Category: English

When mafia boss Hayden Foster slept with me, he always liked to cover my eyes with black lace, forcing me over and over to say his name, say I loved him, call him “Daddy.” When things got most intense, he would even record the sounds I made in bed. Back then, I truly thought he was madly in love with me. Until the day Serena Allen returned to the country, and I realized with a jolt that her voice was almost identical to mine. Hayden held her in his arms. “I love you. This time, will you say yes and marry me?” So all these years, I had only been a “voice double.” Our marriage was an act. His devotion was a lie. I signed the divorce agreement with my own hand, only to be imprisoned by him in the basement. The bodyguard pinned my shoulders down while he said in the gentlest voice, “Bear with it. You’re still mine. Don’t upset Serena.” But they forgot. I was a doctor. And doctors knew how to wield scalpels, too. Since he wanted to use me as a stand-in, I would cut this performance off with my own hands. Chapter One Chloe Quinn POV In the second year after our marriage, all of New York high society was still talking about how Hayden Foster had gone against his family for three years just to pursue me. They said his mafia father had even beaten him until three of his ribs broke before finally allowing him to marry me. And I loved him deeply, too. It was just that Hayden Foster had one strange kink. Every time we made love, he liked taking me from behind and covering my face with a black lace ribbon, liked making me say his name again and again while he moved against me, making me say I loved him, making me call him Daddy. Only when my voice had gone completely hoarse would he finally let me go. When things got most intense, he would even record my moans. Back then, I truly thought he was madly in love with me. But on the very day I found out I was pregnant, the news of Hayden Foster’s ex-girlfriend Serena Allen returning to the country hit the trending charts. In the video, they brushed past each other in the airport lobby, then both turned back and gazed at each other from a distance. The comments beneath the video were almost entirely full of praise. [Now this is true love.] [Serena Allen really is prettier than any Hollywood star!] [She’s an internationally renowned singer. Her voice is simply heavenly!] [If she hadn’t gotten a terminal illness and broken up with him on her own, Chloe Quinn never would have had the chance to marry Hayden Foster!] At first, I told myself not to care about those rumors online. Until I saw one comment, and my whole body froze in place. [All of New York knows Hayden Foster is different from other mafia bosses. He has very high standards when it comes to a woman’s voice.] [Back then, he liked Ms. Allen not only because of her looks, but also because of her voice. I heard his current wife’s voice was almost exactly the same as Ms. Allen’s.] My mind exploded with a roar. No wonder every time we made love, he covered my face and turned off all the lights. He said that only then could he focus more on listening to my voice. No wonder he recorded our dirty talk and played it on repeat in his office. I had never overthought it. I had even believed it was an intimate ritual that belonged only to us. With trembling hands, I opened my phone and pulled up the audio clips I had once recorded for him. Every audio clip corresponded to a page of unsigned lyrics. Hayden Foster always said there was a musician he was working with who wanted to hear how different vocal tones would interpret the songs, so he asked me to help record some demos. I had never doubted him. Until today, when I opened one set of lyrics and, as if possessed, searched it online. I found that every single song was performed by Serena Allen. Tears fell drop by drop onto the screen, and my chest turned ice-cold. I rushed to the private club Hayden Foster often visited. The bodyguards at the entrance recognized me and did not stop me. But just as I reached the door of the private room, through the half-closed door, I heard a burst of laughter inside. “Hayden, Serena has recovered and come back now. You still haven’t divorced? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for that stand-in.” Hayden Foster leaned against the sofa, a cigar between his fingers, his tone indifferent. “You’re overthinking it. I married her only to resolve Serena’s obsession. It was just an act to let Serena go get treatment with peace of mind.” I froze outside the door, my legs going weak. The people in the private room were still laughing. “Serena was just afraid she wouldn’t make it off the operating table and that you’d be all alone. It just so happened that woman had donated blood to her before, so Serena made a fuss and told you to pursue her.” Someone else joined in, egging him on. “You’re a mafia boss, living under gunfire every day. Having a doctor wife is pretty convenient.” “But her body really is amazing. How about you trick her into a fake divorce, and when she’s devastated, I’ll go after her? Of course, if you can’t bear to let her go, forget it.” After a brief silence, his voice came again, familiar yet strange. “She’s been with me for so many years, after all. If you’re serious, then go after her. If you’re just playing around, forget it. Otherwise, if this gets to Serena, she’ll blame me.” Stand-in? It felt as if someone had struck my head hard. I staggered back, unable to listen anymore. So the happiness I believed in had been nothing but a performance from beginning to end. The only one who had fallen too deep into the act was me. He had once broken with his family for me, even given up his position as heir. He had also left his family for me and lived in a tiny rented apartment for three years. A man who never cooked had made breakfast for me for five years. But all of that had actually been an act! How ridiculous. After I got home, I rushed into the bathroom and soaked in the tub, trying to calm myself down. I told myself maybe they had just drunk too much. When men got together, didn’t they just love to brag? But that night, he sent only one message: [I have to handle family business tonight. Go to bed early.] I sat on the sofa for the entire night. It was almost dawn when he finally came home. He looked completely relaxed. When he saw me, he smiled and said, “Could my lazy honey not sleep without me here? Look, I bought your favorite egg tarts.” I did not move or speak. He seemed not to notice at all and casually took out a document to hand to me. “Chloe, my position is dangerous, and the family’s companies are under FBI investigation. I don’t want you to get dragged into this. Why don’t we get divorced for now, then remarry after the investigation is over?” I looked at him quietly and smelled the strong scent of roses on his body. I never used rose-scented perfume. It really must have been hard for him. After spending the night with another woman, he could still come up with such an absurd excuse to trick me into a divorce. Chapter Two Chloe Quinn POV I smiled and, with absolute calm, took the divorce agreement and signed my name. Hayden Foster pulled the signed paper away and comforted me. “One month from now, after we get the divorce papers, we’ll go get a new marriage certificate.” I stared at him, trying to find some trace of lying in those eyes. But those eyes were filled so perfectly with tenderness and love. My ice-cold heart actually warmed a little. Clinging to that last bit of expectation I should never have had, I gripped his hand and said softly, “If it’s such a hassle, maybe we shouldn’t get divorced for now?” An unnatural flicker passed through his eyes, then was quickly disguised as calm. “It’s no hassle. Everything I’m doing is to protect you.” As he spoke, he naturally pulled me into his arms, his palm stroking my back again and again. “Silly girl, trust me, okay? I really do love you. Be good. Don’t overthink all the time.” In that instant, I almost truly believed him. But as I smelled the unfamiliar rose fragrance on his collar, my stomach churned. He lowered his head and kissed my lips. At first it was a gentle test, but gradually, his breathing grew heavy. I turned my face away on instinct and pushed at his chest. “I don’t feel like it tonight.” His movements paused for a moment, and a trace of impatience flashed through his eyes. The next second, he grabbed my wrist and forcefully pinned me against the wall with my back to him. “Be good. Say my name.” I bit my lip and said nothing. His movements became rougher. “Chloe, say you love me.” I closed my eyes, my voice trembling. “Not enough. Louder.” At that moment, all my resistance seemed pale and powerless. I closed my eyes and let the tears slide down. So those moments of intimacy I had believed belonged only to us were nothing but proof that he loved another woman. Just then, the phone he had placed on the bedside table suddenly rang. He glanced at the screen, immediately let go of me, and got up to put on his clothes. “There’s something going on with the organization. I need to go over.” I lowered my head, my voice hoarse. “Okay. Go.” One month later, our paths would split for good. We would have nothing to do with each other anymore. “Good girl.” He let out a low laugh. Like rewarding an obedient pet, he casually brought the egg tart he had bought to my lips, then turned and went into the bathroom. Out of reflex, I took a bite. The rich taste of cheese exploded in my mouth instantly. I froze, then hurriedly spat it out. How could he not remember I was allergic to cheese? When we had just started dating, I accidentally ate cheese and was sent to the ER. When I woke up, the doctor had even half-joked, “Comfort your boyfriend a little. He was crying so hard outside he was a total mess. He almost got down on his knees and begged me to save you.” From then on, every time we went out to eat, Hayden Foster would repeatedly remind the servers: absolutely no cheese in the food. The memory still carried a hint of sweetness, but right now, my hands and feet were already turning red. Patches of rash rose across my skin, itching unbearably. I laughed at myself, picked up the medicine, and was just about to swallow it when I suddenly remembered that I was pregnant. My fingertips trembled, and I slowly put the bottle back down. Just then, the bathroom door opened. “What’s wrong? Where do you feel uncomfortable?” He looked at me with concern. Before I could speak, his phone suddenly rang again. After he answered, the laziness on his face vanished instantly, and his tone went tense. “Protect her. I’m coming right now.” He hurriedly changed his clothes and walked to the door. As if suddenly remembering something, he turned back to look at me. “A friend of mine just returned to the country and ran into a shootout with a rival family. I have to go help him.” Then he reminded me, “Remember to finish breakfast before going to work.” As if nothing had happened, I lowered my sleeve and asked blandly, “What flavor are the egg tarts?” “Cheese. They’re really popular lately. I waited in line for ages.” There was a trace of impatience in his voice, as if he thought I was asking too many questions. I nodded and said only softly, “Got it. Drive safely.” He gripped his phone, seeming to feel that something was off. But before he could figure it out, the phone rang again. He left without looking back. I watched his departing figure, my fingertips trembling slightly. Then I picked up a mask, left the house, hailed a cab, and followed him. The car stopped outside a remote alley. From a distance, I watched him and followed him to the end. Just then, a fragile figure in red stumbled out from the alley entrance. Behind her, a man holding a knife chased after her. Almost at the same instant, Hayden Foster drew the pistol from his waist. With a bang, the bullet pierced the forehead of the thug following behind her with perfect accuracy. The man did not even let out a grunt before collapsing straight to the ground. Hayden immediately reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, his voice cold. “I told you, if you take risks like this again, I’ll lock you up.” That woman, Serena Allen, stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I just haven’t been back in the country for too long and wanted to go out for some fun. Besides, I have you. I’m not afraid of bad guys.” I watched him push her into the car and lock the door. Then he cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard. The kiss was rough and hungry. Tiny movements spread through the car again and again, making my vision swim. Only after a long while did the movement inside the car slowly quiet down. Afterward, she escaped the car shyly, and he chased after her, his eyes full of indulgent affection. I braced myself against the wall, feeling utterly sick. I stood there blankly for a long time, until my fingers turned cold. I took off the silver ring, yanked it off hard, and tossed it into the filthy gutter. Then I turned and strode away. Chapter Three Chloe Quinn POV That afternoon, I started running a fever. Half-awake and half-asleep, my mind was filled with a hazy ache. In my dream, I saw Hayden Foster go alone to the dock to unload cargo. He had once been the heir of a mafia family, yet workers ordered him around, leaving him covered in grime. But he did not seem to care at all. He used the wages he earned to buy a silver ring, then came specifically to see me. Before coming to me, he had even showered and changed into clean clothes. “Chloe Quinn, I have no money and no power right now. I’m not asking you to accept me. But can you just not date anyone else for now? Three years. I only need three years.” Without hesitation, I put on the ring. “Hayden Foster, I’m willing to work hard with you to win your family’s approval. But if one day you get tired, remember to tell me. I’ll leave without looking back.” The dream ended. The high fever made the allergic patches on my body hot and itchy, like thousands of ants crawling over me. Suddenly, a scorching heat spread through my lower body, and I abruptly realized—the baby… On instinct, I called Hayden Foster. The phone rang two or three times before a woman’s voice came from the other end. I knew it was Serena Allen. “Hello? If you need something, say it quickly. I’m filming a public service video right now. I don’t have time to chat with you.” A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and I could not worry about anything else. I hurriedly said, “Please tell Hayden Foster I might be miscarrying. Tell him to come back immediately and take me to the hospital.” The other end of the line went silent for a moment. Soon, her careless voice sounded again. “Your voice sounds just like mine. No wonder Hayden likes it.” “It’s just losing a baby. Is there any need to make such a big scene? No wonder there aren’t enough medical resources. They’re all being wasted by people like you.” I clutched my stomach, wondering if I was hearing things. “You’re a woman too. How can you say something like that? Give the phone to Hayden Foster. I need to talk to him!” On the other end, Serena Allen answered carelessly, “Ms. Quinn, even heaven thinks you don’t deserve to give birth to his child. You should just accept your fate.” Just as she was about to hang up, I heard Hayden Foster’s voice from the other end. Furious and desperate, I shouted, “Hayden Foster!” But Hayden Foster did not respond to me. I only heard the conversation between Hayden Foster and Serena Allen. “Serena, what’s wrong? Is your heart bothering you again?” Hayden Foster asked anxiously. “My heart hurts so much! Hayden, why don’t you go back and check on Chloe Quinn? What if she really is pregnant…” He listened quietly, then reached out and picked up the phone. His voice was calm but barbed. “Chloe Quinn, you’re infertile. How could you possibly be pregnant? Stop acting.” “And from now on, don’t make a fuss over nothing. Serena has a heart condition. If you scare her like this, something could happen to her…” I could not speak. The woman on the other end kept talking, and in the end, he only left me with one sentence. “I’ve been too busy these past two days, so I won’t be coming back for now. Don’t call over a little thing like this.” The phone beeped, and my heart sank lower and lower. I could only call emergency services myself, then ask my best friend to rush to the hospital and help sign the paperwork. After the surgery, I was unconscious for three days and three nights before I woke up. My best friend said that after she got my call, she rushed to the hospital at once, but it was still too late. The doctor said that if the papers had been signed even ten minutes earlier, the baby could have been saved. Then my best friend sat by my bed and cursed that scumbag for a full half hour before she finally calmed down enough to buy food. I took out my phone and opened Instagram. Less than a minute later, I saw the video Hayden Foster had reposted. It was only two minutes long. In it, Serena Allen called for people to care for stray animals and cherish life. Under the video, Hayden Foster left a comment saying he fully supported her public service work. I gently touched my stomach. My heart had long since hurt past the point of numbness, leaving only faint irony behind. At my best friend’s insistence, I rested for another two days before leaving the hospital. When I got home, Hayden Foster still had not returned. I did not care. I went to work and came home as usual. It was not until the weekend night of the second week that he finally came home. When he entered, I was organizing my medical license and work documents. Hayden Foster said sarcastically, “Aren’t you just fine?” Before I could explain, he grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom. A short while later, his phone rang inside the bathroom. Even though he lowered his voice, I still heard his conversation with Serena Allen. “Yeah, don’t worry. She wasn’t pregnant. She was probably just being petty.” “Okay, I’ll do what you say. I’ll stay at home tonight. If I’m not there, don’t kick off your blanket while you sleep!” I let out a soft laugh and pretended I had not heard, busying myself with my own things. We were already divorced. He could think whatever he wanted. Nothing I said to explain myself mattered anymore. The only thing was, since he was staying home tonight, I would have to find an excuse to sleep in a separate room. Otherwise, sharing the same bed would honestly feel revolting. As I was thinking about it, he walked into the bedroom and said to me, “There’s a small issue with Serena Allen’s interview…” I cut him off. “Go check on her.” A flicker of discomfort crossed his face, but in the end, he only said, “I’ll be right back.” That night, he never came back, and I slept without a single dream. Chapter Four Chloe Quinn POV Early the next morning, Hayden Foster unexpectedly rushed back for once and insisted on driving me to work. I found it a little strange, but I didn’t refuse. The car had just turned past an intersection when we saw a small car hit an elderly man, then speed away. Hayden instinctively slammed on the brakes and was about to open the door and get out when I reached out to stop him. “Call emergency services first. I’m a doctor. I’ll go down and start rescue measures.” It was a doctor’s professional reflex. The other party had committed a hit-and-run. I had to make sure evidence was preserved to help this old man. After confirming the dashcam was on, I pushed the door open and got out. I hadn’t even taken two steps when Hayden suddenly called after me. “Serena’s monitoring smartwatch is sending an alert. It might be her heart. I have to go check on her. Wait here for the ambulance.” Lives were at stake on both sides, so I didn’t stop him. I only reminded him to save the video evidence. The old man’s condition was terrible. No matter how I performed CPR, his heartbeat remained weak. After he was sent to the hospital, they immediately issued a critical condition notice. I called the number saved in his phone as “Granddaughter” countless times, but no one answered. By the time the police arrived and asked me to sign off on the special procedure, the old man was already gone. The doctors pushed the body out of the operating room. I stayed where I was, waiting for the follow-up procedures, when a sudden ominous feeling rose in my chest. As if possessed, I logged into the backend on my phone and copied the accident footage. I had just gotten ready to upload it to the cloud when the elevator doors opened with a ding— Serena Allen rushed out. The moment she saw the old man, she threw herself at him and cried as if her heart were being ripped apart. “Grandpa! What happened to you? I’m here! Please get up!” I froze for a few seconds as an absurd thought flashed through my mind—could there really be such a coincidence in this world? But before I could speak, she had already gotten up, charged over to me, and slapped me hard across the face. “Chloe Quinn, it was you, wasn’t it? If you hate me, come after me. What kind of skill is it to take revenge on an old man?” Fire surged in my eyes, but I stayed calm. “I’ve already told the police what happened. If you have questions, you can ask them.” She glared at me, her voice trembling and hysterical. “If it wasn’t you, why didn’t you make the driver come here? If it wasn’t you, why would you be so kind as to bring my grandfather to the hospital?” Her logic was so ridiculous it made me laugh in anger. I was about to take out my phone and show her the evidence when she suddenly lunged at me to snatch it. In the chaos, she used too much force and fell, dragging my phone down with her. The moment Hayden arrived, he happened to see Serena and me on the ground. Without the slightest hesitation, he rushed over and shoved me hard into the wall. “Are you insane?” My spine and the back of my head slammed into the wall almost at the same time. The sharp pain made my vision go black. Before I could recover, Serena had already thrown herself into his arms, crying as if she were falling apart. “Hayden, Grandpa is dead! I don’t have a grandfather anymore! She’s the one who hit him and killed him… Make her kneel in front of Grandpa and apologize to him!” I looked at him. I watched him fall silent. I watched the hesitation in his eyes. My heart went cold, inch by inch. I suddenly remembered the year I had just graduated and become a doctor. A patient’s family was unhappy with my treatment plan, so they cornered me in an alley and forced me to kneel and slap myself. It was him. He charged in with his bare hands and fought those people until his whole body was covered in blood. He forced himself to walk over to me and said coldly to that group of people— “This idiot flipped through a pathology textbook thousands of times just to become a good doctor. She can recite all fifty-six thousand six hundred eighty-one words backward. You think you can shatter her dream with filthy methods? Keep dreaming.” In that moment, he was the brightest light in my world. But now, that beam of light stood before me, cold as ice. “Chloe,” he said, “kneel and say goodbye to Grandpa. Let the old man leave in peace.” Serena lay in his arms, lifted her head to look at me, and revealed a provocative smile. “Not say goodbye. Apologize.” I closed my eyes and let out a cold laugh. “Whether I did anything wrong, the police will tell you. But Serena Allen, you’re crying so miserably. Are you afraid your grandfather’s ghost will come looking for you tonight and ask why you didn’t answer his—” Before I could finish, a slap landed hard across my face. “Enough. Stop provoking her.” After that, Hayden ordered the bodyguards to drag me to the hospital bed and kick me in the knees. With a bang, I dropped to my knees. A tearing pain shot through my knees. I stared at him, my voice hoarse. “Hayden Foster, you clearly saw the real culprit.” He froze for a moment, and a trace of guilt flashed through his eyes. Then he bent down and whispered into my ear, “Serena is weak. Grandpa’s death is too much of a blow to her. If she doesn’t vent, she’ll get sick. You’re just a little doctor. It doesn’t matter if you spend a few days in prison. When you come out, I’ll compensate you.” I could hardly believe my ears. Rage instantly burned to its peak. I shoved him away. “On what grounds? I’m not the one who hit him! Are you going to believe whatever she says? Are you really going to ignore the truth and send me to prison? Hayden Foster, how can you say that so easily—” Before I could finish, he pressed me back down to the floor. The bodyguards tore open my suit jacket, tied my hands behind my back, and stuffed some random cloth into my mouth. Hayden bent down, looked at me, and smiled with a tenderness that was cruel. “Be good. You’re just a useless doctor.” But back then, I became a doctor for him. He was a mafia boss. He was often injured, and it wasn’t convenient for him to go to the hospital, so I treated his wounds at home. Back then, he held me and said, “Baby, you’re the greatest doctor in the world.” Now, for his mistress, he called me useless. After saying that, he turned and walked to Serena’s side. She sobbed into the camera, crying out “hit-and-run” and “murderer” over and over. The crowd gathered, whispering and pointing. “How shameless. She killed someone and she’s still this cold-blooded.” “She’s dressed all proper. Probably a mistress.” People pointed at me and cursed me, but I couldn’t say a single word. Serena kept stirring up their emotions. Beside us, a family member of a drunk-driving victim completely broke down, rushed over, and started punching and kicking me. Fists slammed into my face and body. My bones made cracking sounds. I wanted to protect my head, but my hands were tied. All I could do was curl up and let the blows fall on me. Through the crowd, I vaguely saw Hayden’s face. Those eyes that had once made me feel safe now held nothing but indifference. Serena pulled him away to “settle Grandpa Allen’s body.” I slowly closed my eyes. Those fists and kicks shattered the few memories I had left, bit by bit. The man who would become flustered with just one look from me. The man who couldn’t handle spicy food but was willing to eat Mexican food with me. The man who sat on a train for more than ten hours just to bring me breakfast. All of it was ripped from my mind by force. The pain was so intense I couldn’t catch my breath, and I passed out completely. Hayden Foster, so even your care has an expiration date. Falling in love with you really hurts.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441104”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the day of our divorce, my ex-husband pointed aggressively at me and my daughter, his face contorted with rage. “Take your little jinx of a daughter and get the hell out of my life! As long as she’s around, the Miller family will never have a single day of peace!” All because my daughter had pointed at his beloved sedan earlier that day and whispered one word: “Boom.” Right after he hit the road, his tire blew out. The car veered off course, crashing headfirst into the guardrail. Although he wasn’t seriously hurt, the sheer terror of the crash left him completely impotent. He was absolutely convinced that our daughter had cursed him. Without a single word of protest, I signed the divorce papers, took my daughter, and walked away with absolutely nothing to my name. On New Year’s Day, I took my daughter with me to a local café for a blind date. My daughter pointed at the first man, an Ivy League elite, and whispered: “Abuse.” I politely declined him. Later, I heard he was arrested for domestic violence that left his ex-wife permanently disabled. My daughter pointed at the second man, a crypto trust-fund playboy, and whispered: “Bust.” I turned around and walked out immediately. Within a week, he was busted in a massive drug raid. It wasn’t until we met a rugged veteran driving a beat-up old Jeep that my daughter smiled for the very first time. She pointed at him and whispered: “Gold.” When my ex-husband’s family heard I was dating a broke loser, they threw a party with firecrackers to celebrate my misery. But what they didn’t know was that Carter’s tire had blown out because his cheap mother, Helen, had swapped his tires with expired, recalled ones at a shady junkyard just to “save her son some money.” And the “broke loser” my daughter had chosen for me? He was about to inherit a multi-billion-dollar empire.

Helen Miller stood by the iron gates of her mansion, holding a massive strip of firecrackers, her face wrinkled with a nasty, mocking grin. She flicked her lighter and spat on the ground right in front of me and Mason Cole, who was gently holding my daughter. “Good riddance, you trashy leech! Today is New Year’s Day. Blasting you two freeloaders away will bring fortune and blessings back to my son!” The firecrackers exploded with deafening bangs. Red paper debris rained down, some landing in my daughter Lily’s hair. I quickly covered Lily’s ears, my fingers tightening around the hot, freshly stamped divorce certificate in my hand. Mason’s mud-splattered Jeep sat idling by the curb, its hood vibrating in sync with the explosions. The neighbors gathered around, pointing and whispering behind their hands. “Look at that guy’s car. It’s dirtier than a garbage truck. Avery must be truly desperate.” “The Miller family is worth billions. Now that she’s divorced Carter, she’ll probably end up begging on the streets with that baggage of a kid.” Carter’s luxury sports car pulled up, the window rolling down halfway. He held a thick cigar, blowing a cloud of suffocating smoke directly into my face, making Lily cough violently. “Avery, a trash collector’s ride is exactly what you deserve. Just do me a favor and beg in another city. Don’t embarrass the Miller name.” Lily stared quietly at the shiny, spinning rims of Carter’s car. She reached out her tiny hand, pointing directly at his brand-new front tire. “Pop.” Carter’s face darkened instantly. He threw his cigar butt right at our feet. “You little brat, you dare curse me again? Mom! Go buy more firecrackers! I need to blast this evil energy away!” He slammed on the gas. The engine roared, and the sports car shot forward like a bullet. Helen was just about to run and buy more firecrackers, cursing us under her breath. But the moment Carter’s car crossed the intersection, his front-left wheel suddenly detached. It went rolling wildly into the bushes. The car lost balance. The chassis slammed against the asphalt, sending sparks flying everywhere before the vehicle screeched to a halt, black smoke billowing from under the hood. The crowd went dead silent, followed by a wave of gasps. The lighter slipped from Helen’s hand, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull. Lily turned around, reaching into the backseat of the Jeep, and flashed a sweet smile at the rugged, bearded man. “Gold.” Mason’s hand froze on the steering wheel. He looked down at Lily, a rare warmth softening his stern eyes. He fumbled around and pulled out a warm, foil-wrapped pulled pork slider. “Eat up while it’s hot. Double meat, no cilantro, just the way you like it. I saved it especially for you.” Lily took a big bite, sweet BBQ sauce smudging the corner of her mouth. Carter dragged himself out of the smoking wreck, his forehead bleeding. He pointed a shaking finger at us and screamed. “Avery! It’s you! You made your freaky daughter do this! I’m going to ruin you!” I pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, not giving him a single glance. Mason got in, shifted gears, and stepped on the gas with practiced ease. As we started to pull away, someone threw an empty soda can at our windshield. The Jeep hit a bump at that exact second. The can missed our roof entirely, bouncing back and hitting Helen squarely on her forehead. “Ow! What idiot threw that! My head! I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding!” In the rearview mirror, Helen was rolling on the grass clutching her head, while Carter screamed in useless, impotent rage. Mason kept his eyes on the road, his grip firm on the steering wheel. His voice was deep and steady. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, nobody will ever lay a finger on you or Lily again.”

Mason parked the Jeep outside a run-down apartment building in the shady part of town. The hallway lights were completely broken. Up on the third floor, the keyhole of our apartment door had been maliciously filled with superglue. Lily tugged at my jeans, pointing at the lock. “Broken.” I was just about to call a locksmith when Mason stepped forward. With a single, powerful kick—*BANG*—the heavy door flew open, dust raining down from the frame. The apartment was stripped bare. Dirty footprints covered the hardwood floor. Every piece of furniture the Millers had bought was gone. My and Lily’s old clothes had been shredded into pieces, thrown on the floor, and trampled into the black mud. Lily ran to the corner of the room, pulling a dirty ceramic bowl out from under a pile of trash. “Treasure.” My eyes welled with tears. I was about to tell her to throw the dirty thing away. But Mason took the bowl from her, shining his tactical flashlight on the bottom of it. “This is a genuine Ming Dynasty blue-and-white ceramic bowl. It has a tiny chip, but to the right collector, this is easily worth fifty grand.” He held up five fingers with a quiet grin. Suddenly, the sharp clacking of high heels echoed from the stairwell. Carter walked in with Tiffany Vance clinging to his arm. A large white bandage was plastered over his forehead. Tiffany pinched her nose in disgust, using her expensive stiletto to kick aside the shredded fabric on the floor. “Babe, is this the dog kennel your ex-wife lives in? I can’t even find a clean spot to step. How pathetic.” Carter threw a property deed relinquishment form right at my face. “Sign it. The down payment for this crappy apartment came from my family. You walked out of the divorce with nothing. You have no right to stay here.” I stared at the paper, my hands shaking with pure anger. Tiffany lunged forward to grab my keys, her long acrylic nails almost scratching Lily’s eye. “What are you looking at, you little orphan? And you, you washed-up housewife, get the hell out of here!” Lily stared directly at the bridge of Tiffany’s nose, pointing her tiny finger. “Fake.” Tiffany shrieked, instantly lunging forward to claw at Lily’s face. “You brat! Who are you calling fake? My face is one hundred percent natural!” Mason stepped in front of us, grabbing Tiffany’s wrist in a iron grip. Tiffany writhed, trying to scratch Mason’s face with her free hand. “Let go of me! You broke gigolo! Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have my guys gouge your eyes out!” Lily peeked out from behind Mason’s leg. “Nose. Fake.” Mason suddenly let go. Unable to stop her own momentum, Tiffany stumbled forward and smashed her face hard against the wooden doorframe. Tiffany clutched her nose, screaming in agony as blood poured through her fingers. When she looked up, the bridge of her nose was completely bent to the left. The silicone implant was visibly pushing against her skin. Her entire face looked monstrously deformed. Terrified, Carter stumbled backward, grabbing the hysterical Tiffany and running down the stairs. The next day, I sold the Ming bowl for fifty thousand dollars and immediately enrolled Lily in the best private preschool in the city. However, the principal called me hours later to cancel her enrollment. Carter was pulling strings behind the scenes to blacklist us. I spent days applying for jobs, but every door was slammed in my face. Finally, Mason took me to a small, hidden security firm he ran. Inside, a few burly men were gathered around a computer screen, watching the stock market. The screen was a sea of red. A bald, muscular guy was slamming his fist on the desk, cursing. Lily, holding her baby bottle, walked over to the monitor. She tapped on the stock ticker that was plummeting the fastest. “Moon.” The bald guy looked at Mason, who was quietly polishing his combat boots. Mason didn’t even look up. “Go all in. If we lose, it’s on me. If we win, buy the kid some candy.” The guys gritted their teeth and poured all their capital into the stock. Ten minutes later, the stock line shot straight up, hitting the daily limit. The office erupted into wild cheers. The tough-looking guards hugged each other, laughing like kids. Just then, a gold-embossed envelope was slipped under the front door. It was an invitation to Carter and Tiffany’s engagement party. They had sent it to me on purpose. My grip tightened around the heavy paper. Lily picked up a black marker and drew a messy black cloud right over Carter’s name. “Doom.” Mason stood up, putting on his polished boots and a well-fitted, charcoal-grey suit. “We’re going. Why wouldn’t we? If someone begs for a slap in the face, it’s only polite to deliver.” The engagement party was held at a five-star hotel. The parking lot was packed with multi-million-dollar supercars. Helen Miller, holding a glass of expensive red wine, swaggered toward me the moment we walked in. “Well, well. If it isn’t the cursed leech we threw out. How did you even get in wearing such cheap rags?”

With a nasty flick of her wrist, she splashed her red wine right at me. Mason reacted instantly. He stripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me, taking the wet splash entirely on his back. On the grand stage, Carter stood proudly, his arm wrapped around Tiffany, who was gently stroking her flat stomach. “Ladies and gentlemen, today is not just our engagement. I have another incredible piece of news to share.” “Tiffany is pregnant with the Miller heir! We’ve already done the ultrasound—it’s a boy!” The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Carter looked down at me with a smirk. “Unlike some useless women who can’t even produce a proper heir and treat a useless girl like a treasure.” Lily, sitting comfortably on Mason’s strong arm, pointed at Tiffany’s stomach. “Empty.” Carter’s face turned the color of raw liver. He slammed the microphone onto the stage. The screeching feedback silenced the entire ballroom. He stormed down the stage, raising his hand to slap Lily. “You little brat! I’m going to tear your mouth apart today!” His hand was caught mid-air. Holding Lily securely with one arm, Mason gripped Carter’s wrist with his other hand. With a sickening *crack*, Carter screamed and fell to his knees. Tiffany screamed, rushing forward in her gown. “Security! Where the hell is security! Beat these bums to death! I’ll take the blame!” Suddenly, the massive crystal chandelier overhead made a strange creaking noise. Lily tugged at Mason’s collar, pointing backward. “Back.” Mason took a massive step back, pulling me with him. The next second, the giant chandelier came crashing down. Glass shattered and flew everywhere. A sharp piece of crystal sliced right through the front of Tiffany’s dress. To everyone’s shock, a white foam pillow rolled out from her skirt. The room fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared at the wine-stained pillow on the floor. Carter forgot about his broken wrist, his face turning pale. The guests began to whisper, mock laughter spreading through the room. “So the pregnancy was fake? He was just bragging about a baby boy. This is hilarious.” “The Millers have completely embarrassed themselves. This isn’t an engagement, it’s a circus.” Carter kicked the foam pillow away, turning on Tiffany with roaring fury. “You lying bitch! You tricked me! You said you were carrying my baby! What the hell is this!” Tiffany pointed a trembling finger at us, trying to shift the blame. “Carter! It’s them! They brought their curse into this room! They ruined our luck!” “The moment that brat said ‘Empty,’ my stomach started hurting! She’s using black magic!” Carter’s bloodshot eyes locked onto us, his face twisted with pure hatred. “Yes! It’s you! You little jinx! Ever since you were born, my life has been hell!” “Security! Break that brat’s legs! I’ll make sure she never walks again!” Dozens of security guards carrying batons surrounded us. Holding his broken wrist, Carter barked orders frantically. “Beat them! I’ll pay for whatever happens! They are not leaving this building alive!” Mason shielded me behind him, adjusting his hold on Lily. “Close your eyes, Avery. Cover Lily’s eyes too. Don’t worry. Count to ten, and I’ll take you home.” I closed my eyes, and the sound of heavy thuds, groans, and bones snapping filled the air. “One, two, three…” When I opened my eyes at ten, the floor was covered with groaning security guards. Mason calmly patted the dust off his sleeves and held Lily close. Suddenly, a group of police officers burst into the hall. Carter’s expression changed instantly to one of victimhood. “Officer! Right here! This thug just assaulted my security team and ruined my party!” The lead officer frowned and pulled out handcuffs. Carter whispered something into the officer’s ear, and the officer’s expression hardened. “I’ve already had the security footage deleted,” Carter whispered to us with a smug grin. “No one can prove it was self-defense. Walk.” Just then, Mr. Sterling, the most powerful real estate tycoon in the state, walked into the lobby. Carter immediately rushed over to him. “Mr. Sterling! You’re just in time! These lowlifes are causing trouble on your property! They even beat up my guards!” Mr. Sterling walked right past Carter and bowed slightly to Mason. “I was just in the security room and happened to retrieve the backup hard drive,” Mr. Sterling said calmly, handing the drive to the police officer. “I wanted to see who dared to start trouble on my property.” “This video shows everything very clearly. Mr. Miller initiated the assault and ordered his men to break a child’s legs.” Carter’s smug smile froze. The police immediately shut down the venue. As we walked out of the hotel, we saw Carter crouching by the curb, answering a phone call. His face was ghostly pale. Lily looked back at Carter’s green silk tie. She pointed at the back of his head, then pointed at Tiffany, who was whispering to another man in the shadow of the parking lot. “Cheat.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441097”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My neighbor just had a baby, and her husband died shortly after. She always had watery, reddish eyes. She would sit at her doorstep holding her baby, complaining that her pipes were broken and that she was completely soaked. All the married men in the building would go into her apartment to help her for free. If any of their wives complained even a little, the men would scowl. “She lost her husband at such a young age. What’s wrong with helping her? Can’t you show some compassion?” With this exact trick, she managed to get three neighboring couples divorced. Last month, Ethan and I moved in. On our very first night, she knocked on our door. Wearing a loose robe, with red, teary eyes, she looked at my husband, looking absolutely pitiful. “Mr. Vance, the baby won’t stop crying, and my breast milk is severely clogged. It hurts so bad… can you please help me look at it?” Ethan didn’t say a word. He just turned to look at me. I stood up from the couch, picked up my professional lactation massage kit, and walked over with a sweet smile. “A clogged duct?” “What a coincidence. I happen to be a certified lactation consultant, and I absolutely love cleaning out ‘clogged’ trash.” 1 I slipped on my slippers, walked right past Ethan, and stood in front of Chloe Sterling. The motion-sensor light in the hallway was on, clearly illuminating her silk slip nightgown. The fabric was incredibly thin, and the neckline dipped extremely low. As a draft blew through the hallway, she intentionally shivered, leaning weakly against the doorframe. “Mrs. Vance, you’re still awake too.” She managed to squeeze out a weak smile, but her eyes kept drifting past my shoulder, staring straight at Ethan. “Actually, I was just about to sleep, but you woke me up.” I shook the lactation kit in my hand, making a crisp clinking sound. “Let’s go. Didn’t you need help with a clogged duct? Lead the way.” Chloe clearly didn’t expect me to step in myself. She froze, awkwardly crossing her hands over her chest. “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you, Mrs. Vance. This kind of thing is pretty awkward, and it might make another woman uncomfortable. Mr. Vance is strong and quick, he can probably get it resolved in no time…” “You think it’s appropriate for a man to massage your breasts?!” I pushed her apartment door wide open and walked straight inside without hesitation. “It’s much better for a woman like me to handle it.” Chloe’s apartment layout was identical to ours, but the interior style was completely different. The living room was filled with a strong, cloying perfume. A few pieces of lace lingerie were scattered on the couch, and two wine glasses sat on the coffee table. This didn’t look like the home of a struggling single mother who just had a baby. It looked like a love motel ready to welcome guests at any moment. “Where are we doing this?” I turned and asked her. Chloe dragged her feet as she walked in, pointing toward the bedroom. Her voice was barely a whisper. “It was hurting so badly just now, but I don’t know what happened… it feels a bit better now…” I walked up to her and zipped open my kit. My professional massage hands went to work immediately. I prepped the tools for a solid thirty seconds, letting the scent of the essential oil fill the air. “Mrs. Vance, your hands are too heavy. My son is sleeping in the bedroom.” Chloe covered her chest, took two steps back, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. “Just being thorough,” I said, putting my kit heavily back on the coffee table. I turned to look at her. “Otherwise, if it gets clogged again in the middle of the night, you’ll have to go knocking on someone else’s door.” Chloe’s expression shifted. She took a deep breath, putting on that tragic, helpless face again. “Mrs. Vance, is there some kind of misunderstanding between us? I really couldn’t handle it myself. It’s the middle of the night, and I don’t have a man to rely on…” “If you don’t have a man, you can hire a cleaning service, call the building manager, or call 911 if it’s a real emergency.” I cut her off, my eyes falling on the high-heeled, furry slippers on her feet. “But Chloe, it’s past 11 PM. Knocking on a married neighbor’s door in that outfit while holding a baby… that’s not a very good habit.” “You—” Before she could argue, I walked right past her toward the front door. Halfway there, I stopped, pointing at a pair of size 10 men’s leather shoes sitting by her shoe rack. “You bought the wrong size,” I said without turning back. “Ethan wears a size 9. If you’ve got your eyes on my husband, you should at least get his shoe size right.” The moment I slammed her door shut, I could clearly hear the sharp sound of her high-heeled slippers violently stomping the floor inside. When I got back home, Ethan was sitting on the couch researching some documents. Seeing me walk in, he immediately handed me a glass of warm water. “Handled?” he asked. “Just a homewrecking bitch trying her luck,” I said, taking a sip. “Watch your step when you leave for work. Don’t let her get close to you.” Ethan sneered, sliding his tablet over to me. “No need to wait for later. She’s already starting her drama right now.” I looked down. It was the neighborhood’s Snapchat group. Just a minute ago, Chloe had posted a message. 02 The message in the Snapchat group was dripping with victimhood. “Thank you to the new neighbor, Mrs. Vance, for coming over in the middle of the night to help me. Even though her massage was a bit too rough and my chest is still hurting, I’m really grateful. I think Mrs. Vance might have misunderstood me, though. She said some really hurtful things… It’s just so hard raising a baby alone. If I wasn’t desperate, I would never bother anyone. I’m so sorry for disturbing everyone’s rest.” Less than thirty seconds after she posted this, those lurking married men in the neighborhood jumped out like sharks smelling blood. Apartment 302, Marcus: “Chloe, don’t take it to heart. Young people these days are just hot-headed and lack empathy.” Apartment 501, Brad: “Exactly. We’re all neighbors. What’s wrong with helping out? She’s a single mother in pain. How could someone say such nasty things just because she knocked on a door?” Apartment 604, Kevin: “Chloe, next time you need help, just shout in the group. We’ll come over. You don’t need to take attitude from certain people.” Looking at this row of “righteous” comments, I was practically laughing from anger. They were basically calling me cold-hearted to my face. Ethan grabbed his phone, his fingers flying across the screen, ready to fire back. But I pressed my hand over his. “Don’t waste your breath.” “Arguing in the group chat is exactly what she wants. It’ll only make her look more like the ‘victim.’ Just wait. Tomorrow, I’ll make her dig her own grave.” The next day was the weekend. I got up early, changed into my workout gear, and went downstairs to jog in the community garden. As I approached the gazebo, I saw Chloe sitting on a bench. Today, she had changed into a floral sundress, her long hair draped over her shoulders. She was gently dabbing her eyes with a tissue. A few older women and two middle-aged men were gathered around her, talking heatedly with indignant expressions. I slowed my pace and walked over. “Morning, everyone,” I greeted them with a smile, sitting down in an empty spot nearby. The air instantly went dead silent. The men who had been talking loudly a second ago immediately averted their gaze, pretending to look at the sky and the trees. Chloe shrunk back slightly, acting terrified. “Morning, Mrs. Vance.” “Morning, Chloe.” I wiped my sweat, keeping my tone casual. “Is your chest feeling any better? I actually double-checked, and the technique I used is completely safe for nursing mothers. If it’s still hurting, you might want to see a doctor. It could be mastitis.” Chloe’s expression stiffened. “It’s fine. It felt much better when I woke up this morning. Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Vance.” “Of course,” I nodded, then turned to Marcus from Apartment 302, who had been the loudest critic online. “Marcus, I heard you’re always looking out for Chloe. Since she was in so much pain last night, why didn’t she knock on your door instead?” Marcus’s wife happened to be walking back from grocery shopping nearby. Hearing this, her face instantly darkened. Marcus stammered, “I—I was asleep!” “Oh, I see,” I said, pretending to realize something. “By the way, last night, I noticed a pair of size 10 men’s shoes in Chloe’s entryway. Did you lend them to her, Marcus?” “Well, it makes sense. A single mother needs a pair of men’s shoes by the door to keep intruders away.” The moment I said this, the eyes of several women nearby turned incredibly sharp. Chloe panicked and stood up abruptly. “Mrs. Vance! Watch your mouth! Those shoes belonged to my late husband. I couldn’t bear to throw them away, so I kept them as a keepsake. Is there a problem with that?” “Of course not.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and pulled up a photo. I had taken it on my way into her apartment last night. I zoomed in on the photo and thrust it right in front of her face. “But I heard your husband died in a car accident a year ago? This pair of Ferragamo men’s loafers is from their brand-new fall collection released just last month. And they happen to match the women’s slippers you’re wearing today. Buying both pairs together costs over twelve hundred dollars.” I watched her face turn completely pale as I said, word by word, “Wow, Chloe, you and your late husband must have a love that transcends death. He’s been gone for a year, yet you’re still buying matching couple’s shoes with him?” 03 There was a deathly silence. Everyone’s eyes locked onto my phone screen, and then they all slowly turned to look at Chloe’s feet. Chloe’s face went completely white. She tried to hide her feet, but there was nowhere to tuck them. The identical buckles. Without a doubt, they were matching couple’s shoes. The men who had just been defending Chloe now looked incredibly uncomfortable. In particular, Brad from Apartment 501 subconsciously tucked his feet backward. How convenient. Brad happened to wear a size 10. Brad’s wife, Tiffany, who was notorious for her explosive temper, slammed her grocery bag onto the ground. She pointed right at Brad’s nose and screamed, “Brad! You took twelve hundred dollars out of our joint account last month and said it was for your mother’s medicine! You spent it on shoes for this bitch?!” “Honey, let me explain! I didn’t buy those shoes!” Brad sweated profusely, trying to defend himself. “If you didn’t buy them, why are you hiding your feet? Matching shoes? I didn’t know you had such a romantic streak!” Tiffany didn’t give him a second to breathe. She lunged forward and slapped him across the face. The scene immediately descended into chaos. Chloe was completely caught off guard by this sudden turn of events. She tried to grab Tiffany’s hand. “Tiffany, please don’t misunderstand, it really wasn’t Brad…” “Get away from me! You husband-stealing whore!” Tiffany shoved her hard. Chloe fell onto the grass, clutching her ankle. Her eyes welled up, and fat tears started rolling down her cheeks. Before, this pitiful act would have had men rushing to help her up. But now, under the murderous glares of their own wives, not a single man dared to move. I watched the drama unfold coldly, said nothing more, and turned around to continue my jog. For the next few days, the building was exceptionally quiet. Chloe didn’t post a single thing in the group chat, and the male neighbors went completely silent. Every night, the sound of breaking plates echoed from Brad’s apartment. Marcus’s wife simply packed up, took the kids, and went to stay at her parents’ house out of state, showing no signs of coming back anytime soon. But I knew Chloe wouldn’t just take this lying down. A woman like her, who was used to wrapping men around her finger, couldn’t stand losing her reputation. What she hated most was losing control of the narrative. She was waiting for an opportunity. An opportunity to completely flip the script and crush me. On Wednesday night, Ethan was in the study hosting a video conference, while I was in the living room organizing a PR proposal for a client. Suddenly, a frantic knocking came from the door, accompanied by the crying voice of Chloe’s five-year-old son, Leo. “Ethan! Open the door! My mommy collapsed! Please help her!” I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. In the hallway, Leo was wearing thin pajamas, pounding on our door. Meanwhile, Chloe was lying on the floor a few feet away near the elevator, her face pale and her eyes tightly closed. Under normal circumstances, seeing a five-year-old child crying like this would make anyone open the door immediately. But I didn’t budge. Because I clearly saw that Chloe, who was supposedly unconscious on the floor, was clutching her phone tightly in her right hand—and the screen was still lit. Moreover, the spot she chose to collapse was highly strategic. It perfectly avoided the blind spot of the hallway’s security camera. Most importantly, although Leo was crying, his eyes kept darting back to Chloe, as if waiting for a cue. She was putting on a tragic show, and she was using her own kid to do it. “What’s going on out there?” Ethan heard the noise and came out of the study. I put my index finger to my lips, signaling him to be quiet, and then pointed at the peephole. Ethan took a look, his brows furrowing instantly. He pulled out his phone, preparing to call 91

“Don’t call yet,” I stopped him. “If you call 911 now, by the time the ambulance arrives, everyone in the building will think you ignored a dying neighbor at your doorstep.” “Then what do we do? Just let her lie out there?” Ethan whispered. I smirked, looking at the hidden pinhole camera we had installed right above our peephole. “Since she loves acting so much, let’s give her a bigger stage.” 04 The crying and screaming outside grew louder, and Leo’s voice was getting hoarse. The commotion finally drew out the other residents on our floor. Mrs. Gable, the busybody from across the hall, was the first to open her door. Seeing the scene, she gasped and rushed over to hug Leo. “Oh my god! What a tragedy! Chloe, Chloe, wake up!” Mrs. Gable patted Chloe’s face, then turned to slam her hand against our door, screaming, “Are the people inside dead?! Can’t you hear the child crying?! Get out here and help!” With Mrs. Gable’s screaming, neighbors from upstairs and downstairs started poking their heads out. Soon, a crowd gathered in front of our door. Most of them were nosy seniors, but a few of the male neighbors rushed over too. Looking at our tightly shut door, the crowd grew furious. “What is wrong with the new family? They are so heartless!” “Exactly! It’s one thing for her to be sharp-tongued normally, but this is a life-or-death situation, and they won’t even open the door!” “Ethan! Be a man and get out here! Hiding inside makes you a coward!” Someone in the crowd yelled, and immediately after, our door was kicked hard twice. Under the crowd’s shouting, Chloe finally “woke up.” She leaned weakly against Mrs. Gable, panting heavily, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t… don’t blame Ethan. It’s just my own poor health.” She spoke with a barely audible voice, but her eyes were fixed on our door. “I just heard that Ethan’s mother is a doctor, so I figured Ethan might know first aid. That’s why I had Leo knock. Maybe they aren’t home.” This was textbook manipulation. She managed to explain why she only knocked on our door, gave us an excuse to save face, and painted herself as a sweet, understanding victim. As expected, the crowd’s anger boiled over. “Not home? Bullshit! I was just walking downstairs. Their apartment has the brightest lights in the whole building!” “Break the door down! I want to see how they can look us in the eye!” Several agitated men began looking around for tools, looking ready to smash their way in. Ethan stood beside me, his face grim. He clenched his fists and said coldly, “This is getting out of hand. If they break the door, we’ll look guilty. Let me go out and set them straight.” “If you go out, you fall right into her trap,” I held him back, my eyes cold. Chloe wanted us to open the door. The moment we stepped out, no matter what we said, the angry mob would see it as a heartless excuse. The banging on our door grew louder, and the metal frame groaned under the pressure. Leo’s crying and the neighbors’ cursing woven together like a suffocating net, tightening around our space. “Let’s call the police,” Ethan said, his phone in hand. “No need,” I sneered as I looked at the footage on my phone, watching Chloe’s pale but secretly smug face. I opened my Snapchat, found the chat with the property manager, Manager Carter, and sent him the video captured by our pinhole camera, along with several documents I had spent all of yesterday digging up. “Let them smash it,” I pulled Ethan to sit back down on the couch, calmly pouring two glasses of water. “Just three more minutes. The real climax of this show is about to begin.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441098”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The year my boyfriend was dirt poor, he rejected a billionaire heiress just to stay with me. But I, desperate for a breakthrough in my career, accepted a role in a low-budget erotic thriller. On the day of the shoot, he showed up on set, crying and begging me not to go through with it. He said he would work himself to the bone to make money for us. But I pushed him away and had security throw him out. Later, the movie went viral. I became an overnight sensation, branded as a sexy starlet. And he married that billionaire heiress, climbing straight to the top of the world. Six years later, we met again on a superyacht. I was a washed-up, desperate actress begging for a role. And he was the owner of the yacht. My agent flashed a sycophantic smile and asked him, “Mr. Miller, have you ever seen Luna’s work?” He leaned back against the leather sofa, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Luna’s debut film? I’ve watched it. Frame by frame.” The ocean breeze swept across the deck, messing up my hair. I silently pressed down my hair and looked up at Ethan. Six years. The boyish charm was completely gone. In its place was a mature, powerful, and intimidating man. Every gesture of his screamed absolute authority. Beside me, my agent, Ashley, gasped in pleasant surprise. “Does that mean you’re a fan of our Luna, Mr. Miller?” Ethan set his glass down, his voice chillingly calm. “I only watched it because I was analyzing the film with my wife.” In that movie, I had a three-minute nude scene. Those three minutes had once made him want to die. Years ago, he had knelt on the dirty floor of the set, tugging at my jeans, his voice completely raw: “Baby, please don’t do this… I’ll make money. I’ll work myself to death to make money for us…” Now, he could calmly sit beside his wife, watching those exact scenes frame by frame. Ashley realized what he meant, but she kept the fake smile plastered on her face. “Of course, of course. I heard Chloe reviews every actor’s past work before casting them.” “You’re a busy man, Mr. Miller. If it weren’t for Chloe, you probably wouldn’t even know our Luna!” Before she could finish, Chloe slowly walked down from the yacht’s second deck. “Luna’s performance in her debut was brilliant. I actually studied her scenes four times.” Ethan took her hand, pulling her naturally into his lap. All his coldness vanished in an instant. His voice softened with a smile. “And after watching it, you kept me up for two hours talking about it.” She looked back at him with a playful glare. “Are you saying I talk too much?” “I wouldn’t dare.” Under the table, Ashley pinched my waist hard. I clenched my fists, forcing a smile onto my face. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Chloe.” Before coming here, Ashley had told me that a rising director was preparing a new indie film. The script was top-tier, and the funding was massive. The director had specifically requested to meet me to discuss a role. For someone like me, who hadn’t gotten a decent script in years, this was a lifeline. But I never expected this director to be Ethan’s wife. After a brief conversation, I learned about the project. The movie was called The Captive Heart. It was a romance drama about a wealthy girl and a poor boy overcoming obstacles to be together. Chloe wanted me to play the supporting female lead—the antagonist. While she had plenty of lines, the role was physically brutal. She had underwater scenes, hanging scenes, and endless stunts. After hearing the pitch, I stood up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take this role.” It wasn’t that I was afraid of hard work. I just didn’t want to play a pathetic character under her direction. Ashley kicked my foot violently under the table. Ethan wrapped his arm around Chloe’s waist and spoke in a casual, mocking tone. “You’re already here, Luna. It wouldn’t hurt to hear the offer before you walk out.” He raised his eyes to meet mine. “How much did you make for your debut movie?” Ashley answered for me immediately. “Thirty thousand dollars.” Ethan let out a sharp, mocking chuckle but said nothing. Chloe smiled warmly and spoke up. “We’ll pay you ten times that. Three hundred thousand.” “This movie is a fifth-anniversary wedding gift from my husband.” “He’s funding it, and I’m directing it. He doesn’t care about the budget. He just wants me to be happy.” She leaned against Ethan’s shoulder and smiled at me. “Luna, at this stage in your career, I don’t think anyone else will offer you this kind of money.” Three hundred thousand dollars. Why would they spend that much on a washed-up actress? But I didn’t ask. I was in no position to be picky. Ashley’s fingers dug into my wrist under the table, her nails biting into my flesh. I bit my lip and sat back down. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

After leaving the yacht, Ashley walked beside me, buzzing with excitement. “I heard that yacht is worth tens of millions. It was a birthday gift from Mr. Miller to his wife.” “Did you see the name painted on the stern? CHLOE. It’s her name.” “Mr. Miller is famously devoted to his wife.” I couldn’t help but remember when Ethan and I were together. He was so poor back then. I never had the heart to ask him for gifts. At that time, a popular romance show was airing, and the lipstick the lead actress wore was trending everywhere. It was a fifty-dollar designer lipstick at Sephora. I loved it, but I couldn’t afford it. Once, we passed by the beauty counter, and I dragged him in just to try it on. As we were leaving, I faintly heard the sales clerk whisper, “If you can’t afford it, don’t waste our testers.” In that instant, Ethan’s grip on my hand tightened. A week later, on my birthday, he pulled that exact lipstick out of his pocket and handed it to me. He had worked a brutal twelve-hour shift under the scorching sun at a construction site just to earn the money for it. But while working, his hand had been badly sliced by a rusted steel bar. The wound was deep. A proper clinic visit and stitches would have cost over a hundred dollars. He hid it from me, skipped the clinic, and used his wages to buy the lipstick instead. When I found out, I held his bloody hand and cried my eyes out. “Are you an idiot? I don’t want the lipstick! I don’t even like it!” Ethan had pulled me tightly into his arms and said, “It looks beautiful on you. I just want you to have the best things.” “One day, I’ll give you the world.” That day, I borrowed money from my best friend, Mia. I dragged him to a sketchy, under-the-table clinic to get stitches. To save money, he refused anesthesia. He grit his teeth, sweating profusely from the agonizing pain. But because we had missed the golden window for treatment, his right hand suffered permanent nerve damage. His thumb and index finger could never fully straighten again. Years later, every time I put on that lipstick, I would end up crying until my makeup was ruined. “Chloe is honestly so lucky!” Ashley’s sigh brought me back to reality. She continued, filled with envy, “She actually comes from a wealthy family herself.” “When Mr. Miller was still a nobody, she fought her family to marry him.” “Who would have thought he’d turn out to be a genius? In just a few years, his net worth surpassed her family’s. Even when her family’s business collapsed, she didn’t suffer at all because her husband protects her.” “Look at how he spoils her. Throwing millions at a movie just to let her play director!” “If we had her luck with men, we wouldn’t have to work this hard, would we?” I forced a faint smile but didn’t answer. When I was eighteen, I chose him at first sight. But in the end, I was the one who threw him away. After signing the contract, I spent days studying the script. Three months later, production began. My very first scene was an underwater shoot. We did over thirty takes, but Chloe was still unsatisfied. I was shivering in the freezing water while she stood warm on the deck, shouting through a megaphone: “Do you even know how to act? Stop wasting everyone’s time!” I wasn’t classically trained, but I had been acting for years. There was no way my performance was that bad after thirty takes. But she was the director. Her word was law. I could only apologize and do it again. Suddenly, a figure entered the set. Ethan, dressed in a tailored three-piece suit, stood behind the monitor. I was soaked to the bone, shivering in the freezing pool. He stood on the dry ground, looking down at me with cold, indifferent eyes. On the thirty-fifth take, Chloe yelled “Cut,” her brow still furrowed. I heard her turn to the assistant director. “One more time. The emotion is still lacking.” I took a deep breath, preparing to submerge myself back into the water. Then Ethan spoke. His voice was casual, just two words: “It’s wrap.” The entire set went dead silent. Chloe turned to him, looking annoyed. He took her hand and smiled warmly. “I brought you some afternoon tea. It’ll get cold if you don’t eat it now.” Her face immediately lit up with joy, and she waved her hand to dismiss the crew. I dragged myself out of the pool. Mia rushed over to wrap a thick towel around me. I was shaking violently, sneezing repeatedly. It was early spring, and the water was so cold it made my bones ache. Mia muttered under her breath, her voice laced with anger. “At least ten of those takes were perfectly usable. Thirty-five takes? That’s pure malice.” “She’s doing this on purpose. If Ethan hadn’t stopped her for tea, she would’ve kept you in there all day.” As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears. “If we weren’t waiting to pay off your contract, we would never have taken this garbage movie!” “Why do we have to take abuse from this couple?” Mia wasn’t just my assistant; she was my best friend. Ever since my debut, she had been by my side. We had protected each other in this cutthroat industry for years. I knew she was hurting for me. I dried my hair and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Different directors have different standards.” “Just bear with it a little longer. We’ll be free soon.”

After my debut movie became a hit, my agency locked me into a predatory ten-year contract. On the day of the signing, they gave me a massive cash advance. I was young and naive, thinking I could easily make the money back. I took every trash script they threw at me just to pay it off. For three years, I worked from 6:00 AM to midnight every single day. Eventually, the debt was cleared, but my reputation was ruined. I was labeled a “talentless sellout.” No good scripts came my way, yet I still had four years left on my contract. I was stuck, rotting away in that agency. Until one night, a high-ranking executive, Mr. Carter, tried to force himself on me in his car. When his hand slid up my thigh, I slapped him across the face, pushed the door open, and jumped out of the moving car. The next day, I demanded Ashley to negotiate my release. I played the secret audio recording I had taken in the car. She went pale and stayed silent for a long time. After consulting the big boss, she delivered the verdict: “Three more movies. All your earnings will go toward the contract termination fee. After that, you’re free.” I sat on a folding chair on set, sipping hot tea. I looked up and noticed the hand-crocheted shawl draped over Chloe’s shoulders. Another actress ran over to compliment it. Chloe adjusted the shawl, a tender smile on her face. “You can’t buy this in stores. My mother-in-law crocheted it for me by hand.” “Wow, made with love!” the actress squealed. “Chloe, your mother-in-law must adore you!” Chloe’s smile widened. “Yes, she treats me like her own daughter.” I stared at the shawl, and the hot tea in my hands suddenly tasted like ash. Many years ago, Ethan’s mother had loved me just as much. I remembered visiting his house when my period started unexpectedly, staining my white skirt red. I had stood in the living room, frozen in embarrassment. His mother hadn’t said a word. She immediately handed me one of her own clean skirts and a box of pads. She patted my hand gently. “Go change, sweetie. I’ll warm up some milk for you.” When I came out of the bathroom, Ethan watched me drink the milk, pinching my nose playfully. “Do you know what my mom’s warm milk means?” “She doesn’t make that for just anyone. She already sees you as her future daughter-in-law.” I stared at my teacup, my throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.

I changed into my costume and got my makeup touched up. As I stepped out of the dressing room, I ran straight into Ethan, who was coming out of the director’s lounge. I kept my head down, trying to brush past him. But as our shoulders crossed, his voice cut through the air. “I heard you’re trying to break your contract.” My footsteps halted. So, he had overheard us. “How much is the termination fee?” he asked. I remained silent. He looked at me with a mocking smirk, pressing further. “One million? Three million? Is five million enough?” I collected myself and looked him in the eye. “What is that supposed to mean, Mr. Miller?” He held a cigarette in his right hand, flicking his lighter with his left to spark a flame. I stared at his hands. He used to be right-handed. He only started using his left hand after that accident. He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “My mother has Alzheimer’s.” He paused. “Lately, she keeps mistaking my wife for you.” He said his mother would call Chloe by my name. She would ramble on about the things Ethan and I used to do, believing her son had married his high school sweetheart. She thought the daughter-in-law standing before her was the same young girl from years ago. His wife was deeply hurt by it, yet she had to play along to keep his mother calm. My heart ached, a bitter taste rising in my throat. No wonder the shawl was crocheted with mimosas—my favorite flower. His mother was sick. Her memory was frozen in time, six years ago. She had forgotten that Ethan and I had broken up a long time ago. Through the haze of smoke, Ethan spoke with chilling indifference. “My wife hasn’t been very happy lately.” “She wanted you in this movie so she could vent a little. Just play along and let her have her fun.” “Once she’s satisfied, I’ll personally pay off your termination fee.” So that was why Chloe had cast me. He was spending three hundred thousand dollars to use me as a punching bag to make his wife feel better. Those thirty-five takes in the freezing water weren’t because she was a perfectionist. It was pure, deliberate torment. I stood in silence for a long time. The cold wind slipped down my collar, making me shiver. I clenched my fists, then slowly let them go. “I understand.” “I hope you keep your word, Mr. Miller.” Even if I knew she was doing it on purpose, what could I do? The contract was signed. I had no right to say no. That night, I developed a high fever. After taking some medicine, I fell into a heavy, feverish sleep. In my dream, I was back in that rainy autumn afternoon. Ethan had rushed onto the movie set, his eyes bloodshot. “Luna,” he pleaded, his face pale and exhausted. “My mom wants to see you.” He reached out to grab my hand. “Please, just come back and see her once.” I pulled my hand away. He stood in the rain, water dripping from his hair down his face. “Don’t do this movie. Please don’t do it,” he begged, his voice cracking. “My mom… she’s dying. Come see her. She keeps calling your name—” “Ethan,” I interrupted, taking a deep breath. “Let’s break up.” I turned to walk away, but he fell to his knees, grabbing my legs. “Baby, don’t do it. Please don’t. I’ll make money… I’ll work myself to death for you…” I let out a cold laugh, prying his fingers off my legs one by one. “How much can you make working yourself to death? Why should I waste my life waiting for you?” “Ethan, a fifty-dollar lipstick cost you two of your fingers.” “Do you have any idea how many of your fingers my salary can buy now?” His face turned ghostly pale. The security guards approached, asking if I knew him. I looked at him with an emotionless face. “I don’t know him.” They dragged him away. That day, I never looked back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441099”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On Valentine’s night, my long-distance boyfriend, Chase, and I had a FaceTime sex date planned. I’d bought some super sexy lace lingerie just for tonight. But the second the video call connected, his lab partner, Amber, walked right into the camera frame. She gasped, fake-covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh my god, Chloe! Why are you dressed like that?” Blushing hard, I pulled my duvet up to my chin to cover myself. I glared at Chase through the screen. “Why is she in your room?” Before Chase could even open his mouth, Amber cut in. “Chase and I have a huge lab experiment to run tonight. We can only give you three minutes to chat.” Chase looked incredibly awkward. “Chloe, the national tech competition is coming up, and this experiment is critical to our project. I really have to go. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?” “But it’s Valentine’s Day,” I said, my voice cracking. “We planned this.” Amber rolled her eyes, practically snatching the phone from his hand. “Chloe, aren’t you just taking classes at a local community college? It’s fine if you don’t care about your own future, but stop holding Chase back from his.” And with that, Amber slammed the hang-up button. I let out a bitter laugh. Three years of long-distance. It was finally time to end this joke.

I exited FaceTime and tapped on my chat history with Chase on Snapchat. I scrolled up. It was just a graveyard of my one-sided messages. I had sent him photos of my new haircut. I had sent him a picture of a pretty cloud. I had sent him a funny video of a stray cat on a tree branch. His replies? Practically nonexistent. He’d send a dry “cool” hours later, or a thumbs-up emoji two days after my text. Sometimes, just a random sticker. I closed Snapchat and opened Instagram. Our cute couple photos? Deleted. Now, his feed was flooded with photos of him and Amber working late in the lab. In one photo, their hands were practically touching over a beaker. I locked my phone and stripped off the lingerie. Tonight was nothing but a humiliating slap in the face. A second later, a text popped up from Amber. “Chloe, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’m just going to be honest with you. If you actually care about Chase, stop bothering him. He studies until 3 AM every night. Every time his phone buzzes, he loses focus and it takes him fifteen minutes to get back in the zone.” “The random spam you send him is honestly pointless. He doesn’t want to reply, but he feels too guilty not to, which wastes so much of his mental energy. Do you have any idea how draining that is for him?” “Also, as an independent modern woman, maybe stop sending him those cheap, thirst-trap photos. Is a woman’s only value her body to you?” I stared at the screen, every word cutting like a needle. She had gone through our private chats? Chase was a total privacy freak. He had never even let me touch his phone during our three years together. I typed back: “Does he know you’re texting me this?” Her reply was instant. “Of course. He said you keep sending him useless spam and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings by telling you directly. He asked me to handle it.” My throat felt tight, like I was choking on sand. Amber added one more text: “Oh, and he wanted me to tell you not to call during study hours. Just text. He’ll check it when he’s free, but don’t expect a reply. Be mature.” Driven by a masochistic urge, I tapped onto Amber’s Instagram profile. Her latest post from yesterday was at a cozy pizza place. Chase was sitting across from her, and she had snapped a photo of him eating a slice she had probably picked out for him. The caption read: “Weekend fuel with my favorite nerd.” I scrolled down. Last week, they went hiking, posing with peace signs at the summit. Before that, it was a coffee shop date, late-night library study sessions, and a new dessert spot. He was in every single photo. The same Chase who always told me he was “too busy.” It turned out he wasn’t busy. He just reserved his time for someone else. Tonight, I was supposed to tell him some life-changing news. I had just been accepted into the prestigious Master’s program at Columbia University—the very same campus he went to. I was finally moving to New York. We weren’t going to be long-distance anymore. But now, those words were stuck in my throat, turning into a dull, heavy ache. I opened Chase’s Snapchat and sent him one last message: “Let’s break up.”

The next day, I woke up and unlocked my phone. Inside our Snapchat chat, my text “Let’s break up” sat at the very bottom. Read. No reply. Just like almost every message I had sent him over the last four years, it had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. He was so checked out of this relationship that he couldn’t even bother to reply to a breakup text. Before I could lock my screen, a notification popped up in our university’s club WhatsApp group. It was the roster for the upcoming regional college basketball tournament. My eyes instantly caught Chase’s name. And right next to it, listed as the team manager, was Amber. My roommate leaned over my shoulder, taking a look. She shook her head. “Man, those two are practically the power couple of Columbia’s bio department. They live in the library together. Even the professors say they’re a perfect match.” She pulled up a screenshot of Amber’s VSCO. “Look at them. One is top of the class, the other is second. They literally share everything.” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and forced a nod. “Yeah, they look great.” But my fingernails dug deep into my palms. From that day on, I went out of my way to avoid the science building, the campus gym, and any route where I might run into him. But of course, fate is cruel. I bumped right into him outside the advisor’s office. Chase looked a bit thinner. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was holding a stack of syllabus folders. When he saw me, he froze for a second, then forced a polite smile. “Chloe? Hey. It’s been a while. Want to grab some lunch?” I wanted to say no, but a four-year relationship deserved a proper, face-to-face ending. So, I nodded. “Sure.” Before I could even step forward, Amber stepped out from behind the door, naturally sliding right next to Chase. She smiled warmly at me. “Oh, Chloe! What a coincidence. We should all eat together.” She tilted her head toward Chase. “Did you pick a place?” Chase shook his head. Amber immediately turned to me. “Why don’t you choose, Chloe? It’s rare for us to hang out.” “How about that French cuisine place down the street?” I suggested casually. Amber gasped softly. “Oh, his stomach has been so sensitive lately. The doctor literally put him on a bland diet. Didn’t you know that, Chloe?” I pressed my lips together. “Okay. What about the organic vegan bistro?” Amber shook her head again. “Too much oil in their dressings. He had terrible acid reflux the last time we went there.” She paused, letting out a soft, pitying chuckle. “Chloe, how do you not know his dietary restrictions by now?” I suggested four or five more places, and every single time, Amber shut me down with some intimate detail about Chase’s daily routine. Too far, too noisy, too dirty, too long of a wait. Finally, she sighed, looking like she was making a grand sacrifice. “Fine, fine. Let me choose. You two are hopeless.” Chase looked down at her and laughed softly. “Thanks, Amber.” Amber playfully nudged his shoulder. “I’m literally carrying this friendship on my back. You owe me big time for this.” As they bantered back and forth, I stood there like an invisible third wheel. Watching Chase look at Amber with that warm, easy smile made my chest tighten so hard I could barely breathe. Four years of long-distance. I thought we were just separated by miles. But the truth was, the distance was so wide I didn’t even fit into his life anymore. The words “Let’s break up” felt heavy in my mouth. But seeing them like this, I realized I didn’t even need to say it out loud. It didn’t matter. When the menus arrived, Amber took charge. She pointed to an avocado salad, reminding Chase that he was on a low-sodium phase. Then she ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup, smiling at him. “You said you liked their broth last time. See? I remembered.” Chase nodded, totally natural. “Do you want to add an order of those fish tacos you love?” Sitting across from them, I felt like a stranger who had accidentally sat at the wrong table. Amber suddenly slid the menu to me. “Chloe, go ahead and order whatever you want.” Before I could speak, Chase cut in. “She doesn’t really like spicy stuff. Let’s get her the…” He stopped. His finger hovered over the menu, his eyebrows knitting together. After a long pause, he pointed to two random dishes. “Let’s just get these.” I looked down. Fried chicken tenders. A wave of nausea and sadness hit me. I was severely allergic to poultry. I hadn’t eaten chicken in my entire life. He had completely forgotten. Amber tapped the back of Chase’s head with her menu, teasing him. “Are you studying too hard or what? I’m the one who loves chicken tenders, stupid!” Chase blinked, looking flustered. He avoided my eyes and pushed the menu closer to me. “Just… order whatever you want.” I shook my head and stood up, grabbing my bag. “No, it’s fine. I actually have a project to finish. I should go.” I looked down at him one last time. “Check your Snapchat messages when you have a second.” He shrugged dismissively. “Amber filters my messages for me. She’ll let me know if there’s anything urgent.” I let out a tiny, hollow laugh. So I wasn’t even “urgent” enough to bypass his assistant. There was no point in waiting for a reply. I turned and pushed open the restaurant door. The cool New York breeze hit my face, and for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.

The next day was the campus basketball game. My roommate had dragged me along to support her younger brother, Jace. Jace was a freshman, and this was his first big game. He was so nervous his hands were shaking. I bought a pack of Gatorade and water bottles, setting up a little cheering station by the bench. The buzzer sounded, and I looked up. I immediately saw Chase driving the ball down the court. Amber was standing right by the sideline, holding a towel and a bottle of water. Every time Chase made a shot, she cheered and jumped. During timeouts, she’d immediately hand him his water and wipe his sweat. They looked like a seamless unit. Some girls standing near me whispered, “They are so cute together.” “Chase is playing like a beast today. Amber’s definitely his lucky charm.” I forced a flat smile and turned my attention back to Jace. At the end of the third quarter, Chase walked over to the bench. Amber immediately draped a towel over his neck. I bent down to organize the water bottles, but in my peripheral vision, I saw Chase walking toward me. He glanced at the row of Gatorades at my feet and frowned. “Amber already got me drinks. You don’t need to do this.” He paused, his tone turning lecture-like. “Honestly, Chloe, you should spend less time hanging around gym courts and more time studying.” I gripped the plastic bottle in my hand, staying silent. “Look at Amber,” Chase continued, his voice self-righteous. “She’s top of her class, winning research grants, and she still manages her time perfectly. You could really learn a thing or two from her.” A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. I looked up, staring straight into his eyes. “Whether I study or not is none of your business, Chase.” He froze, his jaw tightening. “Chloe, what is your attitude lately? I swear, ever since you started community college, you’ve lost all ambition. If your mindset stays like this, how are we supposed to have a future—” “A future?” I interrupted, my eyes stinging. “We don’t have a future.” He opened his mouth to speak but went silent. He bent down, reaching for one of the Gatorades near my feet. But before his hand could touch the bottle, another hand snatched it away. Jace cracked the cap open, took a massive gulp, and grinned down at me. “Thanks, Chloe. This is exactly what I needed.” Jace then stepped forward, his tall, athletic frame completely blocking Chase from my view. Chase’s hand hovered in the air for a second before he dropped it awkwardly. He glared at Jace, then looked back at me, his eyes dark with irritation. Amber wandered over, looking between us with a fake-innocent smile. “Oh, Chloe, did you come here just to see Jace? No wonder you brought so many drinks.” She tilted her head. “I was wondering why you didn’t even look at Chase once during the whole game.” Before I could respond, Chase’s face went cold. I looked at Amber and smiled thinly. “Amber, you’re so obsessed with watching me, people might think you’re the one trying to get with Jace.” “Chloe!” Chase snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “What the hell is wrong with you? Amber has done nothing but try to help you, and this is how you treat her? Stop being so toxic.” Before I could even defend myself, he stepped closer, his voice rising with frustration. “Every time I had a rough semester, who was there for me? Amber. When I was pulling all-nighters and about to crash, who stayed up with me? Amber. When I had a fever and had to go to the clinic, who stayed by my side all night?” His eyes actually looked red, his voice shaking. “You ask me why I don’t reply to your texts? Think about it, Chloe. Where were you when I actually needed you?” The bench went completely quiet. A few players glanced over at us. Amber grabbed his sleeve, looking like she was trying to calm him down, but the smug look in her eyes gave her away. At that moment, the thin thread holding my heart together for the past four years finally snapped.

“Where was I?” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise of the gym. “Chase, freshman year, before finals, you had a fever. I called you eleven times. You didn’t answer a single one. The next day, you told me your phone was on silent, and I believed you.” “Sophomore year, during the winter, my boss at my part-time job stiffed me on my paycheck. I was crying on the curb and sent you a voice note saying how scared and sad I was. You replied two days later with a stupid hug emoji.” “Last month, on my birthday, I stayed up until 2 AM waiting for a text. You didn’t even say ‘Happy Birthday.’ The next day, you told me you forgot and that I was being too sensitive.” I stared at him, tears finally spilling over my lashes. “You say I wasn’t there when you needed me? Did you ever give me a chance to be? Every time you ‘needed’ someone, Amber was already standing there. Where was I supposed to stand, Chase?” Chase’s mouth opened, his lips trembling, but no words came out. Amber let go of his sleeve and whispered, “Chase, let’s just go… Chloe’s obviously in a bad mood.” I turned to walk away. But suddenly, a loud shout echoed through the gym. “Watch out!” In my peripheral vision, a heavy orange shadow came flying toward me at high speed. I tried to dodge, but it was too fast. Thwack! Before the ball even hit me, I saw Chase reflexively throw his body over Amber, shielding her head and shoulders with his back. The ball hadn’t even been heading toward her. As I stumbled backward and hit the hardwood floor, a sharp, blinding pain shot through my skull, but my chest felt incredibly light. Amber screamed, “Chase, the ball hit Chloe!” Chase finally turned around, his face completely pale. Jace rushed over, scooping me up in his arms before Chase could even take a step. “I’m taking her to the campus clinic,” Jace growled, running past him. I closed my eyes. My head throbbed with agony, but the heavy stone that had been crushing my chest for three years was finally gone. In the clinic, Chase let out a sigh of relief. “The doctor said it’s just a mild concussion. Nothing major.” I didn’t say anything, staring at the ceiling. He pulled up a plastic chair and sat down. “The game just ended, and I have to catch the last train back to my campus. Get some rest. I’ll come see you next time.” He paused, his voice softening. “About what happened on the court… don’t overthink it. It was just an instinct. You look like you’ve lost weight, Chloe. Make sure you eat. Text me if you need anything. I… I promise I’ll reply.” If this were a few months ago, those few soft words would have been enough to make me swallow all my tears and wait for his next “promise.” But now, they sounded completely empty. Like dust landing on water—not even leaving a ripple. I nodded blankly. “Okay.” He waited, expecting me to say more. When I didn’t, he stood up slowly, walking toward the door. At the threshold, he looked back at me, hesitating, as if waiting for me to beg him to stay. “Go back and read the messages I sent you,” I said quietly. He nodded. “Okay. I will.” The next day, my phone remained completely silent. He had promised to read the messages, but still, no reply. I opened Snapchat, held down his name, and tapped Delete Friend. Then, I packed a bag and bought a one-way train ticket to a quiet beach town.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441100”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My sister had the power of the Midas touch. With a single tap of her finger, she could turn rotting wood into solid gold. She started live-streaming, letting her viewers choose what to transform. Overnight, half of our house was turned into gold bricks. However, every time she performed her “miracle,” my personal gold investment portfolio shrank. When I realized something was wrong and confronted her, she accused me of being jealous. “Hazel, is it because I’m famous now and you’re green with envy? Should I toss you a gold coin or two as charity?” My father, wearing a thick gold chain she had “manifested,” slapped me across the face in a rage. “You just can’t stand to see this family succeed! Chloe is talented and loves this family. You claimed you saved up gold—where is it then?!” Clutching my swollen cheek, I made a silent vow to expose her lies. But as days went by, I found nothing. Meanwhile, my gold savings were completely drained. Until the day I was diagnosed with a tumor. That was the day Chloe started another live-stream. “Send me some gifts, guys! Today, I’m going to manifest fifty pounds of gold live on camera!”

After a grueling shift of overtime, I habitually opened my financial app to check my gold investment portfolio. My brows furrowed. The numbers were off. It was only short by a fraction of a gram—worth maybe twenty dollars—but for someone like me who calculated every penny and watched the market daily, this was no illusion. “Probably just a system delay or a market spread,” I muttered to myself. I didn’t dwell on it. The market had been wildly volatile lately, and such a minor glitch was negligible for a long-term holder. Before I could lock my screen, my dad’s call came through, frantic and loud. “Hazel! Get home right now! Something massive has happened!” “What’s wrong?” I asked, instantly tense. My dad’s ecstatic voice blasted through my AirPods. “Your sister is a goddess! She can turn things into gold!” I sighed, kicking off my flats at the door. “Dad, have you been brainwashed by those TikTok conspiracy videos again? Or is Chloe pulling another prank for her stream?” “You stubborn brat, why don’t you believe me?! Just get your butt home! Every minute you waste is costing us a fortune!” The line went dead. I shook my head in exasperation. My sister, Chloe, had been a headache since she was a kid. She wanted to be an influencer, then an actress, wasting tons of family money in the process. God knew what kind of stunt she was pulling this time. When I pushed the door open, my dad was jumping up and down in the living room, clutching his phone. “Look! Your sister is a miracle worker!” Dad practically shoved his screen into my face. “Chloe just tapped her finger, and five hundred dollars appeared out of thin air in my Venmo! Five hundred bucks!” I glanced at the screen. The notification did show a five-hundred-dollar deposit, but the transaction memo was just a string of encrypted, random characters. “Oh, you’re back, Hazel,” Chloe said, casting a dismissive glance at me. “Dad said you didn’t believe in my superpower.” “Then open your gold investment app,” Dad urged impatiently. Under his pressuring gaze, I unlocked my phone and tapped the gold-and-black icon of my brokerage app. “Watch closely,” Chloe said. She tapped the air lightly with her index finger. In the next second, my heart skipped a beat, and I nearly dropped my phone. On the screen, my gold balance—which was originally around 300 grams—started ticking upward rapidly without any purchase order from me. 350 grams. 400 grams. 500 grams! In the blink of an eye, my portfolio had doubled! My hands shook as I refreshed the page three times, even logging out and back in. The extra gold was still there, sitting securely in my account. It was worth nearly fifteen thousand dollars! “How… how is this possible?” I stared at Chloe, dumbfounded. “I told you it was real!” Dad slapped his thigh in excitement. “Chloe has the golden touch now! Everything she points at turns to money!” Chloe couldn’t hide the smug satisfaction in her eyes. “Believe me now, Hazel? This is called manifestation.” “You used to tell me that manifesting was just a lazy fantasy. What about now? I manifested actual wealth. Pretty impressive, right?”

The evidence was right in front of me. Looking at the very real transaction history, I had no choice but to believe it. I frowned, stepping closer to inspect my sister. “Does this power have any side effects? Chloe, do you feel sick or anything?” She pushed me away impatiently. “Oh, stop being such a buzzkill, Hazel. We’re about to be millionaires. Who cares about side effects?” Dad’s eyes gleamed with greed. He slapped his forehead, an idea striking him. “Chloe, your sister actually has a point. What if there’s a limit to this power? We need to maximize it! Let’s start a live stream. People on TikTok go crazy for this stuff.” Dad had already mapped out a grand blueprint in his head. “We don’t have to use the real power all the time; that would be too exhausting. We can buy some gold foil and metallic paint beforehand. Prepare some old wood and rocks. During the stream, use those props as cover, and only perform the real transformation at key moments. The visual impact will go viral!” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Yes! And we can run a giveaway! We can randomly select a lucky viewer and ‘manifest’ gold directly into their investment accounts—just like I did for Hazel! Once people see real money hitting their accounts, they’ll shower me with expensive digital gifts!” The two of them got more and more excited, as if they could already see mountains of cash falling from the sky. Standing on the side, watching their feverish excitement, a deep sense of dread crept into my heart. The conservation of energy is a fundamental law of physics. How could something be created out of nothing without a price? I couldn’t help but speak up. “Dad, Chloe, this is too bizarre. What if this power is draining her life? We should take Chloe to the hospital for a checkup first, or at least keep this low-key. What if some government agency takes her away for research? And what if taxing this power ruins her health?” The smile on Dad’s face froze. Slowly, his expression turned into utter disgust. “What are you talking about?! Your sister has a gift, and instead of being happy for her, you’re cursing her?” Chloe gently pulled Dad’s sleeve, putting on a soft, victimized voice. “Dad, don’t blame Hazel. She’s just worried about me. Honestly, every time I use this power, I do feel completely drained, like my soul is being hollowed out.” Hearing this, I was about to warn her again, but her tone suddenly shifted. She looked up, looking incredibly noble and self-sacrificing. “But for our family to live a good life, for you to live in a mansion and wear a Rolex, what does a little sacrifice matter? As long as we can be rich, I don’t mind losing a few years of my life.” Tears welled up in Dad’s eyes. He glared at me fiercely, then grabbed Chloe’s hands. “Look at your sister! Now that is selflessness! That is true love! Chloe is talented and devoted, unlike you—useless and filled with jealousy!” “You claimed you saved up gold. Where is it? You’ve worked for years and you’re still a low-level corporate drone. Last time I asked you to cover a dinner bill with my friends, you said you couldn’t afford it and made me lose face! I haven’t even settled that score with you yet!” “Get out of my house, you jealous leech. You won’t get a single penny of our wealth!” I was shoved toward the door. The door slammed shut, then opened briefly just for my purse to be hurled out onto the hallway floor. Chloe looked down at me with a smirk. “Hazel, I know you’re jealous. The gold I manifested effortlessly is worth more than what you’ve earned working yourself to death for years.” “But that’s reality. Are you green with envy? Maybe I can toss you some spare change?” I took a deep breath. Instead of rushing to pick up my bag, I looked her dead in the eye and warned her. “I’m your sister, which is why I’m telling you this. You admitted this manifestation has side effects. Dad’s greed is a bottomless pit. Don’t ruin your own health just to pull cash out of thin air.” I quietly bent down to pick up my purse, but she kicked it, sending it tumbling down the stairs. “Oops. My bad, Hazel. My foot slipped. Guess you’ll have to walk down and get it.” “To tell you the truth,” Chloe said, casually inspecting her manicure with a mocking smile, “the side effects aren’t mine to bear. But you might want to start working harder to make more money, sis.” “What do you mean by that?” I lunged forward to stop her from closing the door. But she slammed it shut with brute force. The heavy security door clamped hard onto my hand, forcing me to pull back in pain.

Standing outside the locked door, I could hear Dad asking from inside what happened. “Nothing, Dad. Hazel was just trying to threaten me into giving her gold, but I refused.” Then came Dad’s loud curses through the door. I didn’t want to listen anymore. Over the next few days, I went to work as usual. The gold market was booming, the charts were entirely green, and everyone was celebrating the gold bull run. During a break, I habitually opened my gold investment app to see how much my portfolio had grown. But the moment I saw my balance, my blood ran cold. I was down fifty grams. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was hallucinating. The market was skyrocketing. Even if I had made some terrible mistake, the total value might fluctuate, but how could the physical weight of my holdings just vanish? I immediately opened the transaction history. My hands began to shake. The log showed that just ten minutes ago, a “sell” order had been executed. Fifty grams of gold had been liquidated, and the funds had been transferred to an unfamiliar intermediary account, disappearing without a trace. “This is impossible. I was in a meeting ten minutes ago! My phone was in my purse the whole time!” I immediately called customer support. “Hi, I need to report unauthorized transactions! My account just had fifty grams of gold liquidated without my consent! This has to be a system glitch or a hack!” The representative’s voice was calm and professional. “Ma’am, we have verified the transaction logs. The trade was executed from your registered device and passed both your transaction password and face recognition verification. From our end, this was a authorized transaction. There is no system error.” “But I didn’t do it! I swear!” “I want to file a complaint! Your security is flawed!” I was on the verge of tears. “Ma’am, if you believe your identity has been stolen, we highly recommend you file a police report. We will cooperate with the investigation. We will get back to you within three business days.” As I hung up, a chill ran down my spine. My registered device? Facial recognition? This was insane. Distracted and terrified, I couldn’t focus on work anymore. To calm my nerves, I aimlessly opened TikTok. Right at the top of my feed was Chloe’s live stream. The caption screamed in bold letters: **”GRATEFUL FAN DAY! SELECTING LUCKY WINNERS FOR LIVE GOLD MANIFESTATION!”** Hoping to see what kind of game she was playing, I tapped in. On screen, Chloe was wearing an elaborate, expensive outfit, sitting in the middle of our living room. “Guys, the gifts you’re sending are insane! To show my appreciation, I’m going to pick a lucky viewer right now and manifest some gold straight into their investment account! Who wants to go first?” The chat was flying by. Soon, she connected via video call with an ecstatic male fan. “Oh my god, Chloe! I only have ten grams of gold in my account. Can you really make it grow?” Chloe gave a sweet smile to the camera. “Of course. Watch closely, everyone. Time to witness a miracle.” She pointed her slender index finger toward the screen and whispered, “Manifest!” In the next second, the fan screamed. “What the hell?! Oh my god! It actually worked! I just got an extra fifty grams! Fifty grams of gold out of nowhere! Chloe, are you a literal goddess?!” I sat frozen. Because at that exact moment, a push notification popped up on my phone. *Your gold investment account has successfully liquidated 50g of gold.* Before I could even process this bizarre “synchronized debiting,” my phone rang. It was an unknown number. It was the medical center where I had my annual company checkup. “Hello, Miss Hazel. Your lab results from last week are in. We detected a nodule on your thyroid. While it currently appears to be a benign tumor, we highly recommend you schedule a follow-up immediately to monitor it and ensure it doesn’t spread.” A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. I looked at Chloe’s smug, triumphant face on the screen, and then down at the debit notification from my bank. So that was it! There was no such thing as the Midas touch, and no wealth was being created out of thin air. I grabbed my car keys and bolted out of the office. I started the engine and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. I had to hurry. I had to get to that place immediately! Only there could I solve this nightmare. While waiting at a red light, I mounted my phone on the dashboard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stream had reached number one on the platform. Chloe’s face was flushed with excitement as digital gifts flooded her screen. “Guys, fifty grams was just the appetizer! To thank our top gifter for sending one hundred TikTok Universes, I’m going to do something massive!” “Next, I’ll select a few super-lucky winners to manifest fifty pounds of gold! Who’s ready for the challenge?!” The chat went absolutely feral. The comments were moving so fast they were a blur. A wave of disgust washed over me. I pulled over, tapped on the chat, and quickly typed a message: *【Manifesting gold? Chloe, stop lying. I know exactly what you’ve been doing.】*

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441093”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was born with a curse: a ten-fold pain-empathy link with my twin sister, Roxy. Any injury she got, the pain would hit my body ten times worse. Growing up, Roxy became a notorious rebel in our neighborhood. Getting into street fights and skipping school was just a Tuesday for her. She didn’t care. She knew that she wouldn’t feel a thing. I was the one who would scream in agony, not her. Our parents completely ignored this. Instead, they blamed me for being “too weak,” saying my constant whining held Roxy back from reaching her full potential. To force me to give up my Ivy League early admission spot to her, Roxy took a utility knife and slowly sliced her own arm right in front of me. As I collapsed onto the floor, twitching and foaming at the mouth from the unbearable agony, my family just stood there, watching coldly. My dad even flicked his cigarette and said, “Stop faking it. Sign the waiver already.” Later, Roxy decided to stage an accident with a speeding luxury car to extort some quick cash. When the massive impact hit her, my heart instantly stopped. But the moment I drew my last breath, my sister—the girl who was incapable of feeling pain—suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream.

Roxy was the older twin. I was Hope, the younger one. Since the day we were born, God had played a sick joke on us. Any physical harm Roxy endured would register in my nervous system with ten times the intensity. And she felt absolutely nothing. She had congenital insensitivity to pain. Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently. The pain was so intense that my throat could only produce a dry, rattling gasp. Through my blurry vision, I saw Roxy sitting on the sofa, casually spinning a shiny utility knife between her fingers. She had that bored, mocking smile on her face. Then, she pressed the blade against her pale forearm and dragged it down. *Screeech.* The sound of flesh tearing open. “Ahhh!” The scream didn’t come from her. It came from me. In that instant, it felt like a power drill was boring straight into my bone marrow. My very soul was being shredded. I foamed at the mouth, my limbs flailing uncontrollably as my fingernails clawed at the floor, leaving bloody streaks. “Hope, that’s enough. Get up,” my dad, Harold, said from his armchair. He looked annoyed as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. A speck of glowing, hot ash fell right onto the back of my hand. *Sizzle.* Another red burn mark. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets from the shock. I stared at him, desperately trying to beg for help. *Dad, please. Save me.* But no words came out. Only tears and drool smeared across my face. My mom, Linda, was peeling an apple for Roxy. She didn’t even look at me. “Roxy, honey, why do you have to hurt yourself over this?” Linda sighed. Roxy pouted like a spoiled brat. “It’s Hope’s fault! She won’t sign over her Ivy League admission spot to me! Mom, I don’t want to take the SATs. It’s too hard.” “Since she’s the younger sister, isn’t it her job to help me out? She should carry my academic stress.” As she spoke, a flash of pure malice crossed Roxy’s eyes. She pressed the knife deeper. This time, the cut went straight to the bone. “Arghhh—!!!” My heart seized. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it until it popped. The pain went far beyond what a human body could tolerate. My spine arched rigidly, and then I crashed heavily back onto the floor. My vision went pitch black, and the voices in the room started sounding distant, like they were underwater. Linda walked over and kicked my head with the toe of her slipper. “Cut the drama, Hope. You’ve been pulling this stunt since we were kids. Aren’t you tired of it?” “Look at you, acting like a corpse. You don’t have a single drop of your sister’s courage.” “Roxy is bleeding so much and she hasn’t made a sound. You don’t even have a scratch on you, yet you’re squealing like a pig.” Right. Ever since we were kids, because I was always the one crying in pain, they saw me as a dramatic, attention-seeking loser. Meanwhile, Roxy, who couldn’t feel pain, got into gang fights and caused trouble, but they praised her for being “tough” and “a fighter.” They forgot that I was the one paying the price for her “toughness.” Harold blew out a cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the gray haze. “Stop playing dead. Sign the paper.” “Once you sign it, we’ll take your sister to get stitches, and your ‘pain’ will stop.” I tried to raise my hand to tell them that I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating in a wild, chaotic rhythm, like a machine breaking down. Then came the final, massive surge of neural shock. *Snap.* It felt like a wire snapped in my brain. My eyes stared blankly at the ceiling fan, my pupils dilating. My body remained twisted on the floor, completely still. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, Roxy walked over impatiently. She smeared some of the blood from her arm onto my cheek and shoved the pen into my stiff hand. “Hey, wake up. Sign it so I can go to the ER, and you can stop crying.” The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor. My arm fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. I was completely gone. My soul floated up to the ceiling, watching this absurd scene unfold. I was dead. I died in the heat of a summer evening at eighteen, while my own family watched with cold indifference.

Seeing that I wouldn’t hold the pen, Roxy kicked me in the ribs out of frustration. “Mom! Look at Hope! She’s still throwing a tantrum!” Linda walked over and looked down at me. My wide-open, lifeless eyes were staring right back at her. She frowned. There was no panic on her face—only disgust. “This girl has such a nasty temper. She really thinks she can blackmail us by pretending to pass out?” “Ignore her. Starve her for a couple of meals, and she’ll crawl back.” Harold was even more direct. He grabbed me by my shirt and dragged me onto my bed. Then, he picked up the pen from the floor and forged my signature on the Ivy League waiver. “There. The spot is yours now,” Harold said, handing the paper to Roxy. “Was this tiny thing really worth cutting yourself so many times?” Looking at the signed document, Roxy jumped up and down in excitement. She didn’t care about the blood dripping down her arm. “Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!” She grabbed a random band-aid from the counter and slapped it over the deep gash. The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn’t care. It didn’t hurt anyway. “To celebrate our Roxy getting into the Ivy League, let’s order a feast!” Linda declared, immediately ordering the most expensive seafood delivery on her phone. Half an hour later. The food arrived. The dining table was piled high with King crab legs, lobsters, and oysters. The table was in the living room. Less than ten feet away from my dead body. I floated above them, watching them stuff their faces. The heavy, fishy smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the faint, sweet scent of decay starting to rise from my corpse. Roxy ate greedily, her lips slick with butter. She cracked open a lobster claw and casually tossed the sharp shell backward. *Clack.* The shell landed right on my face, catching on my eyelashes. It was a sick, ironic sight. “Hey, Hope, stop faking.” “Get up and clean this trash. Don’t think you can skip your chores just by lying there.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Linda peeled a piece of crab meat and fed it to Roxy. “Don’t worry about that useless girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite.” “Our Roxy is the one with real guts. She knows how to be ruthless to get what she wants.” “Once you go to college, you’re going to do great things.” Harold drank his beer, his face flushing red from the alcohol. He pointed a finger toward my bed. “We spoiled her too much. ‘Pain empathy’? It’s probably just a mental illness. She just wanted attention.” “Look at Roxy. She bleeds and doesn’t cry. That’s what a leader looks like.” They kept eating, laughing, and planning Roxy’s bright future. Not once did anyone walk over to check if I was breathing. If they had just bent down, they might have realized I could still have been saved. But they didn’t. They truly believed I was just playing a game, silent-treating them. After finishing her meal, Roxy let out a loud burp. She looked toward my bed and suddenly found it annoying. “Mom, the way she’s lying there is creepy. Her eyes are wide open. It’s bad luck.” Linda stood up. She went to the kitchen drawer, pulled out an old, stained tablecloth, and walked over. Like throwing a tarp over a pile of garbage, she threw it over my head. “Out of sight, out of mind.” “She sleeps on the floor tonight. Nobody give her a blanket. Let’s see how long she can keep up this act.” A dirty tablecloth. It covered my unblinking, dead eyes. And it covered the last shred of humanity in this house. My soul shivered in the air. Not from the cold, but from the absolute, freezing realization of how little I meant to them.

The night went on. The AC in the living room was set to a freezing sixty degrees. This sped up my rigor mortis. Before going to her room, Roxy walked past me. On a petty whim, she stomped heavily on my stomach through the tablecloth. “Clean the floor tomorrow. It’s covered in my blood. It’s disgusting.” It was a heavy stomp. But I felt nothing. Instead, my stiffened, cold body bruised her foot. She muttered, “Stiff as a rock. You and your garbage attitude.” The next morning. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, illuminating the shape under the tablecloth. Roxy woke up feeling refreshed. When she walked out, she saw I was still in the exact same spot. She marched over and snatched the tablecloth away. My face had already turned a ghastly shades of blue and purple. The dried white foam on my lips had turned crusty. Roxy froze for a second, then burst into a mocking laugh. “Wow, Hope. You really went all out to scare me.” “Who did you do this zombie makeup for? You should have gone to film school instead.” She actually thought it was makeup. She kicked my stiff arm with her sneaker. “Alright, cut it out. I’m going to school. Make sure you wash my sneakers today.” She threw the tablecloth back over my face and hummed a tune as she walked out the door. I floated out right behind her. At school, Roxy was on top of the world. She showed off the forged Ivy League admission letter to everyone in her class. “Well, some people can study all they want, but the spot still belongs to me in the end,” she bragged. A few girls who always disliked her rolled their eyes. “Stealing your own sister’s spot. You’re disgusting, Roxy.” Roxy’s face twisted in rage. She lunged forward and slapped the girl hard across the face. *Smack!* It was loud and clear. The girl was stunned for a second, but then she lost it. She grabbed Roxy’s arm, digging her long acrylic nails deep into Roxy’s flesh. If this were yesterday, I would be rolling on the floor in a corner of the school, screaming in agony. Because all that pain would have hit me. But today, I was dead. Roxy looked down at the nails sinking into her arm, and a bizarre, twisted thrill washed over her face. She felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Is that all you got?” Roxy laughed mockingly. She grabbed the girl by her hair and slammed her head against the desk. The sheer brutality of her attack terrified everyone in the room. Because she feared no pain, she had no limits. “I am invincible!” Roxy laughed like a psychopath as she beat the girl bloody. The principal was called, and so were the parents. Linda rushed to the school. But instead of apologizing, she screamed at the victim’s family in the office. “Your daughter started it! My girl was just defending herself!” “My daughter is gifted! She’s physically resilient, unlike your fragile little brat who cries over a scratch!” The principal pointed at the security footage. “Mrs. Miller, your daughter was incredibly violent…” “That’s because she’s brave! She’s tough!” Linda said proudly. “Unlike her useless sister, who is a spineless coward.” Mentioning me made Linda remember that she needed me to sign some paperwork at the school to finalize the admission transfer. She pulled out her phone and called me. *Ring… Ring… Ring…* The phone rang, but it was just vibrating on the coffee table back in our living room. Nobody answered. “That little bitch. Still throwing a tantrum,” Linda muttered, hanging up. “Just wait until I get home. I’ll teach her a lesson.” Watching this from the ceiling, I found it hilarious. While they were defending a monster, they didn’t miss a single chance to insult their dead child. They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion.

That evening, Roxy and Linda returned home. I followed them inside. My body was still lying in the corner of the living room, covered by the dirty tablecloth. It had been over twenty-four hours now. A faint, sickly odor was starting to creep through the apartment. But Linda had cooked a greasy, heavily-spiced garlic pasta for dinner, and the strong aroma masked the smell of my decay. Roxy took a screenshot of a new designer bag and sent it to the family group chat. “Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into the Ivy League.” Harold looked at the price tag. Three thousand dollars. He frowned. “We just paid the ‘donation’ fee for your admission. Things are a bit tight right now.” Roxy immediately threw a tantrum, kicking the chair. “I don’t care! I want it! All the other Ivy League kids have nice things!” Linda tried to soothe her. “Sweetie, can we buy it next month?” Roxy’s eyes darted around, and a sinister idea popped into her head. “Mom, Dad, you know how those rich kids drive like maniacs in the wealthy suburbs near the hills?” “Since I don’t feel pain anyway, what if I stage an accident?” She grinned excitedly. “I just need to find a street with no cameras, wait for a sports car, and let it clip me.” “Those rich snobs are terrified of lawsuits. They’ll offer a quick cash settlement to keep it quiet. We could get tens of thousands of dollars easily!” My soul shuddered. Was this a family, or a pack of demons? She talked about committing insurance fraud as casually as ordering takeout. But what was worse was my parents’ reaction. Harold took a drag from his cigarette and actually nodded. “It’s risky, but doable. Just make sure you pick the right spot so you don’t end up paralyzed.” Linda looked slightly worried. “What if you get a nasty scar? You’re a girl, you shouldn’t have scars on your skin.” Roxy cast a disdainful glance at the shape under the tablecloth in the corner. “Why should I worry?” “If my skin gets ruined, we’ll just have the doctors graft some of Hope’s skin onto me.” “She’s a useless loser anyway. Her skin is perfectly fine. It would be a waste not to use it.” “And if my kidney gets damaged, we’ll just take one of hers.” “I’m the older sister. Why shouldn’t she sacrifice a little for me?” Harold nodded, exhaling a thick ring of smoke. “True. We’ve fed and housed her for eighteen years. It’s about time she made herself useful.” Linda smiled, relieved. “Alright, then it’s settled. Just protect your face.” They sat around the table, happily discussing the details of the insurance scam. They completely forgot that their “living organ bank” was already a decomposing corpse. After dinner, Roxy was in great spirits. She walked over to the corner and kicked my body hard. “Hey, did you hear that?” “Be ready to go to the hospital and give me your skin when the time comes.” “Stop playing dead, you hear me?” Of course, there was no reply. Only a dull, heavy thud as her foot hit my stiffening leg. Roxy sneered. “Fucking pig. She sleeps like she’s dead.” She turned around and walked out the door to carry out her grand plan. Watching her leave, my soul felt a surge of anticipation. Roxy chose a quiet intersection in the wealthy part of town. There were no traffic cameras, and it was a popular spot for rich college kids to drag race their sports cars. She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a predator. I floated in the air above her, silently waiting for the show to start. Soon, the loud roar of an engine echoed in the distance. A bright red Ferrari came speeding down the road like a flash of lightning. A greedy spark lit up Roxy’s eyes. She took a deep breath, calculating the distance. She just needed a minor hit, a little roll on the asphalt, and a broken bone or two. The settlement money would fly into her pockets. After all, Hope would be the one feeling the agony. Hope would be the one suffering through the broken bones. She was used to it. For eighteen years, she had abused this link. From getting vaccines to breaking bones, she had never shed a single tear. Because every ounce of pain was instantly transferred to her weak, pathetic sister. The car was close! Roxy jumped out of the bushes straight into the lane! *SCREECH—!!!* The sound of burning rubber sliced through the night as the Ferrari slammed on its brakes, leaving long black skid marks. But the car was going too fast. It couldn’t stop in time. *BANG!* A horrific crash. Roxy was thrown into the air like a ragdoll, spinning twice before slamming hard onto the asphalt.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441094”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After my mother gave birth to my baby brother, she developed temporary amnesia. She remembered everyone in her life, except for me. She even hallucinated that I was a child-snatcher trying to steal her baby. Because of this, she slapped my face and kicked my stomach almost every single day. But sometimes, she would snap out of it. She would cup my bruised face with her trembling hands, weeping and begging for my forgiveness. I truly believed that one day, my sweet mom would get better and come back to me. Until one rainy night, I overheard a hushed conversation between my parents in their master bedroom. “How much longer are you going to keep up this act, Eleanor?” my dad’s voice whispered, sounding exhausted. “Chloe is covered in bruises. There isn’t a single patch of clear skin left on her back.” “Hmph. What else was I supposed to do? She’s just a daughter,” my mom replied, her voice cold, sharp, and completely sane. “If we don’t break her spirit now and train her to be Mason’s obedient servant, she’ll run wild when she grows up. We won’t be able to control her.” I clutched the DNA test results tightly against my chest. In that single, devastating moment, I realized all of my mother’s tearful apologies were nothing but a lie. But Mom… there is something you don’t know. Mason isn’t even your biological son. ***

The bruises on my back were calculated. The most hidden one was right below my left shoulder blade, left by a heavy plastic clothes hanger. That afternoon, my mother’s hand had flew high into the air, and then her palm crashed down on me. A burning pain radiated from my cheek to my ear. I bit my lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. But she didn’t stop. Wearing her soft house slippers, she kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled up on the cold hardwood floor, gasping for air like a fish dying on dry land. Her voice was shrill and screeching, a horrific contrast to the gentle mother I once knew. “Thief! You’re trying to steal my baby!” I looked up through my tears and saw the raw, unadulterated hatred in her eyes. But in the very next second, her gaze went blank. Her brows furrowed deeply, as if she were desperately trying to pull herself out of a thick fog. She reached out with trembling fingers, gently touching my swollen cheek as tears cascaded down her face. “Oh my god… I’m so sorry, Chloe. Mom is so, so sorry.” She pulled me into her arms. It was an embrace that was both warm and suffocating. As her fingers brushed against the fresh welts on my back, I flinched from the pain. Instead of letting go, she held me even tighter, as if she wanted to merge me into her own body—or perhaps, erase me from this world entirely. Back then, I always told myself: *Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Mom will get completely better.* I held onto that hope until the day I found out she had never been sick at all. Once upon a time, my mother was the gentlest soul in the world. When I was six years old, I came down with a horrific fever in the dead of winter. My dad was away on a business trip. My mom stayed up all night, never closing her eyes once, gently wiping my burning body with warm, damp towels over and over again. At three in the morning, half-conscious from the fever, I heard her calling a doctor friend from the living room. Her voice was trembling with tears. “Dr. Carter, please help. My daughter’s fever has reached 104. What do I do? What should I do?” She checked my temperature every fifteen minutes, writing it down carefully in a little notebook. Her handwriting was messy from panic, but I could still recognize it. Eventually, when the fever wouldn’t break, she bundled me up in a heavy blanket like a little burrito and carried me down the stairs. We lived on the sixth floor of an old walk-up apartment building with no elevator. She walked down those steps, one by one, her heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet stairwell. The sidewalk outside was covered in patches of black ice. She slipped and fell hard, but she used her elbows to shield me from hitting the frozen ground. I heard her groan in pain, but she immediately turned her head to check on me. “Chloe, sweetie, are you okay? Did Mommy scare you?” Dozing off, I mumbled back, trying to comfort her. “I’m okay, Mom.” We didn’t have much money back then, and I hated the thought of going to the hospital just for a fever. When we finally got to the ER, the doctor scolded her for not bringing me in sooner. She just looked at him with red, bloodshot eyes and said, “I thought I could break the fever at home. I didn’t want to drag her out in the freezing cold middle of the night if I didn’t have to.” When the nurse pricked my hand for the IV, I started crying and screaming. My mom held me tight against her chest, softly singing my favorite lullaby. As the medicine dripped into my veins, I fell asleep. In my hazy dreams, I could feel a warm hand gently stroking my hair. When I opened my eyes, I saw her slumped over the edge of my hospital bed, fast asleep from sheer exhaustion. Yet, even in her sleep, her hand kept patting my back gently, over and over again. The morning sun filtered through the gaps in the hospital blinds, casting a warm, golden glow over her tired face. During those peaceful years, she was the one who taught me how to read and write. We shared a single desk lamp. Her warm, soft hand would cover my small one, guiding my pencil across the paper to write the letters of the word “LOVE” in my spelling notebook. Whenever I made a mistake, she never yelled. She would just gently erase it and say, “Let’s try again, sweetie.” She always told me, “Chloe, you are Mommy’s greatest treasure.” And whenever she said those words, her eyes would crinkle into beautiful, crescent moons. For my seventh birthday, she baked me a strawberry cake from scratch. My dad had to work late at the office and couldn’t make it home. Seeing the disappointment on my face, she magically whipped out two movie tickets from behind her back. “Well, then it’s a girls’ night out! A date with Mom!” We watched the latest animated movie. She bought me a giant tub of popcorn but didn’t eat a single piece herself, choosing instead to just watch me smile. When the movie ended, it was drizzling outside. She took off her denim jacket, draped it over my head to keep me dry, and ran into the rain to hail a cab. Inside the taxi, water was dripping from her hair, but her first instinct was to use her dry sleeve to wipe the raindrops off my face. I kept these memories locked deep within my heart. They were real. I was sure of it. And that was exactly why her betrayal, when it came, was so incredibly cruel. ***

My baby brother, Mason, arrived in the spring. During the late stages of her pregnancy, my mom would often take my hand and place it gently on her swollen belly. “Chloe, feel that? Your little brother is kicking you.” Her smile was full of pure, maternal bliss. I, too, waited for his arrival with excitement. I even saved up my pocket money to buy a tiny plush bear as a welcoming gift for him. The day Mason was born, I waited in the hospital corridor for twelve long hours. Finally, my dad walked out of the delivery room and smiled at me. “It’s a boy, Chloe. He’s healthy. Your mom is doing great.” I stood on my tiptoes, trying to peek through the door. A friendly nurse laughed and led me inside. My mom was lying on the bed, pale but smiling. Right next to her was a tiny bundle, revealing a soft, pink little face. “Come here, Chloe. Look at your brother,” she whispered softly. I walked over on my tiptoes, terrified of disturbing this fragile new life. At that moment, I loved him with all my heart. The first few weeks were completely normal. During her postpartum recovery, my mom would smile and let me hold Mason, even if it was just for a few minutes at a time. She taught me how to cradle his head and rock him gently. My arms would go stiff from nervousness, but my heart was overflowing with love. But gradually, a subtle shift began to happen in our home. My mom’s eyes started drifting. Whenever she spoke to me, she would suddenly stop mid-sentence, as if she had forgotten what she was saying. At first, we all assumed it was just postpartum exhaustion. I thought so, too. The first time I realized something was seriously wrong was when Mason was two months old. I came home from school, and before I could even put down my backpack, I ran over to his crib. Mason was awake, staring up at the ceiling with his round, dark eyes. I reached out my hand, wanting to gently touch his tiny fingers. Suddenly, my mom rushed out of the kitchen like a maniac, screaming at the top of her lungs as she shoved me away. “Get away from him! Don’t touch my baby!” I lost my balance and crashed onto the floor, my elbow slamming hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my arm. I stared at her in utter shock. Her expression was entirely foreign—guarded, hostile, like a wild lioness protecting her cub. She stood rigidly between me and the crib, her eyes locked onto me. A few seconds later, she seemed to snap out of it. Seeing me crying on the floor, panic flashed across her face. “Chloe? Oh my god, what did I do? I… I just…” She rushed over to pull me up, checking my elbow, which was already bruising. Her voice trembled. “Does it hurt? Sweetie, Mom didn’t mean to. I don’t know what came over me.” I brushed the dust off my skirt, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay, Mom. You’re just really tired.” My elbow throbbed painfully, but the confusion blooming in my chest hurt so much more. At that time, I genuinely believed she was just exhausted. I even blamed myself. *I shouldn’t have tried to touch the baby without washing my hands first. Newborns have weak immune systems. Mom was just trying to protect him.* I had no idea that this was only the beginning of a never-ending nightmare. Things quickly deteriorated. My mom started “forgetting” who I was more and more frequently. Sometimes, while she was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, she would suddenly spin around and glare at me with cold, hostile eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” At first, I thought she was playing a cruel joke. I laughed nervously. “Mom, stop it. It’s me, Chloe.” But the sheer emptiness and suspicion in her eyes were so terrifyingly real that the laugh died in my throat. “Chloe?” She repeated the name, her brow furrowed as if searching her mind. “Do I have a daughter? How old is she?” “I’m twelve, Mom,” I said, my heart starting to race with panic. *Was she going to hit me again?* My dad would usually walk out of his home office at that point, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Eleanor, honey, this is Chloe. Our daughter. Remember?” His voice was always incredibly calm, and it quickly pacified her. My mom would look at my dad, then at me, and then nod slowly. “Chloe… right. Yes, I remember now.” But as time went on, the most terrifying development was that she began to permanently cast me as her imaginary enemy. Once, when Aunt Clara came over to visit, my mom pointed a trembling finger at me. “She’s trying to steal my baby! I know she is!” Clara laughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. “Eleanor, what are you talking about? That’s Chloe. Your own daughter.” My mom stared at me for what felt like an eternity before letting out a slow, hesitant nod. But she pulled Mason tighter against her chest, turning her body away from me in a fiercely protective stance. The moment Clara left, my mom burst into tears. She threw her arms around me, weeping hysterically. “Chloe, did Mommy lose her mind again? What did I say? Did I hurt you, baby?” Her hot tears dripped onto my shoulder, scalding my skin. “No, Mom. It’s okay. You’re just tired.” ***

I patted her back gently. I believed her. I had to believe her. A mother’s love couldn’t be faked. She was just sick. My dad took her to see three different specialists, and they all gave a similar diagnosis: postpartum stress bringing on brief episodes of amnesia, possibly accompanied by mild paranoia. Every doctor offered the same comforting words: “She will recover. It just takes time and patience.” But my dad’s “patience” quickly turned into silent permission. The first time my mother actually laid a hand on me, my dad just stood in the doorway. His lips twitched slightly, but in the end, he didn’t say a single word. That afternoon, Mason wouldn’t stop crying. No matter how much my mom rocked him, he kept screaming. I finished my homework and walked out of my room, offering quietly, “Mom, do you want me to try holding him?” She whipped her head around, her eyes turning predatory. “What are you trying to do to him?” She clutched Mason tightly and took a step back, staring at me as if I were a monster. I tried to explain. “I just want to help.” “Help? Or do you want to make him cry more so you can show everyone what a terrible mother I am?!” Her voice rose to a screeching register. “You’ve always been jealous of him! I know your secret!” “I’m not, Mom—” “Shut up!” She lunged forward, her hand flying across my face. *SLAP!* It was a heavy, deafening blow. The sharp sound echoed through the living room, freezing both of us in place. My cheek burned with a blinding, throbbing pain, but my mind was completely numb with shock. My mom’s hand remained suspended in the air, trembling violently. My dad slowly lowered his newspaper, glanced at us, and murmured, “Eleanor, calm down.” “She wants to hurt Mason! Who is she?!” My mom’s voice cracked, her eyes losing focus once again. “Chloe, go back to your room,” my dad sighed, his voice dripping with exhaustion. I cupped my throbbing cheek and ran back to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I slid down against the wood, burying my face in my knees. My cheek didn’t hurt nearly as much as the hollow ache opening up in my chest. Outside my door, I could hear my mother sobbing hysterically while my dad murmured soft, comforting words to her. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on my door. “Chloe, sweetie, open the door.” It was my mom. Her voice had returned to its usual, gentle warmth. I unlocked the door. Her eyes were red and swollen. When she reached out to touch my face, I flinched, instinctively pulling away. Her hand froze in mid-air, and another wave of tears spilled over. “I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy lost control again. Does it hurt?” Seeing her cry broke my heart. My anger melted away. “It doesn’t hurt, Mom.” She pulled me into her arms, and this time, I didn’t pull away. Her embrace was exactly as I remembered—warm, smelling faintly of lavender laundry detergent. “Mommy will get better. The doctors said so. I promise,” she whispered in my ear, though I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself. But from that day on, the abuse only escalated. It went from shoving to slapping, from hard pinches on my arms to kicks to my shins and stomach. And every single incident followed the exact same, twisted pattern: First, she would have an “episode” and attack me. Next, she would “snap out of it,” crying and begging for my forgiveness. Finally, she would wrap me in a warm hug, promising it would never happen again. I trapped myself in this cycle of hope and abuse. Because when she was “sane,” she was the perfect, loving mother I adored. Occasionally, my dad would pat my head, his eyes filled with a complicated look. “Your mother is sick, Chloe. You need to be understanding.” I would just nod, hiding my fresh bruises under long-sleeved shirts, and quietly help her with the chores. When summer arrived, wearing long sleeves in ninety-degree weather started looking suspicious. Once, during gym class while we were changing, a classmate noticed the dark purple marks on my arm. She gasped, “Chloe, what happened to your arm?” Terrified, I quickly pulled my t-shirt over my head and forced a laugh. “Oh, I’m just clumsy. I fell down the stairs.” But some marks were impossible to hide. The swelling from her slaps would eventually go down, but they left faint, reddish marks on my skin. One afternoon, my school counselor, Mrs. Gable, called me into her office. She gently asked if everything was alright at home. I told her my mom was sick and sometimes had trouble regulating her emotions. Mrs. Gable looked at me with deep concern. “Do you need me to contact Child Protective Services, Chloe?” I shook my head frantically. “No! Please don’t!” I couldn’t let strangers get involved. It would destroy my mom, and it would embarrass my dad. We were a family, and families solve their own problems. The worst beating happened right before my finals in eighth grade. I was studying late in my room when I got thirsty and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I passed my parents’ bedroom, Mason suddenly started crying. My mom burst out of the room, and seeing me standing in the hallway with a glass of water, she instantly flew into a rage. ***

“What did you put in his bottle?!” She snatched the glass from my hand, sniffed it, and slammed it onto the floor. Shards of glass shattered everywhere, slicing my ankles. “I was just getting water for myself!” “Liar! You want to poison my son! I know you hate him!” She grabbed me by my hair, dragging me out into the living room. A white-hot, ripping pain shot through my scalp, and I screamed. My dad rushed out of the bedroom. “Eleanor! Let go of her!” But she didn’t hear him. She raised her foot and kicked me violently in the stomach. I curled into a ball on the floor, the agonizing pain knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Finally, my dad stepped in, grabbing her arms to pull her off me. “She’s a demon! She wants to murder my baby!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face. With great effort, my dad dragged her back into the master bedroom and locked the door. I lay on the cold floor, my stomach cramping violently, the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. The harsh ceiling light overhead was blinding. I closed my eyes, letting the tears slide silently down my face. I don’t know how much time passed before the bedroom door finally opened. My mom walked out, her steps shaky and uneven. She fell to her knees beside me, her trembling hands hovering over my bruised face. “Chloe… my sweet Chloe… Oh my god, what did I do to you?” Seeing the blood on my lip, she broke down, sobbing hysterically as she pulled me into her chest. “I’m a monster! I’m so sorry! Hit me back, please, just hit me back!” I shook my head, too weak to speak. That night, she insisted on applying ointment to my wounds. When she pulled up my shirt and saw the massive, dark purple bruises covering my stomach, she gasped, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold the tube. I found myself comforting her instead. “It’s okay, Mom. It’ll heal. You’re just sick.” She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a bizarre mixture of guilt, pain, and something else—something cold and calculating that I didn’t understand at the time. “Yes,” she whispered softly. “Mommy will get better.” But the illusion shattered completely on a stormy night a few weeks later. I woke up in the middle of the night from a sharp, throbbing pain in my stomach. My mother had kicked me hard earlier that afternoon. I got out of bed to find some Advil in the kitchen. As I passed my parents’ bedroom, I heard hushed voices coming from inside. The door was cracked open, letting out a sliver of yellow light. Instinctively, I stopped in my tracks. “How much longer are you going to keep doing this, Eleanor?” my dad’s voice asked, sounding incredibly weary. “Chloe is covered in bruises. Her school counselor called me again yesterday. I barely managed to lie my way out of it.” My heart squeezed. I leaned against the drywall, holding my breath. “Hmph. If we don’t break her spirit now and train her to be Mason’s obedient servant, she’ll run wild when she grows up. We won’t be able to control her,” my mom’s voice replied. It was completely steady, cool, and logical. She sounded like she was discussing a household budget, not the systematic abuse of her own daughter. “But she’s only fourteen, Eleanor. Look at the marks on her back,” my dad muttered, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Skin heals! Breaking her spirit is what matters!” my mom snapped, her tone turning sharp. “Are you turning soft now, David? Think about why we did this in the first place! Think about Mason’s future! He is going to need someone who will dedicate her life to taking care of him. If Chloe suffers a little bit now, she’ll know her place. Or do you want her to grow up like one of those spoiled, selfish only-children who would never lift a finger to help her brother?” “That’s not what I meant. We raised Chloe from a baby…” “Then what do you mean? The doctors said postpartum amnesia rarely lasts more than a year. Do you know how exhausting it is for me to pretend to be crazy every single day? If it weren’t to completely crush her defiance, do you think I’d be putting on this ridiculous show?” *A show.* The word felt like a poisoned dagger plunging straight into my chest. “The school is getting suspicious,” my dad sighed. “The counselor is going to call CPS eventually.” “Let them. Once she’s completely broken, she’ll realize that fighting back is useless. Even if I ‘recover’ from my illness, it won’t matter. In fact, she’ll probably be grateful that I’m nice to her again. Abuse breeds loyalty.” My entire world collapsed right then and there. I clutched the wall, my knees shaking so violently I could barely stand. I dragged myself back to my room on silent feet, locked the door, and buried my face in my pillow, weeping silently until my throat was raw. That night, for the first time in my life, I wanted to die. If living meant being tortured and manipulated by the people who were supposed to love me most, what was the point? But I didn’t end it. The next morning, my mother had another “episode.” During breakfast, she suddenly swiped her hand across the table, knocking my glass of milk onto the floor. It shattered into a million pieces. “You’re trying to poison my baby!” she shrieked, pointing at the spilled white liquid. I sat there, staring at her coldly. I didn’t try to explain. I didn’t cry. I just watched her perform. My dad stepped in right on cue. “Chloe, clean this up quickly. Your mother didn’t mean it.” “Oh, I absolutely meant it!” My mom stood up, towering over me. “I’m telling you, stay away from my son!” She raised her hand. This time, I didn’t flinch or look away. As her hand slapped my cheek, I stared directly into her eyes. And there, deep within her pupils, I caught a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction. It was true. A mother’s love could be entirely fabricated. “What are you looking at?!” She slapped me again, harder this time. “Eleanor, that’s enough,” my dad said, pulling her back. “Chloe needs to get to school.” My mom scoffed and turned her back on me. I silently grabbed my backpack and walked out of the house. I didn’t say a word to my classmates or my counselor. On my way back from school, I stopped by a local grocery store. I used some spare change my dad had left on the counter to buy a bag of frozen peas to soothe my swollen cheek. When I got home, Mason was sitting on the living room rug. The front door was open, and he babbled happily when he saw me, reaching his chubby little hands toward the frozen bag. He was starting to say a few words now. His eyes were so innocent, so pure. I looked around the empty apartment, and my heart softened. Mason was innocent. He was just a baby. I handed him the colorful bag, but his tiny hands couldn’t grip it. It rolled under the heavy bookshelf. He pointed his little finger. “Sissy, look! Ball!” I gave him a soft, gentle smile. As I bent down to retrieve the bag of peas, I noticed my dad’s desk drawer was slightly ajar. Peeking out from inside was a photo frame that didn’t belong to our family. I pulled it out. It was a family photo of my dad, my grandparents, and another woman—a beautiful, young woman I had never seen before. A chilling thought flashed through my mind. I looked at Mason, then back at the photo. Mason didn’t look like me. He didn’t look like my mother, either. He looked exactly like my dad. Furthermore, everyone in my family had thick, curly brown hair. Mason’s hair was pin-straight and jet-black. I remembered when Mason was born and had to stay in the incubator for a few days. My mother had been asleep, and I had wandered over to the nurse’s station to ask a question. I had caught a glimpse of Mason’s medical chart. His blood type was O. I was young, but I knew basic biology. My parents were both AB. It was genetically impossible for them to have an O-type baby. I held up the photo of the strange woman. Mason’s eyes lit up instantly. He pointed his tiny finger at her face and babbled, “Mama!” A loud alarm bell went off in my head. Terrified by the dark truth looming before me, I grabbed my things and ran out of the house.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441095”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When my mom got divorced, she gave up every single penny of her share of the assets just to win custody of me—a girl suffering from severe anterograde amnesia. She used to hold me tight and whisper, “Amber, even if your memory only lasts twenty-four hours, I will spend the rest of my life being your sticky note.” To pay for my medical bills, she worked two exhausting jobs, aging herself into an early grave, until we both ended up dead in that cramped, suffocating rented apartment. But then, I opened my eyes again. We were back to the exact day of the divorce, back to the moment they were deciding who got which child. My heart surged with pure joy. I thought I could finally give her a beautiful surprise with my fully recovered memory. But before I could even open my mouth, she pointed her finger right at my nose, her eyes filled with nothing but cold disgust. “Robert, you take Amber. Leo stays with me.” “I’m not ruining my life dragging a brain-damaged liability around.” At that very second, the freezing truth hit me. I wasn’t the only one who had been reborn.

Robert’s brows furrowed in annoyance. “Watch your mouth! The kid is standing right there!” Sarah rubbed her temples exhaustedly, throwing me a sideways glance. “Does it even matter? She won’t remember a single thing tomorrow anyway.” I froze. This habit of rubbing her temples—she only started doing that *after* the divorce in our past life. Back then, she had to work two jobs to afford my medical bills. Whenever she was running on zero sleep, she would rub her temples to force herself to stay awake. So, Sarah had traveled back in time too. And she had already made up her mind to throw me away. A wave of intense hurt rushed over me. I couldn’t help but burst out: “How do you know I won’t remember? Actually, I—” Before I could finish, Sarah’s eyes turned bloodshot. She lunged forward and slapped me across the face. “How do I know? Because every single morning, I’m the one who has to tell you what day it is! What you need to do! What happened to you!” “One year, two years, ten years… you can’t go to school, you can’t get a job, you never make any progress!” “I’ve been sick to death of you for a long time! Honestly, even if you weren’t sick, I wouldn’t want you anymore!” The burning pain on my cheek cleared my head. Suddenly, a flood of details I had long forgotten rushed back into my mind. In the beginning of our past life, Sarah really was a saint to me. She would cover my headboard with colorful sticky notes, never getting tired of answering the exact same questions twenty times a day. Every time she got her paycheck, she would take me straight to the hospital. Within six months, we had visited almost every famous specialist in the state. But every doctor said the same depressing thing. “Cases of this type are extremely rare. We can only offer conservative treatment.” “As for recovery? It’s hard to say. You should probably prepare yourself for the fact that she might never recover.” As the diagnoses grew bleaker, the light in Sarah’s eyes slowly died. Robert didn’t want me either, but he was clearly freaked out by Sarah’s sudden hysteria. “Why the hell did you hit her? Amber is a teenage girl now, is it even appropriate for her to live with me?!” “And I’m way too busy with work! How am I supposed to look after her?!” I grabbed Robert’s arm, tears streaming down my face. “Dad, I promise I’ll take care of myself.” “I’ll write everything down in a notebook so I won’t bother you. Please, just choose me.” At that moment, the look in Sarah’s eyes turned incredibly bitter. “Ha. I’m the one who worked myself to death raising you, and now you’re playing the devoted daughter with him? What an ungrateful little leech.” “Fine. You want to stay with your dad? Go ahead. He’s all yours!” I held onto Robert’s arm, lowering my head to hide my devastating grief. *That’s not it, Mom. It’s just that this time, I don’t want to be the anchor that drags you down to the bottom of the ocean.* She was beautiful. After the divorce in our past life, she had tried dating. But whenever a man came over and saw my condition, they would give her a polite, awkward look. “Sarah, let’s be real. Your daughter is a bottomless money pit. Marrying you means feeding two mouths forever. No sane guy is going to sign up for that.” That night was the first time Sarah ever laid a hand on me. “You’re a curse! You ruined the only chance of happiness I had left!” “If I had known, I would have never been soft-hearted enough to take you! My life is miserable because of you!” So, in this new life, I wanted to let her have her freedom. Robert stayed silent for a long time. In the end, Sarah traded her entire share of the house and the car just to get him to agree. “Fine,” Robert said. “Since you’re leaving me the house and the car, I’ll count that as child support for taking this girl off your hands.” They signed the divorce agreement incredibly fast, as if Sarah was terrified I would change my mind and cling to her if she delayed by even a second. Sarah immediately started looking for a cheap apartment, saying she would move out with Leo the second she found one. Even though we were still living under the same roof for those few days, she treated me like literal air. She cooked slow-roasted BBQ ribs for Leo, and the savory aroma filled the entire house. Robert had “forgotten” to leave me lunch money multiple times. Smelling the food, my stomach cramped painfully from hunger. I couldn’t help but creep over to her. “Mom… can I have some?” She didn’t even look up as she wiped the kitchen counter. “You don’t have a mom starting today. Better get used to it now.”

The moment the front door slammed shut, I heard Leo’s whiny voice echoing in the hallway: “Mom, I want Ben & Jerry’s!” Sarah’s voice was so sweet it could drip honey. “Of course, sweetie. Mom will take you to get some right now.” I slid down against the wall, clutching my starving, aching stomach, and let my tears finally spill over. From that day on, I had to teach myself how to cook. My hands were constantly covered in painful blisters from hot oil splatters. Meanwhile, Sarah enrolled Leo in multiple expensive after-school clubs, driving him back and forth every single day. I stayed at Robert’s house, doing his laundry, cleaning his room. But whenever I brought up going back to school, Robert would just sneer. “With that goldfish brain of yours? Why waste the money? Don’t worry, your dad has a better plan for you.” A few evenings later, he came home with a man and his teenage son. He dragged the boy—who was visibly obese and looked mentally challenged—right up to me. “Amber, meet Toby. You two are going to be best friends from now on.” Toby’s dad scanned me up and down like he was inspecting a piece of meat at a grocery store. “She looks decent. A bit skinny, though. I wonder if she’s got good hips for breeding.” “Our family wants a boy and a girl. If she doesn’t give us a boy first, she’ll have to keep trying.” Robert laughed, patting my shoulder. “She’s still young, right? Give her a few years to fill out, and she’ll look great.” Toby, whose eyes were completely vacant, looked around the room. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and tried to shove my fingers into his mouth. “What is the meaning of this, Dad?!” I screamed, shaking Toby off in terror. Robert shoved me hard. “Why are you yelling?! Don’t scare Toby!” “You’re a girl with a broken brain. You think a normal family like ours can support you forever?” “Mr. Miller here is looking for a child bride who can take care of Toby. If you two get together, I won’t have to worry about your future anymore.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Panic-stricken, I turned to look at Sarah, who was packing her last box in the living room. Her face tightened slightly. “Are you insane, Robert? She’s only fourteen! You’re selling your own daughter?” Robert raised his voice defensively. “You’re the one abandoning her! You have no right to lecture me!” “And who’s selling her? In some countries, girls her age are already promised to families. I’m doing her a favor.” Sarah opened her mouth to argue, but Mr. Miller spoke up in a slow, casual tone. “Well, we don’t just take anyone. I used my connections to get Amber a discretionary enrollment at Oakwood High. If you guys agree, she starts classes with Toby tomorrow.” “If Toby is happy with her, the promised twenty-thousand-dollar payout will be transferred to you immediately.” Like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline, I grabbed Sarah’s sleeve. But she hesitated for a second, then coldly pried my fingers off. “I want half of that money. Wire ten thousand to my account.” The Millers left shortly after. My blood ran ice-cold. I could only force my numb throat to make a sound. “Dad, Mom, please listen to me. My illness is gone. I’m cured.” “I remember eating bagels yesterday morning, instant noodles last night, and the day before, we watched *Gossip Girl* on TV.” “I’m normal now. Please, don’t do this to me.” Both of them looked genuinely shocked. But then Leo chimed in from the couch. “What about Monday? Do you remember what you told me on Monday, Amber?” I froze. I had traveled back in time just two days ago. Of course I had no memory of what happened on Monday. Robert’s expression returned to its usual coldness, and Sarah let out a sharp sneer. “Good thing Leo is smart. You just kept a notebook for two days and thought you could fool me?” “It’s not like they’re forcing you to get married tomorrow. Stop being so dramatic! Didn’t you say you wanted to go to school? Now you have the chance, so shut up and take it!” I shook my head violently, dropping straight to my knees. “No, please. Just take me to the hospital for a check-up, you’ll see!” “I’m really cured! I can go to school, get a job, and take care of you guys! I don’t need to be sold to Toby!” Leo yawned, looking bored. “Mom, she’s so loud. I’m sleepy. Come read me a story.” “I got an A on my spelling test today. Can we get ice cream after school tomorrow as a reward?” Sarah didn’t want to waste another second on me. She picked Leo up with a glowing smile. “Of course, my perfect boy. Mom will buy you whatever you want.” As they walked past me, I tried to grab her hem, but she kicked my hand away. I kept frantically trying to prove to Robert that I was sane, but he grabbed me by the collar and threw me into my dark bedroom. “Enough. If you still remember all this tomorrow morning, we’ll talk.” That night, I hugged my knees in the dark, crying until I threw up.

The next morning, before the sun even rose, I was already waiting in the living room. If I could prove I had my memory, if I could prove I was normal, maybe I could escape this living hell. Even if there was only a one-in-a-million chance. The moment I heard Robert’s bedroom door click open, I lunged forward. “Mr. Miller came yesterday! He offered a twenty-thousand-dollar payout! Leo ate chips, and Mom promised him ice cream!” “Look! I remember everything perfectly! Doesn’t this prove I’m cured?” Robert gasped and turned to Sarah. A flash of surprise crossed Sarah’s face, but she quickly masked it with a scowl. “Look at your bloodshot eyes. You stayed awake all night on purpose, didn’t you?” In our past life, Sarah and I had realized that if I didn’t sleep at night, there was a small chance I could retain the previous day’s memories. Now, she was using that exact piece of knowledge as a weapon against me. The Millers’ car was already waiting outside. My parents grabbed my arms and pushed me out the door. Tears streaming down my face, I clawed at the doorframe, refusing to let go. Sarah sighed, kneeling down to stroke my hair. “Just go to school for a few days. Getting an education isn’t a bad thing.” “Once your dad and I are done with the paperwork, we’ll take you to the hospital. If you really are cured, we’ll figure something else out, okay?” Her eyes suddenly looked so gentle, just like they used to. I instinctively reached out my pinky finger to lock promises with her. But the next second, Leo called out to her, and she immediately shoved me aside. “The milk on the table is getting cold, sweetie! Let Mom warm it up for you!” Robert took the opportunity to grab my wrists, dragging me out to the car like a criminal. The moment I walked into the classroom with Toby, I felt the hostile, mocking stares of everyone around us. Sure enough, the second the teacher stepped out, a group of boys sneered and crowded around my desk. “Hey, are you the retard’s child bride? Do you guys sleep in the same bed at night?” “Does the retard even know how to do it? Want us to teach you?” The entire classroom erupted into loud laughter. I swallowed my disgust, keeping my eyes glued to my desk, my voice trembling. “I’m not. Stop lying.” The ringleader mocked my voice in a high-pitched squeal, then turned to slap Toby on the back of his head. “Hey, Toby! Tell us, is she your girl?” Toby nodded droolingly, a dumb grin on his face. “Daddy said she’s mine. I get to kiss her.” The laughter grew deafening. I covered my ears and buried my head in my arms. *Just endure it,* I told myself. *Just a little longer.* I played dead until the final bell rang, and I was the very first one to bolt out of the school. Sarah was waiting at the school gate to pick up Leo. I threw my arms around her. “Mom, the kids in my class are going to hurt me. I’m scared. Please take me home with you!” Her voice was ice-cold. “Picking you up is your father’s job. My scooter can’t fit three people anyway.” “Besides, bullies don’t pick on kids for no reason. If they don’t like you, maybe you should look at your own behavior.” Leo started whining for ice cream again. Sarah didn’t listen to another word. She started the scooter and zoomed away, leaving me in the dust. Before I could even take a step, several hands grabbed me from behind, dragging me into a blind alley with no security cameras. I screamed “Mom! Mom!” over and over, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. One of the boys locked his arm around Toby’s neck, pushing him within inches of my face, while others pulled out their phones to record. “Here comes the retard’s wife! Let’s watch them make out!” Hands began pushing the back of my head, trying to force my face against his. I fought back with everything I had. “If you do this, I’ll tell the principal! I’ll call the cops!” The leader laughed even louder, squeezing Toby’s shoulder. “Are we bullying you? Aren’t we all just good friends playing a game?” Hearing the word “friends,” Toby grinned widely. “Yeah! Friends! Playing games!” They shoved Toby forward. Like an animal, he started licking my face wildly, his sticky spit smeared all over my cheeks. The smell and texture made me gag instantly. The crowd grew wild with excitement, shouting at Toby to rip my clothes off. Toby didn’t understand what he was doing; he just knew that doing this made everyone laugh. He pulled at my clothes with brute force. Within minutes, I was stripped down to my underwear, with dirty hands touching me everywhere. When you’re in absolute despair, your body just shivers. You can’t even make a sound. Just when I thought my life was completely over, a sharp scream echoed from the entrance of the alley. “What are you doing to Amber?! Stop right now!”

It was my homeroom teacher. She had overheard some students talking about the “prank” on her way out of school and had rushed over to stop it. It was only when she took me into the girls’ bathroom to check my bruises that I finally let out a loud, gut-wrenching sob. She patted my head gently. “I’m going to call your parents right now. Don’t worry, they will be severely punished.” She called Robert first. But before she could even explain, Robert snapped that he was busy working overtime and hung up. So she called Sarah. The moment she said, “Amber was assaulted at school,” Sarah replied in a completely uncaring tone: “Are her bones broken? She’s a special-needs kid; it’s normal for her to be isolated.” “It’s fine, teacher. Amber will forget everything by tomorrow anyway. She won’t cause any trouble for the school.” The teacher gasped, completely furious. “This is a young girl’s safety and dignity! How can you be so irresponsible as a mother?!” “If you don’t come down here right now, I am calling the police and having them bring you in!” Half an hour later, Sarah finally showed up at the office. The boys hadn’t had time to delete the video before the teacher snatched their phones. With undeniable proof, every single one of them was suspended. Mr. Miller, fearing legal trouble, immediately wanted to cut all ties with our family to protect his son. To protect me, the principal offered to transfer me to a different class. On the way home, I walked with a heavy limp behind Sarah. She suddenly stopped and turned around, looking extremely annoyed. “What are you crying for? The doctor said they’re just minor scratches.” “You got into a prestigious school, and you don’t have to marry Toby anymore. Isn’t this a blessing in disguise?” “Tomorrow, your dad and I will finish the divorce paperwork. I’ll move out with Leo, so you’d better start looking out for yourself.” My body was in agonizing pain, but my heart was breaking even more. I thought I was just switching parents. Why did it have to be this cruel? Did she really not love me at all anymore? I looked up, staring directly into her cold eyes. “Mom, is it because you think my illness makes me a burden? Is that why you don’t want me?” She pursed her lips, staying silent. I clenched my fists, a fire burning hot in my chest. “But I’m really, completely cured.” “In our last life, I was supposed to die in that rental apartment because of brain atrophy. But the moment I woke up here, I remembered everything.” “I know you came back from the future too. I recognize all your expressions, all your habits.” The coldness in Sarah’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly turned her face away. “You’re insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tears streamed down my face. “I know how hard it was for you in our past life, Mom. That’s why I was going to let you go.” “But I don’t want to live with Robert. What if he tries to sell me again?” “Mom, I love you so much. I just want to be with you. Didn’t you always say that as long as you had me, it was enough?” During our poorest days, we lived in a damp basement, sharing a single pack of instant noodles. She would put the noodles in my bowl, and I would feed her the first bite. She would hold me tight, laughing, “Amber is such a good girl. You are Mom’s favorite person in the world.” At the mention of our past, Sarah’s body shivered slightly. Her eyes welled up with tears, and her warm palm instinctively covered the back of my hand. Hope flared in my chest. I gripped her hand tightly. I was just about to warn her about how Leo’s gambling would eventually ruin Robert and drive our family to ruin. But in the next second, she violently shook my hand off, pushing me away with immense force. “Enough!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441096”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Through the thick glass window of the fire simulation chamber, my four-year-old daughter, Lily, was frantically pounding her tiny hands against the door. Choking black smoke had turned her little face a terrifying shade of purple. The heart rate monitor next to the glass was blinking wildly, the numbers screaming at 190. The piercing alarm cut through my ears like a knife. “Open the door. Let her out. Now.” I screamed, my voice cracking. But Carter held my wrist in a vice grip, pinning my hand away from the emergency stop button. “Her training session isn’t over yet.” “She has a congenital heart condition. She is your own daughter, Carter.” He didn’t even look at the monitor. “Valerie is having a panic attack down the hall. I have to go to her. The system is automated. Nothing will go wrong.” The heavy steel door slammed shut behind him. In that exact second, Lily’s body went limp like a doll with its strings cut. She collapsed headfirst into the swirling black smoke. I went completely wild. I grabbed a heavy fire extinguisher from the wall and began smashing the glass door, blood dripping from my split knuckles. By the time Carter returned, holding a weeping Valerie in his arms, the paramedics had already stopped their chest compressions. Valerie huddled against his chest, shedding fake tears. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have had a panic attack.” Carter tightened his arm around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Valerie.” I supported myself against the cold wall, my voice reduced to a raspy, broken whisper. “Then what about my daughter?” He looked at me with those cold, detached eyes. “It was a necessary sacrifice for the research.” I stared at his hypocritical face, my heart turning into a block of ice. Fine. Carter, since you taught me what sacrifice means, now it’s my turn to teach you.

Joanna’s POV Carter knew our four-year-old daughter, Lily, had a congenital heart defect. Yet, behind my back, he locked her inside that horrific fire simulation chamber. At preschool, Lily wasn’t even allowed to run too fast without gasping for air. But Carter, her own father, forced her into that suffocating black smoke all for some twisted “stress-tolerance training.” By the time I stormed into the control room, the monitoring screens were flashing with an icy glow. On the center screen, four-year-old Lily was clutching her favorite yellow teddy bear, curled up helplessly in the corner of the dark room. Thick, toxic smoke pumped into the chamber. The crimson emergency lights strobed violently. My baby’s face was deathly pale, her wide eyes filled with absolute terror. Beside the screen, her heart rate monitor was spiking out of control. I shoved the technicians out of my way and lunged for the emergency stop button. “Open the door! Let her out!” But Carter grabbed my wrist, his voice chillingly calm. “The simulation run isn’t complete. We can’t stop it.” “She has a heart condition! Have you lost your mind?!” Tears poured down my face. “Valerie ran the safety assessment. It’s fine,” Carter said, not even blinking. “She’s my daughter. She needs to learn to stay calm in a disaster.” I stared at the man I shared a bed with in sheer disbelief. “She’s four! You’re using your own daughter as a lab rat?” Carter frowned, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Joanna, you used to run this project. You of all people should know that effective training requires discomfort.” On the screen, Lily began pounding desperately on the glass. But the soundproof blast door swallowed her tiny screams. I could only watch as my daughter gasped for air, her little hands hitting the glass over and over until she dropped her teddy bear, too weak to pick it up. The monitor let out a sharp, continuous beep. Heart rate: 190! “Open the door! Carter, I’m begging you, please!” I dug my fingernails deep into Carter’s arm until I drew blood. Carter just looked away. “Don’t let your personal emotions cloud your professional judgment.” Just then, the intercom buzzed. Valerie’s trembling, tearful voice came through: “Carter… I’m so scared. The alarms… they’re triggering my PTSD from the fire back then. I can’t breathe…” Hearing her voice, Carter’s cold expression cracked instantly. The veins on his hands popped. Sensing his movement, I immediately blocked the control room door. “You are not leaving! Lily is still in there!” Over the radio, Valerie’s voice grew weaker. “Carter… help me…” Carter couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved me aside brutally. “Valerie is in trouble. I have to go.” “What about our daughter?! Lily is going to die!” I screamed hysterically. “The automated system is monitoring her! Nothing will go wrong!” Carter didn’t even look back as he threw the door open. “Stop being so dramatic, Joanna.” The door slammed shut. The control room was filled with nothing but the screaming red alarms. I lunged at the console, hitting the override button repeatedly. But the screen flashed a cold red message: AUTHORIZATION LOCKED. ACCESS DENIED. Then, the main lights in the simulation chamber cut out. The emergency red lights flooded the space. On screen, little Lily clutched her chest in agony. Her body swayed, and she collapsed flat onto the floor. My heart stopped beating. I lost my mind. I ran out of the control room, shoving past the staff in the hallway. I snatched the fire extinguisher off the wall and began smashing the heavy lock of the chamber door. The security guards tried to pull me away, but they backed off, terrified by the bloody, desperate look in my eyes. After what felt like a hundred strikes, the lock finally shattered. The door swung open. I threw the extinguisher aside and fell to my knees, pulling my daughter’s cold body into my arms. Her lips were blue. Her chest was completely still. “A doctor! Someone call 911!” I carried her and ran, tripping over the threshold and scraping my knees raw. But I couldn’t feel the pain. I scrambled back up, screaming for help like a madwoman. The paramedics rushed in, taking Lily from my arms. They immediately started CPR, bagging her, pushing epinephrine… By the time Carter returned, Valerie was wrapped in his jacket, leaning against him. Her face was slightly pale, but her breathing was perfectly steady. She had a few dry tears on her cheeks. I sat paralyzed on the dirty floor, my hands covered in blood, like an empty shell. The lead paramedic finally stopped. He looked at Carter and shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Carter… we couldn’t get her back. She’s gone.” Carter froze. Seeing this, Valerie immediately covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry, Carter… If I hadn’t had that attack, you wouldn’t have left Lily. This is all my fault…” Carter took a deep breath and held her tightly. “This isn’t your fault, Valerie.” Hearing those words, I slowly raised my head and stared at Carter. My voice was completely gone, reduced to a raspy whisper. “Not her fault? Then whose fault is it? Carter, that was your daughter!” Carter avoided my eyes. He frowned, his voice returning to that professional, icy tone. “This was an extreme anomaly. High-stress data collection requires realistic environments. Lily’s sacrifice proves we need to push this training program forward. Without this data, more people will freeze in real disasters.” Using the wall for support, I slowly stood up. I walked right up to Carter. With every ounce of strength left in my body, I slapped him across the face. SLAP! The sharp sound echoed down the corridor. Carter’s face snapped to the side, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Joanna! You designed these harsh training protocols years ago!” Carter hissed, grabbing his jaw. “You of all people should understand what sacrifice means!” I didn’t answer him. I stared at the blood on his lip. I bent down to pick up my baby’s cold, lifeless body, but the world suddenly spun into pitch black, and I collapsed.

Joanna’s POV When I woke up in the cold hospital room, the only sound was the dripping of the IV. Lily’s cause of death had already been officially written off by Carter as a “sudden cardiac event due to pre-existing conditions.” The hospital door was slightly ajar. Out in the hallway, I could hear Carter’s assistant talking in a hushed, urgent whisper. “Carter, I checked the logs. Before Lily went in, Valerie secretly raised the visual and audio stimulation levels by two whole notches! She even bypassed the safety redline in the system!” Carter’s voice was cold and commanding. “Delete that part from the incident report. Not a single word of it gets out.” The assistant panicked. “But Joanna’s original safety standards for kids were clear! If a child’s heart rate stays over 160, the system must shut down automatically!” “She isn’t the head of this project anymore,” Carter cut him off coldly. “But why did Valerie change the data? She said… she said she wanted to test the limits. She wanted to see the absolute breaking point of a civilian in a crisis. Carter, Lily was only four years old!” The room was deathly quiet. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. The wounds from smashing the door yesterday split open, dripping blood onto the white sheets. I couldn’t feel the pain. Outside, Carter’s cold voice rang out again. “Never mention this again. Lock the data. Until the press conference is over, Joanna must not get her hands on any project files.” Footsteps approached. I quickly closed my eyes. Carter pushed the door open. He walked quietly to my bedside and gently pulled the blanket up to my chin. “Are you awake?” I didn’t move or open my eyes. He sighed, his voice thick with a fake, exhausted tenderness. “About Lily… I know you hate me right now.” I slowly opened my eyes and stared at him. “How are you writing up Lily’s death report?” Carter’s hand paused. “The training run followed all safety protocols. She participated voluntarily as part of the family pilot program.” I turned my head away, my voice dry as sandpaper. “A four-year-old? Voluntary?” Carter frowned, his patience wearing thin. “It’s just for the public, Joanna. Lily is gone. We can’t let her death turn into a scandal that ruins the entire project. You’re her mother. If you cooperate with the media, everyone will believe us.” My eyes drifted down to his sleeve. There was a light pink thread stuck to his jacket. It was from Valerie’s sweater. Last night, he was holding the killer, comforting her. And this morning, he was using those same hands to offer me a cup of warm water, coaching me on how to cover up for his mistress. Nausea rose in my throat. I forced myself to stay calm. “Fine. I’ll cooperate. But I have one condition. I want a divorce, and you will sign the settlement agreement I draw up.” Carter let out a visible sigh of relief. He reached out to touch my forehead, but I flinched away. His hand froze in midair before he awkwardly pulled it back. “Deal. Just do as I say. Rest up. I’ll pick you up for the press conference tomorrow morning.” The moment the door clicked shut, I ripped the IV out of my hand. Blood welled up, but I ignored it and got out of bed. In the cabinet of the hospital room, there was a duffel bag containing Carter’s backup laptop. The password was still Lily’s birthday. I sat down and plugged in a flash drive. Carter had locked me out of the main database to keep me quiet. But he forgot one thing: I built the foundation of this entire system. I had left an undocumented backdoor. Time was running out. Anyone could walk in at any second. I quickly copied the most critical system logs, the ones proving the chamber was operated dangerously above safety limits, and that Lily’s medical profile should have barred her from entering. The next morning, Carter arrived to pick me up. He brought a high-collared black coat for me. “During the interview, keep your answers short. If they ask about Lily, just say she was a brave girl.” I put the coat on. In the inner pocket, my fingers tightly gripped the flash drive containing the truth. Thinking I had finally submitted, Carter reached out to adjust my collar. “Once today is over, everything will go back to normal.” I looked up at his handsome, lying face, and a cold smile touched my lips. “Yes. It will.”

Joanna’s POV Right after the press conference, I met with my lawyer. I handed him the flash drive. He looked at the files for less than three minutes before his face turned grim. “Joanna, this is gold. It’s enough to ruin them.” I stared at him. “Can we go to the police?” He closed the laptop. “Yes. But in the short term, it won’t touch Carter.” “My daughter is dead.” “I know.” My lawyer lowered his voice. “But in the San Francisco Fire Department, Carter is a decorated hero. Right now, you only have partial logs and medical reports. It’s not enough to convict him instantly.” My hands tightened on the desk. “I can file the charges,” he continued, “but you need to be prepared. Once we file, he’ll get notified immediately. He has powerful friends. He will bury this.” “So what do I do?” “Get him to sign the divorce and asset division papers first, before he suspects anything.” When I walked out of the law firm, my phone had seventeen missed calls. All from Carter. The eighteenth call came through. I answered. “Where are you?” Carter demanded instantly. “Meeting my lawyer.” The line went dead silent for two seconds. “What are you trying to do, Joanna?” “I’m reporting you to the police.” Carter’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “You’re emotionally unstable right now.” “I have never been saner.” “Then you should think about Evelyn.” I froze on the sidewalk, my fingers clenching the phone. Carter spoke slowly. “Evelyn had a heart scare this morning. I had her moved to a private care facility. The security there is a bit… loose, and the staff can be quite negligent. If you say anything stupid at the media briefing later, I can’t guarantee she’ll make it through the night.” “Carter! You bastard!” “I’ll see you at the venue,” he said, completely ignoring my rage. “Wear the black coat. And don’t bring anything you shouldn’t. My security will check you at the door.” He hung up. Evelyn was my foster mother. She wasn’t my biological mother, but she was the one who took me out of the foster system when I was ten. When I had high fevers, she stayed up all night sponging my forehead. When I won my first engineering award, she framed the certificate and hung it in the living room. On my wedding day, she held my hand and said, “Joanna, if he ever hurts you, you come back home. I’m always here.” And now, Carter had her in a chokehold. The media briefing was set for 3:00 PM. At the entrance, Carter’s assistant stopped me. He held out his hand. “Phone, bag, and empty your coat pockets, please.” I handed over my phone. When his fingers brushed the inner pocket of my coat, he felt the flash drive. I stared at him. The assistant slipped the flash drive into a plastic evidence bag. He whispered, “Mr. Carter is doing this for your own good, Joanna.” I said nothing. I walked onto the stage. The room was packed with reporters. The flashing lights were blinding. Carter sat on my right. Valerie sat on my left, her face pale, a white bandage wrapped around her wrist. The first reporter jumped up. “Mrs. Carter, we heard rumors that you accused the training project of causing your daughter’s death. Is that true?” Carter casually placed his hand on the back of my chair. I felt the warning pressure of his fingers. I looked straight into the camera lens. My throat felt like it was coated in ash. “I was emotionally unstable yesterday.” The room went dead silent. Valerie lowered her head, wiping a tear. “Lily had a congenital heart condition,” I continued, forcing each word out. “Her death was a tragic medical anomaly. In my grief, I lashed out and wrongfully blamed my husband and Valerie.” Carter’s hand relaxed, patting my shoulder gently. Another reporter pressed on. “So there were no safety violations in the simulation?” I saw Carter’s phone, which was sitting on the table, light up. It was a live security feed from the care facility. Evelyn was lying in a hospital bed. Two strange men in black suits were standing right by her door. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “There is no evidence of any violations.” The moment those words left my mouth, Valerie sobbed softly. “Joanna… I know how much pain you’re in. I don’t blame you for pointing fingers.” Carter handed her a tissue. The cameras instantly swerved to capture the touching scene. By the next morning, my name was dragged through the mud online. “Grieving Mother Exploits Daughter’s Death to Attack Fire Hero.” “Former Engineer Suffers Mental Breakdown, Accuses Top Charity Project.” “Valerie Working Through Illness for Charity, Attacked by Jealous Wife.” I sat in the dark living room, scrolling through Twitter. People called me a psycho. They said I was using my dead child for clout. They dug up my old engineering credentials, calling me a hypocrite who designed brutal training simulations myself. Carter stood behind me, looking down at my phone. “See? No one will ever believe you.” I locked the screen. Carter walked around to face me. “As long as you behave, Evelyn will receive the best medical care. Lily is gone. If you keep causing trouble, you’ll only hurt the people who are still alive.” I kept my head down to hide the burning hatred in my eyes. Fighting him head-on right now would only get me killed. I had to survive first. And I had to keep Evelyn safe. I pulled out the settlement agreement, which had the divorce papers hidden inside, and slid it across the table. “Sign it. You promised.” Carter picked up the pen. Just as he was about to read the fine print, his phone rang. Valerie’s whimpering voice came through the speaker. “Carter… it hurts so much… can you please come over?” Carter’s expression softened instantly. He stood up to leave. I grabbed his arm, my face expressionless. “Sign it first.” Irritated, Carter quickly flipped to the back page, scribbled his signature without looking, and rushed out the door.

Joanna’s POV Three days after the press conference, I was cornered by Carter’s fanatic supporters outside Evelyn’s care facility. “How dare you show your face here? Carter is a hero, and you’re trying to ruin him!” “Valerie is an angel! How could you lie about her?” “You’re trash!” Someone yanked my hair. Another person kicked my knees. The paper bag in my hands ripped, and the hand-knit sweater I brought for Evelyn fell into the muddy puddle. My head hit the edge of a concrete planter. Warm blood began to trickle down my forehead. By the time security finally showed up, the crowd was still screaming at me. “Stop acting like a victim! You’re just a crazy bitch!” I dragged myself up against the wall, my ears ringing. I knelt down, picking up the muddy sweater, trying to brush off the dirt. My phone rang. The voice on the other end was quiet and professional. “Is this the family of Evelyn Vance?” My hand froze. “Yes. I’m her daughter.” “I’m so sorry. The transport vehicle carrying Ms. Vance suffered a sudden engine explosion on the highway. Her remains have been brought to the city morgue. The damage is severe, so please prepare yourself.” The sweater slipped from my fingers back into the mud. “Whose remains?” I whispered, unable to breathe. “Evelyn Vance.” When I arrived at the morgue, they only showed me a black body bag. The coroner wouldn’t let me look for long. But I saw the old silver bracelet on her charred wrist. I bought that for her with my very first paycheck. She had worn it for years. The chain had broken three times, but she always got it fixed because she couldn’t bear to part with it. I reached out to touch the metal. My fingertips came away covered in cold, black ash. Valerie was staying in the hospital’s VIP suite. When I pushed the door open, she was sitting up in bed, sipping water. The room was filled with fresh pink roses. Carter had just sent them. Valerie gasped when she saw me, then set her cup down. “Joanna? What are you doing here?” I locked the door behind me. “Evelyn is dead.” Valerie’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “I heard. Such a tragedy.” “You did this.” “Joanna, you can’t just blame me for everything bad in your life,” Valerie said with a soft sigh. “Your daughter had a weak heart and couldn’t handle the training. You blamed me for that, too.” I took a step closer to her bed. Valerie shrank back slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If the little brat hadn’t run around with a bad heart, she wouldn’t have died. But of course, you blame me.” I grabbed the glass of water from her bedside table and splashed it directly into her face. Valerie shrieked. “Everyone around you dies, Joanna. Maybe you’re just bad luck,” she sneered, wiping the water from her face. Her sweet, innocent mask was completely gone. “Carter will always protect me. Who is left to protect you?” I lost control. I lunged forward and grabbed her throat. Valerie choked, her face turning red as she violently slammed her hand onto the nurse call button. The door was kicked open. Carter stormed in. He grabbed my wrist and threw me hard onto the floor. Valerie huddled under her blankets, sobbing and shaking. “Carter… I’m okay… Don’t hurt Joanna. She’s just grieving…” I pushed myself up from the floor, screaming. “She killed my mother!” Carter blocked Valerie’s bed. “Enough, Joanna!” “Get out of my way!” “How long are you going to keep acting like a lunatic?” Carter roared. I grabbed a paring knife from the fruit basket on the table and pointed the blade at Valerie. “I will make her pay!” Carter’s eyes narrowed. He lunged to grab the knife. In the chaotic struggle, the sharp blade sliced deeply across my right hand. Blood instantly gushed out. My fingers lost all strength, and the knife clattered to the floor. This was the hand that had designed countless safety protocols. The hand that had built the most precise simulation models in the country. The hand that had held Carter through his night terrors after his failed missions. Now, the cut ran from my thumb all the way across my palm, deep enough to show bone. Carter barely even blinked. “You haven’t worked as an engineer in years anyway,” he said coldly. “If your hand is ruined, so be it.” I looked up at him, my heart completely empty. The last trace of my love for this man died right there. When I was brought back to our house, my right hand was wrapped in a thick bandage. Carter locked me in the guest bedroom. His voice came through the thick door. “Stay here for a few days. Don’t leave until you’ve cooled down.” The key turned in the lock. His footsteps faded away. I sat on the cold floor and pulled out a small cloth pouch from Evelyn’s belongings that I had managed to keep. Inside was an old photo of me as a baby. On the back, there was a phone number and a handwritten note: “Joanna, if you ever find yourself with nowhere left to go, call this number. Find the Aston family in Seattle. They are your real family.” I dialed the number with my trembling left hand. A woman’s shaking voice answered. “Is… is this Joanna?” I held the phone tight, watching the blood slowly seep through my white bandages. “I need to escape from Carter.” The phone was taken by a man. His voice was deep, powerful, and steady. “We will bring you home, sweetheart. But you must remember two things.” I looked at the locked door. “What?” “First, Carter must believe you are dead. Second, the authorities must find zero evidence that the Astons helped fake your death.”

Joanna’s POV “If you run now, Carter will destroy the evidence first, then he will destroy you. Valerie will keep playing the victim, and they will paint you as a madwoman,” the man’s voice was low and calm. He was Arthur Aston, my biological father. “Joanna, endure it just a little longer. When the time is right, the Astons will make sure they lose everything. We will collect every single debt they owe to Lily and Evelyn.” I stared at the light bleeding under the door crack. “I want them ruined.” “I want them to face justice.” “They will. I promise you,” another voice joined the call. It was Ashley, my biological sister. “The moment you give us the green light, our people will move.” I hung up. A moment later, the door unlocked. Carter walked in, followed by two burly security guards. He glanced at my bloody hand. “Valerie’s hand was hurt in the scuffle, too.” I looked up at him. “You’re going to the hospital to take care of her,” Carter said flatly. Evelyn’s ashes were sitting in a small black box on my vanity. Just a small box. That was all that was left of the woman who raised me. I looked at the box. “My mother just died.” “I know,” Carter said, frowning. “That’s why you need to keep busy. It’ll keep you from overthinking.” “You want me to nurse her killer?” “You’re delusional again! Valerie is the victim here! She’s been shaking all night because of you, and her wrist is sprained. You owe her this, Joanna.” “Fine,” I said, a dry, mocking laugh escaping my throat. “I’ll go.” I reached out and picked up the urn. Carter blocked me. “Why are you bringing that?” “I don’t want my mother to be lonely.” Carter remained silent for a few seconds before stepping aside. The VIP hospital room was warm. Valerie was sitting up in bed, a bandage around her wrist. But on her fingers, she wore a small, silver-plated safety bracelet on a red string. On the back of the silver plate, the name Lily Vance was engraved. I froze at the entrance. Carter had placed that bracelet on Lily’s wrist for her third birthday. I remembered him kneeling down, tying the red string around our daughter’s tiny wrist, then holding my hand. “I will protect both of you from now on.” And now, that red string was on Valerie’s wrist. Valerie raised her hand, showing it off. “Carter said I’ve been having nightmares, so he gave me this to keep the bad spirits away. You don’t mind, do you, Joanna?” I looked at her with pure disgust. “Keep it. Dirty things belong together.” Valerie picked up a bowl of chicken soup from her tray, smiling sweetly. “Really? Joanna, I had the kitchen make this soup for you. You haven’t eaten in days. Have some.” She opened the box next to her, and my blood turned to ice. That was the urn I had brought. Valerie used a silver spoon to scoop out a small mound of grey ash, slowly pouring it into the hot soup. “Evelyn died such a painful death. Drink this, and you two can be reunited.” “You sick bitch!” I lunged at her, but the guards immediately pinned me down. One of the younger guards looked at Valerie’s sadistic smile, a flash of disgust crossing his face. He subtly loosened his grip on my arm, but he didn’t dare let go completely. Valerie walked up to me with the bowl, forcing my jaw open. “Drink up! Don’t you want to be with your mother? Hahaha!” I struggled wildly, but the soup mixed with ash was forced down my throat. I coughed violently, tears streaming down my face. Valerie turned around and dumped the rest of the ashes onto the tiled floor. The greyish-white powder scattered everywhere. She stepped on it with her slippers, looking down at me. “See? Who can you protect, Joanna?” I managed to wrench myself free from the guard’s grip and tackled Valerie to the ground. My left hand gripped her neck, while my right hand’s bandages tore open, dripping fresh blood onto her face. “I will kill you!” Carter slammed the door open and dragged me off her. Valerie scrambled into his arms, sobbing hysterically. “Carter… I just wanted her to eat something… she suddenly went crazy…” Ignoring the excruciating pain in my hand, I crawled on the floor, desperately trying to gather Evelyn’s scattered ashes with my bare fingers. Carter stepped on my wrist, hard. “Take her to the basement cold storage room. Let her freeze until she calms down.” As I was dragged away, my eyes burned red. After I left, the younger guard stared at the messy room. He clenched his teeth, pulled out his phone, and took photos of the spilled ashes and the soup bowl. When no one was looking, he used a clean plastic bag to scoop up a small amount of the ash and soup, hiding it deep in his pocket. The heavy steel door of the basement cold storage slammed shut. The freezing air immediately cut into my bones. I curled up in the corner. My right hand was completely numb, and the taste of ash still lingered in my mouth. I pulled out my phone and typed one word: Proceed.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “439540”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster