately needed something to hold onto. Once again, I caved in and swallowed my pride with Emmanuel. I couldn’t stop myself from standing up and grabbing his arm. “Emmanuel, let’s talk.” I cried silently behind him. He shook my hand off. That’s when I noticed the call still active on his phone. It was late. Who was he talking to? And why had he put on cologne before going to meet them? “Emmanuel, are you on your way? I’m waiting downstairs. I’ve been craving BBQ for ages!” A girl’s playful voice came through the phone. That soft, sweet voice reminded me why we were fighting in the first place. I spun around to leave, but Emmanuel grabbed me back. He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Beg me, and I’ll stay with you and Oliver.” Emmanuel always loved seeing me bend, watching me beg for his forgiveness—especially now, with another woman vying for his attention. It felt like he was offering his presence as some sort of royal gift.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Beg you? Was I the only one responsible for having this child? Isn’t he your son too? “Is raising him my responsibility alone? Don’t you share it? “Do you even know how messed up Oliver’s mind is right now?” Emmanuel’s expression shifted. He pursed his lips, looking at me like I was some kind of crazy woman. Then he grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Oliver’s diary—his wish for me to disappear—was still lying on the couch. Emmanuel hadn’t even bothered to turn off the light in the study as he left. This was his pattern. Whenever a problem needed to be addressed, he’d either throw a single careless comment to light my fuse, enjoying the sight of me going crazy, or he’d storm out without a second thought. The slamming door woke Oliver. He padded barefoot out of his room, staring at the direction his father had left. He walked over to me and picked up the diary I had thrown on the couch. Unbothered by the fact that I had seen its contents, he frowned and chastised me. “Mom, why’d you make Dad mad again?” I didn’t respond. I heard the engine start up downstairs. The car revved a few times, then drove off into the night. Guess I’ll be biking Oliver to school again tomorrow. I looked at the diary still clutched in Oliver’s hand. And at his eyes, which looked so much like his father’s. For the first time, I realized just how deeply I was trapped.

I dragged myself to bed. As soon as I closed my eyes, the words “Mom disappear” flashed across my mind. To be honest, I had never truly lost control in front of Oliver. In fact, I had done everything possible to avoid conflict, going as far as humiliating myself to keep Emmanuel happy. I’d begged him to come home, begged him to hold his own son. But I couldn’t sleep. The phone on my nightstand lit up. It was a message from Serena Cortez, my neighbor. “I heard Emmanuel storm out again. Did you guys fight? Are you okay?” I had met Serena through selling DIY projects on Craigslist. At the time, Emmanuel had cut off my allowance to force me to apologize during one of his silent treatments. Desperate for money, I had taken up whatever odd jobs I could find. That’s how we discovered we were neighbors. She had even bought some of my crafts, supporting my little side business and checking in on me. I heard Oliver’s door close behind me, so I replied: “Thanks, Serena. I’m okay.” The next morning, I woke up feeling drained, my eyes puffy and swollen. Emmanuel came home, the scent of sandalwood now mixed with alcohol. He glanced at me, his eyes barely resting on my face before turning away. This time, he wasn’t silent. He frowned, heading to the bathroom, muttering under his breath. “Don’t know who you’re trying to scare, looking like that.” I knew he was waiting for me to react, to lose it and scream so he could leave again. But I was too tired. I stayed quiet. He looked at me, surprised. Something flickered in his eyes. Then he walked into Oliver’s room with a cheerful tone. “Come on, buddy. Daddy’s taking you to school today.” Two completely different attitudes, like two different people. They left the house hand in hand, laughing and talking. No one spared me a second glance. Like two knives piercing straight into my heart.

I was throwing out the trash when I ran into Serena. She didn’t give me a choice and pulled me into her apartment. With a tender touch, she rolled an egg over my swollen eyes, her gaze soft and filled with concern. “Does it hurt?” Her care reminded me of Emmanuel when we had first gotten married. Back then, we had nothing. In a place as expensive as Savannah, Georgia, we could only afford to live in a run-down basement apartment. We shared a tiny bed, and the bathroom and kitchen were communal. The distance from the kitchen to our room felt like miles. One day, I bumped into someone while rushing back with a hot dish. I instinctively turned the tray toward myself, burning a large patch of skin on my hand. When Emmanuel got home from work, I had put on gloves to hide the burn, not wanting him to worry. But he noticed right away, and I quickly tried to laugh it off, saying it didn’t hurt. Emmanuel fussed over me, tears falling from his eyes as he applied ointment. He cried so much, like the tears would never stop. I remember laughing at him. “How can such a big guy cry so much?” He wiped his tears and said, “Vivian, I swear I’ll give you the best life anyone’s ever had!” That night, he held me and made promises until the early hours. “Vivian, I’ll never let you get hurt again.” Even now, I believe he truly loved me back then. But when did he change? Now, we’re like two ticking time bombs, tied together, ready to explode at any moment. But Emmanuel is a dud. He never makes a sound. He’s just this creeping smoke, filling every corner of the air. Suffocating me. Making me scream until I’m hoarse. When I got home, they were already gone. The kitchen was cold, and Oliver’s wet clothes were left on the bathroom floor. Dirty footprints marked the living room carpet. I sat on the couch and opened my laptop. I started drafting the divorce papers. My education was just as good as Emmanuel’s. Before I became a stay-at-home mom, I graduated from a top university, passed the bar certification, and worked as a licensed attorney for two years. I had once earned over $7,000 a month, representing clients in court and shining in my career. But then, I got pregnant. Emmanuel convinced me to quit my job to take care of Oliver. At first, he said: “Once you’ve recovered and Oliver gets a little older, we’ll hire a full-time nanny. You can go back to work then.” Later, he changed his tune: “Oliver’s so used to you now, and my career’s taking off. If you go back to work, we’ll have to hire a nanny. Her salary will be more than you’d make—it wouldn’t be worth it for us. “Let’s wait until Oliver is older.” Oliver clung to me, babbling “Mommy” in his baby voice. I caved. I should’ve held my ground. Looking back, I realize that’s when Emmanuel’s silent treatment started, little by little.

By the time I finished drafting the divorce papers, it was late afternoon. Emmanuel still hadn’t brought Oliver home. I instinctively started worrying about Oliver’s homework, but I snapped myself out of it with a harsh slap to my own face. “As a mom, you’ve got to be tough. Like his dad.” Then, I got a call from Emmanuel. Except it wasn’t him on the line—it was that girl from the other night. “Vivian, hey, it’s Lena. Emmanuel’s had too much to drink, and he can’t get home on his own. Can you come pick him up?” “You take him,” I said, “Aren’t you two close?” I glanced at the divorce papers on the table and changed my mind. “Actually, never mind. I’ll come.” Hanging up, I rushed to The Rustic Oak as fast as I could. The private lounge was filled with a mix of men and women I didn’t recognize, except for Lena, the girl who had called me. The rest were strangers. But they all stared at me, their eyes full of judgment. It was like they were blaming me for not being a proper housewife. Emmanuel sat at the head of the table, his face flushed red, still raising an empty glass as if to drink. Oliver sat right next to him. Oliver’s backpack had been carelessly tossed on the ground. A scantily dressed woman held him in her lap, chatting with him like it was no big deal. So this is how he took care of our son. No wonder a few outings with him could undo all my years of effort. I hadn’t even stepped into the room when Oliver shrieked. “Dad, I’m not going home with Mom! She’ll make me do homework!” He ran around the room as if he’d seen a ghost. Emmanuel finally pretended to wake up. “Don’t worry, buddy. Dad’s here.” Then the others chimed in, trying to “reason” with me. “Vivian, don’t be mad at Emmanuel. He’s been hiding out at my place for two months because of you.” “Same here. He’s been at my place for nearly a month. My wife’s starting to get fed up.” Even the girl sitting next to him spoke up. “Vivian, he talks about you and Oliver all the time. He really cares about you guys.” It dawned on me that this call wasn’t about me picking up Emmanuel. They wanted me to break down, cry, and beg him to come home. I laughed bitterly. “He’s full of excuses. What, he can’t walk home on his own? His legs don’t work anymore? “I’ve been raising our son by myself—does that not count as suffering? But one argument, and he walks out the door like he’s the one in pain. “If being ‘free’ is so hard, why don’t we switch places? Emmanuel, stop pretending you’re drunk. “What you’ve done—you want me to talk about it privately, or should we air it out here?” The girl clinging to his side turned pale instantly. “It’s all a misunderstanding.” A misunderstanding? You almost crossed the line in a drunken fling, and when I confronted you, you couldn’t even answer me. So you started this cold war. Emmanuel’s face hardened. He didn’t say another word. His expression darkened as he looked at Oliver. Oliver, defeated, trudged toward me, still glancing back at his dad, hoping Emmanuel would call him back. So he could continue playing, avoiding his studies. This was Emmanuel’s way of telling me to leave—to take Oliver and go—so he could keep enjoying his night. Why should I always be the one to leave? I had had enough. I stood my ground, pulling the divorce papers from my bag.

“Emmanuel, I want a divorce.” The lounge went silent. Emmanuel finally looked up at me. His eyes were surprisingly clear. Seven years of marriage, and no matter how bad things got, I had never once mentioned divorce. Emmanuel knew my personality—once I made up my mind, there was no going back. He hurried off the leather sofa and rushed over to me. “You’re serious?” For the first time in a while, he looked me in the eye and spoke to me like a normal person. He glanced down at Oliver, then let out a bitter laugh. “Vivian, if we divorce, you won’t get custody of Oliver. He’ll stay with me. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He was certain I would fight for Oliver. He wasn’t blind—he knew exactly how much I had endured for our son, how much I had sacrificed. Oliver clung to his dad, glaring at me like he was terrified I might take him away. “I don’t want you, Mom. I want Dad.” The girl from the lounge sauntered over, giving me a smug smile. “Vivian, you’re at that age, with no job and no home. You won’t win custody of him. “Just take him home. No fight between a married couple lasts forever.” I clenched my teeth, gripping the divorce papers tightly. I had known this would happen. But seeing everyone’s disdain for me, their lack of support, made me falter for a moment. But I couldn’t afford to be weak. I pinched myself hard. Reminding myself that as a woman, I had to be strong. No more tears. Tears were only magic to someone who loved you. To someone who didn’t, they were just a joke. “Emmanuel, don’t worry. “I don’t want the house. I don’t even want Oliver. Let’s divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294822”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #励志Inspiring #浪漫Romance #魔幻Magic

As my husband lay dying, he grabbed our son’s hand and whispered, “It’s time to bring your real mother back. Take care of her.” But I was right there in the room. My son nodded tearfully. “She’s had a rough life hiding all these years, Dad. I should.” Then my husband looked at me and said, “Thirty years of being called ‘Mom’ by my kid should be more than enough to make you feel appreciated.” I stood frozen, realizing for the first time that my adopted son was actually the child of my husband and our neighbor, conceived before our marriage. Furious, I left the hospital. I was struck by a truck on the way home and died instantly. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself on the day everyone first urged me to adopt that child. 01 At a family dinner with Jim Holden’s relatives, my mother-in-law, Mary Holden, again pressured us about adopting a child. “Grace has been married for three years, and with her miscarriage and health issues, having a baby now could be risky for both her and the child,” she said. “If it doesn’t work out, why not consider adoption?” I sat there stunned, my hand pinching Jim’s thigh under the table. He winced and yelled, “Mom’s talking to you, Grace! Why are you pinching me?” Seeing his face twisted in pain confirmed it: I’d come back to life, and here I was, facing this family all over again. Just like in my last life, everyone was hinting that I’d failed them by not having a baby. Back then, Jim had pretended to support me, but he’d put the blame squarely on me too. “Grace and I are meant to be together. I love her unconditionally, child or no child,” he’d said at the table then, adding, “I don’t want her to take any risks.” “Stop worrying, Mom.” But after that, he and his mother would work together, guilt-tripping me as the “bad one.” She would nag that a woman’s worth came from having kids, while Jim comforted me about our “love and quiet life together,” assuring me he preferred it this way. Eventually, I couldn’t take his pleas and gave in to the idea of adoption. The very next day, Mary brought Liam over herself. “This boy is already five, and I’ve met him at the foster home. He’s quiet and obedient, no trouble at all,” she’d said. “You two work a lot; if he were one of those rowdy kids, you’d never manage!” All the paperwork was in order, and I welcomed Liam home with a smile. Every evening when I came home from work, he’d hand me a glass of water, saying, “Here, Mommy, drink.” His voice was so gentle it melted my heart. Jim would smile proudly, saying we were blessed. While I cooked, Liam would help pick vegetables, already acting eager to please. I figured he’d endured a lot in foster care, so I poured my affection into him. Whenever I could, I’d buy him new clothes or hold him when he woke up scared. But my parents were furious. “You can have your own kids, Grace! Why adopt someone else’s?” my dad scolded. “What if his birth mom shows up and tears your whole life apart?” I was stubborn. I believed Jim and I were soulmates, and I believed love could replace blood ties. I refused my parents’ advice and even cut them off when they continued to argue. Once Liam came along, Jim became softer with me, giving in to every request. “For Liam’s sake, could you ask around and help me get a permanent position at the transit department? Then I could support the family better,” he said. So, I passed on a promotion so Jim could get a foot in the door. When he got the news, he picked me up and twirled me around. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, honey. I’ll take care of you and Liam, always.” I even used my connections to move Liam’s foster records to the city so he could attend the best elementary school. With a steady job, Jim rose from an hourly laborer to a railway attendant, doubling his income. Now he was always traveling, and every time school was out, he’d take Liam on study trips around the country while I stayed home handling the rest. Over the years, I became worn out. I thought my life would calm down once Liam was grown, but instead, I got the news that Jim was on his deathbed. Surrounded by family and friends, he urged Liam with his dying breath: “It’s time to bring your mom back, Liam. Take care of her.” I was right there, but it was as if no one saw me. My son, the one I’d raised, nodded with tears in his eyes. “I know, Dad. She’s suffered enough.” Only then did I realize I’d been the only one in the dark all these years. Jim had a son before our marriage, and that boy was Liam. His birth mother had lived just a floor above us, and Jim had been taking them on family trips all this time. Blinded by rage, I slapped Jim hard. Then I stumbled out of the hospital, too numb to notice the truck that would kill me moments later. But I opened my eyes and found myself back on that day again, with everyone pressuring me to adopt a child. This time, I laughed bitterly. “If I can have kids of my own, why would I adopt?” 02 I’d done everything for Jim, even gone on a hunger strike to marry him, believing I couldn’t live without him. Seeing me cold and detached now rattled him. “Mom’s just looking out for us,” he said, his face red. “What kind of wife are you, acting like this?” “A kid would make our family happier.” “Wasn’t it you who said you didn’t want me overworked and wanted a quiet life?” I interrupted. “If you’re lonely, why don’t we just get a dog?” Mary’s face went white. She shot Jim a look. Jim snapped, “How can you compare a dog to a kid?” “Dogs at least show loyalty, Jim. But adopt a kid, and you’re as likely to end up with an ingrate,” I said, flinging my fork down. “You’re still a temp worker, barely making enough to cover your parents, let alone a child. Get real.” Jim lost his temper but finally reached an agreement with me: he would wait to adopt until his job paid more than mine. I didn’t want to see this family ever again, but I couldn’t leave just yet without losing half of what I owned. I clenched my teeth and waited. Mary gave us both a forced smile, saying, “No need to argue over a kid. We’ll revisit it later.” The two of them left the apartment, but I trailed after them quietly, only to see them head upstairs to 203. They took out a key and let themselves in. Back home, I realized Mary had known all along about Jim’s affair and had helped hide it from me, waiting to snatch as much as she could. I let go of my habit of cleaning up after them, remembering I wasn’t their maid anymore. Instead, I threw out my old clothes and cheap cosmetics, determined to cut the last remnants of my past. When Jim returned, he looked at me in shock. “Why toss perfectly good stuff? Wasteful. I could help you save, you know.” Without even looking up, I replied, “I’m letting go of all the useless junk.” 03 Jim couldn’t handle my cold responses anymore. He muttered curses under his breath, stomping around the apartment. “Wasteful woman, acting high and mighty just because she makes a bit of money! Now she won’t even clean up the house!” Listening to him complain, I wondered how I ever believed he cared about me. I ignored him, pretended to take out the trash, and made my way down to a street corner with old flyers taped on the poles. I examined them closely until I found one that read, “Green Meadows Apartments, Unit 204 for rent.” “Hi, is this Unit 204 available for rent?” I asked when someone picked up. “Yes, that’s me! I’m glad you called!” a cheerful voice replied. We arranged to meet at a nearby diner. There, a middle-aged woman named Aunt Lucy showed up, her arms slightly plump, her smile warm. “Just call me Aunt Lucy. You’re the one looking to rent, right? I ask for the first three months’ rent upfront. It’s thirty dollars a month.” After signing the lease with her, I pocketed the keys to Unit 204. Then I hired an electrician to come by and drill a small hole in the living room wall that adjoined Unit 203. Through this gap, I installed a tiny device that would let me hear everything going on next door. Now, I wouldn’t have to set foot inside to hear every word that passed between Jim and his lover. That eavesdropping soon revealed everything I needed to know. Jim’s mistress Rachel had been living just above us for years. She was so familiar to me, yet I couldn’t place her face at first. But my heart broke all over again, realizing she’d been so close the entire time. With my plan in place, I told Jim I’d have to stay at my work dorm for a while due to an urgent project. I packed a small suitcase and moved out, hiding in a spot under a big tree, where I had a direct view of Rachel’s apartment window. A short while later, I saw Rachel hurrying back with a little boy in tow—young Liam, barely five years old at the time. The light flickered on in their apartment above, and I crept up to my new unit to listen. “Daddy, I missed you so much!” Liam’s small voice was so clear it was as if they were speaking in my living room. Jim’s voice answered. “Come here, little guy. Let me see if you’ve grown taller. Look how your mom takes such good care of you! Remember what Daddy told you?” “I remember,” Liam replied, his voice brimming with pride. “I’ll always remember how good my mom is to me, and one day, I’ll bring her home with me. Daddy, where are we going next?” “We’re not going anywhere far, kiddo,” Jim replied, laughing. “One day, you’ll live with Daddy and your other mom, but you’ll be close to your mom, too.” Rachel’s voice broke in, sounding tense. “Jim, you think adopting Liam will work? What if she finds out?” Jim’s voice turned harsh. “As long as Mom covers for us and we keep Liam in line, there won’t be any problems. Grace is always busy. She’ll barely notice when Liam’s around. I get the best of both worlds—I don’t have to take care of my mother or our son, but we’ll still be together as a family.” Rachel giggled, her voice suddenly coquettish. “I knew you always had me in your heart, Jim. By the way, the skincare products you bought last time are all gone. Can you see if you can get more? My skin feels so rough.” “You still look better than her, no matter what.” The sound of their laughter filled the room, and I could hear Liam’s childish giggle at the end. “Daddy and Mommy, kissing! So embarrassing!” I thought of all the times I’d gone without to make sure Jim and his mom had what they needed. I remembered all the cheap skincare I’d bought for myself, the work clothes I’d worn until they were frayed. All that money I’d saved had gone to support their little secret life. Sitting there listening, I felt a strange calm as I pressed “record” on the tape player. Once, I’d returned home from a work trip to see a strange woman playing with Liam in the park near our house. Jim waved it off, saying it was just the neighbor who found our son adorable. But now, I understood. They were a family, laughing and playing together like I was the outsider. 04 I tried to avoid bringing Liam home, thinking Jim would let it go. But I underestimated his persistence. He started spreading rumors to pressure me into adopting, knowing it was my biggest vulnerability. One night after work, I went to the cafeteria to grab dinner. But when I sat down, a few people got up and moved away, looking at me like I had some contagious disease. They whispered behind their hands, but I caught a few words. I grabbed my friend Jenny’s arm as she passed by. “Jenny, what’s going on? Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Jenny avoided my gaze, looking horrified. “Grace, don’t touch me! Your mother-in-law said you have some…infection that’s the reason you can’t have kids.” She lowered her voice. “People are saying…maybe it’s because of…you know, things you might have done when you were younger.” I was shaking with fury, but I knew I had to stay calm. Any sign of weakness would just give them more ammunition. That was exactly what Jim and Mary were hoping for. Just then, Jim showed up and started shouting down the gossipers, then turned to comfort me. “Grace, don’t listen to their nonsense. You know Mom means well. She’s just worried we won’t have anyone to take care of us when we’re old.” In front of the gathering crowd, I patted Jim on the shoulder, my voice loud and clear. “Who says we don’t have kids? Our daughter’s been living with your mom, and she’s six now. She’ll be moving in with us soon!” I smiled sweetly, “Honey, aren’t you thrilled?” I’d always taken Jim at his word, but now I was ready to make my own moves. If he wanted me to adopt so badly, I’d do it—but I’d bring in a child with my own blood.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294838”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #励志Inspiring #浪漫Romance #魔幻Magic #校园School

I got into my husband’s Rolls-Royce and overheard my future daughter-in-law calling me a homewrecker behind my back. I tugged on my husband’s ear and said, “While I was abroad these past few years, how did you manage to raise our son into such a love-struck fool?” My husband shrugged. “I’m only good at making money. When it comes to dealing with gold diggers, that’s your department, my dear.” I’m a writer who just returned home after living abroad for five years. I had barely sat down when my son Jason came rushing over. “Mom, Emily is such a wonderful girl. She’s definitely not after our money.” “She’s incredibly hardworking. She came from a small town and worked really hard to get into a top university despite all the difficulties.” “Her parents are elderly, and she has a younger brother.” “But her brother won’t be a burden to her, I promise.” My first thought was that he was protesting too much. The more someone emphasizes they don’t care about something, the more they actually do care. I smiled and said, “As long as she’s a good person, it doesn’t matter. We have plenty of money. Even if she had seven brothers, it wouldn’t be an issue.” Jason threw himself at me, beaming from ear to ear. “Mom, I love you so much!” I smirked and suddenly asked my starry-eyed son: “If she’s not after the money, what does she see in you?” Jason stammered for a while, suddenly filled with self-doubt. “Maybe she thinks I’m handsome?” Oh dear, I knew it. While I was abroad these past few years, his father was busy making money and ended up spoiling him rotten. My son has always been pure-hearted and kind. When he was little, he would cry and refuse to leave until I gave money to beggars we passed on the street. I’m really worried this angel of mine will fall prey to a gold digger’s schemes. After that, I quickly investigated Emily’s company and pulled some strings to get hired there. My desk was right behind Emily’s. The first time I saw her in person, I had to admit she was quite beautiful – fair skin, rosy lips, delicate eyebrows, and large eyes. She had a soft and innocent look about her. I glanced at her desk, which was covered in expensive cosmetics. There were several jars of La Mer creams and three or four luxury handbags. After completing the onboarding process, I had just returned to my desk when I saw a group of young women gathered around Emily, listening to her brag about how wealthy her boyfriend was. “Jason treats me so well. He’s incredibly generous. He lets me use Chanel perfume to freshen up the bathroom, wash the toilet with bird’s nest soup, use Louis Vuitton bags as trash bags, moisturize my feet with Estée Lauder, and use La Mer to moisturize my body.” I listened in shock, thinking “Oh boy…” No wonder my son’s spending had skyrocketed over the past year. His credit card bills suddenly jumped to over a million dollars per quarter. My son’s excuse was that it was for his studies. My fool of a husband actually believed him and gave our son whatever he asked for. My heart ached. The money my husband and I earned didn’t just fall from the sky! I was furious inside, cursing my son, but outwardly I sarcastically said to Emily: “Bird’s nest soup isn’t meant for flushing toilets. It depends on whether the toilet is worthy. What kind of toilet are you flushing? A rental apartment toilet?” The group of young women finally noticed me, the newcomer. They were all surprised by my sharp tongue and stood there stunned. Emily was clearly no pushover. She immediately fired back. “What’s wrong with a rental apartment? I rented it with my own hard-earned money. Are you jealous? You look like you’re in your late 30s. Is it because no man will pay for your expenses?” Seeing her roll her eyes, I suddenly felt like the son I had raised for over 20 years had been defiled by a pig. I could finally understand those fathers who cry their eyes out at their daughters’ weddings. A plainly dressed girl spoke up in my defense. I later learned her name was Sarah. “Emily, don’t say that. This lady clearly comes from a good background.” The other young women sided with Emily though. It seems they often benefited from her generosity. “Emily, why are you bothering with her? She’s clearly just a bitter old maid who’s jealous of you!” “Yeah, why else would someone her age be competing for jobs with us young people?” I smiled and said, “Auntie here is 50 years old. My son is older than your boyfriends. I have a loving marriage and a harmonious family.” The young women who had just been mocking me were shocked. I only looked to be in my early 30s, which immediately piqued their interest. They crowded around me. “Auntie, how do you take such good care of yourself? You look so young!” “You don’t have a single wrinkle. You must come from a wealthy family.” “Auntie, is your son single?” “Auntie, do you want to adopt a goddaughter?” “Auntie, you’re so beautiful. Your son must be very handsome!” Emily was left standing there, her eyes wide with disbelief. I glanced at Emily disdainfully and said, “Of course. My son is 6’1″, with sharp features and bright eyes. He’s just not very smart.” Just then, Emily’s phone rang. She answered in a soft voice: “Yes, I’m free tonight. Where should we eat?” “Oh no, that place is too fancy.” “Being frugal is a virtue. Let’s go to a food truck instead.” After hanging up, Emily waved her phone at the other girls. Her expression was full of smugness as she pouted and said: “My boyfriend is so considerate. He insists on taking me to an expensive restaurant where the average bill is over $100 per person. I want to eat at a food truck, but he’s upset about it.” Then, she triumphantly showed me her phone wallpaper, which was a photo of my son. “Auntie, is your husband as handsome as my boyfriend?” I smiled and said, “No, your boyfriend is more handsome.” “After all, I gave birth to him.” I almost couldn’t hold back from saying that last part out loud. Emily smiled knowingly and said, “Of course. My boyfriend is half American and half Japanese.” I was stunned. Which one of us – me or my husband – was the secret Japanese person? After work, Emily was in a rush to leave. As she was leaving, she commanded me in an imperious tone: “Please hand in the report on my desk to the manager.” I coldly replied, “Don’t you have hands?” She smirked and touched up her lipstick in the mirror: “You’re new to the workplace. This is how things are done. Don’t be difficult!” “Fine,” I agreed reluctantly. I glanced at the manager’s office. No one was there. After she left, I tore out a page from the middle of the report and tossed it onto the manager’s desk. After doing that, I looked out the window and saw my son waiting downstairs in his Maserati. Jason opened the car door for Emily and carefully shielded her head with his hand to prevent her from bumping it on the doorframe. He had learned those gentlemanly gestures from his father, and he wasn’t bad at it. It’s just that with Emily as the female lead, my son seemed a bit… like a lovesick puppy. Just as I was feeling dejected, the group of young women invited me to dinner with them. I happily agreed. Being around young people made me feel younger at heart, which I enjoyed. I asked Sarah if she wanted to join us, since she had spoken up for me earlier. She declined, saying, “I can’t, I have a part-time job as a designated driver. Shh, don’t tell anyone.” I winked at her, silently agreeing to keep her secret. The young women took me to the food street near our office building. These young people’s tastes were certainly different from an old fogey like me. Along the way, they chatted about things like: “I’d sleep with Tom Holland on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Chris Evans on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and both of them together on Sunday.” I didn’t even know who they were talking about. Time really does fly. Unable to join the conversation, I focused my attention on the food instead. Sizzling grilled meat skewers, fragrant egg pancakes. The air was filled with the aroma of street food. I ordered an egg pancake and was about to enjoy it. Looking down, I suddenly spotted my son and Emily in a nearby alley, Crouched on the ground, eating something that looked dark and unappetizing. Next to him was a sticky black plastic bucket that looked like it was filled with gutter oil. Flies were buzzing around my son’s glossy short hair. In that moment, I truly felt I had failed as a mother. When he was young, I often took him to shabby restaurants to experience hardship and build character. Who knew it would turn him into someone with no standards, willing to eat anything! But honestly, how could I bear to see my son eating such dirty food! At home, when his father washed fruit for him, even tap water wasn’t clean enough. We had to soak it in baking soda and then rinse it with mineral water. In that moment, I really wanted to rush over, grab his ear, and tell him: “Your girlfriend eats street food in front of you, but behind your back she’s using Chanel to freshen up the bathroom. Don’t you know that, you fool!” My hands were shaking with anger, but I had to control myself. It wasn’t time for me to reveal myself yet. I hid in a secluded corner and finished my egg pancake without really tasting it, then went home fuming. Sitting on the couch, I pouted with my lips turned down. When my husband Henry saw me, he immediately sat down beside me to comfort me. “Honey, how was your first day at work?” I described everything I had seen and heard, then asked sheepishly, “Who do you think our son inherited his intelligence from?” Henry laughed. “It must be your chromosome 16 acting up.” His reminder brought back painful memories. We lost our first child unexpectedly. Later tests showed that a duplicated segment on my chromosome 16 was the cause. Chromosome 16 is responsible for intelligence. Children born with this issue would either be extremely smart or severely intellectually disabled. Back then, my husband and I couldn’t accept the possibility of having a child with severe disabilities, so we considered not having children at all. But Jason didn’t give up on me. We anxiously went through the ten months of pregnancy, and after he was born, the doctors said there were no issues with his intelligence. Only then did we breathe a sigh of relief. Now it seems his emotional intelligence might be a bit lacking, especially when it comes to choosing a girlfriend. With mixed feelings, I waited up for my son until the early hours of the morning. When he turned on the lights, he was startled to see me sitting on the couch. After composing himself, he suddenly pulled out a bouquet of carnations from behind his back and said with a smile: “Mom, these are for you. I haven’t had a chance to spend time with you since you got back.” I immediately burst into tears. This bouquet of carnations moved this old mother to tears. But then, he asked in the next breath: “Mom, can I have the keys to the villa in the small town?” My mood immediately plummeted again. I quickly wiped away my tears and asked warily, “What do you want it for?” “Mom, I can’t bear to see Emily living in a rental apartment anymore. I want to let her live in the villa. It’s just sitting empty anyway.” This Emily was quite clever. After I mocked her for living in a rental apartment during the day, she immediately whispered in my son’s ear that night about wanting to live in a big villa. I didn’t know how to refuse, but just then my husband leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and spoke up: “That house is being used as employee housing now. Some employees will be moving in in a few days. The beachfront villa is empty though, does she want to live there?” The beachfront villa was a two-hour commute each way from Emily’s office. A lazy person definitely wouldn’t want to wake up early and get home late every day for work. My husband was quite shrewd. Hearing this, my son’s eyes immediately dimmed. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes at the door before lowering his head to send a text message. He was probably asking for Emily’s opinion. Sure enough, a moment later, he declined decisively: “Never mind then.” Leaving those cold words behind, he returned to his room. I was not in a good mood. My husband took the opportunity to score some points, trying to win my favor: “Our son brings you flowers but has ulterior motives. I’m better, aren’t I?” I asked in confusion, “How so?” He looked at me tenderly and said, “You’re not going to work tomorrow. I’ve booked a table at the revolving restaurant to welcome you home.” Hearing him say that, my anger immediately dissipated. “Wow, Auntie’s husband is so classy? What a coincidence to run into you here.” At the restaurant, just as my husband and I were having our private moment, a coquettish female voice rang out. I looked up and saw it was Emily, accompanied by two young women around her age. Before Henry could even turn his head to look at her, she had already plopped herself down next to him, then said to her companions: “You two go ahead and look around. I’ve run into a colleague.” The two young women walked away, chatting and laughing. Emily sat on the corner of Henry’s black coat. His face darkened. Emily smoothed out her long dress, crossed her legs to reveal her snow-white thighs, and said to my husband, “Uncle, I’m a colleague of Auntie’s. You don’t mind, do you?” Henry looked puzzled. He had never seen Emily’s photo before, so I quickly explained, “This is Emily.” Hearing this, a meaningful look flashed in my husband’s eyes. He quickly pulled the corner of his coat out from under her bottom, but smiled and said: “Of course I don’t mind.” “Where’s your young boyfriend?” I asked her curiously. She lowered her eyes to look at the menu, answering absent-mindedly, “He’s picking out a house for me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294854”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic