Category: English

https://p16-sign-sg.tiktokcdn.com/tos-alisg-v-0051c001-sg/o4enhD2DMLGef8WIoOLCVEAEGUALAAJBHfAAGA~tplv-jf6le9or8g-image.image?dr=14555&nonce=70552&refresh_token=ca69b12e48704f73ce2aa9a57c06c76c&x-expires=1780725600&x-signature=4IZt8CibXBVczOpDCPbrDnpHIqI%3D&ftpl=1&idc=sg1&ps=13740610&shcp=95267ce0&shp=7861f25a&t=4d5b0474

https://p16-sign-sg.tiktokcdn.com/tos-alisg-v-0051c001-sg/oAkpm4uPAAAyANMbgEiSfNQB0fQTy2hiBDCD8A~tplv-jf6le9or8g-image.image?dr=14555&nonce=65777&refresh_token=abd2ddfec17bbb487d1f3e602adef44e&x-expires=1780725600&x-signature=Bqp7L%2Bfo65zQoWL4mQnpRYDFzT8%3D&ftpl=1&idc=sg1&ps=13740610&shcp=95267ce0&shp=7861f25a&t=4d5b0474

https://p16-sign-sg.tiktokcdn.com/tos-alisg-v-0051c001-sg/okRAGDfE9AflTs4gFAEcbaAeAPImFNGAD7HDb4~tplv-jf6le9or8g-image.image?dr=14555&nonce=19219&refresh_token=b0e755735908271d83317a5b0ff44a13&x-expires=1780725600&x-signature=4RV2jVDjuVAbB6r2LIBuaa74zoM%3D&ftpl=1&idc=sg1&ps=13740610&shcp=95267ce0&shp=7861f25a&t=4d5b0474

The apocalypse struck suddenly, plunging the world into chaos. My best friend was infected while saving me, and our group immediately threw her out of the safehouse. On night watch, guilt drove me to sneak her some canned food. But as I touched the lock, glowing text appeared in my vision. It looked like live stream comments. One warned that opening the door would let the Mother of the Infected in, getting the Male Lead bitten. Another defended me, saying I owed my friend. A third said this was a setup for romance. Without the bite, the MC would not nurse him and they would never fall in love. Someone added that after being bitten, the Male Lead lost his edge and got a prosthetic arm just to please the MC, while she lived a pampered life. I pulled my hand back. My friend was destined to become the Mother of the Infected. That sounded fierce. As for the Male Lead, maybe he would make a good midnight snack for her. 1 The comments were still rolling in. [LMAO look at the MC hesitating. What a useless damsel. She doesn’t even have the guts to open the door.] [Don’t open it! Opening it means dooming the Male Lead. Keeping it shut means they survive.] [Honestly, the best friend got done dirty. She saved the MC just to get tossed out to die. But whatever, she’s just a plot device.] I stared at the glowing lines floating past my eyes. My fingertips were still resting on the deadbolt. The lock was freezing. It made my skin look ridiculously soft and pale, completely out of place in this hellscape. It had been a month since the outbreak. These hands hadn’t lifted a single heavy supply crate. They hadn’t killed a single walker. I had barely even wrapped a bandage for anyone else. Why? Because I never had to. My best friend, Sloane, took on every single dirty, brutal job. When she was clearing out biters, I was hiding in the evacuation zone. When she was scavenging for food, I was resting in the safehouse. Even her getting thrown out to die was because she shoved me through the safehouse doors during a massive horde attack, missing her own window to get inside by a fraction of a second. She was so strong. She was so capable that everyone just assumed it was her job to protect the rest of us. And I was so weak. I was so fragile that everyone assumed I was born to be protected. My hand trembled against the cold metal. The lock clicked softly. It sounded like the door was about to swing open. “What the hell are you doing?” 2 Chris’s voice echoed behind me. I turned around. Chris had already sat up from his sleeping bag. In the dim glow of the corner emergency light, I could clearly see the impatience written all over his face. He was undeniably gorgeous. Sharp jawline, piercing eyes. He looked like an action movie star. But right now, that handsome face was full of pure disgust for me, the so-called useless MC. The chat was right. In the original plot, I was just a pretty vase. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t carry my own weight. My only purpose in this story was to play nurse when the Male Lead got hurt, fall in love with him, and fulfill every single romantic trope in the book. My delicate, fragile nature only existed to add some spice to his post-apocalyptic power fantasy. It was sickening. I looked at Chris and answered with a completely flat voice. “I want to give Sloane some food.” Sloane was my best friend. Three hours ago, she took a zombie scratch to the arm while covering my blind spot. Chris was the one who personally gave the order to kick her out of the safehouse. When Sloane was forced out, she looked back at me one last time. There was zero resentment in her eyes. It was just a calm, quiet look that told me to stay alive. She even smiled at me. And then the heavy iron doors slammed shut in her face. 3 Chris furrowed his brows. “Are you out of your mind?” [Here we go! Classic bleeding-heart Mary Sue moment!] [MC, please use your brain! She’s a zombie now! Opening that door is going to get everyone killed!] [I swear, how did someone this dumb survive a whole month?] [To be fair, I don’t think the MC is wrong. The bestie literally saved her life. Giving her a snack isn’t a crime. It’s not like she’s letting her inside.] [Get out of the chat, you bleeding-heart sympathizer.] The floating text turned into a massive argument. I ignored it. I turned my head and looked at the other people in the safehouse. Seven people. All of them were awake. Not a single one of them stood up to back me. Garrison sneered, looking like he was holding back a string of curses. Toby curled up in the corner. He didn’t dare look me in the eye, let alone speak up for me. Then there was the middle-aged couple. Martha clutched her husband’s arm, while Marcus just shook his head at me like I was a clueless toddler. “Sloane isn’t a zombie,” I said. “She was just infected. She hasn’t fully turned yet. She still has her consciousness, and she saved every single one of your lives.” It was the absolute truth. Three days ago, the first horde hit our perimeter. A crawler pinned Garrison to the concrete. Sloane was the one who caved its skull in with a steel pipe, dragging Garrison back from the brink of death. Two days ago, Toby caught a severe fever from a minor infection. Sloane risked her life, looting three infested apartment blocks just to find him antibiotics. As for Martha and Marcus, the only reason they made it to this safehouse was because Sloane acted as their human shield on the highway. She still had a half-healed gash on her shoulder from protecting them. Every single person breathing in this room had survived because of Sloane. I just couldn’t understand it. When Sloane was the one in danger, why was their very first instinct to throw her to the wolves and watch her die without a shred of guilt? “That’s completely different.” Garrison spat, sounding incredibly annoyed. “She’s infected now. She could turn at any second. The rules are the rules. You pity her, but who is going to pity us?” “Exactly.” Martha chimed in from the corner. “Monica, we know you have a good heart. But this is the apocalypse. Having a good heart gets you killed. Sloane was a great kid, but she’s not human anymore.” I dug my heels in. “She is still human right now. It’s only been three hours since the scratch. A full mutation takes at least eight.” But they were completely deaf to reason. “We can’t take that gamble!” Marcus snapped coldly. “We have too many lives in this room. Your friend is just one person. If she dies, she dies! Do not drag us down with your suicidal empathy!” Chris finally stepped in, delivering the final verdict with a voice made of ice. “Bottom line. I am not letting you open that door. “Think about it. If you open it, even just a crack, the smell of fresh meat will draw the biters straight inside. All eight of us, including you, will be ripped apart.” I looked at him like he had grown a second head. “Hold on. Who exactly told you I was going to open the door?” “I never said I was opening the door.” 4 Chris froze. The chat froze too. [Huh? She’s not opening the door? Then what was she doing at the lock?] [Did the MC actually grow a brain cell? No way, she’s supposed to be a total simp for the ML in the novel.] [Wait, is she going to…] I dug through my survival pack and pulled out a coil of heavy-duty climbing rope. It was about fifty feet long. More than enough to reach the ground from our second-story window. I went over to our supply stash and grabbed two cans of Spam, a bottle of purified water, and a pack of high-calorie survival biscuits. I wrapped them tightly in a plastic bag and tied them securely to the end of the rope. The main door to the safehouse was solid welded iron. It was completely airtight. But the windows were a different story. The second-floor windows were boarded up with thick planks, but there were gaps between the wood. Definitely enough space to slip a rope through. Everyone in the room instantly realized what I was doing. Toby was the first to speak, his voice practically a whisper. “That… that actually works. We keep the door shut, just lower the food down…” “Shut up.” Chris shot him a lethal glare, and Toby instantly shrank back against the wall. Chris marched over to me and grabbed the rope out of my hands. “Are you seriously doing this?” I frowned, keeping my voice dangerously low. “Let go.” “You want to waste our rations at a time like this?” Chris’s voice dropped to a freezing register. “You’re giving food to a dead woman. What is the point? She takes two bites, turns into a monster, and all those calories go straight to hell. Our supplies are already running low. Do you have any idea how—” “I know.” I cut him off sharply. “I know supplies are low. I know she’s dying. I know that once she turns, this food is completely wasted. But I do not care.” I glared right back into his eyes. “She saved my life. She saved your lives. Even the food I’m giving away right now? She scavenged most of it. I refuse to sit here and watch her starve to death outside our walls just because you all lost your humanity.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every single word hit the room like a sledgehammer. Garrison looked away. Martha’s eyes darted nervously to the floor. She kept her mouth shut. Chris’s face turned incredibly ugly. The floating text started flooding my vision again. [Holy crap, the MC is actually standing her ground?] [Honestly, valid point. The bestie kept them all alive. Sparing a couple of cans of Spam is the least they could do.] [Logic doesn’t exist in the apocalypse! You don’t mix feelings with survival. The MC is just a bleeding heart.] [Bro, she isn’t even opening the door. She’s literally just lowering a snack on a rope. How is that being a bleeding heart?] The chat went back to screaming at each other. I tuned them out. Chris stared at me for a few long seconds before abruptly dropping the rope. “Fine.” He looked at me, a mocking sneer twisting his lips. “Do whatever you want. But let me remind you. The second you crack that window, noise and scent are going to leak out. Are you absolutely sure a couple of cans of Spam are worth the risk?” I nodded without a shred of hesitation. “Worth it.” 5 I walked over to the window and carefully pried two of the wooden planks just a fraction of an inch further apart. The night wind immediately rushed in, carrying the foul, metallic stench of rotting blood. I squinted, peering down into the darkness. A small, familiar figure was crammed into the narrow space between a dumpster and the brick wall. It was Sloane. She was terrified that she would turn and attack someone, so she had forced her body into the tightest, smallest ball possible. My chest tightened so painfully I almost choked on a sob. Once the virus took hold, human senses became incredibly sharp. Sloane heard the faint scrape of the wood. Her head snapped up. Across a fifty-foot drop in the dead of night, our eyes locked. I saw her pupils. They hadn’t turned into that milky, dead gray yet. They were still her beautiful, deep brown. There was still light in them. There was still consciousness. Her human soul was still fighting. I carefully fed the rope through the gap, lowering the plastic bag of food into the alley. Sloane saw it. She struggled to her feet, stumbling forward a few clumsy steps, and grabbed the plastic bag. She looked up at me. She didn’t make a sound, but I could read her lips perfectly in the moonlight. “Dumbass.” Then she clutched the bag to her chest, slowly slid back down against the brick wall, and buried her face in her knees. 6 I turned away from the window and faced a room full of absolute silence. Chris was sneering. Garrison was sighing dramatically. Martha was shaking her head. Toby was secretly wiping tears from his eyes. The chat was still arguing. But I truly didn’t care anymore. I pulled the rope back up, sealed the wooden planks tight, and walked back to my sleeping bag to sit down. And then, I waited. The chat explicitly said my best friend was supposed to storm the room the second I opened the door and bite Chris. But I never opened the door. I was incredibly curious to see how this plot was going to fix itself. The minutes ticked by. At exactly three in the morning, the chat absolutely exploded. [WTF WTF WTF!!! LOOK AT THE HORIZON!!!] [WHAT IS THAT?? WHAT IS THAT THING??] [IT’S A HORDE!!! A MASSIVE FREAKING HORDE!!!] I shot to my feet and sprinted to the window. Something was moving across the distant skyline. At first, it just looked like a blur, like a thick, rolling wave of black fog swallowing the horizon. But the shadows quickly took shape. It was the infected. Hundreds, thousands of them. A dense, suffocating swarm pouring in from every single direction. They looked like a black tide washing over the ruined streets and shattered buildings, heading straight for our safehouse. They weren’t moving fast, but the sheer volume of them was paralyzing. It was true despair. “A horde!” Garrison was the first to break the silence. All the blood drained from his face. “How is this possible?! We scouted this entire grid! There were no major clusters for ten miles!” “Something dragged them here.” Chris’s face turned completely pale. “A sound? A scent? Or…” He whipped his head around and glared at me. Every single pair of eyes in the room locked onto me. “It was the food.” Chris’s voice was absolute poison. “You threw that food out the window. The smell drifted. You pulled the horde right to our doorstep!” “That is impossible.” I shot back immediately. “I sent down two sealed cans of Spam. The smell wouldn’t carry far enough to—” “Are you seriously still denying it?!” Marcus suddenly roared. “Look at what is happening! You are still making excuses! I told everyone we couldn’t let her open that window, but she wouldn’t listen! Now look! We are all going to die in this concrete box!” “Exactly!” Martha shrieked hysterically. “Monica, you selfish brat! You just had to play the saint, and now you’ve doomed us all!” “I…” “Enough.” Chris held up a hand, silencing the room. His expression turned completely ruthless. “This isn’t the time to point fingers. We need a way out.” He shot me one final look. It was the kind of look you give a dead body. The text floating in my vision went completely insane. [Oh hell yes, Chris actually yelled at his future wife! You’re gonna be groveling so hard later, bro!] [This plot is making my blood boil! The Male Lead did nothing wrong! It’s all the MC’s fault for being a stupid bleeding heart!] [Hold up. This wasn’t in the original novel… The horde was triggered by something completely different in the book… Wait, is the timeline broken?] [Bro, you just noticed? The plot derailed the exact second she refused to open the door!]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433756”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day of the concert arrived. The massive stadium was packed to the rafters with eighty thousand screaming fans, and millions more were tuned into the live stream. She stood at the dead center of the stage. The moment she raised the microphone to her lips, the backing track abruptly cut out. A suffocating silence swallowed the arena. The root of this spectacular disaster started a few days ago. My wife, the untouchable pop queen of the current music scene, built her entire empire on songs I wrote. But just days prior, she demanded I sign away the rights to every single one of those tracks. She wanted to gift them to her college sweetheart, the one that got away. When she slid that piece of paper across the kitchen island, I looked at the stranger wearing my wife’s face. A hollow laugh escaped my throat, and I gave her a two-word answer. “Sure thing.” 1 I was actually cooking for Phoebe when she pushed that Copyright Transfer Agreement into my line of sight. A rich, garlic herb chicken was slow-roasting in the oven. The warm, savory aroma filled every corner of our penthouse. It was her favorite pre-concert meal. I made it for her every single time she prepared for a big tour. “Ted, turn the oven off for a second and come sign this.” Her voice was as melodic as ever, but underneath that sweet tone lay a cold, undeniable command. I wiped my hands on a towel, walked over, and took a seat across from her. “What is this?” “A copyright transfer,” Phoebe said. Her tone was terrifyingly casual, like she was asking me to pass the salt. “I need you to transfer the publishing rights of my older tracks to Oliver.” A deafening ring echoed in my ears. All the blood rushed to my head before turning to absolute ice, leaving my fingertips numb. Oliver. That name felt like a rusted blade twisting into my ribs. He was her senior in college, the golden boy she kept buried deep in her heart and never mentioned to the press. According to her, he was the most brilliant musical mind of their generation. Three years ago, when Phoebe and I tied the knot, she was a nobody singing to empty rooms in dive bars. I loved her. I poured every ounce of my soul into writing for her, becoming her exclusive ghost producer. Echoes, Midsummer, Lone Wolf. Track after track, I dragged her out of obscurity and crowned her the reigning queen of pop. My producer alias was Cipher. I never showed my face. Everyone in the industry knew there was a mythical, gold-tier songwriter backing Phoebe, but nobody knew Cipher was actually me. To the media, I was just the freeloader husband who stayed home and lived off his superstar wife. I cooked for her. I managed the tedious background noise of her life. I made sure she had absolutely nothing to worry about so she could shine flawlessly under the spotlights. I thought that was what marriage meant. But now, she wanted me to take the children I had bled over and hand them to another man. “Why?” My throat felt like sandpaper. Phoebe looked up. Those beautiful eyes that used to pull me under were now completely devoid of warmth. “Oliver just moved back stateside. He needs a solid catalog to break into the market, and the style of your songs fits his aesthetic perfectly.” She paused, clearly sensing my silence, and tried to justify it further. “Besides, when I first met Oliver, you weren’t even in the picture. A lot of my musical inspiration came from him anyway. Technically, he deserves a piece of these tracks.” I was so furious I actually smiled. Technically deserves a piece. I stared at her perfectly contoured, ice-cold face. The last fragile thread of affection I held for this woman snapped, crumbling into dust. “So what you’re saying is, I’m just your ghostwriter?” Phoebe frowned. My reaction was clearly annoying her. “Ted, don’t twist my words. We’re married. What’s yours is mine, right? I’m just returning these songs to their rightful owner.” “Plus, giving the rights to Oliver is a win for everyone. Once his career takes off, we can all collaborate. We’ll dominate the industry together.” She dressed her betrayal up in corporate buzzwords. Every single syllable was a slap in the face, mocking the three years I spent worshipping the ground she walked on. I saw it. I saw the undeniable, glowing spark in her eyes when she said his name. It was a look she had never, ever given me. I was just a tool. A stepping stone to get her to the top. And now that her golden boy was back, the tool and everything it produced were being wrapped up with a bow and handed over as a welcome-home gift. It was hilarious. It was sickening. I stared at the paperwork. My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t pull air into my lungs. I dug my fingernails into my palms until the sharp sting forced my spiraling mind to focus. Don’t lose it. If I blow up now, she’ll just call me petty and insecure. I took a deep, jagged breath, swallowing down the bitter taste in my mouth. When I finally looked up at her, I forced a smile that felt completely alien on my face. “Sure thing,” I said. 2 Phoebe clearly didn’t expect me to cave so easily. She blinked, a flash of pure shock crossing her face before it was entirely swallowed by a raw, unfiltered greed. It was a genuine thrill she couldn’t even bother to hide. “You… you’re really signing it?” “Yeah.” I nodded, picking up the pen resting on the marble counter. “We’re a team, right? What matters to you matters to me. If this helps your career, I’m on board.” I flipped the document open as I spoke. The legal jargon was crystal clear. Party A: Ted (Cipher). Party B: Oliver. I, Ted, willingly and permanently transfer all copyrights of my published musical works to Oliver, completely free of charge. Free of charge. Permanent. She really wanted to sever my lifeline without leaving a single loophole. My heart was actively bleeding out, but I kept the gentle smile glued to my face. “Where do I sign?” I asked. A radiant, dazzling smile broke out on Phoebe’s face, one I hadn’t seen directed at me in months. She practically vibrated with excitement as she pointed to the dotted lines at the bottom. “Here, here, and initial right here.” Her voice trembled with a greedy kind of hunger. I hovered the ballpoint over the thick paper. Phoebe’s eyes were locked onto my hand. She was literally holding her breath. A freezing calm washed over my mind. Of course I wasn’t going to sign it. But I was absolutely going to let her believe I did. I faked a moment of hesitation, letting out a heavy sigh. “Phoebe, I built these tracks from the ground up. They’re like my kids. Giving them all away just feels…” She cut me off instantly. Her tone shifted, dripping with that sickly sweet, manipulative affection she only ever used when she wanted me to pull an all-nighter in the studio for her. “Babe, I know it’s hard. But think about it. Oliver is different. He’s such an important piece of my journey. Helping him is basically helping me.” She reached out, resting her manicured hand over mine, patting it softly. “Don’t worry. You can just write new hits for me, okay? We’ll go right back to how things were.” Go right back? I sneered internally. I was blind before, treating you like a goddess. That ends today. I flipped my hand over and squeezed her fingers, locking eyes with her. “You know I’d do anything for you, Phoebe.” I looked down and aggressively scribbled a signature onto the paper. It was a messy, stylized autograph that belonged to an imaginary person. It had absolutely zero legal connection to my actual name. I pushed the papers back across the island. “All done.” Phoebe snatched the documents up like they were made of solid gold. She stared at the ink, her face flushed with absolute ecstasy. She was so high on the thrill of delivering this prize to her lover that she didn’t even notice the signature was complete gibberish. “You’re the best, Ted!” She jumped up and leaned over the counter, pressing a cold, obligatory kiss to my cheek. It felt like a transaction. She grabbed her purse and the fake contract, already turning her back to me. “Eat the dinner yourself! I’m meeting up with Oliver, he’s waiting for me!” The front door slammed shut. The penthouse was dead silent again. The only sound was the oven humming, baking a meal for a ghost. The fake smile peeled off my face. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked down at the street. I watched Phoebe peel out of the driveway in the Porsche 911 I bought for her birthday. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Ford? It’s Ted.” “I need you to draft a cease and desist. I also need a complete audit of every single copyright registered under the name Cipher. Yes, the entire catalog.” “And Ford? Draw up divorce papers.” “Yeah. I want her taken to the cleaners. Leave her with nothing.” I ended the call and stared at the smoggy city skyline, letting out a long, heavy exhale. So, Phoebe. You want to throw a massive third-anniversary concert? You want to use that stage to announce Oliver as the genius behind your success? I built that glittering stage for you. I hope you enjoy the spectacular gift I’m about to drop on it. 3 Over the next few days, Phoebe played the role of the perfect, doting wife. She texted me constantly, asking what I was doing or if I had eaten. When she got home, she’d rub my shoulders for exactly ten seconds and coo about how hard I worked. She honestly believed I was entirely wrapped around her finger. She thought I was still the same pathetic Ted who lived to serve her. She had no idea that every time I looked at her fake, plastic smile, I wanted to throw up. I played along flawlessly while moving my chess pieces in the dark. Ford was a shark. He moved fast and got the paperwork finalized in record time. Under the alias Cipher, I legally owned thirty-seven tracks. Those thirty-seven tracks were the sole foundation of Phoebe’s entire net worth, brand deals, and A-list status. And ninety percent of the setlist for her upcoming stadium show consisted of my music. According to our original licensing agreement, as the sole copyright holder, I retained the absolute right to revoke her performance privileges at any time, especially if the licensee engaged in fraudulent behavior regarding my intellectual property. The trap was set. I just needed the right moment to spring it. And that moment was her grand anniversary concert. The hype was unreal. Her label and PR team were burning cash to keep her trending. “Pop Queen Phoebe’s 3rd Anniversary! A Night of Legends at the Grand Arena!” “Will the mythical producer Cipher finally show his face? Massive surprises await at Phoebe’s live show!” The internet was flooded with sponsored articles. Her team even leaked a rumor that a completely unexpected, legendary guest would step onto the stage. Naturally, the world assumed it was Cipher. Her fanbase was losing their minds. They were dying to know what kind of musical god could drop back-to-back platinum records without ever stepping into the light. Phoebe’s social media feeds were overflowing with fans begging for a reveal. [OMG Phoebe! Please bring Cipher out! I would literally die for him!] [Who is he?! The mystery is killing me. You have to put a face to the name this time!] [Manifesting a Cipher face reveal! I will trade my firstborn just to see what this man looks like!] I scrolled through the comments, feeling a twisted sense of irony. Phoebe saw them too. She brought her phone over to the couch, laughing brightly as she shoved the screen in my face. “Look at this, babe. Your fans are crazier than mine.” She leaned against my shoulder, her tone dripping with fake sweetness. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to go up there? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment.” I set my book down and gave her a flat look. “Didn’t you already arrange for Cipher to make an appearance?” Phoebe’s smile froze. She recovered a second later, letting out a nervous, breathy laugh. “Oh, stop. I didn’t mean Oliver, I meant you. He’s just… he’s just going to stand in for you.” “Since you hate the spotlight so much, right?” I nodded slowly. “Right. I hate the spotlight. Let him stand in for me.” Stand in for me. Soak up the deafening cheers of my fans. Steal the legacy I bled for. You’re playing a dangerous game, Phoebe. Seeing that I wasn’t going to put up a fight, she completely dropped her guard. She started parading Oliver around town without a shred of shame. Under the guise of “coordinating concert details,” the two of them were practically glued together. Paparazzi caught them having intimate dinners, shopping in luxury boutiques, and eventually, walking into the same boutique hotel. The rumors exploded. I was officially the biggest cuckold in the city, wearing a neon green hat for the world to see. My boys were blowing up my phone, furious on my behalf. “Ted, are you legally blind, man? Your girl is practically moving her side dude in, and you’re just sitting there?” “Serve her the papers! Why are you still with this toxic trash?” I just gave them the same calm answer. “Relax. The show is about to start.” The day before the concert, Phoebe and Oliver sat down for an exclusive media interview. On camera, they looked like the perfect, glamorous power couple. The interviewer leaned in. “Oliver, the streets are saying you are the mastermind behind the Cipher alias. Can you confirm the rumors?” Oliver pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, offering the camera a smug, pretentious smile. “Phoebe and I have been close for years. We understand each other’s artistic souls. You could definitely say my fingerprints are all over her discography.” He didn’t outright say he was Cipher, but the implication was heavy and deliberate. The interviewer turned to Phoebe. “And will Oliver be taking the stage tomorrow night as Cipher?” Phoebe looked at Oliver with absolute adoration. “I guess everyone will just have to buy a ticket and find out. All I can say is, tomorrow night belongs to the fans, to me, and to… Cipher.” She put a heavy, dramatic emphasis on the name. The moment the interview dropped, the internet broke. The hashtag #OliverIsCipher rocketed to the number one trending spot. Oliver’s socials gained millions of followers in a matter of hours. Thirsty fans flooded his comments, calling him a genius and a god. Phoebe’s fanbase began aggressively shipping them. [OMFG I KNEW IT! Anyone who writes songs with that much passion has to be madly in love with her!] [They look so good together. Pure soulmates!] [See? I told you that freeloader husband of hers was a bum! No way a stay-at-home loser wrote those hits. The truth is finally out!] [Wait, isn’t Phoebe still legally married to Ted?] [Who cares about a piece of paper? A loveless marriage is a prison! Go get your true love, queen!] I stared at the toxic wasteland of comments, my face completely blank. I locked my phone and tossed it onto the coffee table. Phoebe. Oliver. Enjoy your final night on top of the world. Because tomorrow, I’m dragging you both straight down to hell. 4 Concert night. The Grand Arena was packed with eighty thousand screaming bodies. A massive ocean of blue glow sticks lit up the dark venue. Fans were holding up LED signs, chanting Phoebe’s name until their throats gave out. The energy was electric. I wasn’t in the crowd. I was sitting on my leather couch at home, watching the flawless 4K live stream on my TV. The broadcast cut to a backstage cam. Phoebe was doing last-minute touch-ups. She wore a custom, diamond-encrusted bodysuit. With her flawless makeup, she looked like absolute royalty. Oliver hovered right behind her, playing the attentive partner, adjusting the sheer train of her outfit. “Deep breaths, Phoebe. You own this city tonight.” “I know.” She nodded, a blissfully arrogant smile on her lips. Brenda, her aggressive talent manager, tapped her watch. “Alright, team! Time to move. Let’s get to the lift.” She turned to Oliver. “Oliver, get to your mark. You’re up right after track three.” Oliver flashed a cocky grin. “Got it, Brenda.” He looked back at Phoebe, his eyes dark with possessiveness. “After tonight, the whole damn world is gonna know you belong to me.” Phoebe looked down, blushing like a schoolgirl. The backstage camera caught the entire exchange and beamed it live to millions of viewers. The live chat scrolling across my screen went absolutely nuclear. [HOLY SHIT! THEY JUST CONFIRMED IT!] [I’m screaming!! My ship is sailing!] [Someone get them a ring right now!!] [Can Ted just file for divorce already? He’s embarrassing himself at this point.] I watched the perfect couple on my screen, picked up my mug of hot tea, and took a slow sip. It was a great brew. Shame it was about to get cold. At exactly eight o’clock, the show began. The arena went pitch black. A single, blinding white spotlight snapped on, hitting the mechanical lift in the center of the stage. The heavy, dramatic synth intro kicked in. It was her breakout hit. Echoes. The very first track I ever produced for her. The lift slowly ascended, bringing Phoebe into the glaring light. The stadium literally shook with the deafening roar of eighty thousand fans. “Phoebe! Phoebe! Phoebe!” She gripped her custom microphone, a perfect, triumphant smile painted on her face. She took a deep breath, parting her lips to sing the opening verse. But a split second before she made a sound. With a harsh screech of static, the heavy backing track cut out completely. The entire stadium crashed into a suffocating, deeply uncomfortable silence. Everyone froze. On stage, Phoebe stood paralyzed, her microphone hovering awkwardly near her mouth, her eyes wide with panic. Backstage, the live director and audio engineers were losing their minds. “What the hell is going on?! Why did the feed cut?” “I don’t know! The rig is fine!” “Switch to the backup tracks! Move, move, move!” A few agonizing seconds later, the beat dropped again. But it only lasted two seconds before violently cutting out a second time. And this time, it wasn’t just the audio. The massive, sixty-foot LED screen wrapping the back of the stage completely blacked out. The crowd erupted into confused murmurs. “What’s happening? Did the power blow?” “No way. A show this big doesn’t just crash like this.” “Yo, look! The screen is back!” Eighty thousand pairs of eyes snapped back to the colossal digital display. The screen was stark black. Slowly, line by line, bold white text began to type itself across the monitors. [CEASE AND DESIST / NOTICE OF REVOCATION] [To: Event Organizers and Ms. Phoebe] [I, Ted (Operating professionally under the alias ‘Cipher’), acting as the sole and exclusive copyright holder of ‘Echoes’, ‘Midsummer’, ‘Lone Wolf’, and 34 other registered musical compositions, hereby issue formal notice:] [Due to severe contractual violations and blatant commercial fraud committed by Ms. Phoebe, I am officially revoking all licenses, performance rights, and distribution permissions previously granted to her, effective immediately.] [Any unauthorized public performance of my intellectual property from this second forward constitutes gross copyright infringement. I will aggressively pursue all available legal action against any offending parties.] [Signed: Ted (Cipher)] Right beneath the ruthless legal text, high-resolution scans of the official copyright certificates populated the screen. On every single document, under the ‘Legal Owner’ section, the same name was printed in bold black ink: Ted. And right next to it, under ‘Registered Alias’: Cipher.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433757”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years after my release, Sebastian Wheeler returned, more obsessed than ever. He used threats, bribes, and finally, locked me inside. The most absurd moment came when he brought Isabelle, the woman he’d left me for, to kneel before me. “Nora,” Sebastian said, his voice thick with false grief, “Ollie is gone. Will you keep holding a grudge against us forever?” Isabelle chimed in, “We want to make it up to you!” Their words twisted the truth like needles. I snapped, my hand striking his face. “Make it up to me? How dare you? If you hadn’t stolen Ollie’s life-saving medicine for her daughter, Sophie, he would still be alive. Is this your idea of making amends? Framing me and letting me rot in prison for three years?” Sebastian’s eyes flickered. “But I love you,” he stammered. “You were so emotional back then—I was afraid you’d hurt them.” I laughed bitterly. Love? The same love that killed my son and sent me to prison? If that’s how he defined love, I could play by the same rules. I met his eyes, full of hope and guilt, and replied calmly, “Fine. I’ll remarry you.” 1 “No!” The word shot out the moment I finished speaking. Isabelle, still kneeling, jerked her head up, her voice a sharp cry. Sebastian’s gaze shifted to her. She quickly backpedaled. “I just… I’m afraid Sophie won’t be able to handle it.” “If you and Nora remarry, what does that make Sophie? An illegitimate child? She’s so young… I don’t care about my own reputation, but Sophie…” Isabelle’s voice trailed off as tears began to stream down her face, a perfectly calculated performance. It worked. Sebastian’s expression softened with pity. Just as he was about to reconsider, I spoke again. “That’s an easy fix.” “From now on, Sophie can call me ‘Mom’.” “That way, you and I will have a child again, won’t we, Sebastian?” He stared at me, stunned for a moment. Then, his eyes lit up with a manic glee. “Yes! Of course!” “Nora, Ollie’s gone, but we still have Sophie. And besides, you’re her aunt, after all!” Isabelle was dumbfounded. She had assumed my pride would never let me agree to remarry him, which is why she’d put on this show of kneeling beside him. She never imagined I would accept Sophie, too. Her tears fell harder. “No, you can’t!” she sobbed. “Sebastian, Sophie is my child. How can you let her call someone else ‘Mother’?” I smiled. I reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “Because,” I whispered, “you killed my child. As compensation, your daughter calling me ‘Mother’ seems more than fair.” I turned and extended my hand to the still-kneeling Sebastian. “Do you agree, Sebastian? If you do, we’ll get remarried. I’ll even forgive you and Isabelle. We can be a happy family again.” The ecstatic relief in his eyes was sickening. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing my hand. “Yes! Of course, I agree!” “Let’s go. Let’s do it now!” He spoke quickly, terrified I might change my mind. He practically shoved me into his car and sped toward the courthouse. In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Isabelle in the back seat, her face a thundercloud of fury. I could almost taste her bitterness. After everything she’d done to drive me away, to use my son’s death to finally break up my marriage, I had agreed to come back so easily. Her venomous gaze shifted. She pulled out her phone and tapped out two quick messages. A moment later, she cried out from the back seat. “Sebastian, something’s wrong!” “The doctor just called! Sophie’s condition has gotten worse! We have to get to the hospital, now!” “What?!” Sebastian slammed on the brakes. Without even a glance in my direction, he spun the car around and raced towards the hospital. A private doctor was waiting anxiously by the entrance. He jogged over as we pulled up. “Mr. Wheeler, her condition is very unstable. The research on this disease is limited in this country, we don’t have many options… Dr. Shaw?” The doctor looked at me as if he knew me. His face lit up. “Wait, Dr. Shaw, you specialize in this field, don’t you?” He turned back to Sebastian. “Mr. Wheeler, now that Dr. Shaw is out of prison, why not have her take over Sophie’s case? Your son… he passed from the same illness. Dr. Shaw must have done extensive research.” I almost laughed. The same old trick. Isabelle was using her child again to play the victim, to paint me as the villain. As I was thinking, Isabelle dropped to her knees in front of me again, her cries tearing through the quiet hospital entrance. “Nora, I’m begging you. Please, save Sophie. I know I was wrong before. I’ll be your servant for the rest of my life, you can torture me, do whatever you want to get your revenge! But the child is innocent! If not for my sake, then for Sebastian’s. She’s his child, too! Please!” Her performance was flawless. Sebastian, of course, fell for it. “Nora, the doctor has a point. Let’s just put the past behind us. You can be in charge of Sophie’s treatment…” Crack! My hand flew out, and the sound of the slap stunned everyone into silence. But I hadn’t hit Isabelle. I hadn’t hit Sebastian. I had slapped the doctor, hard, across the face. “Who gave you permission to say Ollie’s name?” I roared, my voice raw with fury. “You’re another useless quack! You couldn’t save Ollie then, and you can’t save Sophie now?” I slapped him again, a backhand blow that sent him sprawling to the ground. He looked up, bewildered, his eyes darting to Isabelle. This wasn’t what she had told him in the text. He was just supposed to shift the responsibility to me, to push Sebastian’s buttons until I caved. Why was I attacking him? I didn’t stop. I kicked, I punched, and then I went for his throat. “Quack! Fraud! You’re all in on it!” I screamed. “You killed my Ollie, and now you’re trying to kill me!” The doctor’s face turned purple, and he began to choke, gasping for air. “Ma’am, I’m sorry!” he wheezed. “It was Isabelle! She told me to say Sophie’s condition was worse, to make you the primary physician! I had no choice, I just work here, I can’t afford to get on her bad side! I have the text messages on my phone! Please, let me go!” Slowly, I released my grip. I reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and used his terrified face to unlock it. There it was. Tell Sebastian that Sophie’s condition is worse. Get him to make that bitch her primary physician. We’ll figure out the rest later. I held the glowing screen up for Sebastian to see. Isabelle’s face went white. She grabbed his pant leg, wailing, “Sebastian, no! Let me explain! I was just so worried about Sophie! Think about it, Nora developed a targeted drug for Ollie when he was so sick. If she treated Sophie, it would be so much more effective! I swear, I was only thinking of what was best for Sophie!” Sebastian’s expression was a twisted knot of confusion and anger, his eyes fixed on the word bitch. He was silent for a long time. Just as he was about to help the sniveling Isabelle to her feet, another pair of hands beat him to it. Mine. I leaned down and gently helped Isabelle up, a sweet smile on my face. “Of course I believe you, little sister. After all, you must trust me so much. You conspired with Sebastian to steal Ollie’s life-saving medicine for Sophie, leading to my son’s death. And yet, here you are, willing to entrust your own daughter to me, the mother who has every reason to want revenge.” My voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You must trust that I won’t take this opportunity to torture her, to maim her… to kill her, do you?” Isabelle was so terrified she forgot to cry. She just stared at me as if I were a monster. I even reached out and stroked her hair. “Just kidding,” I said, my voice eerily cheerful. “With me around, Sophie won’t die so easily.” I turned back to Sebastian, my smile radiant. “Sebastian, let me be Sophie’s doctor. Don’t worry. I will do everything in my power to keep her alive.” Seeing that I was not only willing to forgive him but also to save Sophie, Sebastian was overjoyed. He agreed instantly. Isabelle, however, finally found her voice. “No! You can’t go near her!” she shrieked, grabbing my arm. “You’re insane, you’ll kill her! You’re trying to get revenge on me!” She tugged at me so hard I stumbled. Sebastian caught me, shoving Isabelle away. “What are you doing? I haven’t even dealt with you about that text message. Now Nora has agreed, and you’re the one backing out?” Isabelle could only point at me, speechless. I leaned against Sebastian, my eyes welling with tears, a perfect picture of fragile vulnerability. It was a mirror image of the act she had pulled on me so many times over the years. The sight seemed to drive her mad. She dug her nails into her palms, drawing blood, before she managed to compose herself. “I’m sorry, Nora,” she said through gritted teeth. “I was just so emotional. I didn’t mean it.” I was still smiling, but my eyes were ice. “It’s okay, little sister. I just got out of prison. It’s natural for you to be excited to see me. I’m excited, too. We have… a long time to catch up.” With that, I stepped away from Sebastian and pushed open the door to Sophie’s room. The girl looked at me with the same terror as her mother, but with Sebastian in the room, she had no choice but to let me examine her. I glanced at her latest chart. “Sophie’s condition is critical. She needs surgery immediately. Any delay will only make things worse. Let’s schedule it for the day after tomorrow. I’ll perform it myself. After the surgery, she should be completely cured.” Sebastian was ecstatic. He wrapped his arms around me, his lips brushing against my cheek. “Nora, this is wonderful! Thank you! I knew you’d still be willing to save her!” Only Isabelle glared at me, her face a mask of pure hatred, forced to smile through her rage. It was only then that I realized it. Being the villain… felt so damn good. Later that evening, after I had settled in at the villa, Isabelle cornered me on the staircase. She gripped my wrist, her voice a low hiss. “What are you planning to do to Sophie? You bitch. Weren’t the people I paid to take care of you in prison enough to teach you a lesson? You get out and you’re right back to seducing Sebastian. You go to him right now and tell him the surgery is off, or I swear… I will make you pay.” I looked down at the red marks forming on my wrist and chuckled. “What are you so afraid of? There’s always a risk of death with a surgery like this. Sophie’s just unlucky to have a mother like you. So… she’ll die on the operating table. But don’t worry. Sebastian won’t be sad for long. He’s waiting for me in the master bedroom. Soon, we’ll have another child.” My blatant provocation sent her into a frenzy. “You’ll regret this!” she spat. “I’m kicking you out of this house, right now!” She dragged me to the edge of the stairs, then let go, throwing her body backward. “Aah—!” she screamed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433758”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had some cash to burn recently, so I decided to buy myself an Anthro girlfriend. After shopping around, I picked one that was a real knockout, but her temper was atrocious. She didn’t treat me like her master at all; I felt like I’d been scammed. The other day, I tried to sneak a kiss. She pawed me so hard I went flying. That was the last straw. I snapped a picture of her looking feral and sent it to the seller, demanding a refund. The seller’s reply left me speechless. “Bro, are you kidding me?” He insisted they were a legitimate business that only sold domesticated, artificially bred Anthros. Then he told me what I had was a wild-caught, pure-blooded, hyper-aggressive, endangered Silver-Eyed Direwolf. He said if she was missing so much as a single hair, I could get ten years in prison. He even asked if my picture was AI-generated. Panicked, I immediately withdrew my refund request. When I looked back, Lyra, having just finished her “kneel in the corner” punishment, was dabbing at a scrape with a cotton swab. 1 “So, uh, are you free this weekend?” “I was thinking we could go to the lake out on the plains, see the migratory birds return…” Lyra was a handful. I’d been patiently following online training guides for three months, and she hadn’t shown a lick of progress. She couldn’t master the basics—handshakes, hugs, kisses—and she was prone to explosive mood swings, constantly yelling at me. “You’re using three carrots as positive reinforcement?” she’d snarled one day. “What kind of Anthro do you think I am? You might as well use chocolate, you cheapskate!” Well, chocolate is expensive! I barely even buy it for myself! But seeing her fur practically stand on end, I gritted my teeth and unwrapped a piece for her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tossed it straight into the trash. This little monster. When I bought her, I’d been so careful. I grilled the salesperson, confirming my order was for a tall, stable-tempered, vegetarian Canine-type Anthro with strong protective instincts and an aptitude for “intimate services.” The only thing they got right was “tall.” The rest was a catastrophic failure of product description. This was my first time adopting an Anthro, and I was at my wit’s end. I decided to ask my friend, Ryan, who had more experience. Ryan was my biological parents’ adopted son. When they finally found me and brought me home, they insisted we get along. He was surprisingly enthusiastic when I told him my problem. “Canine-types are usually super loyal and clingy,” he’d said over the phone. “They have a high need for intimacy. Aversion to touch like you’re describing is really rare. I’ll have to come over and see for myself to give you proper advice.” Ryan arrived just after Lyra and I had another massive fight. According to Anthro regulations, her breed was classified as high-risk, meaning she had to wear a collar and muzzle whenever she went outside. But she fought me tooth and nail over them, so much so that she hadn’t set foot outside the house since she arrived. This time, she’d thrown a tantrum because I wouldn’t let her out, chewing up the sofa and my slippers. After trashing the living room, she’d stormed off to her room to sulk. I was still cleaning up the mess when Ryan arrived, looking grimy and disheveled next to his immaculate, designer-clad form. The air seemed to smell better just from him walking through it. “Why do you have so many vegetables and carrots lying around?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “Canine-types don’t eat this stuff. No wonder she’s so irritable. She’s starving.” With a look of profound pity, Ryan went and coaxed Lyra out of her room. “I brought you some bluefin tuna and black truffle foie gras. Come on out and eat!” I rushed to stop him. “No, she’s a vegetarian model! The brochure said she’s a specially bred variety, more eco-friendly and low-maintenance.” But my words were lost as Lyra started gobbling down the gourmet food. Usually, getting her to eat was like trying to move a mountain. “That’s just marketing talk,” Ryan said, shaking his head. “They tell you the upkeep is low so you’ll buy faster. But an Anthro is part of the family. If you’re going to get one, you have to treat them right. If you’re afraid of spending money, you shouldn’t have gotten one in the first place.” I stayed silent. He was right. I’d bought her because the salesperson promised she was “easy to care for.” After the initial purchase, I barely had any savings left. Ryan then proceeded to lecture me about leaving chocolate out, restricting her freedom, and neglecting her “high-end grooming needs”—all things the brochure had explicitly said weren’t necessary. Lyra, however, seemed to hang on his every word. When Ryan casually patted her head, she didn’t even flinch. As he was leaving, Ryan saw my dejected look and offered one last piece of advice. “If you want an Anthro to accept you as their master, you need to build an emotional bond. It’s not just about spending money on them. Your own charm is important, too. You have to make her like you. Only then will she want to be close to you.” I decided to give his advice a shot. I made extensive preparations. After work today, I didn’t go straight home. I went to a spa. I got a full-body skin treatment, had my hair professionally styled, and even paid for a complete wardrobe makeover. When I got home, Lyra’s jaw dropped. “Are you… Alex?” I beamed. “Can’t recognize me? Total transformation, right?” She just shrugged. “I thought Ryan had a botched cosmetic procedure.” I ignored her rudeness and got busy with dinner. Tonight was all cold dishes: ice plant salad, cucumber, and cherry tomatoes. I shut the lights, lit some scented candles, and changed into a black silk robe I’d bought online. The atmosphere was different. Lyra still had her usual scowl, but this time, she didn’t flip the table. Heartened, I picked up a cherry tomato and held it to her lips. “These are expensive. Imported from Provence.” She stared at me like I was an idiot for a full three seconds before sighing and taking a bite. This was huge progress! I coaxed her into eating the ice plant and cucumber. “You’ll see, once you get used to it, vegetables are much better for you. More importantly,” I confessed, “I’m broke. I spent the entire settlement my parents gave me. From now on, your expenses have to come out of my monthly salary. And I’m just an intern.” Lyra froze. She met my honest, sincere gaze and mumbled, “I get it.” My eyes crinkled into happy crescents. I pressed my luck and stroked her hand. “Lyra, you’re a companion-type Anthro. It’s your duty to serve me.” The faint blush on her cheeks vanished, replaced by an icy glare. “Serve you? What kind of service? Alex, what exactly do you think I am?” “Family,” I answered, my voice utterly serious. Three months ago, my biological parents contacted me out of the blue. I went to meet them full of hope, dragging a suitcase packed with gifts. They weren’t nearly as excited to see me. Probably because they already had an adopted son they’d raised for years. His name was Ryan, so they named me Alex. Ryan didn’t want to live under the same roof as me, so my parents rented me a separate villa and gave me a one-time payment of five million dollars as compensation. “Alex, we’re so happy we found you,” my mother had said. “But Ryan and you both need time to adjust. He came to us when he was two, he was with me through my hardest times. In my heart, he’s just as much my son as you are. I hope you can understand.” I just nodded, clutching my suitcase. I had arrived alone, and I left alone. On my way back, I passed an Anthro service center. A slogan on the billboard caught my eye: “Loyalty for Life, Companionship Forever.” Even though I suspected it was false advertising, I was sold. I just wanted someone, anyone, who would always be on my side. So I spent every last cent of the five million on their top-of-the-line model. The next day, they delivered Lyra to my doorstep. I was so happy. Two people, that was a family. I never expected her to be so difficult, but she was a gift I’d bought for myself in a moment of desperation. I wasn’t going to give up on her easily. “Lyra, I really do see you as family,” I said softly. “I’ve always been alone, so I don’t really know how to take care of someone. I know I mess up a lot. But I really like you, and all I want is for you to be happy.” The anger seemed to drain out of her. Her pointed, furry ears popped out involuntarily, and she quickly stood up. “You’re just a kid, what do you know? Stop talking nonsense!” She started to walk away, then turned back. “You can come into my room tonight.” For three months, we had slept in separate rooms. The purchase agreement had listed a whole menu of… services. But Lyra had rejected all physical contact, so I’d never tried any of them. Now she was inviting me into her room. Did this mean she was finally starting to accept me? I happily cleared the table, took a shower, and even put on cologne. When I entered her room, she was already asleep, her phone resting on her chest. Asleep, her features were soft and peaceful. She looked more vulnerable, like a puppy showing its belly. She was so beautiful. I had to admit, her flawless face was a big reason I’d put up with her for so long. The mood was perfect. I couldn’t resist leaning in and placing a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. She smelled faintly of fresh grass, a scent that made you want to taste more… I thought things were progressing naturally. Then I was one-pawed clear across the room, landing in a heap on the floor. “What do you think you’re doing, you creep?!” she roared, leaping off the bed. “Is this why you let me into my room? Alex, have you no shame?” She was furious, but she shut up fast when she saw me grab the broom. “It wasn’t even that hard a hit!” she protested. I was done talking. I swung the broom and gave her a piece of my mind. The thought of the five million dollars I’d wasted on this creature made my heart ache. “I have had it with you!” I yelled. “I should have bought a pot roast instead! I’m done with you! Let’s just end this!” I was out of shape and ran out of breath after a few swings, so I herded her into a corner with the broom. “Kneel! And think about who’s the boss in this house! I can tolerate you being disobedient, but now you’re physically attacking me? Who do you think you are?” Thankfully, she didn’t fight back this time, just knelt there muttering under her breath. “It was a reflex… I thought it was an ambush…” My backside was still throbbing, but my mind was clear. Family was supposed to be someone who would never hurt you, who would stay by your side willingly. It was a nice idea, but you couldn’t just buy it off a shelf. Besides, I couldn’t afford her upkeep anymore. It was time to cut my losses. I went to the service center’s website, uploaded the photo of Lyra in a rage, and filed a strongly-worded complaint. “I paid five million for your top-tier model and you sent me this? You advertised a genius IQ, the emotional intelligence of a saint, and total obedience. I tried to kiss her and she nearly sent me to the ER! I want a full refund, or I’m reporting you for false advertising and fraud!” A reply came back almost instantly. “Bro, are you kidding me? We’re a legitimate business. We only sell domesticated, artificially-bred Anthros. What you have is a wild-caught, pure-blooded, hyper-aggressive, endangered Silver-Eyed Direwolf. If she’s missing so much as a single hair, you could get ten years in prison! Is this an AI-generated pic?” My blood ran cold. I glanced over at Lyra. The fight had taken the wind out of her sails. She was quietly applying antiseptic to a small cut on her arm. Another message came through. “All our units have a unique serial number tattooed on their lower back. If you really bought from us, send me the number and I can look up her file.” I ran over to Lyra and, without a word, yanked up her shirt. This time, even her tail popped out—a big, fluffy one. “Alex, calm down! No, really! Humans are too fragile, you can’t handle me yet… If you insist, we have to take it slow!” I wasn’t listening. My eyes were glued to the pale, smooth skin of her lower back. It was completely bare. Nothing. So, I’d accidentally adopted a Direwolf. That explained a lot. I messaged the seller again. “How long does a custom order usually take?” “Three to six months, depending on the price point.” … “Right. I was just getting impatient. Checking on the delivery status.” Oh, hell. It wasn’t a scam. It was my own screw-up. Thinking back, Lyra had been lying unconscious on my doorstep. I’d just brought her inside, gave her water, and when she woke up, I insisted I was her master and refused to let her leave. That wasn’t adoption. That was illegal poaching of an endangered species. A shiver went down my spine. I looked at Lyra, my voice barely a whisper. “So, uh, are you free this weekend?” “For what?” To release you back into the wild, you majestic idiot! Go back to nature and stop getting tangled up with humans! “I was thinking we could go to the lake out on the plains, see the migratory birds return…” Since we were driving straight into the wilderness, I didn’t force her to wear the collar and muzzle. To make sure she couldn’t find her way back to get revenge, I drove for three solid days, deep into the mountains, ignoring the screaming price of gas. Maybe it was because she hadn’t seen the sun in so long, but Lyra was in a great mood the whole trip. She even helped me pitch the tent and cook. On the third night, I parked the car where I could make a quick getaway and we set up camp in a small cave. We built a campfire, and Lyra made her usual instant noodles. The firelight danced on her face, making her look warm and bright. I felt a pang of sadness. “You haven’t acted up once since we left the house.” “I only acted up because you were starving me and wouldn’t let me outside.” “And you haven’t bitten me, either!” I said, feeling a strange sense of pride. If she’d really wanted to leave, I couldn’t have stopped her. Lyra paused, stirring the noodles. “I was afraid you’d cry,” she said quietly. “The first time I tried to leave, you started crying…” I remembered that. Of course I cried! My five-million-dollar investment was walking out the door! When she wasn’t having a meltdown, Lyra was actually pretty great. She had an incredible sense of direction, could predict the weather, knew the terrain, and could set traps to scare off large predators. And she was strong as an ox. Having her around made me feel safe. But she was a wild Anthro. She belonged to nature. “Compared to being bored in a mansion with me, you prefer this, don’t you? The open sky, running free.” Lyra nodded. “Without freedom, safety has no meaning.” A knot formed in my chest. I curled into a ball and rolled around on the ground, groaning dramatically. “Noodles but no barbecue! This is a tragedy! I can’t bear it!” “There’s beef jerky and spicy pickles in the car.” “No! I need fresh barbecue! Roast chicken, roast rabbit, roast lamb… I even brought the cumin!” I sniffled, looking pathetic. Lyra watched my theatrics for a moment, then sighed. “Wait in the car. Don’t wander off. I’ll go catch something for you.” Wow! A Direwolf hunt! How cool is that! Then it hit me. This was my chance. I paced anxiously for a few minutes before making up my mind. It was time to fix my mistake. She could take care of herself in the wild. Without me holding her back, she’d find her family. And I was breaking a serious law. If this ever came out, I’d be screwed. Half an hour later, Lyra returned to the campfire carrying a leg of lamb she had already cleaned in a nearby stream. All she found was endless darkness and a pile of cold ashes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433759”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Yesterday, something impossible happened: my wife, dead for three years, was in a car accident. It took me back to that night three years ago, her birthday. I came home early and caught a sweet, musky scent as I entered. Following it to the bedroom, I found her and my assistant, Mark, in our bed. I can still hear Mark pant, “God, Hannah, you’re incredible,” and Hannah’s throaty laugh, “What if Nathan walked in? He’s a spineless loser, just like his son. Soon I’ll leave him with nothing.” Hannah never woke up the next morning. I fired Mark in her name, blacklisting him for good. I told her parents she was on a long-term assignment and handled all her work myself, claiming she was traveling for business. When they wanted to see her, I used deepfake calls. I kept her things just as she left them. Hannah was a loner, and I ran the company daily—so no one suspected a thing. With the company now mine, life became more stable than ever. I planned to announce she’d gone missing out of state once my position was secure, and bury the truth forever. I never imagined an accident like yesterday’s could happen. 1 The name flashing on my phone screen made me freeze. It was my father-in-law. He never called this late. The moment I answered, his voice, ragged with tears, shattered the silence. “Nathan! It’s Hannah! There’s been an accident!” “A car crash! She’s… she’s not going to make it. You have to get here, now!” My head felt like it had been split open with a sledgehammer. Hannah, in a car accident? How? Three years ago, I pressed the pillow over her face myself. I watched her legs kick and thrash, and then I watched them go still. I dragged her body into the backyard and dug for four straight hours under the old magnolia tree, my hands raw and bleeding. There was no possible way she could have been in a car accident. “Nathan? Nathan, are you listening to me?!” His voice rose to a panicked shriek. “She rear-ended a semi on the highway! The car… it burned! She’s burned all over! You have to come!” “They’ve taken her to City General, the doctors said…” He couldn’t finish, breaking down into ragged sobs. My brain was a screaming, overloaded machine. A cold sweat slicked my palms. Hannah died three years ago. Who was this “Hannah” lying in the hospital? Why was her father so certain it was her? Was it a case of mistaken identity? Or… had someone found out? “Daddy?” Noah was standing in the bedroom doorway, rubbing his eyes. I hadn’t even realized he’d woken up. “Daddy, why are you crying? What’s wrong with Mommy?” Only then did I feel the wet tracks on my own cheeks. I scrubbed them away, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “It’s nothing, buddy. Mommy… Mommy had a little accident. Daddy has to go see her.” “Is Mommy going to die?” he asked, his voice small. “No,” I said, crouching to hug him tight. “Mommy’s not going to die. I’ll take you to see her, okay?” I couldn’t leave him here alone. If the truth came out, if the police came… what would happen to Noah if they took me away? As I led him out the front door, I glanced back at the magnolia tree in the yard. The highways were empty in the pre-dawn gloom. I floored it, my mind racing, replaying every detail of the last three years. The hundreds of deepfake videos I’d made, sent to her parents every month like clockwork. The employees, all believing Hannah was managing a branch office in another state. The few times someone asked, I’d just say she was busy, that she hated talking on the phone. She was always antisocial anyway, with no close friends and distant relatives she never saw. There were no holes. I’d gone over it a hundred times. There were no holes. So why was there a “Hannah” in the hospital? Why did her father think it was her? A terrible thought wormed its way into my mind. What if… what if I didn’t kill her three years ago? Impossible. I saw her face turn from crimson to a deathly purple. I saw her pupils dilate. I saw her chest go still. I checked for a pulse in her neck. There was nothing. She was dead. The sky was just beginning to lighten as I pulled into the City General parking garage. I parked the car, gently woke Noah, and we ran towards the emergency building. The moment we stepped into the lobby, a figure lunged at me, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. 2 It was my mother-in-law, Martha, her eyes red and swollen. “Nathan! What happened? Why was Hannah driving home in the middle of the night?” she shrieked. “Did you two fight? Did you force her to come back?!” “Martha, I didn’t…” I started, a reflex denial. “You didn’t? Then why would she risk her life driving back at this hour?!” Her words were like shrapnel, spitting with rage. “Tell me! What did you say to her?!” “I didn’t say anything,” I stammered, my voice trembling. “She… she didn’t tell me she was coming back.” “Bullshit!” she screamed, shoving me away. Noah, terrified, burst into tears and clung to my leg. I bent down to scoop him into my arms just as my father-in-law, Arthur, hurried over. He grabbed his wife’s arm. “Martha, stop it, you’re scaring the boy! Why are you yelling at him?” “Why am I yelling?” she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Ask him! Ask him what he did to our daughter to make her drive like a maniac in the middle of the night!” “It was me,” Arthur said quietly. We all froze. He wiped a tear from his eye. “I texted her… I told her you were having heart pains, that she should come home when she had a chance…” Martha’s mouth hung open. “We haven’t seen her in three years, Martha,” he whispered. “Nathan, it’s my fault. Your mother’s been having chest pains, I got scared…” “That’s enough,” a voice cut in. A doctor in scrubs emerged from the ICU, his face grim. “Who is the patient’s family?” “Me! I’m her father!” Arthur rushed forward. “Doctor, how is my daughter?” The doctor sighed. “The patient has extensive burns over most of her body and severe head trauma. She’s in a deep coma. The chances of her waking up are very slim. You need to prepare yourselves.” Arthur’s legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. “You can go in and see her,” the doctor added, “but don’t stay long.” I helped Arthur to his feet and we walked into the ICU. I saw the person on the bed. She was wrapped head to toe in white gauze, her face completely obscured. A web of tubes snaked from her body to the machines beside the bed, which beeped in a steady, rhythmic pulse. But the frame… My pupils constricted. The height, the build… it was Hannah’s, exactly. How could two people in the world look so identical? Unless… An insane, impossible thought detonated in my mind, making my scalp crawl. Just then, the door to the room swung open again. “Well, look at this. Quite the party.” The voice was a needle, stabbing into the base of my skull. I whipped my head around. It was Mark, someone I hadn’t seen in years. And he had two police officers with him. “Long time no see, Nate,” he said with a lazy smile. My blood ran cold. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice dry. “I’ve told you a dozen times, I don’t know why Hannah cut you off.” For three years, Mark had been hounding me, always for the same reason: he wanted to see Hannah. “Oh, I know,” he said, tilting his head. “Imagine my surprise when I spotted Hannah’s car in Ridgefield. I followed her, thought I’d ask her myself.” His gaze slid past me. “Turned out I got a front-row seat to watch her plow into the back of a semi.” He paused, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “But here’s the thing, Nate. A person burned this badly… completely unrecognizable… how can anyone prove it’s really Hannah?” My heart plummeted. Arthur spun around from the bedside. “What are you trying to say?!” “Easy there, sir,” Mark said, strolling forward. “I just think, with something this serious, it’s better to be sure. After all…” His eyes locked onto mine. “What if the person in that bed… isn’t Hannah at all?” 3 “You son of a bitch!” Arthur lunged, ready to tear him apart. “That’s my daughter! I saw the license plate! It was her car! You think I don’t know my own daughter’s car?” In that instant, my heart stopped. That car. Two years ago, I sold that car for a pittance to a shady used-car dealer from out of state. He’d promised me he was shipping it across the country, that it would never be seen in this city again. And now, here it was. My eyes were drawn back to the bandaged figure in the bed. “Nate?” Mark’s voice snapped me back to reality. “You look a little pale. Feeling okay?” He stared at me, his smile widening. “Something on your conscience?” He’d suspected for a long time. The way Hannah had cut him off so abruptly… it was my one oversight. “The only thing on my conscience is not firing the scumbag who was sleeping with my wife sooner,” I shot back, my voice dripping with scorn, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. “I’m just… worried about Hannah.” “Worried?” Mark scoffed. “Officer, don’t you think my suggestion is worth considering?” One of the officers stepped forward. “Sir, we are currently unable to confirm the victim’s identity. We will need a DNA sample for comparison. We hope you’ll cooperate.” “No!” Arthur’s voice was a raw scream. “That is my daughter! I don’t need any test! Why won’t you believe me?” “Sir, please, calm down,” Mark said, his voice deceptively gentle as he approached Arthur. “Just think about it. The woman in that bed… what if it’s someone else? What if Hannah is perfectly fine somewhere?” His words were slick, impossible to argue with. “Mark, what is your game?” I demanded, my voice turning to ice. “The truth is, I haven’t been able to contact Hannah.” Mark turned back to me, his smile wide and predatory. “I’m just trying to help, Nate.” “The victim was brought in with no identification,” the officer stated. “Enough!” Martha grabbed her husband’s arm. “Have you lost your mind? The officer is right! How can we be sure it’s her without a test?” She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. “What if… what if it’s really not her?” I stood at the foot of the bed, my heart pounding like a war drum. “I’ll do it,” Martha said, her jaw set. “Whether it’s her or not, we need to know for sure.” “Martha!” Arthur cried out. “Are you crazy? That’s our daughter! Can’t you see?” She wrenched her arm free. “I won’t claim a daughter I can’t even recognize! Officer, what do you need? A blood sample? I’ll cooperate.” “No need.” A cold sweat was drenching my back, but I had to speak. If the DNA didn’t match, they’d know this “Hannah” was a fake. The police would dig deeper. They’d trace the car. They’d investigate Hannah’s whereabouts for the last three years. My entire house of cards would be blown away. Either way, I was finished. Then, a desperate, insane idea flashed in my mind. If I could hide her death for three years, why couldn’t I find someone to impersonate her now? If “Hannah” called, if she told them herself that the woman in the bed wasn’t her, they would have to believe it was all a mistake. After that, Hannah could go back to being “on assignment” indefinitely. All I needed was a voice. A raspy, indistinct voice. “I said, there’s no need!” I raised my voice. “That’s not Hannah. You think I don’t know my own wife?” I looked at Martha, pleading. “I wouldn’t be mistaken.” Martha stared back, her expression unreadable. “Mom, it’s not her. We don’t need a test.” As I argued, I was secretly texting my cousin. Code red. Need a woman, one with a bad cold preferably, to call my phone NOW. Pretend to be Hannah. Say she’s out of state, lost her phone, tell family not to worry. Five grand if she does it. 4 My palms were drenched when I sent the message. “And how would you know that?” Arthur’s voice cut in. I looked up and met his gaze. My stomach dropped. His eyes weren’t filled with grief. They were filled with something else. Something that looked like hatred. “Dad, I told you, that’s not Hannah,” I said, my voice wavering. “How are you so sure?” He took a step closer. “I raised her for thirty years. You’ve only been married to her for a few. She hasn’t been home much these last years, how do you know she hasn’t changed?” My mouth was dry. I couldn’t answer. He was right. I hadn’t seen Hannah in three years. Because I had buried her in the backyard. “It’s… a feeling,” I mumbled. Arthur let out a cold laugh. “Nathan, my wife carried that girl for nine months. I could recognize her with my eyes closed. I say that’s Hannah. What gives you the right to say it isn’t?” He stood by the bed, his hands gripping the metal rail like a caged animal protecting its young. But there was no grief in his eyes. It was all wrong. My mind was a chaotic mess. “That’s enough!” Martha’s voice broke through the fog. “What are you two arguing about? The police are here! We’ll do what they say!” She turned to the officer, but Arthur spoke first. “Do it,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. “Let the boy do the test.” Noah flinched in my arms. “Use Noah for the DNA test. He’s young, he’ll bounce back quick.” Arthur’s voice was cold. “When the results come in, that’s the end of it. No more arguments.” All the blood drained from my body. “Dad! Noah’s only six!” I choked out. “It’s just a blood draw, not a death sentence. He’s not that fragile,” Arthur said dismissively. “So what’s your solution? Your mother’s too old for this stress, and I have a clotting disorder. Are you saying we just don’t do the test because you say it isn’t Hannah? Nathan, what are you so afraid of?” Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A blocked number. My heart leaped into my throat. “Hold on,” I said, pulling out the phone. The room fell silent. I answered. “Nathan?” “Hannah?!” I yelled, forcing a sob into my voice. “Where are you?” “I’m out of state. I lost my phone, just got a new SIM. Don’t worry about me.” Martha’s eyes lit up. Arthur’s face fell. Mark’s smile froze. The fake Hannah’s voice was raspy and full of static, the connection conveniently bad. “I’m fine. How are Mom and Dad? Are they feeling better?” Martha snatched the phone from my hand, her own hand shaking. “Hannah? Is that you, baby?” “It’s me, Mom.” Martha’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Oh, thank God… thank God it’s not you…” She wiped her eyes and turned to the officers. “You hear that? My daughter is fine. The person in that bed… we don’t know her. Please, help find her family.” Arthur stood rooted to the spot, his face ashen, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was staring at my phone. My heart was pounding, but I kept my face a mask of calm relief. It worked. As long as the police believed that was Hannah on the phone, this would all go away. My secret would stay buried under the magnolia tree. “Wait a minute.” Mark’s voice cut through the fragile peace. He held out his hand. “Nate, give me the phone.” “Why?” I instinctively hid it behind my back. “Because this is all a little too convenient,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “She says she’s Hannah, so she’s Hannah? Hell, I could say I’m Hannah. Let me ask her a few questions.” He took a step forward. “The truth will out, right?” “Mark, you’re crossing a line!” I snapped, my voice shaking. “Am I?” he cocked his head. “Why so nervous, Nate? It’s just a few questions. Unless…” His gaze drilled into me. “Unless you know damn well the person on the other end of this line isn’t Hannah at all.” The air turned to ice. “Nathan,” Martha said, the relief on her face curdling into suspicion. “Let him ask. It’s better to be sure. For everyone’s peace of mind.” Mark snatched the phone. “Hello? Hannah? It’s Mark. Remember me?” There was a two-second pause. “I remember.” “You do?” Mark’s smile was pure poison. “Then do you remember what you said to me on the night of your birthday, three years ago?” My heart seized. That night. The night I found them in our bed. “Don’t remember, Hannah?” Mark’s voice was a singsong taunt. “You told me a lot of things that night.” “I don’t remember. I was drunk.” “Drunk?” Mark laughed. “But Hannah, you’re allergic to alcohol. You never drink.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433760”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I clutched the ultrasound, my heart racing as I rushed to tell Paul the news. He did not look at me, only threw his phone onto the table. The screen lit up with a photo of him and a young woman, their faces close, lips almost touching. The sight was a dizzying blow. “I do not belong to this world,” Paul said coldly. His words struck me like lightning, choking back every question. He leaned back and explained that in another timeline, I had chosen a man named Kieran. Driven by jealousy, he crossed time to reach me first. “I made sure to enter your life before Kieran could. I recreated everything meant for the two of you, including you.” His tone held pride and contempt. “But after all these years with you,” he added with a mocking laugh, “I realized you are nothing special.” A decade of love, from passionate dates to quiet mornings, now meant nothing. My heart felt torn. I could barely breathe. “So you betrayed me?” I forced out, my voice trembling. “Yes,” he replied without pause. “She is young, gorgeous, thrilling. You are just boring, pathetic.” He lit a cigarette and blew smoke into my face. It stung my eyes, and tears finally fell. “Tessa, we are getting a divorce.” He finally said the words I was most terrified to hear. Refuse the divorce? What good would that do? Should I completely abandon my dignity and beg him not to throw me away? My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Every syllable tasted like blood. “No.” Before I could say anything else, Paul burst into loud, cruel laughter. “See? I told you. Even if she caught me cheating, she would never have the guts to leave me!” “So it is not that I do not want to make things official with you, baby. She is just obsessed with me. My hands are tied!” I stared at him in absolute shock. The passenger window of his parked car outside the living room window slowly rolled down. That same beautiful, youthful face from the photo leaned out. Lexi pouted her lips, looking annoyed. “Old lady, the professor does not love you anymore. Why are you still clinging to him like a parasite?” “Have you got absolutely no shame? Even a stray dog knows when to walk away.” The mistress. She was calling me shameless. My entire body shook with pure, unadulterated rage. I marched toward the door, walked up to the car, and raised my hand to slap her across the face. Before my hand could connect, Paul grabbed my wrist. He violently shoved me back. His voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “We are in public. Watch yourself.” Those words stabbed directly into the softest part of my heart. I remembered the day he confessed his love to me. Those three words cut through the deafening sound of fireworks, crashing right into my soul. When I nodded and said yes, he jumped around like a little kid. He picked me up and spun me around. I blushed red and whispered that we were in public. He just laughed and yelled even louder. “I want the whole damn world to know that Tessa is finally mine!” How did that boy, the one who loved me with such a burning, chaotic passion, turn into this cold stranger? I sniffled, forcing the burning tears back down. “When did it start?” Paul answered like we were discussing the weather. “About half a month before the wedding.” All the blood in my veins turned to ice. Lexi smirked, her eyes gleaming with toxic provocation. “Did you sleep well on your wedding night, Tessa?” “I was wearing your custom wedding dress. I was lying right next to your spot on the bed. The professor and I went at it all night long while you were asleep in the guest room. It was incredibly thrilling.” Her vicious laughter shattered whatever was left of my soul. So the stain on my dress. It was not soy milk that he accidentally spilled. On my very first morning as a married woman, I stood in the sink and scrubbed the physical evidence of his infidelity out of my own wedding dress. My fingernails dug so deep into my palms that they bled. I bit my lip until I tasted copper. “Why are you only telling me this now?” He could have told me before he cheated. He could have told me before we signed the papers. Why wait until I was pregnant? If he was already sleeping with her, why did he marry me? Why did he get me pregnant? The tears completely broke through the dam. Seeing me sob uncontrollably, Paul froze for a split second. Then, he leaned casually against the car door and flicked his cigarette onto the driveway. “In the other reality, you and Kieran got married. So.” “By getting you pregnant, I officially won the game.” He reached out and wiped a tear from my cheek. The heavy smell of tobacco on his fingers made me choke. More tears spilled out. It all made sense now. Every single romantic gesture. Every heartbeat. Every ounce of love he ever gave me was completely poisoned by his sick desire to win. When the fake love evaporated, all that was left was a scoreboard. Paul grew visibly annoyed by my crying. He muttered the word “pathetic” under his breath, got into the driver’s seat, and sped off, leaving me standing alone in the driveway. When the shock finally began to fade, I realized there was warm liquid running down my thighs. Blood. A brutal, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. By the time the ambulance rushed me to the emergency room, the pain was blinding. The ER nurse grabbed my emergency contact and dialed Paul’s number. The phone connected. Heavy, explicit panting echoed through the speaker. The nurse looked at me with deep pity and immense awkwardness. She cleared her throat. “Sir, your wife is currently experiencing a threatened miscarriage. She is bleeding heavily.” “What?” Paul’s voice suddenly went tight. “She was perfectly fine twenty minutes ago.” Lexi’s breathless, sweet voice cut through the background. “A miscarriage is perfect. If the baby dies, maybe she will finally stop stalking you, Professor.” The line went dead silent for a long moment. Then, Paul’s clear, remorseless voice came through the speaker. “Then let her lose it.” The call abruptly disconnected. I closed my eyes. The absolute depths of sorrow swallowed me whole. Right at that moment, frantic footsteps rushed toward my bed. “Tessa!” 2 The doctors could not save the baby. I stayed in the hospital for three agonizing days. Paul never showed his face once. During those endless hours in the hospital bed, Lexi sent me a friend request on social media. I accepted it. Like a masochist, I scrolled through the posts she had specifically made public just for me. Lexi and I shared the exact same birthday. This year, for the first time since we started dating, Paul did not spend my birthday with me. He told me he had a mandatory academic conference in Cabo. He did go to Cabo. But he went to celebrate Lexi’s birthday. There were photos of them kissing underwater while scuba diving. Photos of them on a private helicopter watching the sunset. A video of him presenting her with ninety nine red roses. Hidden inside was a stunning ruby ring. I recognized the jeweler. I had looked up that exact ring months ago. It came with a complimentary gift. A cheap, hand braided leather bracelet. Paul had given me that exact leather bracelet for my birthday. He told me he had hiked up a mountain to a monastery to weave it himself. He said it would protect me. I cherished it like it was made of solid gold. Looking at it now, it burned my wrist like acid. With bloodshot eyes, I violently ripped the leather cord off my wrist and threw it into the hospital trash can. Along with every last drop of love I ever had for Paul. After completing the discharge paperwork, I took a cab back to the house. The second I pushed the front door open, my mind went totally blank. The house was so foreign I thought I had walked into the wrong address. My comfortable sneakers were kicked carelessly into a corner. The shoe rack was lined with expensive, flashy stilettos. The vases were stuffed with loud, arrogant red roses. My favorite irises were tossed into the garbage bin. Even the massive, hand painted portrait I had spent weeks creating for our living room was gone. It had been replaced by a framed, professional studio photo of Paul and Lexi. Right in the center of the room, on the hanging swing chair we bought together, Paul was holding Lexi in his lap. They were passionately making out. They kept kissing for five solid minutes before they finally noticed me standing there. Paul did not ask about the hospital. He did not ask about the dead baby. He just casually stood up and tossed an apron at my chest. “Perfect timing. Lexi is hungry. Go make us some lunch.” I stared at him in pure disbelief. He had never let me touch a stove in my entire life. He used to hold my hands and say, “I will handle the bills and the cooking. You just focus on painting the beautiful things in this world.” All that tender protectiveness was completely thrown out the window the second another woman walked in. Seeing me frozen in place, Paul frowned in deep annoyance. “I literally crossed through time and space for you. I cooked every meal for you for years. You should be down on your knees thanking me. You are just a broke artist, stop acting like you are above this.” I slowly tied the apron around my waist. A hollow smile crept onto my face. “Fine.” I would cook this one meal. Consider it repaying my debt to him. After this, the bridge was burned. We were done. Paul smirked, looking incredibly satisfied. “Good girl.” “Lexi is moving in with us permanently. You refuse to leave me, and I refuse to leave her. We all live under one roof, everyone wins.” “As long as you stay quiet and behave, you get to keep your title as my wife.” I did not say a single word. I just turned around and walked into the kitchen. Whether she lived here or not had absolutely nothing to do with me. Because I was leaving. Very soon. That night, Paul wrapped his arm around Lexi’s waist and walked toward the master bedroom. As we passed each other in the hallway, I was typing a message on my phone. He caught a glimpse of the screen. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull. He lunged forward and snatched the phone out of my hand. He tried to unlock it, only to realize the passcode was no longer our anniversary date. “You changed your password?” He grabbed my wrist. His grip was so violent I thought the bones would snap. “Tell me the truth. Were you texting Kieran just now?” “When did you two start talking again? Have you been sleeping with him behind my back this whole time?” His eyes were burning with the furious, self righteous anger of a betrayed husband. As if I was the one who had destroyed our vows. Fueled by pure disgust, I raised my free hand and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. “Paul, not everyone in this world is a filthy, cheating hypocrite like you!” Paul froze for a few seconds. Then, he let out a terrifying roar. “You dare hit me?” “You think I am filthy? Fine. I will show you exactly how filthy I can be.” 3 He dragged me by my hair down the hallway and shoved me into the master bedroom. He ripped open the doors of my massive walk in closet and violently threw me inside. Panic flooded my chest. I fought back with everything I had, kicking and screaming, but he slammed the heavy wooden doors shut. The light completely vanished. I heard the sound of a heavy wooden chair being jammed beneath the door handles, locking me in from the outside. “Let me out, Paul!” The only response was a cold, cruel scoff. A few moments later, the heavy, unmistakable sounds of sex began echoing through the bedroom walls. I clamped my hands over my ears. I desperately tried to block out the nauseating sounds of them together. But it was useless. The closet doors rattled violently against their frames as they crashed against them. Through the tiny sliver of light coming through the crack in the doors, I saw the clothes hanging right in front of my face. It was a set of matching baby clothes. Paul had bought them when we first started trying to get pregnant. Now, the baby was dead in a medical waste bin, and his heart belonged to a college student. Those tiny clothes mocked me in the dark. I lost my mind. I ripped the baby clothes off the hangers and shredded them with my bare hands. The tears poured down my face like a broken dam. In that suffocating, pitch black box, every single breath felt like inhaling broken glass. I do not know how many hours passed. Eventually, the sounds outside stopped. The chair was dragged away, and the doors slowly creaked open. The bedroom lights blinded me. My eyes were so swollen and dry I could not produce another tear. Paul stood above me, looking down like a god looking at an insect. “Did you enjoy the show?” I ignored his twisted question. “Give me my phone back.” His face darkened instantly. He was about to explode again, but when he saw how terrifyingly pale and hollow my face was, he held back. He threw the phone onto my lap. He stood there, demanding I unlock it right in front of him. He genuinely thought he caught me cheating. The second the screen unlocked, a flood of notifications popped up. Dozens of missed calls. Every single one of them was from my dad. A cold, creeping dread wrapped its fingers around my throat. I immediately dialed his number back. It rang forever. Finally, the call connected. The sound of my mother’s agonizing, world ending scream shattered my eardrums. “Tessa… your dad… he is in the resuscitation room…” All the sound vanished from the world. It took me several seconds to process her words. My entire body went numb. I tried to scramble up from the floor to run to the door. But I had been cramped in the dark for so long that my legs were completely dead. I pitched forward and smashed my chin hard against the hardwood floor. Blood pooled under my jaw. Paul instinctively reached down to help me. I shoved him away with the force of a hurricane. I clawed my way up using the wall and stumbled out of the room like a wounded animal. He took a step to follow me, but Lexi reached out from the bed and grabbed his wrist. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Professor, my legs are completely useless right now. Carry me to the shower, please?” Paul looked at the hallway, looked back at her, and stayed in the room. I ran to the hospital like a madwoman. When I finally reached the ICU doors, I saw the doctors slowly pulling a white sheet over my father’s face. “Dad.” I collapsed onto the floor, screaming until my vocal cords tore. “Dad, I am here! Please wake up and look at me!” “I just bought that aged whiskey you wanted! You haven’t even opened it yet!” My mother slowly turned her head. Her eyes were completely swollen, red, and devoid of any life. Slap. A sharp, ringing sound echoed in the hallway, cutting my cries short. My mother’s hand trembled in the air. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. “Why didn’t you answer the phone? When your father collapsed, he kept dialing your number over and over again. Why didn’t you pick up?!” “If you had just answered the phone… the ambulance would have gotten here in time…” Her words were a sledgehammer directly to my skull. I slumped against the cold tiles. I opened my mouth over and over again, but the pain in my chest was so immense I could not make a single sound. Only silent tears fell to the floor. Suddenly, a terrified scream echoed from the hospital courtyard outside the window. “Someone just jumped off the roof!” I whipped my head around. My heart completely stopped. “Mom! No!” But I was too late. Her eyes were completely empty as she stepped backward over the ledge. I threw myself against the reinforced glass. I could not catch her. I could not even touch the fabric of her coat. A horrifying blossom of red exploded on the concrete far below. The impact shattered every single organ inside my own body. Regret and despair crashed down on me like a tidal wave, dragging me into the pitch black depths. I suffocated in the agony, letting out a raw, inhuman wail. My home. It was gone. My family was dead. Right at that exact second, my phone screen lit up on the floor. A text from Paul. [Lexi is getting cold. Where did you put that heavy quilt?] That was the wedding quilt my mother had spent six entire months sewing by hand. Every single stitch was a prayer for my happiness. And he wanted to give it to Lexi. Because she was a little cold. What about my father, lying under a thin white sheet? What about my mother, lying in a pool of blood on the concrete? Their bodies were losing heat by the second. Weren’t they cold? My fingers shook violently. It took me three full minutes to type two words. [Let’s divorce.] He replied instantly. [Fine.] 4 During the days I spent planning my parents’ funerals, Paul’s texts flooded my phone. [Where the hell did you go?] [I thought you wanted a divorce? Getting cold feet?] [I am willing to give you one last chance. Come back home, behave yourself, and warm the bed for me and Lexi. If you do that, I will consider keeping you around.] [Think about this carefully, Tessa!] I did not reply to a single one. When the last message came in, I blocked his number permanently. I stood in absolute silence as I watched the caskets roll into the crematorium fire. I had no tears left to shed. From this moment on, there was not a single person left on this earth who shared my blood. A week later, I returned to the house for the final time. When I walked through the door, Paul was laughing on the couch with Lexi. The second he saw me, his face hardened into a furious scowl. “You finally remembered where you live? Figured it out? Decided against the divorce?” I felt nothing but a bone deep, crushing exhaustion. I reached into my bag, pulled out the signed divorce papers, and placed them on the coffee table. When Paul saw my signature already on the dotted line, his pupils contracted. A terrifying, violent rage erupted in his eyes. “Tessa, are you absolutely sure about this?” I cut him off, my voice dead. “I am sure.” Paul let out a dark, psychotic laugh. “You want to leave? Fine.” “But I am getting one last ride out of you.” He lunged forward and violently threw me onto the floor. My head slammed against the hardwood, making the room spin with nausea. I fought back with everything I had, but my resistance only fueled his rage. He raised his hand and slapped me across the face with brutal force. My head snapped to the side. A high pitched ringing filled my ears. Paul’s voice was like poisoned ice. “When we first met, you were begging me to take you to bed within two months. Now you want to play the pure, untouchable saint?” “I traveled across space and time just to worship you. You want a divorce? Then you are going to pay back every single thing you owe me right now.” So that was it. Every act of love, every gentle moment he ever gave me. In his mind, it was just a transaction. I was just a cheap whore. The burning, romantic promises he used to whisper in my ear were just daggers waiting to carve me apart. If his love was destined to turn into this vile, rotting poison, I wished to God he had never crossed time to find me. My dead heart ripped open one final time. I stopped fighting. A pale, empty laugh escaped my lips. “Hurry up. Get it over with quickly, and sign the damn papers.” Paul stared at me in shock. Then, he let go of my wrists and stood up, looking at me with pure, unfiltered disgust. “When you are used to eating at five star restaurants, looking at cheap fast food just makes you sick.” He grabbed a pen, violently signed his name on the divorce papers, and threw the thick stack of documents directly at my face. The sharp edge of the paper sliced a thin cut across my cheek. But deep down, I felt an overwhelming, incredible sense of freedom. I bent down and picked up the papers. Without giving him a single glance, I turned around and walked toward the front door. Paul’s threat echoed behind me. “Tessa, the second you step through that door, do not even think about crawling back to me!” I did not stop. I walked out of the house that had become my personal hell, and I never looked back. “Oh my god, finally! Congratulations, Professor! You finally got rid of that miserable old hag!” Lexi kissed Paul’s jawline affectionately. “So, when are you going to marry me?” Paul did not answer. He stared blankly at the door Tessa had just walked through. His heart suddenly felt incredibly heavy. He did not believe she would actually leave him. Years ago, a speeding motorcycle had almost hit him on the street. She threw herself in front of him without a second thought. She loved him enough to die for him. How could she possibly abandon him? He was absolutely certain. Tessa would come crawling back, crying and begging for his forgiveness. He just had to wait for it. That was what he told himself. But that night, Paul could not sleep a single wink. His mind kept replaying the image of Tessa’s back as she walked out the door. When morning finally broke, his phone rang aggressively on the nightstand. He snatched it up, hoping to hear her voice. It was not Tessa. “Paul, all hell just broke loose! You need to get to the university campus right now!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433761”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I held the family shirts I’d embroidered all night, our little cartoon faces stitched with care. My heart was light as we drove to Noah’s kindergarten sports day. Then Phill spoke, shattering my world without warning. “Noah isn’t your son.” His tone was flat, casual, as if commenting on the weather. I froze, blood running cold. He kept his eyes on the road. “Sierra was afraid of pain. I paid to have her embryo implanted in you. That’s why you had such severe rejection—he was never biologically yours.” Sierra. The girl I sponsored through college, now a teacher at Noah’s school. Bile rose in my throat. “Why tell me now?” My voice was a broken whisper. He shrugged, a cold smirk on his lips. “I grew tired of watching you play the perfect, devoted wife. It started to look pathetic. Time for a reality check.” I looked down at the smiling faces on the shirts. My whole life felt like a cruel joke. Later, I sat at home, tightly gripping a DNA test report. The thin sheet of paper felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, completely crushing my lungs. The names listed under biological parents were painfully clear. Noah and Sierra. The ninety nine percent match burned my retinas. I forced back my tears and looked at the man sitting next to me. He looked perfectly relaxed, even in a good mood. “When did it happen? Between you and Sierra.” The deep, gentle voice I used to be so desperately addicted to now spit out the coldest poison imaginable. “Ironically, I have you to thank for it. If you had not insisted on making Sierra your maid of honor, I never would have met someone who suited me so perfectly.” “It happened on our wedding night. Remember when I told you there was an emergency at the company and I had to leave? Sierra and I confessed our feelings that night. We just could not control ourselves.” I stared at him in absolute disbelief. My heart crumpled into a bleeding mess. I would never forget that night. I thought it was the happiest moment of my life. I had walked down the aisle with the absolute love of my life, believing we would belong to each other until our dying breath. I was so blinded by joy that I did not suspect a single thing when Phill said he had to go to the office. I even felt a deep, aching gratitude toward him. I thought he was leaving because he wanted to be gentle with my psychological trauma. I thought he was giving me time to adjust to the physical intimacy of marriage. I had absolutely no idea he was consummating our marriage in another woman’s bed. My voice trembled like dead leaves in the wind. “Then why tell me now? You could have kept this a secret until the day I died.” Phill’s face softened instantly. A look of deep, spoiling affection washed over his features, but it was not for me. “Sierra is pregnant again. It is a little girl. I promised her this baby would be the undisputed princess of my empire, and I always keep my promises.” “I originally thought about using the same trick. But you refuse to even let me touch you anymore. Getting you pregnant again is impossible. So I had to put my cards on the table.” “Whether you decide to accept this new child is your problem.” I could not hold it in anymore. Hot, agonizing tears flooded down my face. My deepest, most agonizing scar had just become the knife he used to stab me in the back. He conveniently forgot that he once promised me the world. He promised we would be a single soul in two bodies. But in the end, he gave me the ultimate betrayal on the happiest day of my life. “So all those years you told me you loved me, when you said you would never force me… when you purposely ordered a custom, highly realistic mannequin with my exact face so you could cope… it was all an act?!” “You didn’t touch me because you were already getting your fill somewhere else?” Phill scoffed, looking at me with pure amusement. “Not entirely.” “Sierra is delicate. If I am too rough with her, she gets hurt. So yes, I do use that doll.” “The face belongs to you. But the physical mold for the rest of the body…” He gave me a long, meaningful look. The humiliating implication was crystal clear. That single glance plunged me into a lake of freezing ice. So everything I believed in was a lie. All his restraint, all his deep affection. It was all just a beautiful illusion he built to cover up his nest with another woman. Those vows of eternal love were a script. And I was the only idiot who took them seriously. When we got out of the car at the kindergarten, my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand. Phill acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. He smiled brightly and helped our son change into his sports day outfit. I followed them like a walking corpse, completely tuning out Noah’s excited screaming. A second later, a heavy leather ball slammed brutally into my stomach. I crashed hard onto the dirt floor. Even after five years, the surgical scar from the C section burned with an agonizing, piercing pain. Phill did not know this, but the phantom pain had never stopped. Every single night, my body would drag me back to the horrors of that pregnancy. The severe immune rejection pain would torture me until I almost passed out. The scar tissue would burn like acid. It felt like my abdomen was being sliced open while I was wide awake. When the pain reached its absolute peak, I would dig my nails into my own arms, hoping the new bleeding would distract my brain from the old agony. It was not that I did not want him to touch me. I was just terrified that if he saw me writhing in absolute psychotic agony, it would scare him away. But I never imagined my attempt to shield him would just give him the perfect cover to cheat on me. Noah watched me struggling to get up from the dirt. He grew impatient and kicked me hard in the shin twice. He turned around and whined to Phill. “Daddy, Mom is too clumsy! If she plays with us, I am definitely going to lose!” “Can Miss Sierra be my mom today and race with us? Everyone loves Miss Sierra. All the other kids will be so jealous of me!” Even though I already knew Noah did not share my blood, my heart still gave a violent, tearing ache. I carried him for ten months. I nearly died on the operating table for him. The immune rejection alone put me in the intensive care unit five different times. I gave up half my life to bring him into this world. How could I just cut him out of my heart? But at the same time, I suddenly realized something painfully clear. All the suffering I endured meant absolutely nothing against the magnetic pull of real blood. He was not mine. I was never going to keep him. The same went for Phill. I lay frozen on the dirt, completely unaware of when Sierra had walked over. The next thing I heard was her voice. She was wearing the matching family shirt I had made. “Oh my gosh, this fits perfectly!” she exclaimed with a sweet, surprised laugh. “I had waist reduction surgery a while ago, so normal clothes never fit me right. I thought this would look so bulky on me, but it is like it was custom tailored just for my body.” My dead, hollow eyes twitched. I looked up at Phill in absolute disbelief. Phill was the one who suggested altering the waistline. It was on our fifth anniversary. He had pulled me into his arms and picked me up, spinning me around. He joked that I had gained a little weight. Then he gave me his anniversary present. It was a stunning, incredibly form fitting designer dress. He sighed and said it was a shame it was too tight. I felt so incredibly guilty. I thought my body had ruined his romantic surprise. I went completely crazy after that. I took every single piece of clothing I owned and paid a tailor to shrink the waists to match the exact dimensions of that dress. I forced myself to starve, pushing myself to the point of a bleeding stomach ulcer just to hit that target weight. I just wanted to make sure that on our next anniversary, I would be perfect for him. Looking back at it now, it was a pathetic joke. I had tortured my own body to fit another woman’s mold. That anniversary dress was never meant for me in the first place. With Sierra taking my place, Noah easily won first prize. They basked in the envy and adoration of the crowd. The other kindergarten mothers surrounded them, praising what a beautiful, happy family they were. Sierra could not hide the smug triumph on her face, but she played the humble sweetheart perfectly. “Oh, you guys have it all wrong. I am just a teacher helping out. Noah’s real mother is right over there.” Dozens of eyes instantly shifted to me. Some looked at me with deep disgust, others with pathetic pity. After all, looking at the pale, shaking woman sitting in the dirt with ruined clothes, nobody would believe I was the wealthy wife of a corporate CEO. When Noah saw me looking at him, he burst into fake tears and buried his face in Sierra’s chest. “She is not my mom! I want Miss Sierra to be my mom!” Phill exchanged a helpless, incredibly fond look with Sierra. He could not tear his eyes away from her. He did not even notice the dozens of malicious, judging stares stabbing into me. In a fraction of a second, the pain in my chest reached its absolute limit and then completely went numb. Pure survival instinct made me open my mouth. “Noah is right. Miss Sierra is his mother.” The moment the words left my mouth, all three of them froze. Noah stopped his fake crying and stared at me in shock. They looked at me as if I was a cold blooded monster abandoning her poor family. Ignoring the shocked gasps of the crowd, Phill marched over, grabbed my arm, and violently dragged me toward the parking lot. He shoved me into the backseat of his luxury SUV. His eyes were filled with absolute disgust. “You really know how to play the obedient victim, don’t you? I tell you to accept a second child, and your response is to happily give up your position as a mother?” “Did you announce that in public just to brand Noah as an illegitimate bastard?” “I just asked you to carry a baby for Sierra, and you hate me this much?” The bitter acid in my throat burned hotter. How could I possibly hate him? He was the one who pulled me out of the gutter. When I was a kid, my family was so desperately poor I did not even have the right to say no to anyone. So I learned to be quiet. I learned to be a good girl. Even when the school bullies targeted me, I never made a sound. The street thugs loved preying on quiet, broken girls like me. They threw basketballs at my head until I was covered in bruises. They burned my skin with curling irons. They choked me until my vision went black, just to see how long I could last before dying. Seeing that I would bite my own tongue until it bled rather than scream, the leader finally got bored with violence and shoved his dirty hands up my shirt. That was the exact moment Phill appeared. He was a wealthy, arrogant kid who solved problems with his fists. One brick to the head was not enough, so he used two. His handsome, wild face was splattered with blood, but he looked like the sun itself. When he looked down at me, there was no pity. There was no disgust. He just clicked his tongue. “Why are you so obedient? Do you not know how to fight back?” “Whatever. Being a good girl suits you. I will protect you from now on.” Because of those two sentences, I followed him for twenty years. And he truly did protect me for twenty years. He never left my side, from the dark corners of high school all the way to the altar. I did not hate him. I just hated myself for being too greedy. I hated the fact that the bright, beautiful moon hung in the sky for everyone, but I foolishly believed it shined only for me. When Phill saw that I was not going to argue back, his patience evaporated. “Since you want to throw a tantrum and push things this far, you better keep playing the good girl.” “I am moving Sierra into the house. She is going to be Noah’s official mother.” “You pack your things and move to the guest room. Sierra and I are taking the master suite.” I thought I had gone completely numb, but watching my personal belongings being tossed aside to make room for another woman’s clothes still made my vision blur. Sierra stood in the doorway, pretending to look shy and apologetic. “I am so sorry about this, Hazel. Phill just absolutely insisted he wants to see me in this lingerie tonight.” I ignored the smug gloating in her voice. I just looked at her and asked the one question burning in my mind. “Why? I paid for your tuition and living expenses for ten years. Why would you do this to me?” There was not a single ounce of guilt in her eyes. “Sponsored me? The money you gave me over ten years is what I can make in a single night with him. Why would I throw away a golden ticket for your pathetic little charity?” “You were the one who taught me to fight for my own survival. I am just following your advice, big sister.” “Besides, how are we any different? Phill sponsored you too. He paid for your life. If you can sleep your way into his mansion, why can’t I?” My mind went completely blank. She was right. Phill was the one who sponsored me. He paid for my university, and eventually, I became his wealthy wife. Now, he was just transferring his “sponsorship” to someone new. His taste in broken girls never changed. I was just arrogant enough to think I was the exception. I did not say another word. I quietly carried my boxes out of the room that used to be my sanctuary. Night fell like a suffocating blanket. Through the thin walls of the guest room, the sound of their laughter and heavy breathing pierced right through my eardrums. The vile noises instantly violently triggered the darkest, most humiliating memories buried in my brain. It also woke up the monster living in my abdomen. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. The phantom pain hit me like a burning iron rod twisting violently inside my stomach, threatening to rip its way out. A massive wave of nausea hit me. I leaned over the trash can and dry heaved violently, coughing up nothing but bitter stomach acid. I had been on a liquid diet for two days trying to maintain my waistline. There was nothing left inside me to throw up. After the nausea faded, the tearing, ripping agony of the C section took over. This was the brutal aftermath of the birth. I never had the courage to tell Phill. When I was suffering from the intense PTSD of almost being sexually assaulted, he was already exhausted trying to keep me sane. To calm me down, he used to hold me in his arms all night, reading me stories until the sun came up. I would eventually pass out from exhaustion, but he had to go straight to the office to run a massive corporation. He never got a moment of rest. If he knew that giving him a child had cursed me with chronic, agonizing pain, the guilt would have destroyed him. But now, it did not matter. Even if I told him, he had a new toy to play with. He would not care. I fumbled around in the dark, my brain fuzzy from the pain. I realized my prescription painkillers were empty. I kept a backup bottle in the kitchen medical kit. I used the wall to pull myself up and stumbled blindly out of the room. In the past, I would have locked my door and suffered in absolute silence until dawn. I was always terrified that making a sound would wake him up and expose my secret. But the disgusting noises coming from the master bedroom were a brutal reminder. He was at the peak of his pleasure right now. He was not going to notice a ghost haunting the kitchen. I poured a glass of water from the pitcher. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely open the pill bottle. A sharp spike of agony shot through my spine, making me lose my grip. White pills scattered all over the marble counter. Two of them bounced and fell directly into the open water pitcher. I was too blind with pain to notice. Just as I raised the glass to my lips to swallow my dose, a tiny voice echoed from the hallway. “Mom? What are you eating?” My heart stopped. I frantically swept the loose pills off the counter, swallowed my dose dry, and fought through the blinding pain to go coax Noah back to sleep. It took forever to get him to close his eyes. But just as I stood up to leave his room, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence of the mansion. Phill was screaming for the private family doctor. Inside the master bedroom, the sheets beneath Sierra were stained with a terrifying, blinding red. Phill was completely losing his mind, babbling to the medical staff. “She is pregnant! We didn’t even do anything rough! How is this happening?!” “She just went to the kitchen for a glass of water! She came back and said her stomach was cramping!” A heavy, suffocating dread clamped down on my chest. Before I could even open my mouth, Noah ran into the room and pointed a furious finger at me. “I saw her! Mom put medicine in the water pitcher! Mom poisoned Miss Sierra!” “Mom is a monster! She should go die instead of Miss Sierra’s baby!” Phill’s head snapped toward me. His eyes turned completely feral. He did not give me a single second to explain. He lunged forward, grabbed my hair, and violently threw me onto the floor of the hallway. “It was you! You hate Sierra so much you poisoned her to kill my baby! You are an absolute psychopath!” “If anything happens to her child, I swear to God I will make you pay with your life!” I collapsed against the cold hardwood floor, my face drained of all color. A loud ringing noise deafened my ears. I wanted to explain. I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry I could not produce a single syllable. And what was the point of explaining? I was taking pills for a phantom pain I had hidden for five years. The pills accidentally fell into the water. Sierra accidentally drank it. Would he believe a single word of that? No. He would never believe me. When the doctor quietly announced that the pregnancy was lost, Phill’s eyes went dead and terrifyingly dark. He dragged me into the bedroom, grabbed a silk tie, and brutally bound my wrists to the heavy wooden bedpost. The sound of my shirt tearing echoed like a gunshot in my brain. “You love killing babies so much? Then you are going to give Sierra a new one to replace it!” I shook my head frantically, staring at him in absolute, mind breaking horror. “No! Phill, you can’t do this to me! You know I have…” He laughed. It was the cruelest sound I had ever heard. “Have what? Trauma? PTSD? Do you honestly think I still believe a single word that comes out of your lying mouth?” “You played the innocent, broken girl for decades, but your true, venomous nature finally slipped out!” “Your trauma is a pathetic lie! I bet you absolutely loved it when those street trash put their hands all over you!” “Let me tell you a little secret, Hazel. Those thugs? They worked for me. Everything they did to you… I gave them the green light!” The blood in my veins completely froze. I stared at the man standing above me. The man I had wanted to spend eternity with. A bottomless wave of absurdity and pitch black despair swallowed my soul. Every single moment of warmth, every gentle touch from the past twenty years, dissolved into ash. It was all a lie. Every single ounce of suffering I had endured in my life was orchestrated by him. I was so incredibly pathetic. I thought I had reached up into the dark sky and caught the moon. I did not realize I was just holding onto a handful of toxic, burning rot. For twenty years, I had never actually escaped that dark alleyway. In that split second, the final thread holding my sanity together violently snapped. Ignoring the sickening crack of my wrist bone dislocating, I twisted my hand free and grabbed the small, sharp metal letter opener I kept under the bedside table. The blade that would usually bring me pain was now my only ticket to salvation. Looking straight into Phill’s suddenly terrified, widening eyes. I did not hesitate for a fraction of a second. I plunged the cold steel deep into the artery of my wrist, slicing violently upward. “Hazel, no!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “433762”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel