Category: English

Alex walked in as I finished my diary entry: He wants pork chops. Remember to buy some tomorrow. At the door, he knelt to place slippers at his lab assistant Vivian’s feet. They nodded at me, passing by to discuss data I couldn’t follow. Feeling like a stranger in my own home, I retreated to the kitchen, slicing fruit. When I returned, Vivian was flipping through my journal. “Isla, I had no idea you were such a devoted housewife. You actually kept a daily journal just for Alex.” Mock pity dripped from her tone as she ripped it in half. “Let me help you find your independence.” Panic seized me. I lunged, but Alex shoved between us, batting my hands away. “What is wrong with you? It is just a stupid notebook!” He scoffed. “Vivian is right. Why waste time on useless garbage?” Vivian giggled. “It says here you actually sobbed and begged a doctor when she got sick.” Alex’s face flushed crimson. “Why record every private detail? Scribbling nonsense all day, no wonder you haven’t found a job!” Terrified she’d dig up more, he snatched the remaining half, tore it to shreds, and tossed it in the trash. I watched him usher her out, tears streaming. He had no idea. Without that journal, by tomorrow, I would completely forget who he was. 1 I do not know when the illness began. At first, it was just a random morning. I woke up, looked at Alex heating up a mug of milk, and asked in confusion, “Alex, aren’t we going to that popular brunch spot we booked weeks ago? Why are you making breakfast?” Alex paused and glanced at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Isla, are you still half-asleep? We went to that bistro yesterday. You complained that the eggs were overcooked and swore you would never go back.” It was only when he saw the sheer blankness in my eyes that panic set in. He wrapped a coat around my shoulders and dragged me straight to the emergency room. When the doctor asked questions and realized my entire memory of the previous day was completely gone, Alex lost his mind. Terrified that I was dying of some incurable disease, he grabbed the doctor’s hand, tears spilling over. “Please, doctor, you have to save her. I will give my own life if I have to!” But after a battery of scans and blood tests, the hospital found absolutely nothing. They eventually chalked it up to stress, calling it a case of temporary, psychogenic amnesia. Alex was terrified. For a week, he refused to leave my side, taking a leave of absence from his university lab just to monitor me. It was only after seven incident-free days that I finally managed to coax him back to his research. But the peace didn’t last. Shortly after he returned to school, the strange fog rolled back into my brain. This time, a whole week of my life was completely erased. I could not bring myself to tell him. Instead, I went back to the clinic alone. Again, the tests came up clear. Dr. Bennett was baffled, only able to prescribe some mild sedatives and advise regular checkups. Back at the apartment, I stared at the front door, paralyzed. I knew Alex. If he found out I was getting worse, he would drop his thesis and spend every waking hour hovering over me. But I could not let my broken mind derail his dreams. I could not let my fading memories ruin his future. To protect him and save myself, I started keeping a journal. Starting from the day we met, I meticulously transcribed every detail of our life together, anchoring my soul to those pages. But my condition only accelerated. At first, the gaps were small and random. Then, the blackouts became more frequent, swallowing larger chunks of my past. Eventually, I woke up one morning to find my mind frozen at eighteen, before I had ever met Alex. It was only through that battered journal that I was able to piece myself back together. Job hunting became impossible. I claimed I was freelancing, hiding in the safety of our apartment, caught in an endless loop of forgetting and relearning my own life. I tried to reason with myself. Our fight was just a misunderstanding. Alex didn’t know about my disease, so he thought I was just acting crazy. Once I told him the truth, he would understand why the journal mattered, and we would make up. I ran out of the bedroom, catching him at the front door. He was holding their coats, murmuring gentle reassurances to Vivian. Seeing them about to leave, I called out, “Wait! Alex, please, I need to tell you something. I kept that journal because… because I am sick.” 2 Hearing my words, Alex froze. When he turned back to look at me, his eyes were instantly flooded with worry. “Isla, when did you get sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Is it serious? What did the doctor say?” Seeing his panic, a small weight lifted from my chest. I knew it. He had only snapped because his pride was wounded in front of his junior colleague. But before I could speak, Vivian rolled her eyes, her sigh dripping with irritation. “Isla, please don’t tell me you are going to claim you have depression. I stopped using that excuse back in high school. True clinical depression is agonizing. People fight for their lives every day against their own minds. They don’t just use it as a convenient excuse whenever things don’t go their way.” Hearing her words, Alex’s expression hardened again. He scanned me from head to toe, his brow furrowing. “Isla, if you are actually sick, show me your medical records. I will go to the clinic with you.” But there were no medical records. The doctors couldn’t find a cause, so they had never given me an official diagnosis. Seeing me freeze, Alex assumed Vivian had caught me in a lie. Anger flared in his eyes. “Isla, you are seriously fabricating an illness just to make me feel guilty? You sit at home all day doing absolutely nothing, how could you possibly be depressed? I only told you to get a job so you would stop wasting your life, and this is how you manipulate me?” “No, Alex, listen to me…” I reached out, desperate to explain. But his mind was made up. He saw me as a liar playing the victim. Casting one last disappointed look at me, he opened the door and walked out with Vivian. I stood there staring at the closed door, my legs trembling. Finally, I dragged myself back to the bedroom and fell to my knees by the trash can, picking out the shredded scraps of my journal. I smoothed them out, trying to piece the puzzle of my life back together, but many fragments were torn too finely to salvage. Clutching the salvaged pages, I sat on the living room sofa to wait. I knew he would come home. No matter how vicious our arguments had been over the years, he never stayed out overnight because he knew I would worry. Once he returned and we were alone, he would listen to me. It was past midnight when the key finally turned in the lock. Alex walked in, exhaustion written across his face. He didn’t even glance at me sitting on the sofa, walking straight toward the guest bedroom. I sprang up and grabbed his wrist. “Alex, please. I wasn’t lying. I am really sick.” He paused, but when he realized I was still clinging to the same excuse instead of apologizing, his frustration boiled over. He whipped around to glare at me. “Fine, Isla. You want to play this game? Tomorrow we are going to the hospital, and we will let the doctors run every test until we find out exactly what is wrong with you!” He violently shook off my grip. “I am exhausted. I am going to bed.” Panic surged through me as I watched him walk away. Tomorrow would be too late. But Alex had already shut the door of the guest room, and a sharp click told me he had locked it from the inside to keep me out. I knew I should let him rest. He was tired, and arguing would solve nothing. But I had no time. The remaining scraps of my journal weren’t enough. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to piece together the twenty-four-year-old woman who loved Alex. The realization that I might wake up tomorrow with no memory of him brought a sharp, physical pain to my chest. Clutching my heart, I slumped against the locked door, tears blurring my vision. “Alex, please, just talk to me. I know you are angry, but I swear I am not lying to you.” Silence greeted me from the other side. No shouts, no complaints, just a heavy, suffocating quietness that seemed to press down on my shoulders. I sobbed silently, the tears choking my throat. Finally, the door swung open. But Alex’s face held no warmth, only a cold irritation that made him look like a total stranger. “Isla, when is this going to end? I have told you a thousand times that I am tired. I have to be in the lab early tomorrow. Can’t you show a single shred of consideration for my work? Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow!” He practically roared the last sentence in my face. I stared at the man standing before me, my heart aching. This wasn’t the Alex from my journal. The man I knew would never treat me with such hostility. Recalling how he had shielded Vivian earlier, the question slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Alex, do you still love me?” 3 Alex’s brow furrowed so deeply a vein began to throb at his temple. “If I didn’t love you, would I still be standing here listening to this nonsense? Would I tolerate you humiliating me in front of my colleague? I don’t get you, Isla. When did you become so exhausting?” His cold, critical gaze forced me back a step. Exhausting? He blamed me for changing, but what about him? “Alex, you once promised that you would always believe me, no matter what. Was that a lie? Did you forget the vow you made three years ago when we almost broke up? You swore we would always sit down, listen to each other, and never let misunderstandings tear us apart.” He had even recorded those words on his phone, calling it the foundation of our relationship. I clung to those memories from my journal, but Alex merely scoffed. “Isla, you kept me awake just to bring up some ancient history? I have been working seventy hours a week at the lab. I deleted those useless files ages ago.” I looked up, meeting his impatient eyes, and a shudder ran through my body. Useless. Our promises were useless to him now. What was the point of me clinging to these memories, reviewing them night after night like a desperate student? “Then what actually matters to you, Alex? If our promises don’t matter, does Vivian?” Alex answered without a second thought. “Vivian is brilliant, hard-working, and ambitious. Look at yourself, Isla. You sit around all day doing nothing. How can you even compare yourself to her?” The moment the words left his mouth, a flash of regret crossed his eyes. Seeing me stand there in silence, he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Isla, I didn’t mean to snap. I am just under a lot of pressure at the lab. If you are done, go to bed.” Without waiting for a response, he quietly closed the door. His muffled voice came through the thick wood. “Goodnight, Isla. We will talk tomorrow.” I turned away, my vision blurring. Alex, there is no tomorrow for us. Clutching the half-assembled journal, a bitter doubt took root in my mind. Was this diary just a collection of lies I told myself? Was his love for me merely a delusion I had fabricated? Why did the real Alex feel so entirely different from the man in these pages? On my way to the bedroom, I noticed a sticky note affixed to the refrigerator door. Vivian often skips breakfast and gets dizzy. Remember to bring her some food. I stared at it. My journal used to contain notes just like that, written in his precise handwriting, but every single one of them had been addressed to Isla. Alex had deleted our voice recordings, discarded our history, and now, even his sweet gestures belonged to someone else. I no longer had a place in his life. Maybe it was time to stop lying to myself with this journal. I took the reconstructed journal back to my desk, ripped it into tiny shreds, and tossed them back into the wastebasket. If Alex no longer loved me, then I had no reason to force myself to become the twenty-four-year-old woman who adored him. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, letting sleep pull me under. I stood back and let the memories drift away, watching the image of Alex fade until he vanished entirely from my life. When the morning sun filtered through my eyelids, I stirred awake. My hand instinctively reached toward the nightstand, feeling as if something important should be there, but finding only empty wood. Shaking off the brief moment of confusion, I stretched, threw open my bedroom door, and called out, “Mom! Dad! What is for breakfast?” But there was only a strange man sitting on the living room sofa. At the sound of my voice, his expression darkened. “Isla, are you seriously acting like a child? We had a small fight, and now you are calling your parents?” Terror seized me. I took several steps back toward my bedroom, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618635”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At the university showcase, my mother forced me onto a sixteen-foot platform to “build endurance.” Born with a severe heart defect, I was terrified, clutching a ten-pound prop. Sharp agony stabbed my chest. “Your heart is weak because you never exercise!” she’d barked backstage. “Stop acting like a cowardly loser!” When my arms trembled, my adopted sister Kristin hissed, “Don’t slack off! It’s only been minutes!” Mom’s icy voice buzzed in my earpiece: “University trustees are watching. Hold that prop three more hours after the show!” I rasped into the mic, “Mom, it hurts so bad…” She cut the audio. “Endure it! My position doesn’t mean special treatment!” Kristin stomped my ankle, spinning back to dance. For three endless hours, not one person noticed I’d stopped breathing and fallen. Crimson soaked my white dress. My soul floated above. Mom, you’ll never be embarrassed by your cowardly daughter again. … The moment my heart ceased beating, the agony was so intense that my throat had paralyzed. Every bone in my body felt shattered beyond repair. Kristin finished her grand finale, surrounded by admiring classmates. She strutted off stage like a proud white swan, only to frown deeply when she spotted me lying motionless on the floor. “Hey, Wendy! What are you playing dead for?” She walked over and slammed her heel directly onto my hand, grinding her weight into my fingers. I didn’t flinch, because I was truly dead. “Unbelievable!” Kristin snapped, grinding her shoe harder. “You play the helpless victim at home, and now you want everyone at school to think I bully you? You malicious, useless freak!” Furious that I offered no reaction, Kristin kicked my shins repeatedly with ruthless force. Deep purple bruises rapidly bloomed across my sickly pale skin. Several students gathered around, whispering among themselves. “Kristin is so brilliant and beautiful, how does she have such a pathetic, sickly sister?” My soul let out a bitter smile in the air. We weren’t even related by blood. A few classmates started to look genuinely concerned. “Kristin, Wendy has a serious heart condition. Is she actually hurt?” “Yeah, that wooden prop weighed ten pounds. A healthy person would struggle to hold it that long, let alone someone with heart disease.” Kristin scoffed, her eyes instantly brimming with fake tears. “You’ve all been fooled by her! Ever since we were kids, whenever Mom asks her to do chores, she fakes a medical emergency.” “She just envies me. She envies my healthy body, and she hates that I can live a normal life while she can’t!” Floating above, I reached out helplessly, wanting to explain to everyone that I never envied her. I only admired her, like an ugly duckling admiring a swan. Before I could process her lies, my mother marched out from backstage. She wrapped her arms around Kristin, comforting her affectionately, before turning to spit on my limp body. “Wendy, you are a disgrace to this family!” my mother yelled. “Kristin danced for hours without a single complaint, yet you make a scene over nothing!” “I am an administrative director at this university, and I gave birth to a lazy, deceitful parasite like you!” “Do you have any idea that if tonight’s event is ruined, every performing student will receive a disciplinary mark on their record? How can you be so selfish?!” She delivered several heavy slaps directly across the back of my head. My lifeless head jolted back and forth with the force, swaying like a broken ragdoll. Her public condemnation silenced the crowd. The lingering sympathy in the students’ eyes vanished, replaced by anger and disgust, believing I was trying to ruin their grades. Over the years, to ensure I received proper care, my mother had worked her way up from an elementary school administrator to a university director. I had seen every sacrifice she made for me. “Wendy, get up right now!” My mother’s face turned livid as she stared at my unmoving body. “Have you no shame?!” “You’ve been timid and stubborn since you were little. How are you ever going to survive in the real world? Everything I do is for your own good!” The surrounding students murmured with admiration for my mother’s dedication. “Director Ross is such an amazing mother. Wendy doesn’t appreciate how lucky she is!” “Yeah, she doesn’t learn anything good, she just knows how to slack off and drag everyone else down!” Kristin snuggled deeper into my mother’s arms, urging impatiently, “Stop acting, Wendy! Get up! When the university board members come out, how is Mom supposed to explain this?” I hovered above them, panicked and desperate, terrified of causing trouble for my mother. But a corpse cannot move. Enraged by my silence, my mother reached down, grabbing my hair, yanking my head back so hard it nearly tore my scalp. “What did I do to deserve a child like you?” my mother wept with frustration. “Your father died young, and you were born sick! I raised you all by myself, and now that your wings are grown, this is how you repay me?!” “I just wanted you to perform on stage to build your confidence, and you hold a grudge and embarrass me on purpose!” Her words pierced my soul like daggers. Because I knew how much she suffered after Dad passed away, I tried so hard to stay alive. I had seen her cry into her pillow in the dead of night, bearing an unimaginable burden. I obeyed every single order she gave me. When I was seven, she said I needed to overcome my fears, so she left me alone in a dark haunted house attraction, forcing me to find my way out through my own sobs. In middle school, she said I needed to build my heart’s endurance, so she forced me to stay awake for three consecutive days, which landed me in the intensive care unit for two months. And tonight, she forced me to hold a ten-pound prop on a sixteen-foot platform, inflicting both mental and physical torture upon my fragile body. I never complained once. I just couldn’t handle it anymore, Mom… Determined to break my act, Kristin stepped forward to expose my private humiliations. “Wendy, if you don’t get up right now, I’ll tell everyone your dirty little secrets!” My mother encouraged her, “Tell them, Kristin! Give her a taste of her own medicine, or she’ll think she can walk all over us!” Fear ran cold through my spiritual form. Please, no! Don’t do this! Does my dignity mean nothing to you? Kristin crossed her arms, smirking triumphantly. “Wendy is such a coward that she sleeps with the lights on every night. If the lights go out, she wets her bed from fear!” “Our balcony is constantly filled with her washed bedsheets. She smells like urine all the time, and no amount of perfume can hide it!” The surrounding students immediately covered their noses, taking several steps back from my body. “That’s disgusting! No wonder the handmade gifts she gave us during orientation smelled weird!” My face flushed pale with shame. I had stayed up for nights making those orientation gifts for my classmates, ensuring every single item was washed and spotless. Kristin wasn’t done. “And to make matters worse, she actually had the nerve to crush on the campus golden boy! She wrote him over twenty love letters!” She pulled a thick stack of envelopes from her tote bag and tossed them onto the floor. A handsome guy standing nearby looked as if he had swallowed a fly. “Gross! Who would ever like a crippled girl with a diseased heart?” He turned on his heel and walked away. The crowd burst into loud laughter. I covered my face in the air, sobbing silently, unable to look. My private teenage feelings were laid bare, served as a joke for everyone to mock. Seeing that I still didn’t move, my mother’s eyes turned entirely cold. “Still playing dead, are we, Wendy?” She turned to the stage crew. “Fine! Hook her up to the aerial rigging wires! Suspend her near the ceiling and leave her there! Let’s see how long she can hold out!” The auditorium’s wire rigging system was rarely used because untrained individuals could suffer severe rope burns or injuries. Suspending someone that high without harness training was extremely dangerous. The crowd grew quiet, sensing things were going too far. Kristin, however, cheered in approval. “Mom, you really know how to discipline her! She won’t be able to fake it up there!” My mother called over two security guards, who wrapped the wire harness around my waist and chest. As they pulled the straps tight, bright red blood seeped through my dress, drawing shocked gasps from the audience. “Oh my god, look! Wendy is bleeding! Is she actually hurt?!” My mother let out a cold sneer, grabbing the hoist rope to raise my body slowly into the air. “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just a little blood, it won’t kill her!” Kristin leaned down, pretending to sniff the blood on the floor, her expression filled with disdain. “Mom, this is just cherry syrup! Wendy is definitely acting!” I opened my mouth in silent agony, unable to comprehend why she would invent such a lie to smear me. For years, I had treated her like my own flesh and blood sister. Slowly, my body rose higher and higher into the rafters. The tight harness cut deep into my pale skin. My limbs dangled at unnatural, twisted angles, a posture impossible for a living human being to hold. If my mother had taken just one careful look, she would have noticed. At that moment, several visiting university executives walked backstage. Among them was my late father’s former colleague, Uncle Marcus. Uncle Marcus froze in horror, shouting frantically, “Evelyn! Wendy is sick! What are you doing? You’re going to kill her!” Kristin quickly stepped in front of him. “Uncle Marcus, you misunderstand! Mom is just disciplining my sister!” “Disciplining her?” My mother nodded, her face full of resentment. “Marcus, you have no idea how twisted this girl’s mind is! I wanted her to gain some courage on stage, and she fakes a faint to humiliate me! If I don’t discipline her now, how can I face her late father?” Uncle Marcus fell silent. It was difficult to interfere in another family’s domestic discipline, especially when spoken with such authority. As my body reached the highest point of the ceiling, my mother turned away, heading toward the administration conference room for the event debriefing. Before leaving, she instructed Kristin softly, “Keep an eye on your sister. If she starts showing genuine signs of heart distress, lower her down and give her medicine.” Kristin nodded obediently. After my mother left, the performing students were ordered to remain in the auditorium while the administration discussed the showcase’s outcome. “It’s all Wendy’s fault! Because she slacked off, we’re all stuck waiting in this heat!” “I just want to go back to my dorm, this is unbearable!” Uncle Marcus, still standing near the stage, suddenly pointed up at my suspended body and yelled, “Lower Wendy down right now! Her condition is completely wrong, and she’s dripping blood!” Kristin rolled her eyes. “Uncle Marcus, she tricked you. That’s just cherry syrup! Smear some on your fingers and smell it yourself!” She wiped her hand on the floor and held it out. Uncle Marcus sniffed it and frowned. “It really is syrup… I can’t believe such a sweet child turned so rebellious.” I clenched my ghostly fists, unable to utter a single word of defense. Kristin smiled, commanding the guards, “Hoist her higher! Make her admit her mistake faster!” The strain on my ballet dress caused the fabric to tear loudly, exposing my heavily bruised torso. Meanwhile, in the conference room, my mother was apologizing profusely to the board members. “I am so sorry, everyone. My daughter Wendy messed up on stage due to her poor stamina. She’s been shy and timid since childhood, complaining about heart pain even when walking fast. I’ve disciplined her, and I assure you it won’t happen again.” My mother, who held her head high everywhere she went, bent her spine repeatedly for my sake. The board members concluded that since the live stream didn’t capture my fall, the incident was manageable. A senior female director sitting near my mother remarked gently, “Director Ross, given Wendy’s heart condition, she doesn’t really need to perform on stage.” My mother waved her hand defensively. “How can I let her off so easily? It’s for her own good! If I don’t push her to build courage, she’ll end up a complete burden to society!” I felt a surge of overwhelming guilt. I’m so sorry, Mom… Simultaneously, photos of my body suspended in the auditorium rafters spread rapidly across campus group chats, making me the laughingstock of the entire university. A few board members felt the punishment was getting out of hand. “Director Ross, maybe that’s enough for tonight. She’s still young, moderation is key.” My mother remained resolute. “Thank you for your concern, but I cannot back down. If I don’t teach her a lesson tonight, she will rely on me for the rest of her life!” Suddenly, a terrified scream echoed from the hallway outside. “Oh my god! The rigging wire snapped!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618619”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When I caught my detective husband with his first love, I didn’t cry. I dragged his partner Marcus into my car and made the chassis rock till dawn. My husband kicked the door open, punched Marcus, and dragged me out by my hair. “She’s my wife! You’re my brother’s girl!” Marcus laughed wildly. “I like taking what’s yours.” They brawled across the precinct courtyard, blood painting the concrete. Their brotherhood shattered. One went south, the other north. I divorced my husband and married Marcus. For three years, he spoiled me rotten, guarding me like a rabid dog. Until I found out I was pregnant. Rushing to surprise him at the precinct, I caught his voice drifting from the stairwell. “Marc, ten months and you haven’t filed for divorce. Don’t tell me you actually fell for her?” Through the fire door crack, I saw Marcus leaning against the wall. “A piece of used, dirty laundry? Fall for that? Alice’s pregnant. She can’t take drama right now.” Detectives laughed. “Lillian has no clue. You played the doting husband for two years because Alice wanted her ex back and Lillian wouldn’t sign. You put on a whole show just to trick her into a divorce!” “All that jealous acting was just to keep her from crawling back to her ex and making Alice uncomfortable!” Marcus flicked his ash through the smoke, voice low and calm. “I already had a fake paternity test drawn up. Once her belly shows, I’ll shove it in her face, call it a bastard, and kick her straight to the curb.” … The rest of their words faded into a high-pitched ring. By the time my mind cleared, I was already standing outside the precinct gates, shivered by the biting wind. The pregnancy report that should have brought me tears of joy felt like a death warrant. My hands shook so violently the paper fluttered in the breeze. My phone screen lit up with a notification from him. Hey babe, the briefing wrapped up early. What do you want for dinner? I will cook. A hollow laugh escaped my lips, but my tears splattered hot against the glass screen. My chest felt as if a rusted blade had been driven straight through my heart and twisted. I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, the warmth was gone, replaced by cold ash. I opened my contacts and sent a message to the State Bureau. Captain Garrett, is that transfer slot to the State Homicide Division still open? I want to apply. Then, I dialed the city hospital. “I need to schedule an abortion. The earliest slot you have.” Looking down, my lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. This time, I was going to vanish without leaving a single trace. 2 I do not even remember how I walked back to the precinct quarters. When I pushed the door open, Marcus was sitting on the living room sofa. The moment he saw me, he stood up, his face softening into that familiar, bone-deep tenderness. “You are back? I made pork rib soup. Have some while it is hot.” I didn’t refuse. I sat down and forced down a couple of spoonfuls. Suddenly, his phone screen lit up. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the preview, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. Marc, that soup is too greasy. I don’t want it. Take it back and feed it to your wife. It had been sent twenty-one minutes ago. The soup in my bowl instantly tasted like slop. I dropped the spoon, bolted to the bathroom, and collapsed over the toilet, dry-heaving violently. Marcus hurried in after me, gently rubbing my back. “What is wrong, babe? Feeling sick?” I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me. You are sleeping on the couch tonight.” By the time the sun came up the next morning, Marcus was already gone. I walked to the hospital alone for my scheduled appointment. The doctor looked over my file, checking twice. “Lillian, your uterine lining is extremely thin. If you go through with this, conceiving again will be nearly impossible. Are you absolutely sure?” I nodded, my voice completely flat. “I am sure. Do it.” The procedure was quick. Clutching my prescription, I turned to leave the ward when I collided with someone. The impact wasn’t hard, but my body was weak and hollow from the surgery. My knees gave out, and I slammed hard onto the floor. My forehead struck the sharp edge of a marble step, sending flashes of black across my vision. I forced myself to look up and saw the woman standing in front of me: Alice. She was clutching her stomach, sinking to the floor, her face as pale as a sheet. “Alice!” Two figures charged forward at almost the exact same second. Dominic reached her first, throwing his arms around her shoulders, his voice tight with panic. Close behind him was Marcus. He held a prenatal checkup file in one hand and a bag of fresh fruit in the other, filled with Alice’s favorites. “Dominic… my stomach hurts so much…” Alice sobbed, burying her face in Dominic’s chest. Without a word, Dominic scooped her up in his arms and sprinted toward the ER. Marcus stood half a step behind them, his outstretched hand freezing in midair. A sharp, stabbing cramp ripped through my lower abdomen, breaking me out in a cold sweat. As I tried to push myself up off the floor, a heavy black canvas bag was slammed down over my head, plunging me into absolute darkness. Before I could even scream, a brutal kick caught me square in the stomach. The agonizing pain choked the sound right back down my throat. I curled into a tight ball, catching Marcus’s voice drifting through the heavy fabric. It was cold enough to freeze blood. “Drag this blind bitch to the back alley. Teach her some manners. She needs to learn who she is allowed to bump into.” A few rookie officers grabbed the bag and dragged me down the damp concrete alleyway. Because I was wearing a hood and a surgical mask post-surgery, he hadn’t recognized me. I thrashed wildly, but a heavy boot pinned my back to the ground, and the hard thud of tactical batons began raining down on my ribs. The officers chatted casually as they swung. “Man, Chief Marcus really has a thing for Alice. She gets bumped, and he loses his mind. I don’t think his actual wife ever got this kind of treatment.” “No kidding. Did you know that when Lillian took those fifty disciplinary lashes years ago, it was Chief Marcus who personally requested them from Internal Affairs?” “He even specifically told them to use the rubber-wrapped steel batons. Said it was a little punishment for dragging her feet on the divorce and upsetting Alice.” A violent ringing erupted in my head, like a flashbang exploding in my skull. Those fifty blows that had nearly ended my life years ago, the ones that made me view him as my savior, had been ordered by Marcus himself? The very last spark of light in my soul died right there in the dirt. 3 When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a sterile hospital room. Through the glass panel of the door, a row of officers was lined up, heads bowed. “A bunch of useless idiots! You couldn’t even recognize your chief’s wife?” The door pushed open. Marcus walked in, the residual fury still lingering in his eyes. Seeing me awake, he hurried to my bedside, his voice dropping into that soft, gentle tone. “Lily, you are awake? I have already suspended those idiots. Are you still in pain?” He reached out to brush the stray hair from my forehead, but I jerked my head away. His hand froze in the air. He let out a soft sigh. “It is my fault. Everything was a mess, and I didn’t recognize you. I am so sorry you had to go through that. Hey, didn’t you always want to recuperate in Savannah? I cleared my schedule for the next two weeks. I will go with you, okay?” I stared at him, my throat raw and dry. “No need. If you are so worried about Alice, why aren’t you with her?” Marcus stiffened. “I know you don’t like her, Lily. But her father is the State Deputy Director, and our joint task force is in the middle of a massive operation. If anything happens to her, the whole case falls apart. Besides, she is pregnant now. What happened in the past is ancient history. You are not still keeping score over her and Dominic, are you? You have to look at the bigger picture.” A wave of fury burned in my chest, but before I could speak, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was the State Bureau’s personnel department. “Lillian, your transfer to the State Homicide Division has been approved. You report for duty next week.” Marcus’s sharp ears caught the word “transfer.” His brow furrowed instantly. “What transfer?” “Nothing,” I muttered into the receiver, telling the caller I understood before hanging up. “Just some staff scheduling.” After a few days in the ward, I was discharged. The day of the City Homicide Conference finally arrived, and I had stayed up all night polishing my case analysis report. The auditorium was packed with detectives from various precincts, with cameras lined up in the front row. I took a deep breath, preparing to step up to the podium. Suddenly, the double doors of the conference room were kicked open. Marcus marched in, his face masked in a terrifying blend of cold anger. Striding onto the stage, he grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Lillian, how many times do I have to tell you to let the past go? You married me. Why the hell are you still stalking Dominic?” “Let go of me!” Wincing at the pain, I struggled. “Stalking? I don’t have a clue what you are talking about!” Before I could finish, a stinging slap landed across my face. Alice appeared on the stage out of nowhere, her beautiful face twisted in a mixture of disgust and triumph. “Still playing innocent? Fine! Let us show everyone what a desperate, pathetic bitch you really are!” A few technicians hurried to the control panel. Within seconds, my case report was wiped from the projector screen, replaced by screenshots of intimate messages. Dominic, I still love you. I don’t care about Marcus. Please take me back. What does that bitch Alice have that I don’t? She is just a homewrecker. Once you are bored of her, you will realize I am the only one who belongs with you. The texts were vulgar and humiliating. Scattered between them were several explicit, face-cropped photos of a woman whose body looked identical to mine. The entire room erupted into whispers and gasps. I yanked my hand out of Marcus’s grip. “This isn’t me! I am calling Internal Affairs right now!” As I pulled out my phone, Alice suddenly gasped, clutching her stomach as her face drained of color, her body listing backward. Marcus caught her before she hit the floor. Leaning weakly against him, Alice gasped for air, then suddenly pointed a trembling finger at the screen. “Wait. Look at the photo. That woman has a crescent-shaped scar on her chest. Lillian, if you claim it is not you, strip. Let us see.” A couple of junior officers stepped forward, forcing me down to my knees on the stage. I looked up, my eyes burning red as I stared directly at Marcus. “You are my husband, Marcus. Do I have a scar like that on my chest?” Marcus frowned, his voice cold and logical. “Lily, Alice is pregnant. She cannot handle this kind of stress. What is the harm in letting her check? Besides, if rumors spread that you are stalking your ex, your reputation is ruined anyway. Checking right now settles it for everyone.” He gave a slight nod to the officers. The officers pinned me, tearing open my shirt. I fought with everything I had, but my weak, post-op body was no match for them. When they ripped the fabric away, my chest was exposed to the entire room. My skin was smooth, pale, and entirely devoid of any crescent scar. Camera shutters clicked like rapid gunfire, the flashing lights blinding me. Every gaze in the room sliced into me like a knife. What was supposed to be my professional triumph had been turned into a public execution. Alice whimpered and collapsed into a feigned faint. Marcus didn’t spare me another look. He scooped her up in his arms, threw a cold command to the officers to escort me back, and sprinted out of the auditorium without looking back. 4 I was dragged back to the quarters. The official notice arrived shortly after: immediate suspension pending investigation. Overnight, my reputation was in tatters. I had nothing left. Shaking, I dragged myself to the nightstand, grabbed the bottle of prescription sleeping pills, and dumped a handful into my palm. I was raising them to my mouth when the door flew open. Marcus stormed in, ripping the bottle from my hand. “Are you out of your mind? You trying to kill yourself?” I let out a jagged laugh, tears streaming down my face. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” During my years with Dominic, insomnia had nearly driven me mad, and these pills had been my only escape. It was Marcus who had pulled me out of that dark hole, staying up with me night after night until I was finally clean. And now, he was the one shoving me back down, deeper than before. Marcus scoffed, tossing the bottle onto the table. “Cut the drama, Lily. The misunderstanding was cleared up, wasn’t it? Save these cheap suicide threats for Dominic. They don’t work on me.” Unable to hold back, I swung my arm and slapped him across the face. The sharp crack echoed through the quiet room. His head jetted back, a dark red mark rising on his cheek. Anger flared in his eyes, but looking at my tear-stained face, he suppressed it. Just then, his phone rang. He listened for a brief moment, and his expression turned grim. “Get in here! Pin her down!” Two officers burst through the door, pinning my arms and forcing me onto the sofa. A cold dread crept up my spine. Marcus’s face was pale. “Alice collapsed again. She is unconscious, and the baby is in critical condition. The doctor says she has severe anemia.” He glared at me. “You are going to give her a transfusion.” “No!” I screamed, thrashing wildly, but the officers held me down like a vice. I was dragged to the clinic. My arm was bound with a rubber tourniquet, and a thick needle was jammed roughly into my vein. Dark red blood surged through the clear plastic tubing, filling bag after bag. My vision began to blur. Cold sweat coated my skin, and my lips turned a ghostly white. “Please… stop… I cannot take any more,” I whimpered. The nurse on duty frowned, looking at Marcus. “Chief, we have exceeded the safe limit. Any more and she will go into shock.” Marcus didn’t even blink. His voice was as cold as a scalpel. “Keep drawing.” My movements grew sluggish, and the darkness closed in. By the time they finally pulled the needle out, they had taken five bags of my blood. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, my breathing shallow and weak. Marcus stood over me, looking down at my broken form. After a long silence, he sighed. “Lily, Alice is carrying a child. Just bear with it. I will arrange for you to stay at a retreat in Savannah for a while. Once she delivers, I will bring you back. You always wanted a family, right? When this is over, we will have our own.” He paused, adjusting his collar. “Rest up. I am going to check on her.” He turned and walked away toward Alice’s room without a single backward glance. As the door clicked shut, the very last trace of warmth in my heart died. Like a discarded doll, I let the nurse lift me into a wheelchair and wheel me out of the clinic. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a message from the State Bureau. Lillian, I heard about what happened today. Don’t worry, I have got your back. Get ready to move out. Tears dripped onto the screen, blurring the text. With trembling fingers, I typed out a single word: Yes. An hour later, I stood in the airport departure lounge. My face was pale as death, a cotton ball taped over the fresh puncture wound in the crook of my elbow. My phone rang. It was Marcus’s partner. “Lillian, the ticket to Savannah is booked. Should I have a cruiser pick you up?” “No need,” I said softly, looking out at the overcast sky. “Do me a favor and give the small metal box in my dresser to Marcus. And please… don’t call me that anymore.” I hung up and walked toward security. It was finally over. The curtain had fallen on Marcus’s grand play, and I was going to reclaim my life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618636”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The Montgomery family ruled both the corporate world and the shadows of the city, yet for nine generations, a strange curse haunted their bloodline: every generation produced only a single male heir. Little Poppy was the first girl born into the Montgomery family in over a century. They treated her like a princess carved from diamond. In my past life, she died a horrific death at just three and a half years old. As her nanny, I became the prime suspect. Fake evidence of abuse was planted in my room. The Montgomerys looked at me as if I were already a corpse. When I was dragged down to the basement, I screamed until my voice cracked, “It wasn’t me!” Nobody knew the real monster was Bianca, the sweet, polished girlfriend Gavin had brought home. Faced with the family, she was an angel. Behind closed doors, she was a psychopath. She locked Poppy in dark rooms, pinched her tiny arms, terrified her, and whispered bitterly, “What makes you so special that your brother talks about you every single second?” After I died, my soul drifted in cold darkness, watching the full horror of Bianca’s evil unfold. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day she stepped into the Montgomery estate for the very first time. In my arms, three-year-old Poppy clutched my collar, asking in her tiny, adorable voice, “Auntie Hannah, who is that lady?” I pulled her tight against my chest. This time, I will never let her touch a single hair on your head. Not even once. 1 Starting from old Thomas Montgomery, nine generations of the main bloodline yielded nothing but boys. The day Poppy was born, her grandfather Thomas spent the entire night in the family chapel. The next morning, he tore down the old stables in the back courtyard and built a glasshouse nursery. Her father, Richard Montgomery, the ruthless titan who ran the city’s financial empire, held her for the first time like a stiff block of wood, afraid to even bend his fingers. And then there was her older brother, Gavin. He was the sharpest blade of the young generation. Taking over corporate operations at twenty-four, he could bleed rivals dry at the negotiation table without blinking. Yet around Poppy, his booming voice dropped to a soft whisper. The day Poppy learned to say “Gavin,” he canceled an international board meeting just to sit on the carpet building Lego towers with her all afternoon. Back then, I thought Poppy was the safest child on earth. Who would dare touch a Montgomery princess? Until Bianca walked into our lives. When she arrived, she handed me a lavish gift box. “A little plush doll for Poppy. Nothing fancy, just a small token from me.” In my past life, I took it. That night, Poppy broke out in severe hives and sobbed until three in the morning. The family doctor couldn’t pinpoint the trigger, while Bianca stood by with red, teary eyes, sighing, “Could there have been a mistake in her daily care? Her skin is just so delicate.” That was the first time she pointed a hidden blade at my neck. This time, staring at the box held out to me, my fingers tightened until my knuckles turned white. Poppy leaned over my shoulder, curious, reaching out her tiny hand. I gently caught her tiny wrist. “Miss Bianca, I appreciate it, but I can’t accept this.” The entire living room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at me. I placed the box back into her hands. “Poppy just finished her quarterly allergy panel last week. The doctor strictly ordered that any new toys, fabrics, or scents must pass a lab check before touching her skin.” “I thank you on Poppy’s behalf, but this needs to go to the medical staff first.” The smile on Bianca’s face froze for half a second. A flicker of icy malice flashed in her eyes. It was fast, but I caught it. Gavin frowned slightly. “Is all that really necessary?” I lowered my head respectfully. “Sir, if Poppy suffers an allergic reaction at night, she cries for three hours straight. She suffers terrible pain.” That single line shut Gavin up completely. Richard lifted his eyes from behind his financial journal and said calmly, “Do as Hannah says.” Bianca pasted her perfect smile back on. “Of course. Safety comes first. Hannah is a true professional, I completely trust her judgment.” She sounded so graceful, so understanding. But I knew better. The grudge had already taken root in her venomous heart. 2 During dinner, Bianca put on a flawless performance. She chatted comfortably with old Thomas about historical architecture, poured tea for Richard, and even offered to go into the kitchen afterward to learn how to make Poppy’s favorite milk pudding. The maids whispered among themselves that Gavin had found a gem. Clean background, stellar degrees, gentle demeanor. Only Poppy refused to get close to her. Bianca knelt by the carpet, waving a velvet bunny to entice her. “Poppy, sweetie, come give Bianca a big hug, okay?” Poppy shrank back into my arms, her little fingers clutching my uniform button. “Auntie Hannah hold me.” I knew it wasn’t just shyness. A three-year-old child reads instincts far better than adults do. She might not understand evil, but she can sense raw malice radiating off a person. Bianca let out a soft, hurt sigh. “Does Poppy not like me?” Gavin crouched down, softening his voice. “Poppy, look, she brought you a gift.” I scooped Poppy up and stood. “Mr. Gavin, Poppy didn’t get enough sleep during her afternoon nap. She’s getting cranky. I should take her upstairs.” Bianca’s eyes flickered. “Hannah, I actually studied child psychology. When a toddler resists a newcomer, running away behind a nanny only reinforces the fear.” “Why don’t you let me play with her for ten minutes? Once she gets used to me, she’ll be fine.” In my past life, it was those exact ten minutes. She managed to clear the staff out, claiming she was taking Poppy to see the koi pond in the flower garden. When Poppy returned, her long sleeves were pulled down tight. She didn’t cry or speak, just clutched her tiny hands together all night. There were no visible bruises. Only later did the autopsy report reveal deep, hidden soft tissue damage on her wrists. That evening was where the nightmare began. I locked eyes with Bianca. “Miss Bianca, child psychology theories are great, but hands-on care requires reading the child’s real-time state. She is actively refusing right now. Forcing interaction will only traumatize her.” Bianca smiled thinly. “You seem very guarded against me, Hannah.” The living room dropped several degrees. She had drawn a line in the sand. A hired nanny, acting overly suspicious of the heir’s girlfriend. To any outsider, it looked completely out of line. Before I could speak, Poppy buried her face into the crook of my neck, muttering softly, “Don’t want her.” The voice was small, but Gavin heard every word. His expression instantly shifted. He stepped forward and carefully took Poppy from my arms, his movements surprisingly gentle for a man rumored to be a cold-blooded monster in the corporate world. “Then you don’t have to,” Gavin said softly. A flash of humiliation passed over Bianca’s face, her eyes welling with tears. “I was just too eager. I’m sorry, Poppy.” If this were my past life, I might have thought she was being reasonable. Now, it made my stomach turn. That night, after putting Poppy to bed, I returned to my quarters and pulled out my phone. I logged an entry and sent it directly to the family physician: “Daily Log Update: Miss Bianca brought an unverified plush toy, secured. Child showed active avoidance toward Miss Bianca for seven minutes. No crying, no skin abnormalities.” In my past life, I relied on verbal explanations, which meant no one believed me. This time, I was going to leave an undeniable paper trail for every single day, every single detail. The next morning, the medical lab report came back. The interior stuffing of the plush toy contained micro-scented botanical beads. To an adult, it was just a faint milk scent. But to a child with severe allergies like Poppy, it was guaranteed to trigger intense rashes and night terrors. The doctor handed the report straight to Richard. Bianca looked utterly shocked and burst into tears on the spot. “I swear I had no idea the shop put those inside! It was my oversight, I’m so sorry!” Her tears fell right on cue. Gavin’s face was dark, but he didn’t blow up at her. Because at most, this looked like a careless mistake, not malice. I stood off to the side, watching Bianca dab her eyes with a tissue. When she looked up, her gaze locked onto mine. In that split second, a chilling glare flashed across her eyes. She was sending me a silent message: Round one goes to you. But this is far from over. 3 Over the next two weeks, Bianca never tried to touch Poppy again. Instead, she launched a quiet smear campaign against me. She would remark casually in front of Gavin, “Hannah works so hard, and Poppy is just so attached to her. I’m really worried Hannah might burn out from the pressure.” She brought gourmet pastries for the house staff, asking with a sweet smile, “Does Poppy only listen to Hannah? What will happen when Hannah takes a vacation?” When Poppy whimpered and refused to let her come near, Bianca would lower her head, laughing self-deprecatingly, “Maybe kids just don’t like me. Or maybe she’s just used to depending on one single person.” Taken individually, none of those comments sounded malicious. Put together, they wove a suffocating trap. The Montgomerys began to feel I was becoming too possessive, that Poppy was overly dependent on me, and that a nanny had no right to stand between the future lady of the house and the child. This time, I didn’t waste breath arguing. I took three concrete steps. First, I kept a meticulous, daily digital log. Physical copy in the nursery, electronic copy synced live to the doctor, the head butler Bernard, and Richard’s executive secretary. Second, I created an emotional flashcard system for Poppy. Red meant ‘don’t like’. Blue meant ‘scared’. Yellow meant ‘hurts’. Green meant ‘okay’. A three-year-old child cannot handle intense questioning from adults. I didn’t force her to point fingers at anyone. I simply taught her how to express her physical boundaries. “Poppy, if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, don’t be afraid. Just show Auntie Hannah the red card.” Poppy tilted her head. “Even Gavin?” “Even Gavin. Even Grandpa. Anyone.” She thought hard about it and nodded with great seriousness. Third, I formally submitted a request for additional security camera coverage in the play area. My official reason was rock-solid: anti-fall monitoring and child safety review. All footage would be stored on a secure legal server managed by Butler Bernard and the legal department. No single individual had the authority to delete files. Butler Bernard brought the application form back to me. “Hannah, you do realize this puts you under constant surveillance as well?” “I have nothing to hide,” I replied calmly. Bernard searched my face for a long time. He had served the Montgomery family for forty years, his eyes sharp as a hawk. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” he asked quietly. I couldn’t tell him I had died once. Instead, I broke down Bianca’s past tactics into realistic safety protocols. “Bernard, I just want to keep Poppy safe, and keep myself protected.” Bernard fell silent for a moment, then took the paper. That evening, Richard approved the installation. When Bianca found out, her composure slipped for the very first time. “Hannah, putting up so many cameras, won’t that ruin the child’s privacy?” I met her gaze dead-on. “A three-year-old child’s privacy does not include being alone with an adult in camera blind spots.” Her eyes went cold. “What are you implying?” I smiled politely. “Exactly what I said, Miss Bianca. Don’t overthink it.” After that day, the rumors among the staff grew nastier. Some said I acted like I owned half the estate. Some said I was using the child to manipulate the young master. Others claimed my six-figure monthly salary made me desperate to block the future mistress of the house. I heard every word, but I didn’t care to explain. I didn’t need people to believe me right now. I needed to make sure that when Bianca finally made her move, she would have zero chance of survival. However, I underestimated her desperation. She moved against me sooner than expected. One evening, Poppy suddenly developed a low-grade fever. I followed standard procedure, checking her temperature, logging the reading, and notifying the family doctor. Before the doctor arrived, Bianca appeared at the doorway, wrapping a light cardigan around herself, her face full of anxiety. “Why is she suddenly burning up? Hannah, did you give her something bad?” Before I could reply, she picked up a bottle of liquid infant vitamins from the nightstand. “How long has this bottle been open?” That bottle wasn’t mine. I knew the moment I saw it. In my past life, the contraband drug bottle found in my room had the exact same scratch mark on the side of the label. Bianca was setting the trap early. 4 I didn’t touch the bottle. I stepped back immediately and slammed the emergency call button on the wall. Butler Bernard and two senior maids rushed up within seconds. In front of everyone, I pointed to the nightstand. “An unregistered bottle of medicine has appeared in the nursery. Bernard, please lock it into a sealed evidence bag immediately.” “No one touches it until the medical team arrives.” Bianca froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to call in witnesses before even looking at the bottle. She knitted her brows delicately. “Hannah, aren’t you being a bit dramatic? Maybe the doctor just left it behind last time.” I stared directly into her eyes. “Then we let the doctor confirm it.” Ten minutes later, Dr. Bennett arrived. He examined Poppy, confirming it was just an early sign of a common cold. When he inspected the liquid vitamin bottle, his expression turned grave. “I did not prescribe this. The chemical contents must be sent to the lab for urgent analysis.” Bernard promptly placed the bottle into a clear tamper-evident bag. Bianca stood beside us, looking utterly guiltless. “Thank goodness it was caught in time. That could have been dangerous.” I knew her fingerprints wouldn’t be on that bottle. She was far too careful for that. In my past life, she framed me so effortlessly precisely because she covered her tracks. Yet, extreme caution always leaves a flaw. She trusted her ability to control people a little too much. The next day, Gavin called me into his private study. He sat behind his heavy oak desk, his jaw set in a cold, rigid line. “Hannah, you’ve been hostile toward Bianca lately.” I stood straight, refusing to sit. “Sir, I remain vigilant against any unverified risk.” “She is the woman I brought into this house.” “And Poppy is the child I am sworn to protect.” He raised his head, his dark eyes terrifyingly sharp. If this were my past life, I would have panicked, stammered, and dug myself into a deeper hole. Not anymore. Someone who has already died once fears nothing, least of all a cold glare. “Sir, you don’t have to like my methods,” I said, my voice steady as stone. “But please look at the objective logs.” “Before Miss Bianca’s arrival, Poppy’s night disturbances averaged once or twice a week.” “Since Miss Bianca arrived, Poppy has displayed active avoidance, severe night terrors, unexplained fevers, and now an unregistered chemical substance in her room. Every single incident is logged on a verified timeline.” Gavin’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Are you accusing her?” “I am eliminating threats.” “What if your suspicions are completely wrong?” I looked him in the eye, delivering every word with absolute clarity. “If I am wrong, I will resign, issue a public apology, and pay for any reputational damage out of my own pocket.” “But if I am right, sir, have you considered what happens to Poppy?” The study fell into a suffocating silence. Gavin’s face turned terrifyingly pale, the atmospheric pressure in the room plunging to sub-zero. Yet I didn’t back down an inch. In my past life, I backed down too much. I backed down until Poppy died, and until I died in that dark basement. Gavin stared at me for an eternity before finally uttering two words: “Get out.” I turned to leave. Just as my hand touched the brass doorknob, he spoke again. “Hannah.” I paused. “You had better really be doing this for Poppy.” I turned back to him. “Sir, everything I do has only ever been for her.” That night, Poppy slept restlessly. I sat by her bedside, watching her tiny face scrunched up in discomfort, gently holding her small hand. She didn’t wake up, but she squeezed my fingers tighter. I knew Bianca was running out of patience. And I was ready to spring my own trap in the glasshouse nursery to rip off her mask once and for all. I went to Bernard first. “Is the backup security feed in the glasshouse still off the main server?” Bernard paused. “How did you know about that?” In my past life, Bianca used that exact blind spot to harm Poppy. “Poppy dropped her toy blocks there last week,” I lied smoothly. “I wanted to check the footage to see how she stumbled, but the angle was dead.” Bernard didn’t press further. He had the tech team fix the angle that afternoon and rerouted the feed straight to the legal department’s secure server. Next, I replaced the tiny tracker inside Poppy’s plush bunny charm. The outer fabric remained identical, but inside sat a state-of-the-art GPS tracker and a crystal-clear emergency audio recorder. It was standard equipment from the Montgomery security firm, completely justified for a high-profile child. I squatted down in front of Poppy. “If Auntie Hannah isn’t next to you and you feel scared, press the bunny’s ear three times.” Poppy blinked her big eyes. “Will a superhero come?” I forced a smile, though tears stung my eyes. “Faster than any superhero.” Finally, I notified Dr. Bennett, requesting him to be on standby at the estate under the guise of observing Poppy’s behavioral distress near the garden. Dr. Bennett looked at me with complex emotions. “Hannah, it feels like you’re waiting for something horrible to happen.” “I pray it never happens,” I said softly. But Bianca couldn’t help herself. 5 On Friday afternoon, the Montgomery family held a private dinner. Bianca accompanied Gavin to the estate early. She wore an elegant baby-blue dress, a diamond engagement bracelet sparkling on her wrist, a gift from Gavin. In my past life, they were already officially engaged by this time. In this life, because of my relentless security measures, their progress had slowed, but Bianca still held a firm grip on Gavin’s trust. Late in the afternoon, Poppy woke up from her nap. While I was changing her clothes, Tessa, one of the younger maids, knocked and entered. “Hannah, the medical center said the lab results need your personal signature.” In my past life, it was Tessa too. She later confessed at my grave that Bianca had bribed her with a massive sum to lead Poppy into the glasshouse alone. I looked at Tessa’s trembling, pale fingers and nodded calmly. “Alright, I’ll go down.” I handed Poppy over to Mrs. Gable, a trusted senior nursemaid. Then, right in front of Tessa, I gently squeezed Poppy’s plush bunny charm. “Poppy, remember what Auntie Hannah taught you.” Poppy nodded dutifully. I walked out of the nursery, but I didn’t head to the medical office. Instead, I slipped into the security monitoring booth right down the hall. Bernard was already waiting inside. On the multi-screen display, we watched Tessa trick Mrs. Gable into leaving, claiming old Thomas wanted to see Poppy perform a nursery rhyme. Tessa led Poppy out of the room. Poppy reached the top of the stairs, paused, and looked back, searching for me. My fingernails dug so deep into my palms that they nearly drew blood. Bernard’s face turned thunderous. “How dare she…” “Wait,” I whispered. “Just a few more seconds.” I wasn’t holding back out of cruelty. If we barged in right now, Bianca could easily play victim and claim it was all a misunderstanding. I needed her to rip off her own sweet mask with her own hands. The moment Poppy was led into the glasshouse garden, Bianca was already waiting inside. She squatted down, offering a sweet smile and waving at Poppy. “Poppy, come look at the new orchids Bianca bought for you.” Poppy didn’t move an inch. Her tiny fingers found the plush bunny’s ear. Once. Twice. Three times. Inside the security control room, a silent red indicator light flashed brightly. My heart hammered violently against my ribs. Noticing Poppy’s movement, the warmth vanished from Bianca’s face. “Who taught you that?” She stood up, taking heavy steps toward the tiny child. “Was it Hannah?” Poppy backed away, her voice trembling. “I want Auntie Hannah!” Bianca bent over, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. Yet every single word was captured crystal clear by the microphone. “If you keep calling for her, she’ll get thrown out of this house because of you.” Poppy’s lower lip quivered, tears welling up. Bianca reached out, grabbing Poppy’s frail arm in a painful grip, while raising her other hand high into the air. “Your brother is going to have his own real family soon. If you know what’s good for you, stop clinging to him like a leech!” I slammed open the control room door and sprinted out. Bernard was even faster, slamming the master alarm button. By the time I crashed through the glasshouse doors, Bianca was staring down at Poppy with a dark, twisted expression. Hearing the loud crash, she instantly released her grip on Poppy. Then, she stumbled backward onto the marble floor, her eyes instantly overflowing with tears as she shrieked: “Hannah! Please don’t push the child!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618620”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I had barely stepped into the courtyard of my apartment complex when a hand cut through the air, delivering a stinging slap right across my face. “You! It was you!” shrieked Mrs. Roberts, her face contorted with rage as she lunged at me. “You walked your dog without a leash last night, and that rabid beast of yours mauled my husband!” “He’s clinging to life in the hospital right now, and you are going to pay for this today!” I clutched my burning cheek, my blood boiling instantly. “Are you out of your mind? I don’t even own a dog! How could my dog have bitten your husband?” Without missing a beat, Mrs. Roberts whipped out her phone and began wailing to the gathering crowd, playing the victim. “Look at her, everyone! My husband is in the emergency room, and this dog owner is already trying to squirm out of it!” The surrounding neighbors erupted instantly. “How can she deny it after her dog mauled someone? What a monster!” “Call the cops! Don’t let this sociopath get away with it!” “Walking a dog without a leash and hurting people, she needs to be locked up!” Listening to the barrage of insults, I trembled with sheer fury. Me? Keep a dog? I was keeping a college student! A sweet, innocent little puppy of a boyfriend! … Suppressing my anger, I tried to reason with the crowd. “Listen to me, everyone. I don’t own a dog, so there is absolutely no way my non-existent pet bit anyone!” “I don’t even know this woman. She has clearly mistaken me for someone else!” Hearing this, Mrs. Roberts raised her voice by an octave, her screech piercing the air. “Bullshit! How could I mistake you for anyone else?” “I heard you with my own ears on the phone, telling someone how obedient and sweet your little puppy is!” “And then, that very night, my husband got attacked in the courtyard garden!” “You’re the only one in this entire building who talks about having a puppy! Who else could it be?” To back up her claim, she aggressively tapped her screen and played an audio recording. “Seriously, girl, that little puppy of mine is incredible! So sweet, but he’s got so much energy. And when he gets wild at night, like a total wolf, I couldn’t be happier!” Hearing my own voice blasting from her speakers, I nearly burst out laughing. To anyone with a shred of modern vocabulary, the slang was painfully obvious. “Hear that? She said it herself! It’s right there in the recording! She owns a puppy!” “Exactly! And she even called it a wolf! That must be a vicious, dangerous beast!” “Good heavens, how can someone be so shameless?” The absurdity of the neighbors’ reactions left me completely dumbfounded. “Wait, are you all living under a rock? Do none of you use the internet?” “When I said puppy and wolf, I didn’t mean actual…” Before I could finish, Mrs. Roberts lunged at me like a wild animal. I stepped aside just in time, and she went flying, hitting the pavement face-first. “Ow! Oh, the cruelty! What did I do to deserve this?” Seizing the opportunity, Mrs. Roberts sat right there on the concrete and began wailing at the top of her lungs, wiping away imaginary tears. “My poor husband! First he gets mauled by a dog, and now the owner is pushing me around! Where is the justice in this world?” The crowd, seeing her pathetic display, looked at me with renewed hatred. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Roberts, we’ve got your back!” “That’s right! Keeping a dangerous dog off-leash is a crime, especially when it attacks someone!” “Let’s call the police right now! Make sure she and her mutt get locked up!” “Absolutely! We can’t let her get away with this!” The neighbors chimed in, feeding off each other’s outrage. But the moment Mrs. Roberts heard the word police, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “No! Don’t call the police!” she cried out. “By the time the cops get here, my husband might be dead! I don’t care about the law right now, I just want her to pay for his medical bills! As long as she covers the hospital costs, that’s all I ask!” Watching her perform with plenty of noise but not a single tear, I cold-eyed her. “Mrs. Roberts, everything requires proof. You know better than anyone whether your husband was actually bitten by a dog.” Her face stiffened, her shifty eyes darting around. In the next second, she scrambled to her feet, only to drop straight to her knees right in front of me, sobbing hysterically. “Audrey, I beg of you, have some mercy! Save my husband!” “I won’t press charges for your dog attacking him. I just need a hundred thousand dollars for his surgery! Please, just give me the money to save his life!” She began banging her forehead against the ground, and within seconds, a trickle of blood appeared on her brow. The onlookers went completely wild at the sight. Several neighbors rushed to pull her up, turning to glare at me with venomous eyes. “Are you even human? Letting an elderly woman kneel and beg like this?” “You and your dog are cut from the same cloth, absolute garbage!” “Our community doesn’t want people like you! Get the hell out!” As the crowd’s anger reached a boiling point, a smug gleam flashed in Mrs. Roberts’s eyes. “Please, everyone, don’t say that. If we make her angry, my husband’s medical bills…” She made a show of trying to kneel again. I was speechless. I had never seen anyone so shamelessly desperate to scam someone. To prevent her from escalating this theater further, I spoke up, raising my voice to cut through the noise. “Everyone, look at the facts! The truth is not what you think!” “I do not own a dog. I can guarantee that to all of you!” “And as for Mrs. Roberts’s claims about a dog attack…” I paused, my gaze locking onto her cold and sharp. “Ma’am, I can let the fact that you slapped me slide for now. But if you utter another word of slander about my non-existent dog biting your husband, I will call the police and sue you for defamation immediately.” The sheer coldness in my voice finally silenced the crowd. Even Mrs. Roberts seemed startled, taking a half-step back. I honestly thought that would be the end of it. But that evening, Mrs. Roberts returned, this time leading a hostile mob of tenants to my front door. The man at the front pointed a finger right at my nose, shouting, “Audrey, you are going to pay Mrs. Roberts for her losses right now, and then you are going to take your dog and get the hell out of our building!” “Exactly! A beast like that should be put down!” “The owner is just as bad as the dog!” The accusations flew, their spit practically flying in my face. “Everyone, calm down and listen to me,” I said, raising my voice to command attention. “Since Mrs. Roberts is so absolutely sure my dog bit her husband, let me ask you this: where is the dog?” I swung my front door wide open. “Take a look for yourselves!” “She keeps claiming I have a dog in here. Look around. Is there a single trace of an animal in my home?” A few nosy neighbors leaned forward, peeking into my apartment. The place was spotless. The hardwood floors were immaculate, without a single stray hair, and the air was fresh, completely devoid of any pet odors. It looked entirely untouched by any animal. Whispers broke out among the crowd. “It really doesn’t look like she has a dog.” “Yeah, there’s no smell at all.” “Could Mrs. Roberts be making this up to get money?” “No way! Mrs. Roberts is always so sweet. She would never pull a stunt like that!” Sensing the shift in the air, Mrs. Roberts panicked. “Don’t let her trick you! She must have hidden the dog somewhere else!” “But I have proof! I have security footage right here on my phone!” She thrust her screen in front of everyone’s faces. In the grainy video, her husband was walking through the building’s garden when two dark shapes suddenly lunged at him, pinning him to the ground. A figure resembling me stood a few yards away, watching coldly. “Look! It’s her and her beasts! Who else could it be?” “That is complete garbage!” I snapped. “The person in that video isn’t me!” If you had even a basic understanding of modern technology, you would know how ridiculous this is! But my defense only provoked the neighbors further. “The proof is right there, and you’re still lying!” “How shameless can you be?” “You and your vicious pets are a menace!” I opened my mouth to explain that my puppy was actually my sweet, innocent college boyfriend, but I hesitated. The internet could be a toxic place, and dragging an innocent college student into a neighborhood dispute felt unfair to him. I forced myself to swallow the words. Taking my silence as a confession of guilt, Mrs. Roberts grew bolder. “See, everyone? The moment I show the footage, Audrey has nothing to say!” “It’s plain as day that her dog did this, yet she refuses to take responsibility!” Then, her tone shifted, wrapping herself in a cloak of false generosity. “But I’m not a cruel woman. Audrey, I’ll give you a chance to make things right.” “Just admit your dog bit my husband, cover all the medical expenses, and pay us five hundred thousand dollars for emotional distress, and we can put this behind us.” “I’ll even tell the neighbors it was all a big misunderstanding so you can keep living here in peace.” Looking at her smug, extortionate face, I trembled with fury. “Don’t think of me as harsh, dear. You only have your vicious dog to blame…” “Forget it!” I cut her off. “You won’t get a single penny from me!” “If you think you can blackmail me, you’re delusional!” With that, I slammed the door shut, locking them all out in the hallway. Muffled curses and insults still drifted through the door, but I didn’t care. I immediately called the property manager to lodge a formal complaint. Before long, the security guards managed to disperse the crowd. I spent the next hour organizing the audio recordings from earlier, ready to hand them over to my lawyer first thing in the morning. Yet, the next morning, a post titled “Spoiled Heiress’s Unleashed Dogs Maul Elderly Man, Owner Refuses to Pay” went viral online. In the video, Mrs. Roberts was weeping hysterically to the camera. “Please, everyone, help us…” “There’s a girl in our building named Audrey who keeps two wild, vicious dogs.” “She never uses a leash, and last night her beasts brutally attacked my husband!” “Now, she refuses to take accountability and even threatened to ruin our lives!” “My poor husband is fighting for his life in the ICU, waiting for a critical surgery. I beg of you, help us get justice…” She displayed photos of her husband in the hospital bed, interspersed with heavily edited clips of her kneeling before me while I coldly shut my door on her. The heart-wrenching sight of an elderly woman pleading for help instantly ignited the internet’s fury. “What an absolute monster! Is she even human?” “Walking dangerous dogs off-leash and acting like she owns the place?” “Lock her up and put those dogs down!” “Someone call the authorities immediately, she cannot get away with this!” Riding the wave of online outrage, Mrs. Roberts pushed her narrative even further in the comments. “To tell you the truth, my sweet children, I don’t even dare to report this to the police. Her family is incredibly wealthy and powerful, ordinary folks like us don’t stand a chance.” “I don’t want trouble. I just want her to cover the one hundred thousand dollars for his ICU bills. That’s all.” The internet took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Within hours, I was branded a cold-blooded attempted murderer, a spoiled brat abusing her privilege. Before long, internet vigilantes doxed my personal information. My phone buzzed incessantly with friend requests and hateful messages, each one more toxic than the last. Worse, someone leaked my exact apartment address. By afternoon, trash and red paint had been splattered across my front door. Then, my assistant called, her voice trembling. “Audrey, we have a massive crisis! The company’s public image is tanking, and several major partners have already sent termination notices for our upcoming projects!” That was the final straw. My blood ran boiling hot. In a single night, my home, my company, and my reputation had been completely dragged through the mud by a malicious, scheming old woman. I picked up my phone and dialed Toby, a close friend who worked at the city’s hospital. “Toby, I need a massive favor.” “Of course, Audrey. Name it.” “Can you look up the admission records and medical files for a patient who came in last night, an elderly man admitted by a Mrs. Roberts?” “On it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I find something.” No sooner had I hung up than my boyfriend’s name flashed on my screen. “Audrey! Are you okay? I saw the videos online. I’m so worried about you.” His youthful voice was laced with panic. Hearing his genuine concern, a warmth bloomed in my chest, melting some of the icy anger. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t worry. Just focus on your lectures today.” “No way! How can I focus when people are attacking you? I’m coming over right now!” His protective tone had a childish, clingy edge to it, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Alright. Just give me a call before you arrive.” As I hung up, a plan began to take shape in my mind. Since Mrs. Roberts was so incredibly convinced that I kept a couple of wild beasts, I might as well let her meet the actual beast himself. I hoped she was ready for him. By the time I walked down, the entrance of our building was swarming with reporters, internet live-streamers, and a small mob of self-righteous protesters holding up banners. “Justice for the Elderly! Put Down the Vicious Dogs!” Staring at the bold red letters, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, I’d like to report a case of malicious harassment, defamation, and blackmail.” Within ten minutes, the wail of sirens echoed from down the street. Armed with the evidence I had compiled, I stepped past the lobby doors. The moment the crowd caught sight of me, they surged forward like a wave, thrusting cameras, microphones, and smartphones directly into my face. “Ms. Audrey, the internet says you let your unleashed dogs maul an elderly man and refuse to pay for his medical treatment. Is that true?” “Ms. Audrey, did you deliberately walk dangerous dogs off-leash in a public area?” “Are you avoiding responsibility because you think an elderly victim has no voice?” Their questions were sharp, designed to paint me as a heartless villain. I kept my expression calm, walking right past them. “Everyone, I have already contacted the authorities, and officers are on their way. I believe the police will uncover the truth and clear my name.” Right on cue, two police officers walked through the crowd. “Who called the police? What’s going on here?” “I did, Officer,” I said, stepping forward. “This woman, Mrs. Roberts, has falsely accused me of keeping dogs that allegedly bit her husband. She has fabricated stories online, leading to massive harassment against me.” “Her actions have severely disrupted my personal life and damaged my business reputation. I want to file charges for extortion and defamation.” “Officer, don’t believe a single word she says!” Mrs. Roberts shrieked, elbowing her way to the front. “Her rabid beasts mauled my poor husband! Now she’s trying to flip the script and call me a liar!” The officer raised a hand to calm Mrs. Roberts down before turning back to me. “Ms. Audrey, you claim she is extorting and defaming you. Do you have any proof?” “I do,” I replied, holding my ground. “Clear, indisputable proof.” Mrs. Roberts scoffed, though a hint of panic flickered in her eyes. “What proof could you possibly have?” The surrounding neighbors started chiming in again. “Officer, don’t let her talk her way out of this!” “We all heard her talk about those dogs!” “Arrest her and put those vicious animals down!” Just then, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced at the screen and then looked at the officers. “Officer, my key witness and evidence just arrived.” I swiped to answer. “Hey, babe, just walk right up to the front gate. I’m right here.” After hanging up, I addressed the crowd. “Mrs. Roberts has been insisting to everyone that my little puppy and wild wolf are the vicious animals that attacked her husband.” “Well, my sweet puppy just got here.” Hearing this, Mrs. Roberts looked as if she had been injected with adrenaline. “Officers, did you hear that? She just admitted it! Those rabid beasts are coming!” “Get your tasers out! Kill those monsters before they hurt anyone else!” But as the words puppy and wolf echoed in the air, the younger bystanders in the crowd exchanged bewildered, knowing looks. “Wait, puppy? Wolf? Is she using those terms the way I think she is?” “Oh, absolutely…” “No way…” Several reporters and internet hosts turned to stare at Mrs. Roberts with rising amusement. One female reporter couldn’t help but ask, “Ma’am, are you absolutely sure she keeps two actual dogs, and not… two human partners?” The police officers’ expressions turned thoroughly unimpressed. But Mrs. Roberts was completely oblivious to the slang, raising her chin triumphantly. “Of course I’m sure!” “She keeps two of them!” “One little puppy!” “One wild wolf!” “I heard her call them that myself!” She threw a smug, challenging look in my direction. An awkward, heavy silence settled over the crowd. A few reporters quietly lowered their microphones, exchanging embarrassed glances. Two minutes later, a tall, striking figure emerged from the edge of the street. I raised my hand and waved. “Right there!” “That’s my little puppy and my wild wolf!” Every eye in the crowd followed the line of my finger. In the next second, a collective, audible gasp rippled through the courtyard.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618637”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I spent three years pulling Adam out of a cramped, moldy studio apartment and transforming him into the international art world’s newest golden boy. Everyone called him a generational genius. Only I knew that every single brushstroke he took relied entirely on my resources and my connections. Today was his very first solo exhibition. I cleared my entire schedule to be here, only to find him wrapping his arm around the waist of Camilla, a billionaire real estate tycoon. He gestured proudly to the wall of “his” masterpieces. “I created this entire collection completely on my own. Nobody else laid a finger on it.” Standing at the back of the crowd, I held a flute of champagne and let out a soft laugh. Keep a dog long enough, and it eventually forgets who holds the leash. … “If you truly love Eye of the Abyss, Camilla, I can reserve it specifically for you.” Adam’s voice pierced through the bustling crowd and drilled straight into my ears. Camilla stood pressed against his side. She wore a dark green haute couture suit, the diamonds on her Patek Philippe watch catching the harsh gallery spotlights. Her fingers were practically digging into the fabric of his suit jacket. They were glued together, putting on a sickening display of affection right in front of everyone. “I would be honored to take it off your hands.” Camilla tilted her head, giving him a deeply flirtatious smile. “You mixed this blue perfectly. It feels so profound and isolated. It reminds me exactly of the vibe you give off.” Adam looked down and let out a low, charming chuckle. I stood in the back row, the cold glass of the champagne flute chilling my palm. The engagement ring on my left hand suddenly felt heavy, digging uncomfortably into my skin. My assistant, Sarah, was standing in the side corridor, frantically shooting me looks. She was silently asking if I wanted to go over there and intervene. I shook my head and stayed rooted to the floor. It was true that Adam spent seven sleepless nights in the studio last winter trying to paint that exact piece. But on the third night, he suffered a complete mental breakdown. He smeared oil paint all over the walls, smashed his wooden palette against the floor, and screamed that he simply couldn’t paint it. I was the one who dragged him up from the floor. I washed his brushes. I mixed that exact shade of cobalt blue. And from the fourth night onward, I was the one who painted every single stroke. Seven days later, he stood in front of the finished canvas, stared at it for a long time, and whispered how amazing he was. I didn’t correct him back then. Camilla pressed her body even closer to Adam. “I heard someone offered you a million and a half for this piece a few months ago, and you turned them down flat?” “I refuse to sell it to just anyone.” Adam raised his hand, his fingertips gently brushing a stray lock of hair off her shoulder. “I was saving it for someone who truly understands my vision.” Sarah finally reached her breaking point. She marched over to me, keeping her voice in a furious whisper. “Boss, do you want me to go over there right now and…” “No need.” Adam hadn’t noticed me yet. He was too busy whispering something into Camilla’s ear. She threw her head back and laughed, leaning half her body weight against his chest. I placed my champagne glass onto the tray of a passing waiter. The crystal base clinked sharply against the metal. Turning my back to the crowd, I walked straight out the side doors and pushed my way into the gallery’s security room. 2 The security guard jumped to his feet the second he saw me. “Camera three.” I pointed at the wall of monitors. “The feed pointing directly at Eye of the Abyss in the main hall. Take wide shots, closeups, and make sure the timestamp is visible. Screenshot everything and send it to Sarah’s work email within five minutes.” The guard froze for a split second. I shot him a cold glare, and his hands immediately flew across the keyboard. I stood in front of the glowing monitors, watching the exact moment Adam pulled his hand back from Camilla’s hair. I watched the frame freeze, capturing their intimacy in high definition. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. “Sarah, I need you to do three things. First, pull every single financial transaction Camilla has made with our gallery over the last six months. I want the files on my desk before sunset. Second, gather all the receipts for the art supplies, studio rent, and exhibition fees I have paid for Adam over the years. Bind them by year and leave them in my office. Third…” I paused, my eyes locking onto the bottom corner of Eye of the Abyss on the security screen. Adam, 2024. He had signed those words with more care and effort than he put into the actual painting. “Tell the event staff to cut all the alcohol for the second half of the night. Cancel every single press release. Do not let a single article go out.” I hung up the phone and took one last look at the monitor. Adam was currently guiding Camilla by the shoulder toward another painting. His strides were arrogant, his posture dripping with unearned confidence. That was a painting I had stayed awake for two straight nights to finish, and now he was using it to flirt with another woman. I turned off the main monitor and walked out of the security room. As I stepped into the hall, Camilla’s bright, crisp laughter echoed from the main room again, sounding like a handful of coins scattering across a sheet of ice. I didn’t turn back. I walked straight into the private parking garage. The second I slid the key into the ignition, my phone lit up. My contact, Dylan, had just replied to a message I sent ten minutes ago. “You mean Twilight Fade from last autumn’s auction? The final bid was over a million. The buyer was registered as ‘Adam Studio’. Why are you suddenly looking into this?” I stared at the words ‘Adam Studio’ for three full seconds. Then I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The roar of the motor completely drowned out the faint classical music drifting from the gallery. In my rearview mirror, the neon sign of Celeste Gallery slowly faded into the shadows as I backed out. I hit the gas. The green highway signs flashed by in a blur. The road ahead led neither to my house nor to my corporate office. My grip on the leather steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white, then slowly relaxed. “Adam.” I whispered his name into the empty car. The sound bounced against the windows before being swallowed by the rushing wind. My phone screen lit up again. Dylan had sent a follow up text. “Just tell me exactly what you need me to dig up.” I ignored it. The glowing lights of a tunnel entrance swallowed the car, flashing a rhythmic pattern of bright white and deep black across my windshield. I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, launching the car deeper into the dark. You just wait. 3 As the tunnel lights blurred past my eyes, my mind kept drifting back to a single painting. Twilight Fade. I painted that entire piece in the studio last autumn. The only thing Adam contributed was brewing a cup of coffee and sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. Every now and then, he would look up and casually suggest making the blue a little darker. I adjusted it exactly how he wanted. When I was done, he strolled over, took a quick glance, and casually said it looked good enough. Then he picked up a brush and signed his name. The lights in the corporate hallway were mostly turned off by the time I arrived. The clicking of my heels against the marble floor echoed loudly, bouncing off the walls in hollow thuds. When I pushed open my office door, Sarah was already standing by the printer. She held a thick stack of documents. Seeing me walk in, she placed them carefully on my desk. “Boss, the third task is done.” She cleared her throat before adding, “The security screenshots of Eye of the Abyss are safely archived.” I nodded, sitting down in my leather chair. I began flipping through the stack of financial records. Page one was a supply invoice from last March. Thirty seven thousand dollars. Under the memo line, there was a single word. Adam. Page two was a wire transfer for a year of studio rent. The payee was Adam. The payer was me. Page three, page four, page five… Sarah stood by my desk, remaining totally silent for a long moment before finally speaking up. “Boss, there is one more thing. Adam just called.” My hand didn’t stop turning the pages. “He wanted to know why the open bar was shut down and why the PR articles were pulled.” “What did you tell him?” “I told him we had a technical failure.” I looked up and met her eyes. “He said that excuse was utter garbage.” Sarah’s expression turned incredibly awkward. “He said he is coming straight here tomorrow morning to see you in person. He is demanding a proper explanation.” I let go of the financial records and leaned back in my chair. He was demanding an explanation from me. I let out a cold laugh. “Fine. When he shows up, let him walk right in.” I picked up my phone and opened a saved video file from last night. It was exactly eight minutes long. My thumb hovered over the play button for a few seconds before I closed out of the app. I opened my messages and typed a quick reply to Dylan. “I need to verify some more details about Twilight Fade. Hold off on taking any action for now.” I closed the chat and checked the time. It was twenty minutes to eleven. The screen hadn’t even gone dark before a new text popped up. It was from Adam. “Are you at the gallery or not?” I didn’t answer. Less than thirty seconds later, a second message arrived. “What is your problem today? The entire second half of my exhibition was completely ruined. Do you have any idea how many important people showed up? It is bad enough that you ghosted my big night, but I finally managed to invite Camilla, and you deliberately sabotaged my entire event.” I stared at the words It is bad enough that you ghosted my big night for a very long time. I had been at the gallery since nine in the morning. I listened to his entire pitch. I heard everything from his claim about painting the collection independently, all the way to him saving his masterpiece for someone who truly understands his vision. I locked my phone without replying and tossed it into the deepest corner of my desk drawer. Sarah was still standing by the door, waiting for my orders. “When he gets here tomorrow morning…” I opened the first page of the financial records again. “Wear your hidden body camera. Stand quietly in the corner and record everything. Do not warn him, and do not interrupt me.” “Boss, are you planning to…” “Let him talk. Whatever he says, you record it.” Sarah nodded and stepped out of the room. Just before the door clicked shut, she paused and looked back at me. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something comforting, but she ultimately stayed quiet and closed the door. The office returned to absolute silence. I opened the binder of financial records and read through them from the very beginning. I stared at every single transaction for three full seconds before stacking the papers neatly and slipping them into a pristine folder. Once that was done, I opened my laptop and created a new digital folder on my desktop. I typed a few letters and hit enter. A fresh file name appeared on the screen. Adam. The Complete Truth. I shut down the computer and walked over to the floor to ceiling window. The city lights outside looked scattered and dim. In the distance, the glowing logo of the Celeste Gallery stood out against the night sky. My phone buzzed again inside the drawer. I didn’t bother reaching for it. I just stood by the glass, letting his arrogant text echo in my mind. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, he would confidently push open my door, wearing that ridiculous sense of entitlement on his face. He would cross his legs on my sofa and aggressively demand to know why I pulled his press releases. He would yell about the alcohol, the ignored texts, and the humiliation he suffered. He would say a lot of things, and he would sound incredibly self righteous doing it. But the only things I had waiting for him were a folder, an eight minute video, and a thick stack of receipts. And a truth he would never want to hear. 4 The office door flew open with a violent crash. Adam stormed into the room. The top two buttons of his tailored shirt were unfastened, and his hair was artfully styled, but his face was twisted in pure, unadulterated fury. I casually glanced at the tiny red light blinking on the camera tucked into Sarah’s breast pocket. “Boss, Adam is here to see you.” Sarah delivered the line perfectly, then took a step back and stood quietly by the window. Adam threw himself onto the leather sofa and crossed one leg over his knee. When he looked at me, the corners of his mouth were pulled down in an ugly scowl. “What exactly is your problem, Celeste? I texted you all night and you completely ignored me. Right here, right now, I am giving you a chance to explain yourself.” I pushed my coffee cup to the side, leaned back in my chair, and looked him dead in the eye. “Explain what?” “Explain why you cut off my alcohol and canceled all my media coverage!” Adam slammed his palm against the armrest, his voice spiking in volume. “Do you have any idea how important my first solo exhibition is? Do you know how long I prepared for this? You pulled the plug on everything and told Sarah to blame it on a technical failure. Do you really think I am that stupid?” “You didn’t believe it. That is why you are here.” He stared at me, totally thrown off by my icy tone. His anger faltered for a second, quickly shifting into a different expression. It was the exact look he always used right before asking me for a massive favor. A manipulative mix of playing the victim and trying to act sweet. “Celeste, if there is an issue between us, why can’t we just talk it out like adults? You sabotaged my media coverage. You have to give me a valid reason.” “A reason?” “Yes. A reason.” I calmly closed the lid of my laptop. “Yesterday afternoon at exactly twelve minutes past three, you were standing in front of Eye of the Abyss with Camilla. You pointed directly at that canvas.” I paused, letting my eyes burn into his. “You told her you painted it entirely on your own.” Adam completely froze. His face went rigid for half a second before he forced his muscles to relax. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over that? Celeste, are you implying I didn’t paint it? I spent seven sleepless nights suffering in that studio! Are you calling me a liar?” “On the third night, you threw your palette at the wall. You spilled oil paint all over the floor. You sat in the mess and cried that you couldn’t paint it.” Adam left his mouth hanging open. No words came out. “At two in the morning on the fourth night, I dragged you up from the floor. I washed your brushes. I manually mixed that exact shade of cobalt blue.” I didn’t raise my voice. I let every single word drop onto the desk like heavy stones. “From the fourth day to the seventh day, I painted for forty eight hours straight while you sat around doing absolutely nothing. On the final night, you stood in front of the finished canvas and said, ‘Wow, look how amazing I am’.” The office plunged into a suffocating silence for three whole seconds. The red light on Sarah’s camera kept blinking, capturing every ounce of his panic. Adam swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then, he let out a loud, forced laugh. His voice carried the frantic desperation of a man who had just been exposed. “Are you seriously going to hold onto that one little detail forever? Fine! You helped me mix some colors. But the creative vision was mine! The composition was mine! You were just an assistant helping me complete my masterpiece!” “An assistant.” I repeated the word slowly, letting the mockery sink in. “Yes! An assistant!” He sat up straighter, his voice growing louder to cover his insecurity. “Without my genius concept, all the color mixing in the world wouldn’t mean a thing! Why are you acting like you painted the whole thing for me?” I didn’t rush to argue. I slowly opened my desk drawer, pulled out the thick stack of bound financial records, and tossed them onto the table. I used two fingers to slowly slide them across the polished wood, stopping right in front of him. 5 Adam glanced down at the cover page but refused to touch it. “What is this?” “Every single dollar you have spent over the last three years, and exactly where it came from.” “What are you trying to say?” His voice grew incredibly tight. “Thirty seven thousand for art supplies. Ninety six thousand a year for your private studio. Custom framing, material transport, gallery rental fees, and every single cent of your media promotion.” I flipped the pages open one by one, making sure he saw his name on every invoice. “Every exhibition you have attended over the last two years. Every ounce of exposure you got. Every bit of your so called market hype. Every single penny came directly out of my personal bank account.” Adam turned bright red. The flush started at his ears and spread rapidly across his cheekbones. “You think just because you threw some money around, you own me? Say it plainly, Celeste. Are you trying to claim that everything I have today is because of you?” “I am simply stating the facts.” He shot up from the sofa so violently that his knee slammed into the coffee table, rattling the ceramic mugs. “The facts? Fine! Let me tell you the real facts! The fact is, I am completely sick of you!” He pointed a trembling, pale finger directly at my face. “You always act like this! You always act so superior, trying to control every aspect of my life! You act like I would die without you! Let me tell you something, Celeste. I can paint just fine without you!” “Alright. Then go paint.” His pointing hand froze awkwardly in the air. “I rented that studio. I bought those supplies. The second you walk out of this office…” I tapped my index finger sharply against the desk. “You leave all of it behind. You are going to go find a completely blank canvas, buy a cheap brush, and paint something for me to see.” Adam stood completely still. His lips moved, but no sound came out. I gathered the stack of receipts and placed them back inside my drawer. Then, I reached over to my left hand and slowly pulled off the engagement ring. I dropped it onto the desk. The metal hit the solid wood with a sharp, heavy click. “Take it. I don’t want it anymore.” He stared at the diamond ring for three long seconds. His expression twisted wildly before he suddenly dropped back onto the sofa. His aggressive posture vanished, and his voice turned sickeningly soft. “Celeste, you need to calm down. Let’s not make rash decisions…” “No.” “You…” I stood up, walked around the massive desk, and pulled the office door wide open. “Get out, Adam.” He sat on the sofa, his face flushing violently from red to a sickly pale. Finally, he snatched his designer jacket and stood up. When he reached the doorway, he paused. He didn’t turn around, but he threw a mocking, deliberately cheerful comment over his shoulder. “You really think I am nothing without you? Let me tell you the truth. Camilla already bought Eye of the Abyss. She is hosting a private exhibition in the lobby of her corporate headquarters next week. She even renamed the piece. It is called Abyssal Promise now. Sounds a lot better than your stupid title, doesn’t it?” With that final taunt, he stormed out. The sharp clicking of his leather shoes echoed aggressively down the hallway. Sarah waited until the door fully closed before stepping forward. She saved the video file and looked up at me. I picked up my phone, opened my chat with Dylan, and typed a quick message. “What is the security like at the private exhibition space in Camilla’s corporate headquarters? Can we sneak a projector in?” The message barely went through before Dylan replied. “I can get it done.” I stared at the screen and let out a cold smile. Get ready, Adam. I have an incredible gift waiting just for you.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618621”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After my brother-in-law died in a tragic car accident, my twin sister lost her mind. In her grief and confusion, she mistook my boyfriend for her late husband. My boyfriend, Simon, a leading trauma specialist, explained that she was experiencing a severe case of post-traumatic emotional transference. To help her heal as quickly as possible, he agreed to play the role of her fiancé. I, on the other hand, was pushed into the shadows, forced to become his secret, hidden girlfriend. At family dinners, no matter how intimate they behaved, I had to look away and pretend it didn’t hurt. My parents constantly reassured me: “Simon is the best trauma therapist in the state. He’s only doing this for her professional treatment. Don’t let your mind wander, Phoebe.” My older brother, Owen, would pull me away again and again. “The experts say that during these sessions, the fewer family members around, the better.” Until the day I went to Simon’s clinic to drop off some files. I happened to catch sight of my sister’s psychological evaluation report on the desk: Patient’s mental state and memory have fully recovered. No further treatment required. The date on the document was from three months ago. Clutching the paper with trembling hands, I turned to ask Simon about it, only to hear Hailey’s voice coming from inside his office. “Is it really fair for us to treat Phoebe this way?” My hand froze on the doorknob. Then came Simon’s casual, indifferent reply: “Even her parents are helping us hide it. She’ll never find out.” “Besides, she is too dependent on me. I won’t bring up a breakup. Keeping her around is my way of compensating her.” So the treatment was nothing but a grand lie, a collective excuse cooked up by my own family to keep me quiet and compliant. If that was the case, this shadow of a relationship, which would never see the light of day, was no longer worth waiting for. I walked back to the reception desk and handed the files to Sarah, the receptionist. Just as I turned to leave, the office door clicked open. Hailey emerged, her arm looped through Simon’s. Simon looked down at her and murmured something incredibly tender. Hailey giggled, blushing as she stood on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss against his cheek. I froze in the hallway. Simon had never allowed me to show any affection at his clinic. Even before Hailey’s accident, PDA was strictly forbidden. I had argued with him about it once, but he had dismissed my feelings entirely. “I’m a specialist, Phoebe, not a clerk. My patients are dealing with severe trauma and are constantly on the verge of collapsing. If they see me fooling around with my girlfriend in the office, they will question my professionalism.” Fearing I would jeopardize his career, I had never brought it up again. When Simon noticed me, his expression hardened for a fraction of a second before quickly returning to a neutral mask. “Phoebe? What are you doing here?” I remained silent. Sensing the tension, Sarah quickly intervened to clear the air. “Phoebe was just dropping off some paperwork, Doctor.” Simon nodded curtly. He guided Hailey past me, without offering me so much as a second glance. At the curb, a car was already waiting. Simon slipped his coat over Hailey’s shoulders, opened the door, and carefully shielded her head as she climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s chilly outside. I ordered you some warm ginger tea, make sure to drink it when you get home.” Hailey nodded obediently, her face flushed as she cast a cautious, fleeting glance in my direction. “Is Phoebe in a bad mood?” she whispered. Simon didn’t bother turning back to look at me. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just being difficult.” He leaned closer to whisper something in her ear. From my angle, they looked as though they were locked in a deep kiss. Just last week, I had been shivering with a 104-degree fever. When I called him, he had snapped at me over the phone. “Hailey is having a panic attack, I can’t leave her. You’re an adult, Phoebe, go to the hospital yourself. Stop causing drama when I’m trying to work.” He couldn’t care less about my burning fever, yet he knew Hailey’s cycle down to the exact day. As the car pulled away, Hailey waved through the window. “Bye, Simon!” Simon stood on the pavement, watching the car until it disappeared from view. When he finally turned around and saw me still standing there, his brow furrowed with irritation. “Why are you still standing here? Don’t you have work today?” “Simon,” I said, my voice quiet. “I need to ask you something.” He brushed past me, heading straight toward two waiting patients. “I’m not as free as you are. We’ll talk later, I have patients to see.” I had heard that exact phrase more times than I could count. “Oh, by the way,” he added, pausing at the door. “I’ll be taking Hailey to Key West for the next few days for a meditation retreat.” I stared at him, stunned. We had been together for five years, and we had never taken a single vacation. On our last anniversary, I had booked flights and a hotel, hoping to rekindle the romance between us. But he had looked at me with a cold, disgusted expression. “Your sister is suffering, and all you can think about is having fun?” he had sneered. “You love to boast so much, there’s no way you wouldn’t post about it on social media. If Hailey sees it and relapses, can you take responsibility for that?” I wanted to tell him that I had never been one to boast. I only wanted to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public, to feel like a normal couple. But even that had become a luxury. I looked at Simon, a tiny, foolish shred of hope still lingering in my chest. “I’ve never been to Key West. I want to come with you guys.” He looked at me, his gaze freezing cold. “Why would you come and mess things up? Do you want to trigger your sister? I am going there to work, Phoebe, not for a vacation.” With that, he ushered his patients into his office, leaving me alone in the lobby under the curious stares of the reception staff. I walked over to Sarah and asked to see the itinerary for the trip. On the list of travelers, my parents’ and Owen’s names were clearly written. Everyone was going except me. Tears finally spilled over, washing away the very last of my hope. After leaving the clinic, I called an old college classmate. “Lauren, is that international project of yours still looking for people?” When I arrived at my parents’ house, my mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Seeing me walk in, she gestured for me to come over. “Taste this, Phoebe.” I took a small sip of the broth and forced a smile. “It’s perfect, Mom.” My mother immediately took the spoon back and covered the pot. “Good. Don’t drink any more of it, I made this specifically for your sister.” I looked around the kitchen. The counters were covered in premium supplements and gourmet ingredients, but none of them were for me. My only welcome was a half-empty glass of cold water on the dining table. My mother kept bustling around, murmuring to herself. “Hailey is doing so much better lately, all thanks to Simon. He’s taking her on a trip to clear her mind. He really is such a responsible man.” I didn’t say a word. His sense of responsibility was reserved entirely for Hailey. Owen came downstairs, and seeing the printed itinerary in my hand, he snatched it away. “How did you get this?” I looked at him calmly. “How long were you planning on keeping this from me? Were you going to tell me right before you boarded the flight tomorrow?” Owen looked slightly uncomfortable. “It’s Hailey’s first long trip. She needs the whole family there to feel safe.” “Am I not part of this family?” Hearing the noise, my father stepped out of his study, his face dark with disapproval. “What kind of attitude is that? We are all family here. Your sister has suffered so much, it’s only natural that we give her extra care. Can’t you be a little more mature, Phoebe?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Does my happiness not matter at all?” My mother slammed her spoon down, the ceramic clattering sharply against the counter. “You are healthy, you have a good job, and you have a boyfriend as devoted as Simon. What more do you want? Your sister’s life is hanging by a thread, and her recovery depends entirely on Simon. Are you only going to be satisfied when she is driven to suicide?” I opened my mouth, but I found I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. That evening, Hailey posted a photo on her social media, tagging a high-end restaurant. She was surrounded by gifts, with our parents and Simon crowding around her, making her look like a beloved princess. Her caption read: “Another birthday, and you’re still by my side. When you’re with the one you love, every day is a holiday.” No one seemed to remember that Hailey and I were twins. Today was my birthday, too. When Simon and I first started dating, he would plan elaborate dates for every special occasion. But since I was forced into the shadows, I hadn’t celebrated a single birthday. Simon always told me: “Your sister needs to feel like she is uniquely cherished right now. If you celebrate with her, her happiness will be diminished, and it will hinder her recovery.” I had believed that lie for years. Under her post, the comments were filled with warmth. My mother wrote: “Your happiness is my greatest joy, Hailey!” My father added: “We are so lucky to have Simon. The perfect son-in-law!” Staring at the words perfect son-in-law, I bit my lip until I tasted copper, tears streaming down my face. I wanted to ask them why Hailey was still playing sick when she had already recovered. I wanted to ask Simon if his professional act had become his reality. I wanted to ask what my five years of silent misery had meant to them. But I already knew the answers. I wiped my tears and checked my phone. Lauren’s reply had come through. “Phoebe, I am so glad you’re on board. There’s a mandatory training session before we head out.” I looked at the flight ticket she had booked for me. The training session was in Key West. Outside the entrance of a luxury hotel in Key West, Simon had just opened the car door for Hailey when he spotted me standing in the lobby. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, marching over. “We didn’t invite you. Are you really so desperate that you followed us?” I ignored his hostility, dragging my suitcase toward the reception desk. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for a work conference.” Simon let out a mocking laugh. “What kind of work could you possibly have here? If you wanted to follow us, just admit it.” By then, my parents and Owen had gotten out of the car. Seeing me, their faces instantly fell. “Didn’t we tell you not to come? Do you have to ruin every family gathering?” “Book a flight back immediately. Don’t stay here and trigger your sister.” I pulled out my corporate badge and showed it to them. “My training is on a completely different floor, and my room is nowhere near yours. I have no intention of crossing paths with any of you.” I grabbed my luggage and turned to walk away. Suddenly, Hailey, who had been standing quietly in the background, swayed on her feet. She clutched her head, her face turning pale. “Simon, you promised me it would just be us,” she whimpered. “Seeing her makes me feel so unsafe. My head hurts so bad!” Before Simon could even speak, she spun around and ran frantically toward the beach. Owen and Simon immediately chased after her. Out on the jagged rocks of the shoreline, Hailey’s fragile figure stood against the crashing waves. One more step, and she would fall into the ocean. My mother rushed up to me, raising her hand and delivering a stinging slap across my right cheek. “Are you happy now, Phoebe? Do you really want to see your sister dead?” Holding my burning cheek, I watched the dramatic scene unfold on the rocks. I felt a cold amusement. “Stop acting, Hailey,” I called out, my voice carrying over the wind. “The ocean breeze is freezing. If you catch a cold, Simon will be worried sick.” Hailey’s eyes widened in sudden panic. She stumbled, her foot slipping on the wet stone. Before she could fall, Simon lunged forward, catching her in his arms and pulling her back to safety. Hailey clung to him, trembling and weeping against his chest. “Simon, it’s my fault… I’m so sorry…” Simon held her close, stroking her hair with gentle, soothing motions. “It’s not your fault, Hailey. You aren’t the one who needs to apologize.” He turned to glare at me, his eyes stripped of any warmth. “Phoebe, how many times do I have to tell you that she is fragile? You knew about the accident, and yet you deliberately tried to trigger her. She is your twin sister!” “Are you really so consumed by jealousy that you’ve lost your humanity?” My mother was shaking with rage. “How did I raise such a heartless, ungrateful child?” Simon lifted Hailey into his arms. As he brushed past me, he left me with one final command. “If you have any decency left, stay away from Hailey.” They walked away, a tight-knit family shielding their precious daughter, none of them offering a single look back at me. The ocean wind stung against my bruised cheek, but the pain was nothing compared to the quiet ache in my heart. I wiped my face, unlocked my phone, and typed out a message. “Simon, let’s break up.” Simon didn’t read it. He had always insisted on keeping our relationship completely hidden, which meant my notifications were muted so Hailey would never catch a glimpse of my name on his screen. My messages were always left unanswered; sometimes for a day, sometimes for weeks. Even when he did reply, it was never more than a few words. Only Hailey’s messages were pinned to the top of his chat. Only her texts received instant replies. Even during the rare moments we spent alone, if Hailey messaged him claiming she was having a panic attack, he would abandon me on a freezing street corner, driving off to rescue her. When my afternoon training session ended, I walked down to the hotel restaurant and saw Simon. He was sitting with my parents, all of them hovering attentively over Hailey. Seeing me approach, Simon immediately stood up, stepping protectively in front of Hailey. I looked at him, finding the display utterly pathetic. “Is she really so delicate that a single glance from me will drive her to jump into the ocean?” Simon’s expression darkened, and he hissed under his breath. “Phoebe! You’re crossing the line! What is wrong with you lately? You used to be so compliant.” “Can’t you just show some grace to your sister? Hasn’t she suffered enough?” I smiled. “I’ve shown her grace for five years.” “But what you’re asking is for me to remain your secret, hidden shadow of a girlfriend forever, just in case she never gets better.” “Enough!” Simon interrupted sharply, grabbing my wrist and dragging me toward Hailey. “Apologize to your sister right now!” My mother chimed in, her voice shrill. “Your sister is in this state, and you still want to pick fights?” “Apologize to her and we’ll let this go.” My father joined in, his face set in a stern, cold mask. “This is entirely your fault, Phoebe. You know how fragile she is, yet you keep tearing open her wounds. Is saying sorry really that hard for you?” I looked at them. Though they were standing right in front of me, it felt as though an impassable chasm had opened up between us. The other hotel guests were starting to stare. I looked directly into Hailey’s eyes, catching the faint glint of triumph hidden in her gaze. “Stop playing the victim,” I said, my voice clear and deliberate. “I saw your medical file at the reception desk. You recovered months ago.” The smugness on Hailey’s face shattered instantly, replaced by sheer panic. Simon went entirely still, staring at me in shock. Before he could demand an explanation, Hailey suddenly clutched her stomach and let out a sharp cry. “Simon! I’m scared! I’m scared she’s going to hurt the baby!” A cold shock ran through me. “She’s pregnant?” Simon’s expression crumbled into guilt. He avoided my gaze, his voice dropping to a defensive whisper. “She begged me to stay with her that night… I only did it because of her psychological state…” Before he could finish his pathetic excuse, Hailey burst into tears and ran out of the restaurant. The hesitation on Simon’s face vanished, replaced by sudden fury. “A storm is rolling in, and the shoreline is dangerous! If anything happens to her, it’s on you!” “We will deal with this later. Right now, you are going to go out there and find her, or we are finished!” Even now, he thought threatening me with a breakup was the ultimate punishment, believing I could never survive without him. He pushed me out of the warm lobby and into the pouring rain. The storm had rolled in, turning the shoreline pitch black. The heavy rain soaked me to the bone, but I had finally stopped waiting for a warmth that would never come. I walked away from the hotel, threw my SIM card into the black ocean, and booked a flight to London.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618638”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve been married to Nick for six years. For four of those, a “sunshine girl” system host hijacked my body. She used my flesh and blood to melt the heart of this ruthless billionaire. Then, today, I suddenly snatched the steering wheel back. Rows of glowing text drifted through the air right in front of my eyes. “The mission is almost complete. Why the hell is this loser side-character back to ruin everything?” “Relax. There is no way the male lead will ever fall for a pathetic doormat like her.” Right on cue, Nick walked into the room carrying a glass of mango juice, a drink that literally made my stomach churn. He stared a hole right through my face. Suppressing my gag reflex, I downed it in one gulp. I mimicked that sunshine girl, flashing him a bright, empty-headed smile. The light in Nick’s eyes died instantly. He turned around like a puppet with cut strings, his footsteps heavy as lead. 1 Four years. I had no idea what Nick had been through, but he looked like a completely different person. His face was gaunt, stripped down to sharp angles and bone. His eyes were sunken hollows, his jaw wired tight with tension. He carried a suffocating aura of death around him, completely stripped of the arrogant, high-flying heir I used to know. I almost didn’t recognize him. I dragged my gaze away from his face and looked at the empty glass of mango juice. Judging by his intense focus, he had poured it specifically for me. I sucked in a sharp breath. My stomach immediately twisted into violent knots, and my first instinct was to wave it away in disgust. The glowing comments popped up again. [LMAO. The female lead drinks a glass of mango juice every single night before bed.] [But this useless side-character saw a maid spit in her mango juice when she was a kid. She gags just looking at the stuff now.] [Oh snap. Is the male lead about to realize the original trash wife is back?] [Grab the popcorn! Once he figures it out, he’ll do whatever it takes to drag our Sunshine Girl back.] [Wait, is he already suspicious? Was this juice a test?] As the text floated by, the hand I had raised to push the glass away froze mid-air. Nick seemed to catch that micro-hesitation. His pitch-black eyes locked onto mine. He stubbornly pushed the glass an inch closer, his voice betraying a sliver of desperate hope. “Why aren’t you taking it? Do you not want it?” I ground my teeth together, forced my hand forward, and took the glass. Under his piercing scrutiny, I tipped my head back and chugged the thick liquid down. I swallowed the rising bile in my throat and forced out a bright, carefree giggle. The chat was right. Down to my marrow, I was a coward. I had spent my entire life hiding in my shell, too terrified to even breathe too loudly. There was no way I could naturally pull off a smile this radiant. The only person who could laugh with such brazen confidence was the female lead who stole my life. Luckily, I still retained her memories. The juice was gone. Now it was time to lean in and act sweet. “I’m fine! The juice is super sweet. Thanks, hubby.” Before the words even fully left my mouth, the fragile hope in Nick’s eyes shattered into dust. He reverted back to that lifeless, hollow shell. Turning his back to me, he walked away, his posture radiating a freezing distance. As he reached the doorway, his foot slipped. He slammed his hand against the doorframe, his knuckles turning white as he violently caught his balance. He nearly collapsed to the floor. My heart skipped a beat. I scrambled out of bed barefoot to catch him. “Are you okay?” Before my fingers could even graze his shirt, Nick flinched violently away. He didn’t spare me a single glance as he strode out of the room. My hand hung in the air. I stared blankly at the empty hallway, nervously biting my lower lip until I tasted iron. Ever since I could remember, I had lived under the shadow of cold violence. The feeling of being treated like invisible dirt was carved into my bones. My body always reacted faster than my brain. The second I sensed hostility, my shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. 2 The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, the adrenaline wore off. I stumbled into the master bathroom, dropping to my knees. Clinging to the porcelain toilet, I threw up until my throat burned and my lungs screamed for air. Only when my stomach was completely empty did I feel like a living, breathing human again. The floating text started buzzing with activity. [Holy shit. She actually faked her way through that?] [Chill out. She’s still wearing the same face, and the dude isn’t a mind reader. He won’t figure it out instantly. Just watch.] [Haha, did you guys see how pathetic she looked? Shaking like a leaf just because he glared at her.] [Right? Our Sunshine baby never put up with that attitude. The colder he acted, the more she teased him. These past four years have been the ultimate grumpy-sunshine romance trope.] [Exactly. Let’s be real, he actually wanted to marry her older sister first. The sister was a total ray of light too.] [Yup. The sister refused to marry him, so he had to settle for this doormat.] The text faded. I used the tiled wall to drag myself upright and shuffled over to the marble sink. I stared hard at the reflection in the mirror. Perfectly sculpted cheeks, arched brows, glowing skin, flawless makeup, and bright, sparkling eyes. The female lead had polished this meat suit until it shined blindingly bright. So bright that I couldn’t even recognize myself. 3 The chat wasn’t lying. My older sister, Harper, was cut from the same cloth as that system host. Passionate, outgoing, and wildly charismatic. No matter where she stood, she effortlessly stole the room. We shared the same mother, but our personalities were night and day. I grew up entirely in Harper’s shadow. I wore her hand-me-down dresses, ate the snacks she discarded, and used the pens she threw away. I was the ugly duckling constantly used to highlight the swan. Being treated as invisible for two decades had molded me into a deeply insecure ghost of a person. I was used to walking with my shoulders hunched, hiding behind her, trying to blend into the wallpaper. I didn’t speak up, I didn’t stand out, and I was too terrified to even look people in the eye when saying hello. The day the Sinclair family patriarch came to propose an alliance, my parents were over the moon. The old man didn’t specify which granddaughter he wanted, but everyone knew the unspoken truth. The Sinclairs absolutely wanted the radiant, perfect Harper. That night, Harper dressed to the nines for a dinner with the Sinclair family. She came home pale as a sheet, throwing herself into our mother’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “Mom, everyone says Nick is a literal psychopath! When he loses it, he beats people half to death. He knew I was there today and didn’t even show his face. I bet they had him locked up in the basement! I’m not doing it, Mom. I’d rather die than marry a freak!” Harper threw tantrums for three straight days. My mother cried tears of heartbreak for her golden child. Finally, she hardened her heart and turned her sights on me. The very next day, without a single word of warning, they announced Harper was already engaged to someone else. Then, they shoved me into the black luxury car sent by the Sinclair family. I curled into a tight ball in the backseat, shivering violently. My head was filled with the vicious rumors I had overheard. People said Nick was a flesh-eating monster. They said he was a ruthless psycho who turned on his own blood. Looking at my pathetic reflection in the tinted window, I mentally prepared myself for a hundred different ways to die. Boiling water thrown in my face, getting slapped around, being mocked for not being Harper, or just getting kicked out onto the curb. Whatever. I had been treated like a stray dog my whole life. Getting cursed out one more time wouldn’t kill me. But when Nick finally saw me, he didn’t even lift an eyebrow. He just gave a curt nod. “Anyone works,” he threw out the words with zero emotion. He slid a signet ring off his pinky finger and tossed it into a drawer. 4 On our wedding night, we were both clueless. After a clumsy, agonizing ordeal, I literally passed out from the pain. When I opened my eyes again, the bedroom was bathed in the warm, dim glow of a wall sconce. Nick was sitting right by the bed. He held a warm, damp towel, repeatedly wiping the cold sweat from my forehead. His movements were incredibly light, like he was afraid I would shatter. Seeing me wake up, he let out a massive breath. But the relief lasted only a second before his brows slammed together again. “Hazel, if it hurt that badly, why didn’t you make a sound?” I was already terrified of him. I yanked the duvet up to my chin, trembling. I nodded frantically, then shook my head just as fast. He froze. He clamped his mouth shut and didn’t say another word. He just sat there, his dark eyes quietly studying me for a long time. There was an emotion hidden in his gaze that I couldn’t read. It looked like regret. Or maybe something else entirely. For the next entire month, he didn’t lay a single finger on me. At first, I felt like I had dodged a bullet. But soon, a different kind of terror crept in. Did I disgust him? Did he think marrying me was a bad deal? Was he going to throw me out on the street? After all, he only took me because he had no other choice. After years of surviving in the Woods household as a punching bag, fawning and people-pleasing were my only survival tactics. I locked myself in my room, blushing fiercely as I spent a whole day researching online. Late that night, taking a massive gulp of air, I squeezed my way into his slightly ajar bathroom door. That night, I passed out three more times. Though, this time, it definitely wasn’t from the pain. The floating chat insisted Nick was a block of ice that could never be melted. I thought the same at first. But as the days bled into months, I realized he was just cold on the outside. Whenever he traveled for business, he would video call me a dozen times a day. Keeping a straight, serious face, he would report mundane details like how many slices of beef he had for lunch. A few times, I was too slow to answer. He would stubbornly claim it was fine, but through the screen, he was visibly sulking, fully convinced he was hiding it perfectly. Every evening when he walked through the front door, he always had something in his hands. A slice of cake from a bakery, or a neatly wrapped bouquet of flowers. Rain or shine, he never missed a day, always tossing them on the counter with a feigned nonchalance. “Just picked it up by the road.” I never had a good sense of style. Even if I spent hours staring at the mirror, my outfits always looked like a messy disaster. Nick would sit on the velvet sofa behind me, pretending to read his financial reports, acting like he didn’t notice my struggle. But the next morning, I would wake up to a perfectly folded outfit sitting on my nightstand. From the base layers to the coat, right down to the matching necklace and handbag. It was immaculately styled. From that day on, it was like a switch flipped inside him. He tirelessly prepared my outfits every single morning, mixing up the styles day after day, acting like a stressed-out father dressing his toddler. 5 The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway snapped me back to reality. I shook my head, clearing the memories. After chewing on my lip for a moment, I slid my feet into my slippers and cracked the door open as quietly as possible. Being gone for four entire years, it would be a lie to say I didn’t feel a deep attachment to this house. The hallway was eerily silent. I looked down the corridor. The decor was exactly the same as it was four years ago. Even the potted monstera plant I used to take care of was still sitting by the bay window. Its leaves were lush and vibrant green, looking even healthier than when I used to water it. Whoever was taking care of it had put a lot of love into it. I couldn’t control my legs. I drifted closer. But the second my fingertips brushed against a glossy green leaf, a voice like cracked ice struck my back. “What are you doing out here?” I turned to stone. Nick was standing in a dimly lit corner of the hall. His eyes were nailed to me. I couldn’t read his expression in the shadows, but the suffocating pressure rolling off him made it hard to breathe. I fought down the primal urge to run away. Forcing a rigid smile, I shook my head. “I… I was just walking around…” “If you’re still sick, don’t wander the halls.” He dropped the freezing words, didn’t spare me a second glance, and walked right past me. Desperate to escape the suffocating air, I spun around and practically ran back to my room. Because I fled so fast, I totally missed what happened next. The man stopped in his tracks, lowered his eyes, and pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket. He meticulously wiped down the exact leaf I had just touched, cleaning it over and over again. Then, with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust, he tossed the crumpled tissue into the trash bin. 6 Back in the bedroom, I slid down the wooden door until I hit the floor. My hands and feet were freezing, and my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. This room, where I had safely lived for two years, now felt terrifyingly alien. The space was drowned in an aggressive, blinding Barbie pink. A wildly obnoxious faux-fur rug covered the hardwood floor. The vanity was cluttered with dozens of absurdly expensive perfume bottles, crammed so tight there wasn’t even room to set down a hairbrush. With a shaking hand, I pulled open the walk-in closet. It was stuffed entirely with neon slip dresses, tight leather shorts, and backless club wear. The modest, perfectly tailored clothes Nick used to leave by my bed every morning were completely gone. Not a single thread remained. As I flipped through the hangers, a bitter, sour ache rose in my chest. For four years, did that woman prance around in these clothes, laughing and flirting with him without a care in the world? The text in the air was still floating lazily by. [God, the way this side-character acts like a deer in headlights is hilarious.] [Our Sunshine Girl turned this depressing haunted house into a cozy home. Now the male lead rushes home from the office every day just to see her.] [Yep. Give it a few days. Once she gets used to the Sunshine Girl’s lifestyle, she’ll completely forget who she even is.] I bit down on my lip and forced myself to look away from the closet. Bang. The bedroom door was violently shoved open, shattering my thoughts. I jumped out of my skin, spinning around. Nick was back. He stood in the doorway, gripping a thin stack of papers in his hand. His eyes were colder than absolute zero. Without looking at my face, he tossed the papers onto the crowded vanity. The documents slid across the marble, revealing the bold black letters at the top. The words burned my eyes. DIVORCE AGREEMENT. White noise filled my ears. What was going on? Didn’t the chat say the Sunshine Girl had completely melted this iceberg? Didn’t they say they were living in a sweet, romantic dream? Why the hell was there a divorce paper? Before I could process it, the floating text went crazy. [Oh boy, here we go again. This is like the third time he’s brought up divorce this month.] [The male lead loves playing hard to get. Every time Sunshine acts cute and throws a tantrum, he instantly folds.] [It’s called foreplay, guys! Come on, side-character, don’t just stand there! Use the Sunshine Girl’s aggressive flirting tactics! Go kiss him!] So that was it. This was just their little twisted roleplay game? I swallowed hard, my palms slick with cold sweat. To keep him from realizing the host was gone, I had to play along. I squeezed my throat, forcing my voice to pitch an octave higher, mimicking the female lead’s whiny tone. “Hubby… stop trying to scare me with this stuff.” As I spoke, I walked over, picked up the papers, and ripped them in half right in front of him. The sound of tearing paper was deafening in the dead silent room. Feeling dangerously bold, I reached out, aiming to gently tug at the hem of his suit jacket. But the millisecond before my fingers grazed the dark wool fabric, Nick violently jerked backward. He moved so fast he nearly slammed his shoulder into the doorframe. He stared down at the shredded paper on the floor. A flash of profound, visceral repulsion crossed his eyes, dropping the temperature of the room below freezing. “Don’t you ever use that tone with me again.” His voice was dangerously low, grinding through clenched teeth. “Get out.” My hand froze in the empty air. Nick didn’t look at me again. He turned on his heel, stormed out, and slammed the door so hard the walls rattled.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618622”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I own a Polaroid camera. It has a strange power: it can capture a photo of whoever a person will be with ten years in the future. Teddy and I grew up together. We were classic childhood sweethearts. Ever since he learned to speak, he insisted he was going to marry me. At six years old, he stuffed all his allowance into my hands. “Val, my dad says a man has to give all his money to the girl he loves.” At sixteen, he stayed up all night compiling a complete set of math study guides for me. “Valerie, as your future partner, your math grades are my responsibility!” At eighteen, clutching a crumpled love letter, he confessed his feelings to me. “Val, I love you. I want to protect you for the rest of my life.” I smiled, took his letter, and we officially became a couple. From then until now, it has been exactly twenty-five years. Over our time together, I took fifteen Polaroid photos of him. In every single one of those fifteen developed prints, the person standing right beside him was me. In our seventh year of dating, while he was peeling shrimp for me at lunch, I snapped another photo on a whim. As the image slowly bled onto the white paper, my chest went cold. This time, the person standing next to him had changed. … I stared at the photograph, my mind completely blank. In all these years, across sixteen photos, this was the first time a third person had ever appeared. My fingers trembled as I crumpled the edge of the print, keeping it tightly hidden in my palm. I turned to look at Teddy. He was busy mixing my dipping sauce: two squeezed key limes, two spoonfuls of soy sauce, a dash of vinegar, and a pinch of sugar. He knew my exact taste. “Here, Val. Time to eat.” Teddy opened a pack of disposable gloves and gently pulled them onto my hands. Then, he adjusted a cushion behind my back to make sure I was sitting comfortably. Once he finished, he turned back to the counter to mix another bowl: one lime, two spoonfuls of chili oil, a heavy splash of vinegar, and a spoonful of minced garlic. I froze. Neither Teddy nor I liked spicy food. But my friend, Gemma, did. No wonder he had prepared such a massive portion of shrimp today. He had planned for her all along. He divided the peeled shrimp into two separate bowls: one for me, and one for her. I couldn’t recall when it had started, but lately, whenever Teddy got something for me, he would naturally get a duplicate for Gemma. Snacks, plushies, scarves, bracelets; it was always the same. “Val, I’m going to run out for a bit to drop these off for Gemma,” Teddy said. My hands stilled. “Right now? Why don’t you have lunch first?” “I can’t,” he replied without hesitation, picking up the insulated bag and heading for the door. “Gemma likes them hot. If I eat first, they’ll be cold by the time I get there. Go ahead and eat without me, I’ll be right back.” The door clicked shut. I sat in silence. Teddy had never said “I can’t” to me before. Since we were kids, he had always listened to me. Our friends used to tease him about being completely whipped, but he would just puff out his chest and laugh. “What do you guys know? Listening to your girl is the key to a happy life. Loving her is how a man succeeds!” But now, for Gemma, he had pushed back against me for the first time. The steam rose from the shrimp, the very meal I had begged for yesterday, but my appetite was completely gone. A sharp cramp bloomed in my abdomen. I pulled off the plastic gloves and curled up on the sofa. My phone buzzed. I unlocked it to see Gemma’s latest social media update. “Thanks to Teddy for the personal delivery service. You saved a starving girl today.” The post was barely a minute old, yet Teddy had already liked it and left a comment: “An absolute honor to be of service, Gem.” Tris. Gem. When had they become so familiar with each other? A wave of dread washed over me. I pulled the newly developed Polaroid from my pocket. On the paper, Teddy and Gemma were standing close, their shoulders pressed together, both wearing radiant, happy smiles. That afternoon, we had planned to go to the mall. Teddy’s car was idling at the curb. I opened the passenger door, only to find him looking over his shoulder toward the back seat, a bright smile on his face. Gemma was sitting in the back. Sensing my presence, they both looked up. “Val! You’re finally here,” Gemma said, leaning over my seat. I nodded quietly, my eyes falling on the new lavender lumbar support cushion resting behind her back. Purple was Gemma’s lucky color. “Is that new?” I asked. Teddy glanced at the cushion. “Yeah, Gemma mentioned her back was hurting last week, so I picked one up for her.” Gemma beamed. “Val, your boyfriend is incredibly thoughtful. I’m so jealous.” Teddy grinned. “Don’t be. Go find yourself a guy.” “Fine,” Gemma teased, leaning closer to his shoulder. “But you have to help me look. He has to be exactly like you.” They kept up a lively banter, and I found myself unable to utter a single word. The GPS indicated a left turn was coming up, but Teddy kept driving straight. “Teddy,” I spoke up. “You missed the turn.” They were too deep in conversation to hear me. I bit my lip and raised my voice. “Teddy!” The cabin went quiet. Teddy glanced at me. “Val? What’s wrong?” “You missed the turn.” He glanced down at the navigation screen. “Oh, I wasn’t paying attention.” “You’ve driven this road a thousand times and you still missed it? You’re hopeless, Teddy,” Gemma laughed. “Well, if you hadn’t been distracting me, I wouldn’t have missed it,” Teddy grumbled playfully, though his eyes remained warm. “Keep it down back there. Learn from Val, she never distracts me while I’m driving.” I felt a sudden pang in my chest. My mind drifted back to a summer afternoon years ago, right after Teddy got his driver’s license. He had taken me out for a drive, meticulously checking and tightening my seatbelt several times before starting the engine. Back then, he had looked at me with absolute seriousness. “Val, your safety is my top priority. Don’t talk to me while I’m driving. I can’t afford to get distracted.” Yet now, he chatted with Gemma without a second thought, completely forgetting his own rule, and completely forgetting my safety. As they started bickering again, a wave of nausea hit me. When we parked at the grocery store, Gemma looped her arm through mine as we walked inside. Teddy and I had a routine of doing weekly meal prep, stocking up on groceries every Sunday. Since it was the weekend, the store was packed. I crouched down near the seafood counter to pick out some fish. The water-filled plastic bags were heavy, and I struggled to lift them. I turned around to ask Teddy for help, but both he and Gemma had vanished. Clutching the heavy bags, I scanned the crowded aisles. I finally spotted them in the produce section. Gemma was holding two different types of chili peppers, and Teddy was standing beside her, actively searching his phone to see which one would go better with rice. A man who was highly sensitive to spicy food, my boyfriend, was standing there researching hot peppers for another woman, trying to figure out how to cook them to her liking. My fingers went numb. The sharp pain in my stomach returned, stronger this time, making my vision blur. The heavy bags slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The noise made them turn around, and they both rushed to my side. “Val! What’s wrong?” “Val, you look incredibly pale.” Teddy lifted me into his arms and carried me back to the car. He poured a cup of warm water from his flask and held it to my lips. Gemma looked frantic. “Is it your period? I get awful cramps during mine, and I look exactly like she does right now.” “No, her cycle isn’t until the end of the month,” Teddy replied automatically, before turning back to comfort her. “It was probably those raw oysters she wanted last night. It’s just a stomach bug.” He paused, looking at Gemma. “Do your periods usually hurt that much? Let me know if you need me to bring you anything next time.” Gemma smiled softly. “Thanks, Teddy.” When we got home, Teddy found some medication and made me take it. Then, he boiled some warm apple cider and brought a mug to my bedside. Suddenly, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Gemma. He set the mug down, glanced at the screen, and immediately walked toward the entryway to put on his shoes. “Are you going out?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Gemma’s period just started, and she asked me to drop some things off for her. Drink the cider while it’s warm, Val. I’ll be right back.” As his hand touched the doorknob, I called out to him. “Teddy.” “My stomach is really hurting. Can you please stay?” He hesitated for a second. “Val, she lives alone. She has no one else to rely on. Be good, okay? I’ll be right back.” She has no one to rely on, so you have to be her anchor. What about me? The pain in my abdomen flared again. I bit my lip, forcing the words out. “It takes over half an hour to drive to her place. A delivery service would get there faster than you. Teddy, are you just dropping things off, or do you just want to be with her?” Teddy’s brows drew together, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Val, why are you being like this? You were the one who told me she was going through a hard time after her parents’ divorce, and that I should look out for her. I’m just trying to be helpful. Can you please be a bit more reasonable and stop picking fights over nothing?” The blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice. For twenty-five years, he had promised me: “Valerie, whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” Yet now, when I begged him to stay, he told me to be reasonable. The front door slammed shut. He was gone. I grabbed my Polaroid camera and ran out after him. Teddy was already halfway down the stairs, his footsteps hurried. I stood in the dim stairwell, aimed the camera at his retreating back, and pressed the shutter. The sharp click felt like the sound of something breaking inside me. The camera spat out a blank white print. I clutched it tightly, waiting like a prisoner awaiting a final verdict, even though I already knew the answer. Suddenly, I felt a warm rush of fluid between my thighs. I reached down and pulled my hand back. It was covered in blood. My vision darkened, and the world faded into a blur of distant sirens, voices, and footsteps. When my consciousness finally returned, I was lying in a hospital bed. “You’re awake,” the attending doctor said, handing me an ultrasound report. Six weeks pregnant. Threatened miscarriage. I stared at the words, utterly stunned. “The situation doesn’t look great. Your levels are incredibly low,” the doctor explained gently. “Do you want to try and save the pregnancy? You should discuss it with your partner.” I gathered my strength, picked up my phone, and called Teddy. Three consecutive calls went unanswered. I sent him a text. No reply. With no other choice, I dialed Gemma’s number. After a few rings, she picked up. “Val? Hey, is everything okay?” “Gemma, is Teddy with you?” “Yeah, he is.” “Can you tell him—” Before I could finish, Teddy’s voice drifted through the receiver, warm and familiar. “Gem, I added a bit of ginger to the brown sugar tea. It’s better for your stomach. Drink it while it’s hot.” That tender, protective tone was once reserved entirely for me. He had been too busy to answer my calls because he was standing over a stove, making tea for another woman. A heavy weight settled in my chest. I hung up the phone and looked at the doctor. “Don’t save it. Please help me with the discharge papers.” It was three in the morning by the time I made it back to the apartment. Teddy wasn’t home. I checked my phone. No missed calls. Just a single text message from him sent at ten-thirty last night. “Let’s talk when I get home. Gemma is in a lot of pain, so I’m going to stay with her for a bit.” A bit had turned into the entire night. On our living room sofa sat three cushions, each representing our lucky colors. Teddy’s cushion sat right in the middle, wedged between mine and Gemma’s. It was the perfect metaphor for our relationship. I stood in the entryway, looking around the apartment. Suddenly, I noticed that almost everything in our home had accumulated in threes. Three pairs of slippers in the hallway, three towels in the bathroom, three toothbrushes by the sink, three mugs on the table. Even when he bought matching pajamas, he bought an extra set for her. It was as if he had already prepared this home for her arrival, in the very space where he had promised to love me forever. I felt a profound sense of exhaustion. I walked into the closet, pulled out my suitcase, and began to pack. A few seasonal clothes, some daily essentials, my camera, and my laptop. The rest of my belongings, I arranged to be shipped back to my parents’ house. As I reached down to zip the bag, a Polaroid print fell from my coat pocket, landing face-down on the floor. It was the photo I had taken of Teddy’s back last night. By now, the image would have fully developed. But I didn’t care about the verdict anymore. I left my keys on the counter, pulled my suitcase behind me, and walked out of the apartment. As the cab sped toward the airport, memories of Teddy flashed through my mind: the boy who had handed me his pocket money, the teenager who had stayed up to help me study, the young man who had promised me his forever. He had spent eighteen years getting close to me, seven years loving me, and a single night letting me go. At the terminal, I booked a flight to Monterey. A distance of thousands of miles would be enough to cut the ties of our past. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Teddy. “Val, I bought those cinnamon rolls you like from the bakery. They’re in the warming drawer. Make sure to eat them when you wake up.” He had gone back to the apartment. But he hadn’t even bother to check the bedroom. He had no idea I was gone. The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. I turned off my phone, stepped onto the jet bridge, and left everything behind.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618639”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The new estate manager, Julian, was a magnetic male lead who “saved” my three villainous sisters, turning them into his loyal attack dogs. They handed him the Armstrong family’s vast resources. Consumed by jealousy over stolen affection, I targeted him constantly until my sisters grew disgusted. My eldest sister froze my accounts and banished me. My second swapped my meds to keep me in agony. My third hid my identity, letting fans cyberbully me to death. I died miserably, unclaimed. Reborn, I decided to lay flat and let things play out. What I didn’t expect was that my sisters could now hear my inner thoughts. The last time I’d seen them in my past life, I sat in a broken wheelchair in a filthy rental room, wearing grease-stained rags. Julian, draped in haute couture, was surrounded by my three sisters doting on him. He looked at me with condescension. “For the sake of us once being best friends, if you apologize and call me brother-in-law, I’ll forgive you and let you move back to the Armstrong estate. How does that sound?” Call him brother-in-law? Like hell he deserved that! He was the reason my face was destroyed. He was the reason I was crippled. His shameless goal of marrying into the Armstrong family was nothing more than a calculated plot to destroy our empire from the inside. But no one believed a single word I said. Everyone was convinced I was just blinded by jealousy, and that my pathetic fate was entirely my own fault. I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood, and spat violently in his direction. “You? Deserve that? I’d rather die than call a parasite like you family!” “One day, your disgusting, two-faced scheme is going to be exposed to everyone—” Before I could finish, a brutal slap struck across my face. The sheer force of it made my teeth rattle, and a high-pitched ringing exploded in my ears. I forced my swollen eyes open and saw my eldest sister’s icy, apathetic face. Her brows were knitted tightly together, looking at me as if I were a piece of rotting garbage. “Hugo Armstrong. If you can’t keep that filthy mouth shut, I have no problem ripping it open for you!” I clutched my burning cheek, my voice trembling. “Sis…” She cut me off ruthlessly. “Do not call me your sister. The day you framed Julian, you ceased to be our brother.” Her words were like serrated knives, twisting into my already bleeding heart. The light in my eyes slowly died. I wanted to say something, anything, but when I opened my mouth, my throat was so raw and dry that no sound came out. Then, my heart started to seize. I clutched my chest, gasping frantically for air. “My… medicine.” My second sister had quit smoking years ago, but she picked up the habit again just because Julian smoked. She took two steps forward and violently crushed her lit cigarette directly into the back of my hand. Ignoring my hoarse scream of agony, she pointed a manicured finger at my chest and sneered. “Hugo, your congenital heart defect is probably just karma for having such a black, rotten core. Honestly? I don’t think there’s any point in treating you anymore.” The pain was so blinding I tumbled out of the wheelchair, hitting the dirty floor. I was practically suffocating. My third sister slowly crouched down, examining my emaciated, skeletal frame. She scowled. “Stop acting like a victim, Hugo. Do you honestly think playing the pathetic cripple is going to earn our forgiveness? Let me spell it out for you: you are delusional.” “And by the looks of it, you still haven’t learned your lesson.” Her words carried a deeply malicious undertone. I knew exactly what she meant. Just because I cursed at Julian once, she gave her fanatical followers the green light to publicly humiliate me online. Her stalker fans even tracked me down, pushed me out of my wheelchair, and stood there laughing as I crawled through the dirt. They constantly threw dead rats at my front door. The landlord couldn’t take the harassment anymore and kicked me out. That was why I was forced to rent this rotting shed next to a literal garbage dump, a place with a door that didn’t even lock. Without my medication, simply drawing breath became an excruciating battle. I collapsed onto the filthy floor like a dying fish, covered in open wounds. My consciousness began to blur. I tried desperately to recall a single happy memory from my life, something that wasn’t pure agony… but my mind was completely blank. My sisters ignored my trembling, outstretched hand. They turned their backs on me and walked out, leaving behind a final, disgusted mutter: “What a curse.” I opened my mouth one last time, but I had absolutely no strength left to fight. This was my second life. In my first life, I had calculated every move, fought tooth and nail, and still lost to the impenetrable plot armor of the “chosen” male lead. This world was a generic, wish-fulfillment novel. Julian was the protagonist. His entire goal was to bankrupt the Armstrong family so he could pave a golden road for the woman he actually loved. My three sisters were written as the grand villains. Yet, they inexplicably fell in love with Julian at first sight, let him “redeem” them, and willingly abandoned everything to act as his loyal lapdogs. They handed him every corporate asset, and even took literal bullets for him when he was kidnapped. In the end, one of my sisters was crippled, one was permanently blinded, and the last was left in a vegetative state. Desperate to save them from that horrific fate, I risked my life to expose Julian’s true intentions. But in their eyes, I was just a bitter, jealous little brother throwing a tantrum because Julian stole their attention. I fell from the grace of being the Armstrong family’s sole male heir, reduced to a disfigured, crippled outcast despised by everyone. No matter how many times I restarted, Julian would flawlessly manipulate his way between my three sisters, effortlessly usurping the place in their hearts that used to belong to me. I knew that when I opened my eyes again, everything would reset to the very beginning. But this time… I was just so goddamn tired. When I finally opened my eyes, my heart was still hammering against my ribs. The rotting, filthy shed had transformed into the warm, brilliantly lit dining room of the Armstrong mansion. The soft, amber chandelier illuminated the exquisitely plated food in front of me. A familiar voice echoed right next to my ear, dripping with pathetic grievance. “Hugo, why aren’t you eating? Did I make something you don’t like?” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you hated this.” “Tell me what you want to eat. I’ll make whatever you want.” My pupils violently contracted. It was Julian’s voice. Right now, in this timeline, he was still pretending to be my best friend. He had already “saved” my three sisters a few times, and whispers were starting to spread that he was the Armstrong family’s lucky charm. He wasn’t wearing the cheap uniform of an estate worker. He was dressed in a high-end designer outfit that I had bought for him. Sitting there, looking pampered and delicate, he looked more like the wealthy heir of the Armstrong family than I did. Right now, his face was the picture of utter victimization. A grown man, literally biting his lower lip to look pitiful. “I specifically asked Martha in the kitchen. She said you absolutely love seafood. Are you refusing to eat just because I was the one who cooked it?” “Don’t worry… I followed Martha’s instructions perfectly.” He was putting on a masterclass performance. But I just sat there, refusing to utter a single syllable. Julian’s voice grew more frantic. “Hugo, why are you ignoring me? Are you… are you disgusted because I grew up in the slums? Do you think I’m dirty?” I opened my mouth, but only meaningless, raspy syllables came out. I reached up and gripped my own throat, trying to force myself to speak. I was terrified that if I made Julian unhappy, my three sisters—who were already deeply infatuated with him—would use it as an excuse to torture me again. But my vocal cords refused to form a complete sentence. My eldest sister’s gaze shifted darkly between me and Julian. Her eyes were pools of frozen ink. “Hugo Armstrong. Is this the kind of manners the Armstrong family taught you?” “Julian put his heart into making this for you. Even if you don’t want to eat it, you will finish your plate.” I lowered my eyes, a cold, mocking laugh echoing entirely inside my own head. These three women are already completely blinded by him. How could I ever dare to be disgusted by you, Julian? You’re going to be the new master of the Armstrong family soon anyway. I’m just a cripple destined to be thrown into the slums. What right do I have to judge you? Anyone walking in right now would think Julian is the actual blood brother, seeing how fiercely you protect him. Oh, wait. I forgot. He’s not a blood brother. He’s a lover boy. And does anyone even care that I’m deathly allergic to seafood? Guess my life doesn’t mean a damn thing. For some inexplicable reason, the dining room plunged into a suffocating silence. The three women, who had just been smiling warmly moments before, suddenly froze, their expressions dropping into absolute ice. The seafood paella looked nauseating, but I forced myself to shovel it into my mouth, bite by agonizing bite. Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I managed to stretch my lips into a hollow smile directed at Julian. My eldest sister’s face was completely black, looking as if someone had just ruthlessly exposed her most shameful, guarded secret. Seeing me rapidly clear the plate and stand up to leave, her face turned pale, and she instinctively reached out her hand. “Hugo…” My second sister shot her a vicious glare, silently commanding her to shut up. She turned to me, her voice sickeningly gentle. “Hugo, are you feeling unwell today? Do you want your sister to examine you?” She was a brilliant doctor. In my past life, the medication that was supposed to manage my heart condition was prescribed by her. And she was the one who abruptly cut it off. She watched me writhe in unspeakable agony, completely forgetting that I was once the little brother she doted on. I paused on the first step of the grand staircase and looked back. My face was hidden in the shadows; no one could read my expression. It’s just a severe allergic reaction. It won’t kill me instantly. I’m so goddamn tired. Stop torturing me. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll just comply. My second sister froze, the blood draining completely from her face. She practically choked on her apology. “I didn’t… I didn’t purposely forget your seafood allergy.” Not purposely? What a pathetic, laughable excuse. I couldn’t be bothered to entertain their twisted mind games anymore. I turned my back on them and walked upstairs without a shred of hesitation. The moment Julian entered the picture, I knew the truth. No matter what I did, I would never be the one they chose. So I was done fighting. I was just going to let it all rot. A sudden, aggressive knock on my bedroom door ripped me out of my chaotic thoughts. It was Julian, armed with his signature pitiful routine. His voice was thick with fake tears, knocking rhythmically on the wood as if he would literally collapse if I didn’t open the door. “Hugo, what’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you? I’m so sorry, please don’t ignore me. Aren’t we best friends?” His words were agonizingly sweet. But at the exact same moment, another voice echoed directly inside my head. It was also Julian’s voice. Except the words he was saying were the absolute polar opposite. “System. What the hell is Hugo acting crazy for?” “He’s completely going off script. None of this was in the plotline. Now those stupid female side characters think I’m bullying him! My affection meter just dropped ten whole points!” A sterile, mechanical voice responded instantly in my mind. “Rest assured, Host. I have scanned the targets. Their affection levels for you remain comfortably above fifty. The point deductions are well within the controllable margin.” My entire body went numb. A terrifying chill crawled straight up my spine. Despite being in a heavily heated bedroom, violent shivers tore through my body. It was those voices. In my past life, when Julian orchestrated a car crash that left me in a brief coma, I used to hear these exact same voices echoing in the darkness of my hospital room. I heard Julian and his “System” plotting exactly how to bankrupt the Armstrong empire, how to turn my family into a stepping stone for his own ascension. The second I woke up from that coma, I desperately sought out my eldest sister to warn her. But no matter how frantically I tried to explain, she only looked at me with profound disgust. Julian had walked out of the private lounge in her home office—a room she strictly forbade anyone else from entering—wearing the ultimate “wronged victim” face. “Monica, it’s okay. Hugo probably just had a moment of confusion to do something so reckless. It doesn’t matter. I forgive him.” Monica’s face grew darker and darker as Julian played the martyr. She looked down at me and spat, “Hugo, what the hell has gotten into you? You try to murder Julian in a car crash, and when that fails, you have the audacity to slander him to my face?” “He literally sat by your hospital bed while you were in a coma, begging me not to punish you!” I couldn’t quite remember what happened after that. I only remembered that from that exact moment, I was entirely erased from the Armstrong family. I packed a tiny suitcase with a few changes of clothes. It was pouring rain outside. Monica’s expression didn’t soften for a fraction of a second as she physically shoved me out the front door. She looked down at me, covered in mud and filth, from the top of the grand marble steps. “Hugo Armstrong. Since you cannot tolerate Julian’s existence, the Armstrong family will no longer recognize you as its heir.” “Without the title of the Armstrong heir… what exactly do you think you are?” Just recalling those memories made my hands shake uncontrollably. What kind of twisted act was he trying to pull this time? I didn’t even have to guess. I knew for a fact Julian wasn’t standing outside my door alone. I didn’t know which sister’s affection points he was trying to farm right now, but honestly? I didn’t care. It had nothing to do with me anymore. I was leaving the Armstrong family anyway. Knowing I couldn’t hide in here forever, I took a deep breath, walked over, and yanked the door open. Julian’s hand was raised mid-knock. He didn’t even look embarrassed. He immediately reached out to grab my hand, but I smoothly stepped sideways, letting him grab dead air. “Hugo—” He dragged out my name, his eyes frantically darting to the space behind him. Standing there was my third sister. “If something is bothering you, just tell me. Please don’t shut me out.” In my past life, he only ever acted this sickly sweet to me when my sisters were watching. The whole pathetic routine he just pulled was strictly for her benefit. My third sister remained silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, it was, predictably, to defend Julian. She looked at me with a calculating, deeply concerned gaze. “Hugo. I’ve been talking to Monica and Diana the past few days. Is there some sort of misunderstanding between you and Julian? Weren’t you two inseparable?” “You have no idea how many times he’s cried in secret because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder lately.” She let out a heavy sigh, putting on a sickeningly convincing mask of a loving sister. “I know a very highly regarded psychiatrist. If you’re struggling with something and don’t want to tell Monica or Diana… tell me. I’ll take you to see him tomorrow, okay?” So, without even trying to understand what happened, you instantly jump to throwing me into a psych ward… Right. In your eyes, anyone who doesn’t worship Julian must be mentally ill. When you permitted your rabid fanbase to dox and cyberbully me to the brink of suicide, you didn’t seem to care if my mental health was declining then. Are you just trying to get revenge for Julian? You might as well just lock me in an asylum right now and throw away the key. My third sister froze completely. The expression on her face slowly contorted into something horrified. She looked at Julian, then at me, and finally stared down at her own trembling hands in absolute disbelief. “Hugo,” she started, her voice shaking. “Did… did I do something terrible? Please don’t hate me.” My face remained a mask of extreme caution. I slowly shook my head, then immediately slammed the heavy bedroom door shut in her face. Right as the latch clicked, I heard a loud thud against the wood. Followed instantly by Julian crying out in pain, “Chloe!” The mechanical System blared in my head: “WARNING! Female side character Chloe affection -10. Current affection has dropped below 50. Host must formulate an immediate strategy to recover affection points.” “Do not call me that.” My third sister’s voice sounded chillingly dark. “You might have fooled my two idiot sisters upstairs, but you haven’t fooled me. You better give me a very good explanation right now, or I swear to God I will—” I couldn’t hear the rest of her threat. They must have walked away. I didn’t know what sparked her sudden, bizarre shift in attitude, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. Seeing how deeply they had protected Julian up until this point, history repeating itself was only a matter of time. Whatever Julian planned to do to the Armstrong family, it wasn’t my problem anymore. For me, nothing mattered more than staying alive.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618623”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel