Category: English

A gorgeous transfer student joined our class today, and she had the exact same name as me. Our dance teacher sighed. “We have two Chloes now. How should we tell you apart?” Zach, my childhood friend, was the first to raise his hand. He smirked, his voice dripping with malice. “Easy, Ms. Gable. The new one is ‘Skinny Chloe.’ The old one can be ‘Fat Chloe.’” “By the way, Ms. Gable, I can’t even lift ‘Fat Chloe’ anymore. Can I get a new partner?” The whole room burst into laughter. My face burned as I clutched the fabric of my leotard. But back then, I was stupid. I thought Zach was just being his usual teasing self. After all, dance partners need years to build chemistry, and Zach and I had been dancing together for six years. Until the selection for the upcoming Annual Showcase group dance. Without a second thought, Zach grabbed Chloe Brown’s hand. “This showcase is a big deal,” he said dismissively. “Representatives from Juilliard are coming. It’s not like our usual high school recitals.” “Letting a pig like you on stage would just embarrass our school.” And just like that, I was kicked off the performance list. But I refused to give up. I started starving myself like crazy, until I fainted in the dance studio. A guy I didn’t know opened the door to the nurse’s office. He looked at me and said, “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” “Let me teach you how to show off your body.” The next second, he spun and leaped in front of me. His form was more professional than any dance teacher I had ever seen.

During dance class, Ms. Gable suddenly announced some exciting news. “For this year’s Annual Showcase, the admissions directors from the Juilliard School will be here. They’re going to select one outstanding student for a full-scholarship, one-month summer intensive in New York.” The studio erupted. “Oh my god, Juilliard!” “Are you serious? That’s basically a golden ticket to getting admitted early!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Juilliard had been my dream for as long as I could remember. And now, the opportunity was right in front of me. “Our group piece, ‘Chasing Light,’ will be the highlight of the showcase,” Ms. Gable continued. “The Juilliard directors will watch the entire thing. Whoever performs the best will have the highest chance of being chosen.” The new girl, Chloe Brown, suddenly raised her hand, looking at Ms. Gable with big, puppy-dog eyes. “Ms. Gable, since I just transferred here, I don’t have a partner yet. Does that mean I can’t participate in the showcase?” Ms. Gable looked troubled. “Well, Chloe, your situation is a bit tricky.” Since we shared the exact same first name, the teacher had started calling us by our last names. She was Brown. I was Miller. “The other students have been paired up for a long time. It wouldn’t be fair to break up established duos. Plus, you’ve just arrived, and you aren’t familiar with the choreography for ‘Chasing Light’ yet.” “How about you watch and learn this time? I promise to prioritize you for the next showcase.” Chloe Brown’s eyes immediately welled with tears. A few guys in the back looked completely heartbroken and rushed to comfort her. Right then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Ms. Gable, I’ll partner with her.” My head snapped up. It was Zach. Without even looking at me, he repeated, “I’ll partner with Brown for the showcase.” The studio went dead silent. Every single eye turned to me. I stood up abruptly, staring at Zach in utter disbelief. “What about me?” Ms. Gable frowned, looking back and forth between Zach and me with clear hesitation. “Zach, you’ve been partners with Miller for six years. Your chemistry is unmatched. The showcase is too important to swap partners at the last minute. Are you sure about this?” “Perfectly sure,” Zach replied coldly. “I want to dance with Chloe Brown. She’s disciplined. I’m sure her technique is way better than Chloe Miller’s.” “Besides—” He finally turned his gaze to me, wearing that familiar, nasty smirk. “With Chloe Miller’s current shape, putting her on stage would be an embarrassment. What if the Juilliard directors think our school only produces eyesores?” Harsh jeers and snickers echoed through the room. I froze, my fingers gripping the hem of my skirt so hard they turned white.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Chloe Brown said softly. “Ms. Gable, how about this? Chloe Miller and I can have a fair competition. Whoever meets the target weight gets to perform.” Ms. Gable brought out a scale and lined everyone up. One by one, the dancers stepped on. “118 lbs… 115 lbs… 123 lbs…” The numbers stayed consistently around the low 110s and 120s. Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the metal scale. The digital screen flickered before locking onto a number: 152 lbs. “Whoa!” Zach’s dramatic gasp echoed loudly across the studio. He covered his mouth in mock horror. “No wonder I couldn’t lift you! Over a hundred and fifty pounds? Seriously, Miller, are you trying to crush me to death?” The classroom erupted in laughter again. Ms. Gable’s expression soured. She frowned at me. “Chloe Miller, your weight is indeed over the limit for a dancer. You know what the professional standard is. Go home and get a grip on it. Stop being lazy.” I stood there, completely numb, and nodded. “Next,” Ms. Gable called. Chloe Brown stepped onto the scale with grace. A collective gasp filled the room. “Oh my god, only 110 lbs!” “That’s so light! Chloe, how do you keep such a perfect figure?” Chloe Brown blushed. “There’s no secret, really. Just eating less and practicing more. Dance is the art of expressing beauty, after all—” She paused, casting a subtle, mocking glance in my direction. “If you can’t even control your own weight, how can you claim to love dancing?” The studio fell quiet for a second before a wave of agreement washed over the room. “Exactly!” “Chloe Brown is amazing. So beautiful and disciplined.” Even Ms. Gable smiled, looking at Chloe Brown with pure admiration. Then, she turned her cold, disapproving gaze back to me. “Did you hear that? You both study dance, but she not only has a perfect body, she has the right attitude.” “Chloe Miller, your technique is solid, but what good is technique if your lines look like that on stage? The audience judges with their eyes first.” “Chloe Brown will take your spot for the showcase.” I lowered my head, my fingernails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. During the rest of the class, everyone paired up to practice “Chasing Light.” I was left standing alone in the corner, looking like a pathetic outsider. Zach’s enthusiastic voice drifted over to me. “Don’t worry, Chloe. With me as your partner, we’re going to own that stage.” After school, I snuck into the old, abandoned dance studio. And I danced. Over and over again. I refused to accept this. I had practiced “Chasing Light” for six years. Every step, every beat, was carved into my bones. I couldn’t just let it go. Deep down, a pathetic sliver of hope lingered. Maybe if Zach and Chloe Brown didn’t click, I’d still have a chance to dance with him. With no partner to lift me, I imagined his hands on my waist, leaping into the air on my own. My practice clothes were soaked in sweat. My calves cramped, and my knees throbbed with pain. But I didn’t stop. Only utter exhaustion could numb the humiliation eating me alive. “Practicing like this will only ruin your body.” A cool, calm voice echoed from the doorway. Startled, I spun around. A tall, handsome guy was leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. “This is a duet. You won’t get the right flow practicing alone,” he said, his expression neutral. I froze. Muttering a quick “sorry,” I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the room. When I got home, I threw my bag down and locked myself in my bedroom. My mom knocked and came in with a bowl of hot soup. When she saw the “Extreme Weight Loss Guide” on my desk, her face fell. “You’re 5’10” and 152 pounds, Chloe. Why on earth are you trying to lose weight?” “I’m too heavy,” I mumbled. “My partner can’t lift me.” My mom opened her mouth to argue, but seeing my stubborn face, she just sighed helplessly. From that day on, my extreme diet began. For days, I survived on nothing but a tiny breakfast. By the fifth afternoon, while practicing in the studio, the room suddenly spun, and everything went black. I reached out blindly and grabbed Zach to steady myself. “I… I don’t feel well,” I gasped. Zach shoved me off instantly. “Stop acting. You’re built like a tank. How could you be sick?” I crashed against the wall, my limbs feeling like jelly. A sneering laugh sounded from above. “Oh, I get it. Are you trying to act fragile and weak like Chloe Brown? She’s naturally delicate, Miller. You just look ridiculous trying to copy her.” The surrounding classmates snickered behind their hands. Before I could even explain, my vision failed completely, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the nurse’s office. Zach was sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling through his phone. Did he carry me here? A rush of complicated emotions flooded my chest. Zach had a nasty mouth, but when things got bad, he was always the one who showed up. Just like when we were kids, and he’d call me stupid while scraping me up off the pavement. “Thank—” I started, but as soon as Zach heard me move, he looked up with a look of pure disgust. “You seriously need to lose weight, Miller. You’re as heavy as a pig. Carrying you over here almost broke my back.” The words died in my throat. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. Every ounce of warmth vanished. I looked down, the shame and hurt clogging my chest. “This is a recovery room. Keep it down.” A cold voice sounded from the doorway. I looked up to see the guy from the abandoned dance studio. “If you’re done talking, please leave. The patient needs rest.” Zach scowled, stood up, and stormed out. The room fell quiet. The guy walked over, his expression softening slightly. “Your blood sugar crashed. Have you been starving yourself?” I hung my head. “I’m trying to lose weight.” I braced myself for him to mock my size too. Instead, he looked at me with intense sincerity. “If a dancer can’t appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart.” I stared at him, stunned. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something. “This is a healthy meal plan. You need to eat three times a day. Protein and carbs for breakfast, a normal lunch, and fewer carbs for dinner—but do not starve yourself.” “You don’t get fit by starving. Dancing requires strength.” My eyes stung with unshed tears. “Thank you.” “Also, I saw you practicing alone the other day.” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “If you want, I can be your partner.”

My eyes widened. “You dance?” “I can handle a simple duet,” he said casually. I hesitated for a second before nodding. At this point, I had nothing left to lose. His name was Julian Brooks. The moment he stood beside me and placed his hand on my waist, I went rigid. His posture was flawless. Even more shocking was his incredible sense of rhythm. Without any prior practice, he fell perfectly in step with my movements. When we reached the lift, I instinctively tensed up. Whenever I danced with Zach, he would groan, roll his eyes, and complain about how heavy I was. Over time, I had developed a terrible habit of shrinking myself during lifts, terrified of being a burden. But Julian’s hands were steady and firm against my waist. “Open your body. Let yourself fly,” he commanded. “I… I’m worried I’m too heavy,” I admitted, embarrassed. He let out a soft chuckle. “If a male dancer can’t lift a 152-pound partner, he has no business being on stage.” I froze, looking up into his eyes. There was no judgment, no annoyance—only a calm, reassuring certainty. I took a deep breath, fully arched my back, and leaped. He caught me effortlessly. In that single moment, our coordination felt so natural, it was as if we had been dancing together our whole lives. For the next month, I followed Julian’s healthy nutrition guide while secretly practicing the duet with him in the abandoned studio after hours. Soon, the day of the Annual Showcase arrived. The auditorium was packed. The Juilliard representatives sat front and center in the VIP section. When I walked into the backstage dressing room, everyone was frantically doing their makeup. Seeing me, Zach scoffed. “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, the Head of the Dance Department, Dean Vance, walked in. Her eyes lit up when she saw me. “Chloe Miller! Make us proud out there tonight.” Ms. Gable quickly stepped in. “Dean Vance, actually… Chloe isn’t performing tonight.” The Dean’s smile vanished. “Not performing?” she asked, incredulous. “She’s the top dancer in her year. Why isn’t she on stage?” Ms. Gable explained awkwardly, “Her partner requested a change. Since it’s a duet and she doesn’t have a partner, she had to be pulled.” Dean Vance’s face darkened instantly. She glared at Zach, who was standing nearby. “You’re Miller’s partner, right? You two have worked together for six years. How could you pull a stunt like this right before the showcase?” Zach crossed his arms, looking completely arrogant. “Dean Vance, partnership is a choice. There’s no rule saying I have to be tied to her forever.” “I found a better partner, and I have the right to choose who I perform with. No one can force me.” Dean Vance was red with anger. Just then, the announcer’s voice echoed from the stage: “Next up, our final performance of the night—’Chasing Light’.” Zach smirked at me. “Since the program is set, you’re extra weight, Miller. If you want to perform so badly, go find your own guy.” He leaned in, whispering maliciously, “But since you can’t, get out of the way. Don’t ruin our show.” The other dancers backstage whispered and stared. My throat tightened, and I bit my lip to keep from crying under the weight of their judgment. “Thank you, Dean Vance. The show is starting, I should go,” I whispered, my legs trembling as I turned to leave. “Wait.” A calm, commanding voice sliced through the chatter. Julian stepped out from the crowd, walking straight toward me. He looked at me, a soft smile playing on his lips, and extended his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be your partner.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441581”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My best friend was pregnant for the fifth time, and once again, she was sneaking into the hospital to get an abortion. My eyes stung with hot, angry tears. “Fiona, this is the fifth time he’s forced you to end a pregnancy, and he still won’t even show his face! Does he actually love you?” She kept her head down, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s not that he doesn’t love me, Elena. He just… can’t love me right now.” I yelled at her for being so stupid. I cursed the faceless bastard who did this to her. Beside me, my fiancé, Ethan Vance, gently squeezed my hand. “Elena, you’ve been by her side for hours. Why don’t you go downstairs and grab her something to eat?” I nodded, feeling exhausted. But when I reached the elevator, I realized I had left my phone back in her hospital room. I turned around and walked back. As I approached the door, I realized it was slightly open. Inside, Ethan was kneeling on the floor in front of Fiona. His eyes were bloodshot. “I’ve done exactly what you wanted. I’ve played the perfect partner to her for seven years.” “Fiona, how much longer do I have to pretend? Why did you have to kill our baby again?” Fiona pushed him away, sobbing hysterically. “We are already sneaking around behind her back. I can’t let her find out about this baby!” “She knows nothing. I already owe her too much!” I froze outside the door, my ears buzzing. Right at that moment, my phone vibrated in my hand with a notification. [Your marriage registration with Ethan Vance has been successfully scheduled.] I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment. Then, I tapped cancel.

“But I love you! I can’t stand watching you go through another abortion!” Ethan’s voice was filled with raw, heartbreaking passion. Every single sob coming from the room pierced my ears like a knife. Ethan was on his knees, clutching Fiona’s hand. “I’ll get a vasectomy tomorrow. I mean it.” Fiona shook her head violently, gripping his arms. “No! You can’t!” “Elena is about to marry you! Do you want her to go her whole life without ever having a child of her own?” She looked completely torn apart by guilt. “Ethan, Elena is my best friend. Back in high school, when I was bullied so badly that I almost slit my wrists, she was the one who saved my life!” “So I beg you, don’t hurt her. And never, ever let her find out about us.” Ethan’s entire body tensed up. He slammed his fist against the wall, his damp hair falling over his bloodshot eyes. “But I can’t keep letting you destroy your own body!” Fiona’s tears flowed freely. “Then let’s end this. I care about Elena more than I care about you.” Ethan went dead silent. Looking into Fiona’s stubborn, tear-filled eyes, he finally slumped in defeat. “Fine… no vasectomy. And she will never know.” I leaned against the cold corridor wall, my hands and feet completely numb. My heart felt deader than a withered tree in winter. These two people. One was my inseparable friend since school, the sister I chose for myself. The other was the man I had loved for seven years, the one I was about to marry. Why them? The sheer absurdity of the betrayal made me laugh out loud, even as tears streamed down my face. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I waited outside for a long time before finally walking back into the room. By then, they had already put on their masks. Fiona was quietly drinking her recovery shake, and Ethan was standing by the window staring outside, looking like two complete strangers. “Elena? Why are you crying?” Fiona immediately grabbed my hand, rubbing my back to comfort me. “I’m fine, really. Don’t worry.” I managed a dull nod. “I’m okay.” Ethan stepped forward and wrapped his arm around me, gently wiping my tears. “Don’t cry, babe. You don’t want puffy eyes on our wedding day, do you?” He paused, naturally changing the subject. “Anyway, she said she wants to go home to recover. I already handled her discharge papers.” He suddenly pulled out a soft blanket from somewhere. “Elena, should I carry her to the car? The doctor said she shouldn’t catch a cold. Since she’s your best friend, I don’t mind helping.” My body went completely rigid. Before I could even answer, he had already wrapped Fiona up in the blanket and scooped her up. He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, treating her like nothing more than a heavy box of cargo. And Fiona kept her hands completely off him, not touching him once. I followed them quietly from behind. This was how they had played it for years. Acting like total strangers in front of me, never leaving a single clue. I had spent so many years trying to make them get along better, thinking they were the two people I loved most in the world. Now I realized. I was the absolute clown in this joke. On the drive back, Fiona sat in the back of the SUV. I sat in the passenger seat. I stared out the window at the rain-soaked streets, watching the fallen leaves get crushed under the tires. It was funny how the rain that was supposed to nourish them was the very thing that washed them away. Just like me. Destroyed by the two people I loved most. When we reached Fiona’s apartment, I expected Ethan to park by the main gate. This complex was massive and confusing. Every time I visited, Fiona had to walk down to the gate to meet me. But as I reached for the door handle, Ethan drove straight into the underground garage like he owned the place. He pulled perfectly into a reserved parking spot. Looking through the side mirror, I saw the red painted number on the concrete pillar: Building 7, Unit 2. My grip tightened on my purse until my palms bled. My heart sank into a dark, bottomless abyss. That was Fiona’s exact building. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a confirmation that my marriage registration request had been successfully cancelled. I took a deep breath, opened the system, and completely deleted Ethan’s personal information from my profile. I would never submit it again.

Neither of them noticed my silence. Ethan turned around. “Elena, why don’t you help her up? It’s warm inside, so I don’t need to carry her anymore.” So polite. So respectful of boundaries. If only I hadn’t noticed how he walked half a step behind Fiona, his hand hovering protectively near her waist just in case she slipped. Fiona held onto my arm, completely ignoring him. Once we were inside her apartment, Fiona begged me to stay and keep her company. She started rambling about our college days, trying to sound cheerful. “Do you remember Sarah from our dorm? She’s a professional singer now!” “And our class rep! Can you believe she married the basketball captain?” I listened in silence. I didn’t say a word. I clenched my fists so hard to keep myself from ripping her fake face off. Once Fiona finally fell asleep, my mind drifted back to college. I remembered a stressful finals week. I had snuck up to the rooftop of the training building to get some quiet sleep. Just as I dozed off, a loud commotion woke me. A group of girls was shoving and screaming. I peeked out and saw a girl curled on the floor, taking their kicks without fighting back. “The instructor is coming!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. The bullies panicked and ran off, leaving the girl crying on the concrete, her hair a total mess. Then, to my horror, she stood up and climbed over the safety railing, looking down at the edge. I lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “You have to stay alive to get even! If you die, they win!” Later, I stood up as her witness and helped report the bullies. They were suspended and kicked out of the program. From that day on, we became best friends. That girl was Fiona. And now… My gaze landed on her nightstand. Sitting right there in plain sight was a men’s electric razor. It was the exact model Ethan used. The last trace of warmth in my eyes died, replaced by a cold, hard chill. I quietly pushed the bedroom door open. Ethan was in the kitchen, making hot chocolate. When he saw me, he smiled. “Good thing I make this for you all the time. I actually know what I’m doing.” I let out a cold, sarcastic laugh. “Fiona had an abortion. Why are you the one acting so busy?” The stirring spoon in his hand froze. He quickly hid the panic in his eyes. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me, trying to laugh it off. “Because you’re my wife, Elena. I just want to make sure your best friend doesn’t tell you to dump me the next time we get into a fight.” Seeing that my face remained neutral, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He didn’t dare say another word to Fiona. By the time we got back to our apartment, it was almost midnight. He held me from behind in bed. “Hey, Elena, I just got an emergency order. There’s a joint tactical drill in the Eastern District. I have to leave for a week. Right now.” I opened my eyes in the darkness. “Really?” He didn’t catch the ice in my voice. “Yeah, it sucks. I just want to stay here with you, but orders are orders.” “Then go.” Ethan let out a breath, kissed my forehead, and quickly hopped out of bed. He couldn’t wait to get out the door. I curved my lips into a bitter smile. Thirty minutes later, I got out of bed, dressed, and drove straight back to Fiona’s apartment. An emergency deployment? And he didn’t even pack a single bag? I knew her door code. I unlocked it and walked right in. I sat quietly on the living room couch, listening to the sweet, romantic whispers drifting from the bedroom. “Why are you here?!” “Go back! What if Elena finds out?!” Then came Ethan’s deep, soothing voice. “I’m not going back. You have no idea how badly I wanted to hold you in that hospital room, but I had to hold back because of her.” “Don’t worry, she thinks I’m away on a week-long tactical drill. I’m staying right here to take care of you.” I let out a soft laugh, feeling incredibly mockingly of myself. I didn’t even know when they had started. Seven years ago, my meeting with Ethan had also been an accident. I had been falsely accused of leaking classified research by my superior, facing a court-martial and a ten-year sentence. It was the darkest moment of my life. The night before the hearing, I stood at the edge of a cliff behind the base, wanting to end it all. Ethan was the one who led the search party and found me. After hearing my story, his sharp investigator instincts found the loopholes in the case. He used his family’s legal connections to clear my name. He told me, “My mother took her own life after being falsely accused. I couldn’t stand by and watch history repeat itself.” I had viewed him as my savior. But seven years later. The person who saved me, and the person I saved, had teamed up to stab me in the back.

The sound of their kissing filled the quiet apartment. I pulled out my phone and tapped “Accept” on the transfer request sent by the Southern Federal Research Institute three days ago. Right after I sent the confirmation. The bedroom door clicked open. Ethan walked out, holding Fiona and kissing her neck. “The private doctor will be here soon, I—” His voice cut off instantly. Our eyes met. Both of them froze, their eyes widening in sheer terror. I stood up slowly. My face was completely blank. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Eastern District? What are you doing here?” Time seemed to freeze. The temperature in the room dropped to sub-zero. Fiona was the first to react. She scrambled out of Ethan’s arms, rushed over, and grabbed my hand. Her voice cracked with tears. “Elena, please let me explain. It’s not what you think. I… we…” I waited. She stuttered for a long time but couldn’t find a single lie to tell. She could only sob helplessly. “Elena, please forgive me, please…” Ethan pressed his lips together. After the initial shock, he stepped forward, pulling Fiona behind his back to shield her. His body was entirely tense. “This has nothing to do with her.” “I used my position to force her to be with me. She had no choice. Elena, if you’re angry, take it all out on me.” “Force her… no choice…” I repeated, a cold smirk touching my lips. Every single word he said was to protect his precious lover. But I was the one he had promised to marry. He didn’t care at all about how much his words would tear me apart. I closed my eyes for a second. I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and clenched my fists, refusing to let them see me break. “When did it start?” Fiona couldn’t answer, she just kept crying. Ethan stood firm like a soldier defending his post, blocking her from my sight. “Five years ago.” Those three words hit my chest like a physical blow. Five years ago. That was the exact year I first introduced Ethan to Fiona. “Love at first sight, huh?” I actually laughed out loud. What a beautiful, tragic love story. And here I was, the annoying obstacle ruining their romance for five whole years. How pathetic. The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by Fiona’s quiet whimpers. After a long pause, I spoke, my voice completely devoid of any emotion. “Good for you.” “The wedding is off. We’re done. And as for you,” I looked at Fiona, “I should have let you jump off that roof.” Her spine went stiff. She let out a loud, agonizing cry. As I turned to leave, she threw herself onto the floor, grabbing my ankles. “I’m sorry, Elena! Please, I beg you, forgive me! It’s all my fault… you’re my only friend…” “Fiona!” Ethan lost his composure. He bent down, violently pulling Fiona up and dragging her into his arms, his face twisted in pain. “Stop it! I told you, this isn’t your fault!” He glared at me with sharp, hostile eyes. “If we’re talking about regrets, then maybe I should regret pulling you back from that cliff seven years ago!” I froze. I stared at him in utter disbelief, all the color draining from my face. Fiona gave him a hard shove. “Shut up! Stop talking!” Yet, her body naturally leaned right back into his chest. Ethan seemed to realize what he had just said, and a flash of regret crossed his eyes. But it was gone in a second. He thinned his lips. “Elena, it’s my fault, not hers. And about the breakup—I know you’re just speaking out of anger.” “Fiona and I are the two most important people in your life. I know you can’t afford to lose both of us.” I was so angry I almost laughed. The sheer arrogance of this man made my stomach turn. The pain of the double betrayal suddenly faded, leaving behind a cold, numbing sensation. It simply wasn’t worth it. I looked at the two of them clinging to each other, my eyes freezing over. “You really are incredibly confident.” I pulled out my phone and dialed the venue coordinator for the military chapel. Under Ethan’s stiffening gaze, I spoke clearly. “Cancel the wedding between Elena and Ethan Vance scheduled in seven days.” “Keep the deposit. I don’t care.” I hung up and turned to walk out. Ethan grabbed my arm, his face turning incredibly dark. “Are you serious?” I looked past his shoulder at Fiona, who was staying quiet but had a tiny spark of hope in her eyes. I shook his hand off with a scoff. “Yes. I’m setting you both free.”

By the time I left, the sun was rising. I drove to my parents’ house. They were shocked to see me so early. “Elena?” My mom quickly walked over. “Why are you here this early?” She pulled me to the couch and brought out five beautiful dresses, showing them to me one by one. “How about this one?” “Or maybe the blue one? It looks more elegant.” “I want to make sure I look perfect at your wedding with Ethan. I don’t want to embarrass my girl.” My dad walked out of the bedroom, wearing his freshly ironed dress uniform. “How do I look, sweetie?” Sitting on the couch, I suddenly didn’t know how to tell them. How could I say I just caught my fiancé and my best friend sleeping together? “Mom…” “I just cancelled the wedding.” The room went dead silent. They immediately rushed to my side. “Why? What happened?” “I…” “The wedding is not happening. And I’ve accepted a transfer to the Southern Federal Research Institute. I report in three days.” “I’m sorry.” My parents stared at me for a few seconds. Then, they gently patted my hands. “Whatever you decide, we are with you, Elena.” I returned to the military housing unit to pack. Ethan was waiting for me inside, looking incredibly gloomy. “Fiona was so stressed she had to be hospitalized again. Are you happy now? She’s so weak, and you just had to push her?” I replied blankly. “Yes, right. It’s all my fault. You two are completely innocent.” “You!” He gritted his teeth, his chest heaving. “Stop being so sarcastic. I already called the chapel and told them the wedding is back on.” “Elena, you don’t want all the high-ranking officers and your dad’s colleagues to see a disaster, do you? Think about your parents’ reputation.” I stopped in my tracks to the bedroom and let out a cold chuckle. “Are you threatening me with my parents?” Too bad for him, he had no idea my parents already knew everything and had absolutely no intention of showing up. But since he was so sure of himself. Why should I ruin the surprise? “Fine. Let’s keep it going. I’ll act like nothing happened.” He let out a huge sigh of relief. “Good. Now, come with me to the hospital and apologize to Fiona.” I thought I had heard him wrong. The sheer absurdity of his request made me want to laugh. “Are you insane?” “Apologize to her? She doesn’t deserve it.” I turned to walk away, but Ethan grabbed my wrist with a firm grip, dragging me down to his car and driving straight to the hospital. After a brief struggle, I stopped fighting. Honestly, I also wanted to know why she did it. A few minutes later. I stood by Fiona’s hospital bed. “Give me a reason.” She fidgeted with her fingers, biting her lip. “I was just tired of always losing to you. All these years, I was always the shadow. But he liked me, Elena. I couldn’t let him go.” “I’m sorry, Elena. I know you were good to me, but people are selfish.” I nodded. “Fair enough. I hope you get exactly what you want.” I had never cared about competing, especially not for trash. If she wanted my leftovers, she was welcome to them. It worked out perfectly for me. When I walked out, Ethan had just finished a phone call. Believing I had apologized, his mood had improved significantly. “Our wedding is next week. Don’t worry, I will still make you my wife.” A look of pure disgust flashed in my eyes. “Whatever makes you happy.” Now that the secret was out, Ethan stopped hiding. He spent the entire week at the hospital with Fiona. I was more than happy to have my space. I packed up every single thing I owned from the apartment. When the third day arrived, I boarded a flight straight to the South. And I left a massive surprise waiting for him on the wedding day. As the plane lifted into the sky. Ethan Vance and I were officially over forever.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441573”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 On the eve of our wedding, a devastating car crash left both my fiancé and me with amnesia. When my memories finally returned and I went to find him, I found another woman already by his side. “No matter what happened between us in the past, the only woman I love now is Sienna.” Looking at the girl nestled in his arms, I froze. Not because of his betrayal, but because her every smile and gesture looked exactly like the old me. Still, I refused to let go just yet. I forced my voice to remain steady despite the tremble in my chest. “What if you regain your memories one day? What if you regret this?” He knit his brows, his gaze cold and unwavering. “Even if I remember everything, I could never marry you.” Hearing those words, a quiet wave of relief washed over me. I turned around and sent a quick text to the man I had fallen in love with during my own months of amnesia. That title you wanted? You have it. … “I did not come here to force you into taking responsibility,” I said, looking up from my phone to face him. “Actually, while my memory was gone, I fell in love with someone else, too.” He remained silent. I paused for a moment before continuing. “After the crash that day, we both fell into the river. I drifted far downstream, and everyone assumed I was dead. But he rescued me.” Barrett frowned, his skepticism written plain across his face. “Whatever compensation you want, just name it. I will do my best to satisfy you, but there is no need to make up stories.” “I am not lying. I actually just accepted his proposal.” “Really?” He eyed me with deep suspicion. “Really.” “Then when is the wedding?” I hesitated. “The date is up to me, I suppose. Probably sometime next month.” “Marriage is a good thing,” he said after a long, heavy silence. “I heard we were almost husband and wife once, but we simply were not meant to be in this life. Since that is the case, let me walk you down the aisle as your brother. I want to see you off myself.” My hand shook, nearly dropping my phone. Before his memory loss, Barrett’s possessiveness over me bordered on madness. He refused to let other men near me, hated when they spoke to me, and would grow sullen if I spoke more than ten sentences to anyone else. No one could have guessed that a memory-stripped Barrett would be generous enough to hand me over to another man. “No, that is not necessary,” I stammered. On one hand, the thought of letting Barrett walk me down the aisle terrified me. On the other hand, my actual fiancé had a possessive streak that was just as fierce. If he found out, he would absolutely lose his mind. Barrett wore an expression that said I had just confirmed his suspicions. “Beth, since you chose to marry someone else, it means we have both moved on. Or are you afraid you still have feelings for me, and you will not be able to go through with it?” I knew he was baiting me. I also knew how deeply suspicious he was by nature. Unless he saw me standing beside another man with his own eyes, he would always believe I was secretly pining for him. I let out a soft sigh. “Fine. I will have to discuss it with my fiancé first. After all, a wedding is between two people.” “Fine,” Barrett agreed, offering nothing more. When I got home, I spent hours trying to reason with Owen. He threw a massive, dramatic fit, practically weeping and threatening to jump off a bridge, but in the end, he begrudgingly agreed to let Barrett play the part of the brother. I had not expected Barrett to take the role so literally. Over the next two weeks, he sent over an endless stream of wedding supplies: bridal shoes, designer rings, and even a custom gown he had designed himself. When I saw the dress, my breath caught in my throat. It was the exact gown Barrett had designed for our original wedding. Back then, everyone laughed at him, mocking a wealthy man for hand-stitching a wedding dress thread by thread. But Barrett had ignored them all. He had held me close, kissing my temple over and over. They do not understand, Beth. This is your once-in-a-lifetime day. Every single detail must pass through my hands for me to feel at ease. I had not even had a chance to try it on before the crash. And now, years later, the dress was back in my hands. “The moment I saw this gown, I felt it would suit you perfectly, so I bought it for you,” Barrett said, pointing to the exquisitely crafted lace. “The style might be a bit dated. I hope you do not mind.” I stared at it in silence. Originally, we did not need to rush the wedding. But when Owen heard Barrett wanted to walk me down the aisle, he stubbornly moved the date up by two weeks. He had argued with fierce jealousy. You do not get it, Beth. Men know men. He might have amnesia, but he absolutely still wants you. I finally got you, and if you go back to him, I will die right in front of you. I could not argue with his dramatic logic, so I had agreed. With the tight schedule, my petite figure made it difficult to find a fitting off-the-rack dress. Looking at the gown Barrett had provided, I finally nodded. “Thank you.” “Barrett really sees you as a sister now, Beth. Do not be polite. Go try it on,” Sienna said, appearing from the hallway. I had not expected Sienna to accompany me for the fitting. Every time I looked at her, I felt a strange sense of vertigo. We looked incredibly alike. Standing side-by-side, strangers would easily mistake us for biological sisters. Before I could fully process her presence, she gently nudged me into the changing room. When I realized the laces on the back of the dress were too intricate to tie myself, Sienna offered to step in. “To be honest, Barrett and I have always felt quite guilty toward you,” she said softly, her hands working carefully behind my back. “These past few days, he has been planning your wedding venue and preparing your dowry just so you can have a grand wedding. He only wants you to be happy.” She tied the laces with gentle, steady movements. I listened in silence, but I could not shake the feeling that she sounded relieved, as if she were finally securing her own prize. But when Sienna leaned down slightly, I caught sight of her collarbone. There, resting on her skin, was a birthmark identical to mine. Not only did she look almost exactly like me, but she even had the exact same mark in the exact same place. Could all of this really be a coincidence? “All done,” Sienna said, pulling back the curtain to reveal the mirror. “Beth, you are going to be a beautiful bride.” When I stepped out in the gown, Barrett did not spare me a single glance. Instead, his eyes were locked entirely onto Sienna. “You have been running around helping with Beth’s wedding since early this morning. Are you tired?” He gently wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. Sienna smiled and shook her head. After the fitting, we went to get lunch. Throughout the meal, Barrett showered Sienna with attention, pouring her water and putting food on her plate. But the way they interacted felt far too familiar. Before eating, Sienna liked drinking iced tea. She hated cilantro in her food. Even her preference for steak was exactly medium-well. It was as if she was meticulously mimicking someone else. When we went to the restroom, I found Sienna touching up her lipstick. I could not hold it back any longer. “Are you copying the old me?” Her hand froze mid-air. I continued. “The identical birthmark, the exact same eating habits, even the way you speak. Sienna, the world is not built on coincidences like this.” Her face instantly drained of color. Her hand trembled, and the lipstick slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the tiled floor. “What… what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” She scrambled to kneel and pick it up, her hands shaking so much she could barely grasp it. I sighed, bending down to retrieve it and handing it back to her. “I saw the birthmark on your chest. It is artificial, is it not? A quick visit to a scar specialist would prove it.” Sienna took the lipstick, her shoulders shaking as tears began to stream down her face. “I’m sorry. I just… I love Barrett so much, I didn’t know what else to do.” “I heard that after his amnesia, he kept searching for a girl from his dreams. I knew that girl was you.” “For years, I watched Barrett, and I watched you. I memorized every single habit and detail of your lives.” “I’m sorry. I stole your place.” I let out a soft sigh and stood up. “I am not telling you this to break you two up. I just want you to know that if he truly loves you, he should love you for who you are. If you spend your whole life acting like a ghost of me, you will burn out, and eventually, he will see through the cracks. Just be yourself. Trust that he can love the real you.” Sienna nodded, though her expression was unreadable. But the moment I turned my back, her eyes locked onto me, cold and sharp. By the time we returned to the table, Sienna had put her mask back on. “What took you so long? Are you feeling unwell again?” Barrett asked, looking at her pale face with deep concern. He looked ready to leave the restaurant right then. Sienna shook her head with a soft smile. “I’m fine.” “You always neglect your health,” he murmured affectionately. With one hand, he placed food on her plate, while his other hand gently rubbed her stomach. Realizing I was watching, Barrett offered a polite, apologetic smile. “Sienna has poor circulation and a cold stomach, but she insists on drinking iced beverages. She gets cramps easily. Sorry about that.” Memories flooded my mind. Back when I was a reckless teenager who drank iced soda during my period and ended up curled in pain, Barrett would hold me just like this, rubbing my stomach in the exact same circular motion. I chose not to say a word. Looking at Sienna, whose hand holding her fork was trembling slightly, I smiled and shook my head. “Don’t apologize. Seeing you two so happy and in love is a beautiful thing.” The wedding day arrived quickly. Having lost both my parents when I was young, and since Barrett had insisted on walking me down the aisle, I prepared for the ceremony at the Barrett estate. That morning, the housekeepers, the butler, and the driver were all gathered. Watching me slip into the wedding gown, their eyes welled up with tears of nostalgia. “Years ago, we all hoped to see Mr. Barrett bring you home as his bride,” the old butler whispered, casting a brief, uncomfortable glance toward Sienna before looking back at me. “Who would have thought life would play out like this? Seeing him hand you over to someone else… it is a cruel twist of fate.” Sienna’s face went completely rigid. Soon, Barrett arrived. He was perfectly composed, having clearly memorized the wedding protocol. He escorted me to the bridal car, carrying me over the threshold of the house, and finally placed my hand into Owen’s. Just as our hands met, a sudden gust of wind caught my veil, lifting the sheer fabric and fully revealing my face. Barrett froze, his eyes locking onto mine. “Thank you, brother,” Owen said, his grip tightening as he noticed Barrett’s lingering hold on my other hand. “Barrett?” I called his name, and he seemed to snap out of a trance. “The dress suits you,” he said quietly, his voice slightly strained. “You and your husband make a handsome couple.” For a split second, the look in his eyes had been filled with that familiar, terrifying possessiveness. My heart leaped into my throat, thinking his memories had suddenly returned. Fortunately, for the rest of the ceremony, Barrett behaved flawlessly. He was polite, poised, and played the part of the doting elder brother to perfection. “Sweetheart, we have to serve tea to the elders soon, and I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Owen whispered in the bridal suite during a quiet moment. He was gently massaging my lower back, which was aching after standing for hours. “Do you think he will suddenly regain his memory and crash the wedding?” Owen buried his face in my neck, his voice muffled. “They told me you loved him for eighteen years. I am terrified.” I smiled, running my fingers through his messy hair. “Owen, life does not work like a drama.” “But if he does remember,” he murmured, looking up at me, “would you choose him or me?” I cupped his cheek. “I am sorry I made you feel insecure. It is my fault you even have to ask.” After a brief moment of quiet warmth, we stepped back out to greet the guests. As we walked through the hall, I noticed Sienna looking around anxiously, but I did not think much of it. Suddenly, she stepped forward, blocking our path. “Beth, let me toast to you,” she said, her smile tight and self-mocking. “Thank you for keeping my secret. If it weren’t for you, Barrett probably would have thrown me out long ago.” She drained her glass in one gulp. She was acting strange, but before I could raise my own glass, I heard a sharp, splintering sound above us. “Watch out!” Before I could react, a shadow lunged forward. Nobody expected Barrett to throw himself over me. The massive chandelier crashed down, striking his back with a heavy, sickening thud. He let out a sharp grunt of pain before collapsing onto the floor, his head striking the polished marble. The crowd erupted into chaos, swarming the scene. I instinctively tried to step forward, but Owen’s hand gripped mine tightly. Sensing his sheer terror, I squeezed his hand back to reassure him and stayed where I was. Thankfully, the medics cleared him of any immediate danger, and the wedding resumed. Finally, it was time for the tea ceremony. I walked up the steps toward the head table. Looking at Barrett, who had not spoken a single word since the accident, I knelt and held up the cup. “Brother, please have some tea.” Long seconds ticked by. Barrett did not move. My hands began to tremble under the weight of the ceramic cup. I slowly lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes. “Brother, please have some tea,” I repeated. He did not take the cup. Instead, his grip tightened around my wrist, pulling me slightly closer. His eyes were dark, burning with a cold fury as he whispered in my ear. “Have you had your fun, Beth?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513579”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The night the marrow match results came in, I called my boyfriend, Declan. But the man who answered was Declan from exactly one year in the future. “Declan, I am a perfect match! My bone marrow can actually save you!” I pressed a hand to my slightly rounded belly, crying tears of pure relief. “Once we get you through this surgery, I have a massive surprise for you.” Dead silence filled the other end of the line. “Harper. I was never sick.” A violent chill shot up my spine. “What did you just say?” “Vanessa is the one who is sick. I took all the marrow they extracted from your bones and gave it straight to her.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. “You told me she cheated on you! You said you wished she was dead!” His voice was terrifyingly calm. “Harper, when a man says he hates a woman, it usually just means he cares too much.” My throat closed up. A sharp, piercing cramp twisted deep in my abdomen. Before I could even process his words, the call cut out in a burst of static. A second later, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from the present-day Declan. [Harper, I am so sorry. The oncologist just gave me six months to live.] [You told me you would do anything to save me. Did you mean it?] The words burned into my retinas. A heavy, dragging sensation pulled at my lower stomach. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I rested my hand on my belly, struggling to draw a breath. For the past five years, from our college dorms to the real world, I had sacrificed everything. I even mortgaged my late parents’ Victorian home to bail out his failed tech startup. Why did I do it? Because he used to hold me while he was drunk, sobbing into my shoulder, swearing he would give me the world one day. Looking back now, it was nothing but a bounced check. Fighting through the abdominal cramps, I dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Harper.” His voice was perfectly crafted to sound raspy and exhausted. “Is the text true?” “The doctor just made the final call.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I was not going to tell you. I was terrified you would not be able to handle it. But I just cannot bear to leave you.” I dug my fingernails into my palms and played along. “Are you really only given six months?” “The doctor said if I can find a perfectly matched bone marrow donor, I could actually survive.” “A marrow transplant?” I slowed my words down deliberately. “You know I have always had a weak immune system. What if my body cannot handle the extraction?” He paused for exactly two seconds. “Then I would rather refuse the treatment.” He answered without a shred of hesitation. “I refuse to let you suffer for my sake.” I stared out the window into the pitch-black night and almost laughed out loud. For the past month, he had been sneaking out to the balcony at 2 AM to take phone calls. Every time he crawled back into bed, he reeked of cheap, overly sweet perfume. He claimed it was just late-night networking with female angel investors, and like an idiot, I believed him. Sick of listening to his amateur acting, I made an excuse and hung up. The moment the screen went dark, a new message popped up. It was from the number claiming to be the Declan from the future. An image file loaded on the screen. In the photo, Vanessa was lounging in a VIP hospital suite. She looked perfectly rosy and healthy. She was holding an iced latte in one hand and flashing a peace sign at the camera with the other. A text immediately followed. [Do not go! He is completely healthy. The match test was for Vanessa.] [The aggressive extraction procedure is going to trigger a catastrophic hemorrhage. You will lose the baby, and they will take your uterus to stop the bleeding. You will never be a mother.] The twisting pain in my gut spiked. I hunched over, biting my lip hard enough to taste copper. Vanessa. Declan’s gold-digging ex-girlfriend. The woman he used to curse out every time he had a few beers. Male psychology really is a fascinating thing. The louder they curse a woman in public, the harder they protect her in the dark. A draft of cold winter air slipped through the window crack, clearing the last bit of brain fog from my head. A forced abortion? Losing my fertility entirely? All to buy a few healthy years for his manipulative ex? My five years of absolute devotion were nothing but a spectacular joke. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and picked up my phone. I replied to the present-day Declan. [Okay. I will be at the hospital tomorrow morning for the full pre-op screening.] I hit send, then pulled my suitcase out from under the bed. The deed to the house, my passport, my bank cards. I shoved every single important document I owned into my leather tote bag. If they wanted to put on a theatrical production, I needed to make sure I had front-row tickets. The next morning, I stepped out of the elevator at the downtown hematology ward. I immediately spotted Declan sitting in a wheelchair at the end of the hall. He was wearing an oversized hospital gown, looking completely swallowed by the fabric. Seeing me approach, he lifted his head. His eyes were perfectly bloodshot. “Harper. You came.” He grabbed my hand. Two perfectly timed tears dropped onto my knuckles. The clammy, slippery feeling of his skin made my stomach turn. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to slap him across the face. I had been terrified of pain since I was a little girl. I even passed out at the sight of my own blood. Whenever I nicked my finger chopping vegetables, he used to make a massive fuss over me. Yet, to save his life, I had mentally prepared myself to endure a brutal, agonizing surgery. I gave him everything, and he turned it into a knife to stab me in the back. “Where are your lab results?” I smoothly pulled my hand away, pretending to dig in my purse for a tissue. “I want to see the exact numbers. It will help me prepare mentally.” His spine stiffened. He completely avoided my gaze. “The attending took them for the archives. They said we can just go straight to your screening.” He mumbled the excuse, reaching out to grab my sleeve again. Before he could touch me, the door swung open. A female nurse wearing a surgical mask walked in, holding a stainless steel medical tray. Her cap was pulled down low, leaving only her eyes visible. The second our eyes met, I recognized her. Vanessa. She grabbed the rubber tourniquet from the tray and aggressively wrapped it around my bicep. “Blood draw,” she muttered, deliberately deepening her voice. I watched with dead, cold eyes as she picked up a thick gauge needle. A second later, she intentionally missed the vein. She drove the thick needle straight into the sensitive muscle tissue of my arm. A blinding, agonizing pain shot through my limb. A dark purple bruise instantly ballooned under my skin. I hissed in pain, instinctively pulling my arm back. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat.” Declan frowned, his voice dripping with intense irritation. “It is just a little blood draw. The nurse made a mistake. Why are you screaming?” I stared dead into Declan’s face. My arm was swelling visibly, completely purple, and all he felt was annoyance that I was not being a compliant little blood bag. Pure, unadulterated disgust hit me like a physical blow. I stood up violently, ripping the rubber tourniquet off my arm. The tray clattered to the floor, sending bloody cotton swabs and needles flying. “I cannot look at blood! I am not doing this!” Ignoring Declan screaming my name, I slammed the door and bolted down the hall. I ran straight into the emergency stairwell and leaned against the cold ceramic tiles. My hands and feet were freezing. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I had not called in years. Dr. Frank. An upperclassman from my university days, and now the leading hematology specialist at this exact hospital. He answered on the third ring. “Harper?” He sounded genuinely surprised. I skipped the small talk. I gave him Declan’s full legal name and social security number. “Frank, I need you to pull his complete medical file. Right now.” I stood in that freezing stairwell for ten minutes. My phone buzzed. An internal electronic health report downloaded to my screen. I zoomed in, scanning line after line. Every single metric was perfectly stable. Everything sat squarely in the healthy reference range. No bone marrow failure. No terminal cancer. He was healthier than a prize-winning stallion. The glaring white light of the screen illuminated my face in the dim stairwell. Five years of my youth. My parents’ home on the line. All for a fabricated terminal illness. I locked my phone and dropped it into my coat pocket. They wanted me to be their sacrificial lamb? They could burn in hell. I pushed the door to our apartment open, and the suffocating smell of cheap synthetic roses hit me instantly. A lopsided heart made of pink electric tea lights was laid out on the cramped living room floor. Declan was wearing a silk pajama set one size too big. He was holding a tacky bouquet of red roses, kneeling on one knee right in the center of the fake candles. “Harper, I know I am running out of time.” He looked up at me, his eyes perfectly glassy. He pulled a cheap velvet box out of his pocket. “Before I die, I want to make you my wife.” He popped the box open. A ring sat inside. The diamond was so microscopic you would need a magnifying glass to see it catch the light. Five years. He blew through all the cash I got from mortgaging my childhood home. And at the very end, even his grand gesture of true love was insultingly cheap. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I glanced down at the lock screen. The sender was that unknown number again. This time, it was a photo. In a stark, white psychiatric ward, a skeletal woman with thinning, dead hair was rocking back and forth. She was clutching a dirty pillow to her chest, humming a hollow lullaby to a baby that did not exist. It was me. The version of me that was drained of her marrow, lost her baby to a hemorrhage, and completely lost her mind. Ice water flooded my veins. “Harper?” Declan reached out to grab my wrist, trying to force the microscopic ring onto my finger. “Do not touch me.” I slapped his hand away. A sharp crack echoed through the room. The velvet box flew through the air and smashed into the wall. The tiny diamond popped out and rolled into the dark abyss under the sofa. Declan’s tragic romantic facade instantly shattered. He let his real temper flare, his voice taking on its usual entitled, arrogant tone. “Are you insane, Harper?! I am literally dying, and you will not even give me my final wish?” “Dying?” I unzipped my tote bag, pulled out the printed medical records Frank had sent me, and slammed them directly into his face. “Do you have brain cancer? Kidney failure? Your vitals are stronger than an ox. Which doctor exactly gave you this death sentence?” The white papers fluttered to the floor. The top sheet landed perfectly face up. The bolded words Comprehensive Clean Bill of Health stared right at him. Declan looked down at the papers. The color completely drained from his face. He completely forgot to act weak. But it only took him a few seconds to pivot. He aggressively adjusted his collar, looking down at me with absolute, sickening entitlement. “Fine. Since you dug into it, I will stop pretending. The marrow is for Vanessa.” He took a step forward, towering over me. “You are always preaching about how much you love me. You said you would give your life for me.” “So what is the big deal about taking my place to save Vanessa? She is sick. Have some empathy!” What a fascinating leap of logic. Using my life and my body to clean up his ex-girlfriend’s mess, and he had the nerve to sound like the moral high ground. Looking at the face I had loved for five entire years, I felt nothing but absolute disgust. I did not waste a single breath on an argument. Smack. I swung my right hand with everything I had. I slapped him so hard his head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint instantly swelled across his cheek. He held his face, staring at me in pure shock. He never expected the quiet, obedient Harper to actually strike him. “You hit me?!” “I will hit a shameless animal anytime I want.” I shook out my stinging palm and glared dead into his eyes. “The show is over, Declan. If you want to save your pathetic ex, carve out your own bones. You are not getting a single drop of my blood.” I turned on my heel and grabbed the front door handle. “Do not you dare walk out that door! If you leave now, you are never coming back!” Declan screamed like a feral dog behind me. The heavy steel door slammed shut, cutting off his pathetic rage. The hallway lighting was dim and flickering. But my mind had never been clearer in my entire life. I dragged my suitcase down the hall. I had tossed my clothes in so quickly I hadn’t even zipped it closed. Before I could reach the elevator, a vicious, violent cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. The pain was paralyzing. I braced one hand against the concrete wall, bending over, gasping for air. Cold sweat dripped down my temples, soaking the collar of my shirt. Back at the apartment, someone was pounding on the door from the inside. Before I could catch my breath, I heard the sharp click of metal turning in a lock. Declan had grabbed his spare key and thrown the door open. A massive crowd of people spilled out into the hallway. It was not just Declan. It was half of our mutual friend group. And standing right in the middle of them was Vanessa, still wearing her surgical mask. This time, she dropped the act entirely. Without a word, she dropped to her knees right on the dirty hallway floor. “Harper, please! Have some mercy! Just give me a chance to live!” Tears streamed down her face. She looked like a fragile, broken porcelain doll. “I am out of time. You are the only one on earth who can save me.” The mutual friends who had tagged along started looking at me with heavy judgment. Declan took a massive step forward, aggressively shielding Vanessa with his body. “I never realized how deeply malicious you were, Harper.” He pointed a finger at Vanessa on the floor, then glared at me. “Your marrow will grow back! Her life is gone forever! How can you be so incredibly cold-blooded and selfish?” A guy who used to come over and eat the dinners I cooked chimed in from the back. “Yeah, Harper. Saving a life is the greatest karma you can get. Besides, it does not even cause permanent damage to your body. Why are you being so extreme about this?” Hilarious. Looking at this crowd of hypocrites standing on their little moral pedestals, I was too exhausted to even yell at them. The heavy, throbbing pain in my stomach was escalating rapidly. Violent waves of nausea crashed over me. “Excuse me.” I ignored their ridiculous speeches and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. I reached out to push past the wall of people blocking the elevator. Seeing that I was actually leaving, Declan lost his mind. He lunged forward, his hand clamping down on my wrist like an iron vise. The pressure was agonizing. “You are not going anywhere! You are coming back to the hospital and signing those consent forms!” He roared in my face, aggressively dragging me back toward the apartment door. “Let go of me!” I fought back desperately, using my free hand to pry his thick fingers off my wrist. During the struggle, he lost his temper and violently shoved me backward. He put too much force into it. I completely lost my balance. My heel caught the wheel of my open suitcase. I fell backward, completely out of control. My stomach slammed brutally into the sharp, solid oak corner of the entryway console table. A catastrophic, tearing agony exploded in my abdomen. A warm, thick liquid immediately began pooling down my inner thighs. I collapsed onto the freezing hardwood floor, curling into a tight ball, both hands desperately clutching my stomach. It hurt so badly I could not even produce a sound. I prayed with everything I had to protect the tiny life inside me. But my consciousness was already slipping away into the blinding white pain. Through my fading vision, I could still hear Declan yelling at me. “Stop playing dead! I barely touched you, and now you are throwing a tantrum on the floor?” Right as the darkness began to completely pull me under, heavy, urgent footsteps echoed down the hall. Someone violently shoved the crowd aside and sprinted into the apartment. It was Dr. Frank. He immediately stripped off his heavy wool trench coat and wrapped it tightly around me, completely blocking the prying, judgmental eyes of the crowd. Declan was still running his mouth, spewing toxic garbage. Frank pulled the medical lab results out of his pocket and whipped them directly into Declan’s face. The bolded words fluttered in the air for everyone to see. “Open your damn eyes, Declan, and look at what you just did.” At that exact second, the phone in Declan’s pocket vibrated sharply. The screen lit up. A text from the unknown number appeared. [I am begging you. Do not hurt the baby!]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513580”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I bought myself a companion merman, and pretty much every day, I practically glued myself to him, begging for cuddles. But he was incredibly fierce. The second I touched him, he would bare his fangs. I was just about to drain his tank to teach him a lesson when a message from Customer Support popped up on my phone. “We are so sorry, babe! We checked our records and realized we shipped you the wrong order. He is an ornamental merman. He does NOT provide intimate services!” “Please keep your distance! If he detects any boundary-crossing behavior, he will instantly go feral. Your physical safety will be at risk!” Cold sweat prickled across my skin. I was terrified. I needed to run out of the bathroom right now. But to my absolute shock, the man did the exact opposite of what I expected. His wet, slippery tail coiled aggressively around my waist. He gripped my chin, his voice low and dripping with danger. “You drained the water. Are you trying to dry me out, or…” 1 “I didn’t mean to!” My tongue tied itself into knots. I was too terrified to even process what Silas was saying. His strength was terrifying. His tail wrapped around me like a vice. Because of the lack of water, the scales on his tail fin flared open slightly. They brushed against my thigh, sparking a shivering, electric numbness that traveled straight up my spine. “I will fill it! I will turn the water on right now!” I flailed wildly, my hands blindly smacking the nearby valve. The biting cold water shocked my system, making me violently flinch. Feeling the soothing rush of the current, Silas’s tense muscles seemed to relax just a fraction. The crushing grip of his tail loosened. I scrambled frantically over the edge of the oversized tub, my knees slamming hard against the slippery porcelain tiles. Because I was soaking wet, I lost my balance and tumbled right back in. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His tail instinctively constricted around me again. His body temperature was rising rapidly, burning against my skin as if he was ready to boil me alive and devour me whole. Was he about to go feral?! Panic hijacked my brain. I scrambled out on all fours, bolting out of the bathroom and slamming the door shut. I locked the deadbolt, leaning heavily against the wooden frame, gasping for air like I had just run a marathon. It took a long time for my heart rate to settle. Then I realized my slippers were still inside. I had no choice but to creep back in. “I am so sorry!” I stuttered, my eyes darting everywhere but at him. “I accidentally hit the wrong switch earlier. I swear I will stay far away from you from now on! I will never touch you again!” Through the thick, rising steam, he stared at me for a long time. His beautifully sculpted brows furrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. I tiptoed toward the edge of the tub to grab my shoes. Suddenly, his tail gave a tiny twitch. I shrieked and sprinted back out. Whatever. I didn’t need those shoes anyway. Honestly, I had always sensed Silas’s resistance toward me. He hated it when I got close to the pool. He especially loathed it when I tried to touch his fins or his abs. Whenever I leaned over the edge with stars in my eyes, begging for a cuddle, he would just ice me out and sink straight to the bottom. To even get him to surface, I had to threaten to cut off his premium food supply. Only then would he float up, glaring at me the entire time. I even tried pulling the “Master” card, warning him that if he didn’t let me pet his scales, I would sell him to the underground seafood market. That was the only way he would reluctantly rest his tail on the edge of the pool. Even then, every time I touched him, Silas would go completely rigid, looking like a martyr enduring torture. I always thought I had just unlocked some ultra-rare, tsundere merman variant. I figured he just needed time, patience, and a slow burn romance. Who knew he was literally an untouchable ornamental fish?! Thinking back on how shamelessly thirsty I had been acting these past few months, constantly drooling over him and even threatening to drain his water to force myself on him… I felt my face burn with intense humiliation. The customer support rep’s message chimed again. “We are so, so sorry, babe! It was completely our mistake. Please don’t leave a bad review!” “Can we process a return and a full refund for you?” “No need,” I typed back, feeling a heavy sense of loss. “Even if he can’t be my companion, he is still gorgeous to look at. I just won’t touch him.” Because the truth was, Silas was breathtakingly beautiful. Whenever he stretched out underwater, that deep, iridescent blue tail looked like the most luxurious silk, refracting a mesmerizing, dizzying glow through the ripples. He would even hum unknown siren lullabies with this hauntingly ethereal voice. It cured my severe insomnia every single time. I was already a little too attached to him. “Understood, babe! In that case, we will ship a complimentary companion-type merman to you right away!” I stared at that offer, and a shameful wave of excitement washed over me. After all, from the very beginning, all I wanted was a companion merman who would kiss me, hug me, and sweep me off my feet. If Silas was off-limits, there was no harm in touching a different fish, right? 2 When I woke up the next morning, muscle memory took over. I grabbed my specialized soft-bristle brush and walked toward the indoor pool. Just as I was about to crouch down, my brain rebooted, and I froze mid-motion. I guess I was just too used to forcing Silas to surface every morning so I could scrub his scales. The sudden change in routine threw me off. Accepting reality, I put the brush away and turned to leave. Splash. The water’s surface broke. The man’s physique was long and perfectly sculpted, with broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. Crystal-clear droplets rolled down his sharp, clean jawline, tracing the deep grooves of his eight-pack before disappearing into the vibrant blue scales below. I cursed the breeders a thousand times in my head. Making an ornamental fish this outrageously gorgeous was a crime against humanity. Look but don’t touch? Absolute torture. I forced myself to look away and pivoted toward the door to head to work. But out of nowhere, Silas glided to the edge. A large, elegant hand shot out and clamped firmly around my ankle. “What are you doing?” I panicked, stumbling a step backward, desperately trying to keep my distance. Instead of letting go, Silas slid his grip up to my wrist. With a slight pull, I was forced to bend forward, my gaze crashing straight into his dark, unreadable eyes. “No scale brushing today?” Back then, I used to get so frustrated by his cold shoulder that I took twisted pleasure in giving him daily bonding tasks. Aside from singing me to sleep, he had to let me brush his tail every single morning. And he had to rest his tail right on my lap while I did it, inch by agonizing inch. He would always tense up, his face a mask of bitter endurance, looking like he was suffering the ultimate indignity. Seeing him like that only fueled my wicked side. I used the brushing as an excuse to cop a feel everywhere I could, until I was blushing so hard I thought my heart would give out, forcing me to stop. At first, Silas fought it hard. He even bared his sharp, predatory fangs to warn me off. But his resistance was useless. I controlled the food supply. I was the boss. Eventually, he got used to it. Lately, he had been swimming over on his own when the time came. But now? I didn’t have a death wish! I scrambled like a maniac, yanking my wrist free from his palm. “No, no! You can take care of it yourself from now on.” He stared at me without blinking. It made the hair on my arms stand up. “Are you tired of my body?” I didn’t quite catch that. I was just about to ask him to repeat himself. “Do whatever you want!” He threw those words at me, then spun around and swam to the furthest, darkest corner of the pool, aggressively scrubbing his own scales. I knew it. He had hated it the whole time. I was just too blind to see it before. I forced a dry laugh and muttered, “Also, you don’t have to massage my feet after work anymore.” I used to make him rub my tired feet every time I got home from the office. But now… I decided to stop torturing him. His fingers, gripping the edge of the pool, tightened until his knuckles turned stark white. Terrified he was about to lash out, I didn’t even wait for a response. I practically bolted out the front door. I stopped clinging to him. I stopped forcing him to do humiliating things. He should be thrilled, right? 3 I had only been at my desk for half an hour when a shipping notification popped up. The support rep left a message. “Babe, your companion merman has been shipped! Please keep an eye out for the delivery!” “Also, here are his personal specs so you can prep his living arrangements in advance!” I clicked the document attached to the chat. Name: Finn. Specs: 6’0″, 155 lbs, 10 inches, 3 hours, Pearl Pink. That was way too detailed! And pink… how delicate. Silas’s tank was filled with hard, jagged volcanic rocks and dark, moody aquascaping. Finn definitely wouldn’t like that. I needed to buy some soft coral beds and cute decorations for him. After work, I hit the pet boutique and bought a mountain of aquatic supplies. As I walked past an adult novelty store, a pearl tail chain in the display window caught my eye. It was a gorgeous, intricate design. Tiny pearls linked together, ending in two incredibly fluffy little pom-poms with slightly curled tips. If that was wrapped around a merman’s tail… the visual alone was enough to spike my blood pressure. My mind instantly conjured the image of Silas’s powerful, deep blue tail. If he wore something like this… Stop! I violently shook my head, throwing Silas’s image out of my brain. But somehow, as if possessed, I walked in and bought it anyway. The second I stepped through my front door, I felt an oppressive, suffocating drop in the air pressure. The bathroom door was wide open. Silas wasn’t in his tank. He had shifted into his human legs and was sitting on the living room sofa. When merfolk stay out of water for too long, their tails split into human legs. But the process is agonizing for them, so Silas almost never did it. Right now, his long, muscular legs were casually crossed, and he was staring at me with pure frost in his eyes. “Where did you go?” His voice was colder than usual, practically dripping with ice. “Just shopping,” I replied, feeling totally baffled by the interrogation. I set the shopping bags on the coffee table. Just as I reached in to sort the items, Silas suddenly stood up and snatched the bag away. “What did you buy?” “Hey! Don’t touch that!” I panicked, reaching out to grab it back, but his reflexes were lethal. His long, elegant fingers pulled out that highly suggestive pearl chain. Silas’s eyes instantly darkened to pitch black. He stared at the chain, then at me. His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. “You… like this kind of thing?” His voice dropped to a gravelly rasp, layered with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. I ignored him, pretending to busy myself with the other supplies. A few moments later, he stepped out of the bathroom. He had awkwardly wrapped the chain around his own torso. The silver wire pulled taut against his skin. The pearls rolled from his collarbone, digging into the swell of his pecs, trailing down the deep groove of his abs. With every flex of his muscles, the pearls bounced. The final pearl rested right at the very edge of his V-line, half-sunken into the seam where his scales began. He looked down at that pearl, then looked up at me. The corner of his mouth twitched downward. “It’s a little tight. But I can tolerate wearing it.” Silas’s voice was low, husky, and dangerously seductive. “Actually… I can produce pearls too. I could always…” Oh my god! This was a massive misunderstanding. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. “It’s going to damage your scales. Take it off right now.” “No need.” I could hear a faint, almost imperceptible hint of pleasure in his tone. “I actually love it.” My face erupted in flames. I was so embarrassed I could have dug a hole through the floorboards. I used to buy him all sorts of weird, kinky accessories, and he always outright refused to wear them. “No! That isn’t for you!” I rushed to explain, reaching out to snatch the chain back. Silas’s hand shot out, his fist clamping tightly over the pearls. “Not for me?” He took a menacing step forward, backing me up. “Then who exactly were you planning to give it to?” 4 Midnight. I got up to grab a glass of water, only to hear a low, mesmerizing melody drifting through the halls. It carried a piercing, intoxicating allure that made my core run hot and my knees go weak. Like a moth to a flame, I pushed the pool room door open. Moonlight spilled through the skylight, illuminating Silas. Half of his torso was out of the water. He was actually wearing the black leather collar with the tiny bell! The exact one I bought months ago, tried to force on him, and watched him toss into the bottom of the tank! The dark leather strapped tightly right below his Adam’s apple, contouring perfectly to his neck. Every time he tilted his head back to sing, the movement of his throat pressed against the leather, leaving faint pink indentations. The little bell trembled non-stop, ringing with a delicate ding, ding, ding. Water droplets slid down his flawless jaw, sinking into the deep valley of his chest. He was an absolute menace! I swore I was about to get a nosebleed. Silas stopped singing. He tilted his head, locking eyes with me. His gaze was hazy and lethal, his voice dangerously hoarse. “This one… this one has to be for me, right?” I ruthlessly pinched my own thigh, forcing my brain to snap back to reality. The customer service warning screamed in my head. Ornamental merman. No intimate services. Do not cross the boundary. He will kill you. Looking at him right now, he probably just thought it was a pretty necklace. He had absolutely no idea what that collar actually symbolized! If I lunged at him right now, he would probably rip my throat out with his teeth. I forced my eyes away with sheer willpower. “Take it off. It looks too tight. From now on, we keep our distance. You don’t have to force yourself to wear these things anymore.” The bell on the collar instantly went dead silent. His facial expression didn’t shift a millimeter. With a bitter, defiant edge to his voice, he whispered, “…Fine.” “Great!” The emotion in Silas’s eyes shattered into a million pieces, leaving behind a terrifying, empty void. He coldly ripped the collar off his neck and threw it onto the wet tiles. The bell let out a sharp, pitiful crack. “As you wish.” He sank beneath the dark water, completely vanishing from sight.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513581”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Born with a rhino’s hide and a battered soul, it was cruel fate that placed me in a family of glass hearts. My poet father drowned in autumn’s melancholy, and my musician mother wept at sad chords. They were fragile dolls needing delicate care, while I possessed a heart of ice. Once, a burly scammer faked injury on our car. My parents dissolved into guilt, ready to sell our home for him. I simply hit the gas, and the man sprinted away like an athlete. My coldness made me their perfect shield. Today, my uncle arrived, eyes bloodshot with theatrical grief. “Your nephew has heart failure! Give him yours!” he pleaded. Before his words faded, my cousin Gurney climbed the balcony railing. “Sign the donor form or I jump!” Watching my father reach for the papers, I laughed coldly, walked to the balcony, and gave Gurney a firm shove. “Jump now, and I can still order your funeral wreath.” … Gurney, now dangling halfway over the edge of the high-rise balcony, let out a terrified shriek. His hands clawed desperately at the metal frame. “She’s crazy! Sloane, you absolute psychopath!” My uncle, Marcus, lunged toward the balcony. His wife, Tabitha, dropped to her knees, frantically grabbing at her son’s jeans to pull him back. I picked up a metal golf club leaning against the wall and pressed the heavy iron head firmly against Gurney’s knuckles. “Weren’t you just screaming about how you wanted to die?” I looked down at him. “I’m a helpful person. Let me assist you.” I applied pressure to the golf club. Gurney burst into hysterical tears. “Dad! Mom! Help! This bitch is actually going to kill me!” A dark, wet stain rapidly bloomed across the crotch of his trousers. Behind me on the sofa, my father, Arthur, clutched his chest. “Sloane, stop this at once! He is your cousin, your own flesh and blood!” “It’s all my fault. I am the one who stole Gurney’s hope for a future…” My mother, Cynthia, was sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath. She turned to my father. “It’s too tragic, Arthur. Gurney is only eighteen. His life is just beginning!” “Arthur, maybe we should just give him your heart. You can still write poetry with your soul, but without a heart, Gurney will lose his life!” It was utterly mind-boggling. How do you write poetry without a heart? Do you channel a ghostwriter through a Ouija board, or do you operate on sheer telepathy? I turned my head, fixing the weeping couple with a dead-eyed stare. “Shut up.” “Say one more word, and I’ll throw both of you over the edge with him.” My parents shuddered, their loud wails cutting off in an instant. Seizing the distraction, Marcus managed to drag Gurney back over the railing. Gurney collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Marcus wrapped his arms around his shivering son, then whipped his head around to glare at me. “Sloane, you are a cold-blooded monster! Your father already agreed to the transplant. What right do you have to interfere?” He reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a laminated piece of paper, and slammed it onto the coffee table. “Arthur, open your eyes and look at this! This is the blood covenant you signed on our mother’s deathbed!” “You swore an oath that if I, Marcus, ever asked for anything, even if it meant carving out your own flesh and bone, you would never refuse!” My father’s entire body went rigid. He slumped onto the carpet. “It’s true. I cannot be a hypocrite, and I cannot break my promise to our mother.” With trembling fingers, he reached out toward a fountain pen. “I’ll sign. I’ll give my life to Gurney.” A flash of greed lit up Tabitha’s eyes as she quickly pushed the medical consent form right under my father’s hand. I walked over to the table, rested one foot on the edge, and pinched the blood covenant between two fingers. Rip. I tore the paper into shreds, scattering the confetti directly over Marcus’s head. The room fell dead silent. “What do you think you’re doing!” Marcus roared, finally snapping out of his shock as he lunged toward me. I didn’t step back. I simply swung my hand and delivered a brutal slap across his face. The crack echoed through the room. Marcus’s cheek swelled instantly, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You think a worthless scrap of paper gives you the right to harvest a human life?” I looked down at him coldly. “Who do you think you are?” “You want a heart? Fine.” I grabbed a silver fruit knife from the counter and flipped it, driving the blade deep into the wooden floor right between Marcus’s thighs. The steel blade vibrated, glinting under the chandelier. “Carve your own heart out and give it to him. A father’s compatibility is bound to be better than an uncle’s anyway. Do it while it’s still warm.” Marcus stared at the cold steel buzzing mere inches from his crotch, his legs shaking so violently he couldn’t stand up. Seeing that brute force wouldn’t work, Tabitha quickly shifted tactics. She threw herself over her son. Gurney immediately began to convulse on the floor, his eyes rolling back as he clutched his chest, a wet, rattling sound coming from his throat. “Gurney! My baby! Don’t leave me!” Tabitha shrieked, pulling a loaded syringe of epinephrine from her bag. She whipped her head toward me, her eyes wild with malice. “Sloane, this is murder! Your cousin’s heart is failing, and your cruelty is killing him!” At the sight of Gurney thrashing on the floor, my mother’s hyper-empathy kicked into overdrive. She clutched her own chest, her face turning pale as she gasped for air. “Sloane… save him! Seeing him in such pain is breaking my own heart into a million pieces…” My mother scrambled off the sofa, stumbling toward the bedroom. “I’ll get the house deed! I’ll get our savings certificates! We’ll give them everything, just save Gurney!” Meanwhile, my father dropped to his knees, pressed his palms together, and began reciting a poem of tragic self-repentance to the ceiling light. “My blood is cursed, I have stolen the breath of the innocent…” Staring at this circus of hysterics, my temples throbbed. I looked down at Gurney’s writhing body. A heart attack? On the verge of death? I let out a dry chuckle. I walked into the kitchen, pulled a metal basin of ice water from the freezer, and emptied a jar of ghost pepper powder into it. After a quick stir, I carried the bowl of hellfire back to the living room. Tabitha was still waving the syringe around, wailing about how only her brother-in-law’s heart could save her boy. I didn’t waste a single breath. With a swift flick of my wrist, I dumped the entire basin of ice-cold, pepper-infused water directly onto Gurney’s face. “Ahhh!” He bolted upright, screaming at the top of his lungs. He clawed at his eyes, thrashing blindly around the living room. “It burns! My eyes are on fire!” I tossed the empty basin aside and crossed my arms. “And they said his heart was failing.” “With pipes like that, we should sign him up for the opera. He’d win first place, easy.” Tabitha stared at her screaming, red-faced son, her eyes turning murderous. “You little bitch! You ruined my son’s face! I’ll kill you!” She lunged at me, her sharp fingernails aiming for my eyes. I took a half-step to the side, letting her momentum carry her forward, and stuck out my foot. Tabitha tripped, crashing face-first onto the hardwood floor. The sound of her front teeth cracking against the wood was loud and clean. Marcus scrambled up, the mask of the grieving uncle completely gone from his face. He pulled a black remote control from his pocket. “Sloane, did you really think I’d come here unprepared?” He pressed the red button. Immediately, a chorus of angry shouts erupted from outside the courtyard gates. “Arthur Collins is a fraud! Let his own nephew die!” “Arthur Collins, pay with your life!” A malicious grin spread across Marcus’s face. “Hear that? I contacted the local news, the medical forums, and a bunch of online activists. They’re standing right outside.” “Arthur, you sign those papers right now, or I’ll ensure your reputation is completely destroyed by morning!” My father began to tremble. Two silent tears rolled down his cheeks. “My honor… ruined. I have lived a blameless life, only to be vilified by the world. It is better to die…” He sprinted toward the balcony, his body already halfway over the railing. I lunged forward, catching him by the collar of his shirt. With a brutal yank, I dragged him back onto the balcony floor. He hit the ground with a dull thud. “You want to die? Fine,” I said, looking down at him coldly. “But wait until I’ve cleared out this trash. Once they’re gone, you can jump all you want, and I’ll even pay for your casket. But right now, stop getting in my way.” I hauled him up and shoved him toward my dazed mother. “Keep an eye on him. If he tries to kill himself again, I’ll end Gurney myself.” Outside, the shouting grew louder, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Without waiting for their reaction, I dragged both of my fragile parents into the soundproof media room, slammed the heavy door, and turned the deadbolt from the outside. Now that the distractions were locked away, I could finally handle this properly. Marcus watched me, letting out a dark laugh. “Sloane, you really are something. But do you honestly think you can hold off an angry mob by yourself?” He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed a number. “Do it.” The lights flickered and died. The villa plunged into pitch blackness. They had cut our power. A second later, the sound of metal grinding against metal echoed from the front foyer. Marcus hadn’t just relied on the mob outside. He had brought real muscle. Crash! The heavy security door was ripped off its hinges by a hydraulic spreader. Four large men in tactical gear stepped into the foyer. But it was the man walking behind them that made me narrow my eyes. It was Dr. Evans, my father’s personal physician of ten years. He held a professional medical kit, his eyes darting away, unable to look me in the face. “I’m sorry, Sloane. But the amount your uncle offered me is enough to keep my family comfortable abroad for three lifetimes.” Marcus laughed maniacally. “Sloane, did you think this was a game? That heart is mine today!” He waved his hand. “Take her down!” The four brutes charged. I gripped my golf club tightly, swinging it hard into the face of the first man. The metal head connected with his cheekbone with a sickening crack, and he collapsed, groaning. But before I could swing again, two of the men tackled me from behind, pinning my arms. I managed to kick one in the knee, but a heavy boot slammed into the back of my leg, bringing me down. The remaining man threw a heavy steel-reinforced net over me, pulling the drawstrings tight. I was pinned to the floor, unable to move. Dr. Evans stepped forward, opening his medical kit to retrieve a syringe. “This is a highly concentrated muscle relaxant,” the doctor said, his voice trembling slightly. “Once injected, your mind will remain perfectly conscious, but your muscles will be completely paralyzed.” “Don’t blame me, Sloane. You shouldn’t have stood in the way of a fortune.” Marcus walked over, looking down at me with absolute triumph. “Tie her to the concrete pillar!” “I want her to watch every single second. I want her to see exactly how we cut through that media room door and carve her father’s heart out of his chest!” The steel wires of the net bit deep into my skin as they bound me tightly to the central support column of the living room. Dr. Evans approached, the needle glinting in his hand. I looked at him and smiled. “You’re a doctor, but you clearly don’t know what a real threat looks like.” Before he could react, I slammed my right shoulder violently against the sharp concrete corner of the pillar. The steel wires sliced through my shirt, cutting deep into my muscle. The pain was blinding, white-hot, but I didn’t even blink. Using my own blood as a lubricant, I ripped my right arm free from the metal mesh. My flesh was torn, blood soaking the entire right side of my shirt. Dr. Evans stumbled back in horror, dropping the syringe onto the floor. “You’re insane! You’re a monster! Don’t you feel pain?” I slowly rotated my freed right wrist. “Of course it hurts.” “But I have a very cold heart, Doctor. I’m ruthless to my enemies, but I’m even more ruthless to myself.” In a flash, I lunged forward, grabbing the fallen syringe from the floor and driving the needle deep into his carotid artery. I slammed the plunger down. The doctor didn’t even have time to scream before his eyes rolled back, his body collapsing into a limp heap. “Don’t let her scare you!” Marcus screamed from behind the sofa. “She’s alone, her right arm is useless, and she’s bleeding out!” “Kill her! An extra five million to whoever finishes her off today!” The remaining three men exchanged looks, then roared as they rushed me. I grabbed my golf club with my left hand, swinging it wildly into the temple of the closest man. He dropped to his knees, but the other two hit me with a metal pipe, sending me crashing to the floor. My left arm was still functional, but the massive blood loss was finally catching up to me. My vision began to blur, a metallic taste filling my mouth. I rolled out of the way of another strike, grabbing a shard of broken glass from the floor and stabbing it deep into a thug’s thigh. He screamed, clutching his spurting leg. But the last two men threw themselves onto me, pinning me to the glass-covered floor. One of them ground his heavy boot directly into the open wound on my right shoulder. “Ugh!” The groan escaped my lips as I was pinned flat. My strength was entirely gone, my vision fading into a dark, ringing void. “Hahaha! Sloane, look at you now! Where’s all that tough talk?” Seeing that I was completely incapacitated, Marcus stepped out from his hiding spot. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, placing his foot heavily onto my cheek. He pulled a hunting knife from his belt, slowly resting the cold tip against my chest. “You ruined my entire plan. I’m going to carve you into pieces!” He raised the blade high, aiming directly for my heart. The steel blade sliced downward. Just as the tip of the knife was about to pierce my skin, I forced my eyes open and let out a bloody, terrifying grin. Marcus froze, his hand trembling. “What are you laughing at?” “Me?” I slowly lifted my blood-soaked left hand, pointing a single finger toward the ceiling above him. “Before you kill me… you might want to look up.” They instinctively raised their heads. Directly above them, a massive, dark shadow hung suspended in the air. The metal bolt anchoring the grand chandelier to the ceiling let out a sharp, decisive crack. The massive object plunged toward them. The arrogance on their faces froze, their pupils contracting as a chorus of terrified screams erupted.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513582”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I possess a highly specific talent. It is not exactly glamorous, but most commuters would beg on their knees for it. Whenever I board a bus, I can see a glowing number hovering above every passenger’s head, indicating exactly how many stops they have left. The older lady with a 5 floating above her hairless crown? Sure enough, five stops later, she sprints off before the doors even fully open, desperate to beat the morning rush at the farmer’s market. The exhausted woman who falls asleep the second her head hits the window? She sports a 15. A totally burned-out wage slave riding all the way to the end of the line. As for me, I specifically target the 1s. I casually sidle up to them, wait a few minutes, and inherit their warm seat while everyone else glares in pure envy. I cannot help it. A gift is a gift. Until today. It was the start of the holiday break. I dragged my heavy suitcases onto the bus, my eyes scanning the aisle for a fresh zero, ready to claim my prize. Instead, I froze. The entire bus, every single passenger, had the exact same number hovering above their heads. Zero. “God, it is packed in here! I am relying on you, seat whisperer!” My best friend, Sophie, grabbed my arm the second we boarded, pulling me out of my daze. “You are the absolute best at this. Find a spot for a poor, tired girl, will you?” “I am on it.” Lugging both of our oversized bags, I activated my eagle eyes. It was a weird crowd today. Half the bus was filled with kids on a field trip, bright yellow caps on their heads, each sporting a glowing 12. They were all heading to Centennial Park. Only two passengers stood out. One was a gloomy young man sitting by the window, staring blankly at the passing cars. A solid 1 hovered above him. The other was an anxious elderly woman sitting near the aisle. Her number kept glitching, flickering frantically between a 1 and a 2. Maybe she had not decided where to get off yet? Playing it safe, I shoved Sophie and the heaviest suitcase toward the gloomy guy, while I squeezed my way over to the old woman. The moment I got close, something felt incredibly off. The bus was full, but not suffocatingly crowded. The field trip kids were traveling light, holding nothing but little paper flags. Yet, in this relatively spacious section, the old woman was clutching an enormous, heavy cast-iron pot to her chest, absolutely refusing to set it on the floor. Judging by how deeply the pot dug into her thighs, it weighed a ton. She kept glancing around nervously. When I stopped in front of her, she flinched like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on, her eyes locking onto me with fierce paranoia. Watching the numbers flicker wildly above her gray hair, a chilling thought crossed my mind. Did she escape from a memory care unit? “Approaching Ashborne Avenue. Passengers departing, please prepare for your exit.” The mechanical female voice echoed through the speakers. I immediately shot a look at Sophie, raising my eyebrows. That guy is about to leave. Grab his seat! But as I looked at her, my blood ran cold. The number floating above Sophie’s head had changed. It was a 0. I whipped my head around. It was not just her. The entire bus, including the laughing kids waving their little flags, every single number had plummeted to 0. “Wait, no! Stop the car!” In a fraction of a second, the world erupted in blinding hellfire. The searing phantom heat of the explosion still crawled across my skin as a warm hand suddenly clamped onto my arm. “God, it is packed in here! I am relying on you, seat whisperer!” I gasped, whipping my head around. “Sophie! You are alive?!” “What the hell is wrong with you? You are the dead one here!” Sophie glared at me like I had lost my mind, yanking me onto the bus steps. “Just find me a seat and I will forgive your weirdness.” I looked up. There it was. The exact same bus. The old woman clutching her cast-iron pot, smiling nervously at me. “No! Get off!” I grabbed Sophie’s hand and bolted for the doors. “Are you insane? Route 8 is the only one that goes to Union Station!” Sophie yelled, planting her feet. “We will wait for the next one. This bus is way too crowded!” “The next one is in thirty minutes! We will miss our train!” She gripped her suitcase handle, refusing to budge. “Just trust me!” I ripped the suitcase from her grip and spun toward the exit. A heavy pneumatic hiss hissed through the air. The doors slammed shut right in my face. I banged on the glass, staring at the driver. “Let us out!” He completely ignored me, stepping on the gas with zero hesitation. “Next stop, Ashborne Avenue.” The mechanical voice made my entire body shudder. Ashborne Avenue. That was where the fire started. The adrenaline spiked in my veins. I shoved my way to the front and screamed at the driver. “Stop the bus! We need to get off right now!” The driver slowly turned his head. His pupils were completely unfocused, staring right through me. “Time is up. You can exit at the next stop.” He spoke in a flat, monotone rhythm, like a machine stripped of its soul. “He is right, dear. Just wait for the next stop. Stop causing a fuss and come sit by me.” The old woman smiled, waving her wrinkled hand at me, her index finger curling in a slow, hypnotic motion. “I guess you were right,” Sophie whispered from behind me, her voice trembling slightly. “The vibe in here is completely unhinged. We are definitely getting off at the next stop.” I squeezed my eyes shut. There is no next stop. “Come here, sweetie.” The old woman was still waving me over. I let out a shaky breath and walked toward her. If I could not run, I had to face the threat head-on. I glanced back, hoping to tell Sophie to keep her distance, only to see her dragging her suitcase right next to the gloomy young man. He sat there like a stone gargoyle, his head bowed, hugging his leather briefcase tight against his chest. I turned my attention back to the old woman. The moment she caught me staring at her cast-iron pot, her welcoming smile vanished entirely. The driver hit the brakes hard, and a distinct, heavy rolling sound echoed from inside the pot. She instantly tightened her grip, her knuckles turning white as her paranoid eyes darted around the cabin. Seeing that nobody else noticed, she let out a long sigh of relief. Then, a high-pitched voice shattered the quiet. “Grandma, what is in your pot?” The old woman violently flinched. “N-nothing! Nothing at all!” “Nothing? Then why are you hugging it like a baby? Want me to hold it for you?” I reached out. She exploded like a lit fuse. “I said I do not need help! Back off!” The driver coughed loudly from the front, and her fiery attitude immediately extinguished. “I am getting off at the next stop anyway. You can have the seat.” She stood up abruptly, hugging the heavy pot to her chest, and practically fled to the rear exit doors. I stared at her back. The flickering 2 and 3 above her head suddenly stabilized into a solid 1. She was telling the truth. She really was getting off at the next stop. Did I accuse the wrong person? But her pot was the only thing on this bus large enough to hide a homemade explosive. I scanned the cabin, my eyes drifting over the field trip kids with their tiny flags, until my gaze locked onto something else. Wait. There was one other person. I stared at the young man sitting next to Sophie. His leather briefcase. It was bulging grotesquely, stretched so tight it looked completely spherical. I opened my mouth to yell for Sophie to move, but the bus hit a massive pothole. A loud metallic clatter rang out. The cast-iron pot had slipped from the old woman’s grasp and hit the floor. I whipped around, my jaw dropping as I saw what rolled out. “Pickled eggs?!” Before I could even process the sight of a dozen hard-boiled eggs rolling across the ribbed rubber floor, a pungent, eye-watering stench of fermented garlic, vinegar, and sulfur violently assaulted the air. Passengers groaned in unison, pulling their shirts over their noses. “How many times do I have to tell you?!” the driver roared. “No foul-smelling food on my bus!” “I am so sorry! I am so sorry, everyone!” The old woman dropped to her knees, frantically chasing the rolling eggs, bowing her head in utter humiliation. “My granddaughter is in the hospital. She cannot keep any food down, but she grew up loving my spicy pickled eggs.” “I do not care about your sob story! Get that garbage off my bus!” Watching this fragile woman getting scolded like a naughty child twisted my stomach. I knelt down to help her gather the spilled food. “Approaching Ashborne Avenue.” The moment my fingers brushed a cold, slippery egg, that icy mechanical voice rang out from the speakers. Instantly, a devastating shockwave of raw heat erupted from behind me. Engulfed in flames, I forced my neck to turn. Right there. It came from right there. “God, it is packed in here.” Before Sophie could even finish her sentence, I was already sprinting down the aisle, lunging straight for the gloomy young man. “Hand over the briefcase! Right now, or I am calling the cops!” I slammed my hands down on the bulging leather, feeling the hard, packed objects beneath the surface. He slowly looked up. His eyes were so hollow, so suffocated by pure despair, that my heart actually skipped a beat. “Give it to me,” I demanded, forcing my voice to stay steady. “What is wrong with you, lady?” one of the kids piped up. “Do you know this guy? Why are you trying to steal his stuff?” I recognized that little girl. During the first two explosions, she survived the initial blast. I remembered her lying in the burning wreckage, weeping softly, whispering that it hurt, begging for her mother. My knuckles turned stark white as I gripped the bag strap. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper. I will make sure the suffering ends in this lifetime. “Yeah, who do you think you are? You just board a bus and start robbing people?” The chaperone teacher stood up, his face twisted in disgust. “Stop traumatizing my students!” “Listen up, kids! This is called assault. Do not ever act like this maniac!” he yelled, pointing a thick finger at me. Sophie yanked hard on my sleeve, her voice a frantic hiss. “What are you doing? Let go before you get us arrested!” I ignored her, my eyes locked on the young man. In the previous loop, I felt the searing shockwave originate exactly from where he was sitting. I yanked the heavy briefcase with all my strength. He refused to let go, his grip tightening as the force pulled him entirely out of his seat. He stumbled into the aisle, breathing heavily. “Look at her!” the teacher shouted, his voice booming over the engine noise. “She is actually getting violent! Unbelievable.” “Picking on a guy who was just minding his business. Real tough.” “Probably doing it for some viral video. Look at the way she is dressed.” The hostility hit me in waves. I was the villain. I was the monster. Sophie’s eyes were red with frantic embarrassment. “Are you done making a scene?! Everyone is staring! If you do not care about your reputation, I care about mine!” She clawed at my fingers, desperately trying to pry me off the bag. I clenched my jaw, forcing the words out of my tight throat. “He has a bomb in this bag.” The entire bus fell dead silent. Into the suffocating quiet, the icy mechanical voice drifted through the speakers. “Approaching Ashborne Avenue.” Before the tires even screeched to a halt, the heavy thud of combat boots hit the steps. Police officers swarmed the vehicle. “Step back! Nobody move!” “Hands where we can see them!” The passengers froze in sheer terror, their jaws dropping as they slowly raised their hands in the air. “Officers.” a frail, trembling voice floated from the back corner. Everyone turned, staring at the old woman like she had a death wish. She was clearly terrified, shrinking against the window, yet she forced herself to ask the question. “What is going on here? My granddaughter is very sick. I need to get to the hospital.” “We received a 911 call reporting an explosive device on this transit line.” A collective gasp sucked the oxygen out of the cabin. The teacher who had screamed at me stood frozen, his eyes darting from the heavily armed cops to the briefcase still locked in my grip. Sophie was paralyzed, her hand still raised in the air from trying to pry my fingers loose. I finally let go of the strap and slowly raised my hands. “I made the call.” “Are you insane?!” Sophie shrieked, her voice cracking in pure panic. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “What is wrong with your brain? You saw a fat bag and decided to call in a bomb threat?!” “Do you know they throw you in federal prison for fake threats?!” Her face was flushed purple. “You have been saying weird stuff all week, seeing things, acting paranoid. I thought you were just stressed! But now you are hallucinating bombs? You need psychiatric help!” The crowd immediately started murmuring. The teacher clutched his chest, letting out a loud, exaggerated breath. “Jesus, my heart. It is just a fake call.” He glared at me with pure venom. “I knew it. A perfectly normal commute ruined by some paranoid lunatic!” “Sweetheart,” the old woman called out gently, clutching her cast-iron pot. “Do not put so much pressure on yourself. Here, Grandma will give you a nice egg to calm your nerves.” “Silence!” The lead officer stepped forward, his eyes locked on me. “You made the call? Where is the device?” “Him.” I pointed directly at the gloomy man. “He hid the explosive inside his briefcase.” Sophie stomped her foot, tears of frustration spilling over. “Stop lying! You just want to ruin our lives, do you not? You are completely unhinged!” “He is the unhinged one!” I ripped my arm away from her, pointing fiercely at the man. He still had his head bowed, utterly detached from the chaos around him. It was as if the rest of the universe did not exist. Just him, and the bag clutched to his chest. “Let us see what is inside, then we will know for sure.” I lunged for the bag. He twisted away. My fingers missed the leather but caught something dangling from the zipper. A sharp snap echoed as a plastic keychain broke off and hit the floor. It was like flipping a switch. The man’s head snapped up violently. “Enough!” His eyes were completely bloodshot, wild and cornered. The sheer agony in his gaze made the entire bus recoil. Sophie instinctively hid behind my back. “You want to see? Fine! Look at it!” He jumped up, ripped the zipper open, and turned the entire bag upside down, violently shaking it. A heavy, pathetic crash followed. Manila folders, cheap ballpoint pens, a dented thermos, a half-eaten box of saltines, and six frayed notebooks slammed against the rubber floor. Nothing else. No wires. No explosives. No weapons. The bus was dead silent. “Are you happy now?” He dropped to his knees, his voice muffled and thick with unshed tears as he slowly began picking up his scattered life. “They fired me today.” “Six years. Six years I gave them, and they fired me with zero notice. I did not even have time to find a cardboard box. I shoved my entire desk into my bag. That is why it is fat.” He stopped talking. He just kept picking up his pens, looking like a stray dog that had just been kicked into the gutter. Then he reached for the plastic keychain. He slowly turned it over. The smiling face of a little girl was printed beneath the scratched plastic. “My little sister.” His voice cracked, raw and hollow. “A drunk driver killed my parents. She has been in a coma in the ICU ever since. Where the hell would I get money to build a bomb? I cannot even afford to keep her life support running.” The air left my lungs. “I am so sorry. I did not know.” A muffled, terrifying boom ruptured the air. A devastating shockwave ripped from the back of the bus, tearing through the metal and flesh in a blinding flash of orange. The shrieks of the dying melted into one horrifying chord. Through the thick, suffocating black smoke, fighting the agony of my own burning skin, I forced my neck to turn one last time. Through the haze, I saw a hand. A hand tightly gripping a detonator switch. On its middle finger, a thin silver ring caught the flames, flashing a brilliant, blinding light straight into my pupils. My eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror. How is it you?!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513583”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After my father’s casket was lowered into the earth, my best friend, Nora, wrapped her arms around my shaking shoulders. “Before he passed, Arthur told you not to forget to water the plants,” she whispered, her voice thick with sympathy. “Kate, he wanted you to keep going. He wanted you to live a good life.” My blood ran entirely cold. My father had a severe pollen allergy. We had never kept a single green thing in our house, let alone flowers or plants. Years ago, he and I had agreed on a secret code. If either of us were ever in immediate, life-threatening danger, we would use the phrase “water the plants” to signal for help. My father had died in a tragic car accident a week ago. How did Nora know our code? … When my father first suggested setting up an emergency signal, I had laughed in his face. I told him life wasn’t a thriller movie, and we didn’t need secret codes. He had simply smiled, telling me it was better to be safe than sorry. We both assumed we would never have to use it. Yet now, those very words had just slipped from the lips of my closest friend. Nora had been my rock. Ever since my father’s accident, she had practically abandoned her own sick daughter, staying by my side day and night for the past two weeks to keep me from falling apart. “Kate? Are you okay?” Nora’s gentle, concerned voice broke through my spiraling thoughts. I pulled myself back to the present and forced a weak shake of my head. There was no way Nora had anything to do with my father’s death. She had no motive, no reason to hurt him. Perhaps my father had managed to tell her the code before he died, hoping she would warn me that his accident wasn’t an accident at all? I clenched my fists, forcing a fragile smile onto my face. “I’m okay, really.” I squeezed her hand. Her palm was burning hot, making my icy fingers ache. “Nora, you’ve been with me for so long. You should go home. Mona must miss her mom.” Nora held on tighter. “My mother is watching Mona. I’m not leaving you alone like this.” Her touch, which had always brought me comfort, suddenly made my skin crawl. I quietly slipped my hand out of her grip, fabricating a quick excuse. “The insurance company called. They need me to sign some paperwork for my dad’s life insurance policy back in my hometown. I have to make the drive today, so…” Before I could even finish, Nora cut me off, her voice laced with a strange, hurried relief. “Oh, in that case, you should definitely go right away!” I stared at her. We had been friends for ten years. I knew every shift in her expression, every nervous tic. Nora, what are you in such a hurry for? The drive to Blackwood Creek was long and winding. Nora’s odd reaction replayed in my mind like a broken record, distracting me so much that I missed the exit for the highway service station. By the time the low fuel light flashed on my dashboard, I was forced to pull into a rusty, isolated gas station at the base of the mountain pass. “Heading up the mountain, kid?” The old attendant shook his head, waving his gloved hands. “Can’t go up. There was a nasty rockslide a few days back. Debris everywhere. A car went over the edge, and the state troopers still have the pass closed off for the investigation.” My grip tightened on the steering wheel. That car belonged to my father. I took a deep breath, smoothing my expression as I stepped out of the car. “Sir, it’s been a week. Why is the road still closed?” “I hear the detectives are treating it as suspicious,” the old man sighed, leaning against the pump. “Two lives lost in one night. They have to be thorough.” “Two lives?” My eyes went wide. I reached out, grabbing his sleeve before I could stop myself. “The police report said there was only one vehicle involved. How could there be two deaths?” The attendant startled, blinking at me in confusion. “Well, yes, only one car went over. But that evening, a young female cyclist stopped by here to escape the storm. She ended up hitching a ride in that very car.” A cold sweat broke out across my back. The world seemed to tilt. The forensic report from the crash site had been absolute: my father’s body was the only one recovered from the wreckage. Where was the girl? Was she alive? Who was she? Driven by a sudden, sickening instinct, I pulled up a photo of Nora on my phone and held it up to the old man. “Was this the girl who took the ride?” The attendant squinted at the screen, then immediately shook his head. “No, definitely not her. The cyclist was broader, heavier, and had short, cropped hair.” I lowered my phone, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, though the knot in my chest only grew tighter. The attendant finished filling my tank, but instead of asking for payment, he gestured toward the small brick office. “Kid, step inside for a second. I want to show you something.” I hesitated, watching him walk toward the door. Under the dim, flickering security light of the station, his face seemed cast in shadow. 2 I took a cautious step back, my eyes tracking his movements with sudden suspicion. The old man caught my hesitation and let out a dry chuckle. He didn’t push. Instead, he disappeared into the office, rummaged around for a moment, and returned with a tablet. “Here,” he said, handing it over with a hint of pride. “This is the security footage from that night. The system usually overwrites the files every seven days, but since there was a fatal crash, I figured the police might want to see it, so I backed it up.” My suspicion instantly turned into a deep sense of shame. “Thank you,” I muttered quietly, taking the screen. He waved it off dismissively. “Don’t apologize for being careful. In this world, you can’t even trust the people closest to you, let alone a stranger at a dark gas station.” The footage was timestamped exactly twenty-eight minutes before the estimated time of the crash. On the screen, my father’s car pulled up to the pump. A moment later, a heavy-set woman with short hair and a massive hiking pack approached his window. After a brief exchange, she loaded her bicycle into his trunk and climbed into the passenger seat. I replayed the short clip half a dozen times. Aside from confirming the girl wasn’t Nora, there was nothing else to see. The attendant leaned over, looking at the screen. “Look, I probably shouldn’t be sharing this, but if it helps you, I can send a copy to your phone.” I looked up, meeting his eyes, which were now filled with a quiet, heavy sympathy. “Your dad used to stop by here every time he drove up this way,” the old man said softly. “You have his eyes.” My throat tightened, and I could barely whisper a thank you. As he turned to walk back to his office, he left me with one final, unsettling thought. “I’ve run this station for thirty years, kid. We’ve never had a rockslide on this pass. The rain that night wasn’t even that heavy. It just doesn’t make sense.” With the mountain pass closed and the sky turning pitch black, I had no choice but to check into a dingy roadside motel at the base of the mountain. I tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress, watching the gas station footage on my phone until the battery finally died. My father looked completely normal in the video. Giving a stranded cyclist a ride in a storm was exactly the kind of man he was. The girl looked ordinary too, her bike tires caked in mud, her face obscured by the hood of her raincoat. It was a perfectly mundane video. When dawn broke, I packed my small bag and decided to hike up the closed mountain road on foot. The paved road was steep but well-maintained. After an hour and a half of walking, the bright yellow police tape marking the crash site came into view. It was the sharpest hairpin turn on the entire pass. A section of the heavy steel guardrail had been completely pulverized, marking the exact spot where my father’s sedan had plunged into the ravine below. The road was marked with white chalk outlines and scattered gravel. I looked at the rocks clustered near the edge. There weren’t many of them: eight rocks in total, ranging from the size of a fist to the size of a washbasin. I frowned. Even if these rocks had fallen directly onto the car, they weren’t large enough to cause a fatal accident on their own. The hum of an approaching engine broke the silence. I stepped onto the shoulder as a marked police cruiser came down the mountain, pulling to a halt just past the barricade. The man who stepped out of the driver’s seat was a familiar face: Detective Robert Collins, my father’s childhood best friend, a man who had known me since I was in diapers. In the span of a single week, he seemed to have aged a decade. He looked at me in surprise, his uniform cap pulled low. “Kate? What are you doing out here?” “I needed to see it, Uncle Robert,” I said quietly. Robert was a veteran homicide detective, and he was the lead investigator on my father’s case. He didn’t need me to explain why I was here. He sighed, lifting the yellow tape to let me through. 3 Robert pointed to the chalk markings on the asphalt, then toward the shattered guardrail. “The rain washed away most of the tire tracks, but the forensics team managed to reconstruct the pattern using specialized lighting,” he said, his brow furrowed in frustration. “The data shows your father was speeding. In fact, he didn’t even tap the brakes as he entered this curve. That goes against every driving habit he had.” His voice grew quiet. “Your father was the most cautious driver I knew. He never sped, especially not in a storm.” My eyes stung with tears. When I was a little girl, I used to complain that he drove like a turtle. He would always smile and tell me that speed didn’t matter, as long as we made it home safely. A man like that would never drive recklessly on a slick mountain pass. Unless something had forced his hand. I pointed toward the ravine. “Uncle Robert, what about the other person in the car? Did she survive?” Robert stared at me, his face freezing. “Kate, I think the stress is getting to you. Your father was alone in the vehicle. We found no evidence of any passenger.” The mountain wind whistled through the trees, making me shiver. Thankfully, Robert trusted me. Once I showed him the gas station footage on my phone, his entire demeanor shifted. He drove me straight to the county sheriff’s department, pulling in his colleagues to trace the short-haired woman. Initially, everyone had assumed my father’s death was a tragic accident, chalking Robert’s obsession with the case up to grief. But with the video evidence, the department quickly swung into action. “Detective Collins! We reviewed the highway cameras,” one of the officers called out. “There’s a toll camera three miles before the crash site. The passenger was definitely still in the vehicle at that point.” “We have an identity!” Within two hours, the system had flagged her. Her name was Gwen. She was a touring cyclist who had passed through the county a week ago. Unfortunately, she was already three states away. Robert called her on speakerphone, allowing me to sit quietly in the corner of the office to listen. “Yeah, I remember that night,” Gwen’s voice came through the line, sharp and irritated. “That old guy agreed to give me a lift to the lodge at the top. But halfway up the mountain, his phone rang. He listened to whoever was on the other end, went completely pale, and then literally forced me out of the car in the middle of a torrential downpour.” She let out a bitter laugh. “My bike chain was busted, and he just left me stranded on the side of the road. I was furious. But then I saw the news about his crash the next morning, and I realized I’d dodged a bullet.” Gwen’s tone was entirely casual, devoid of any real sympathy. Robert asked her several detailed questions, but she had nothing of value to offer. To her, it was simply an annoying detour on her trip. Robert rubbed his face in frustration, leaning back in his chair. I sat frozen, staring at the video on my phone, replaying it over and over. In the background, two deputies were whispering. “According to the cyclist, the victim kicked her out because of an emergency call. But if they were both going up the mountain, why waste time forcing her out of the car? It doesn’t make sense.” My eyes snapped down to the timestamp at the bottom of the screen. My father had left the gas station at exactly 8:32 PM. The crash was recorded twenty-eight minutes later. The distance between the gas station and the hairpin turn was barely four miles. Even in a heavy storm, that drive shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. What did he do during those missing eighteen minutes? I stood up, my hand shaking as I grabbed Robert’s arm. “Uncle Robert, look at the time.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513584”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Austin and I planned to marry after seven years apart. To celebrate, he invited me to Cascade Peaks, where we first met. When I arrived, he and my best friend Serena were already skiing together. The resort ran a buy two get one free lift ticket deal and I was the free extra. At a group photo, I stood frozen on the ice while Austin took the shot. In it, I looked awkward and miserable. He put an arm around me and said you are not photogenic, Paige. Next to Serena, you fade. He promised a solo picture but spent the afternoon skiing with her instead. Later, his post showed them laughing in the sun while I was a blurred shadow at the edge. The truth hit hard. For years, I had shared our relationship with Serena on trips, holidays, and even our keychains. If I was always the third wheel, it was time to get off their track. … When the gondola finally rotated to our turn in the queue, only two empty seats remained. Austin naturally extended his hand, guiding Serena into the cabin first. They sat close, laughing at some private joke, completely oblivious to the fact that the lift operator had blocked me behind the metal safety barrier. The gondola rose slowly, disappearing into the gray, winter sky. It was almost laughable. I didn’t wait around. I stripped off my hired gear, returned it to the locker, and walked out of the resort to catch the public bus back to the city. As the engine roared to life, I clutched my phone, a pathetic sliver of hope still lingering in my chest. What would they do when they realized I was gone? Would they feel a pang of regret for leaving me behind? Would they feel guilty? But throughout the bumpy, three-hour ride back to our apartment, my phone remained dead silent. It was only when I collapsed onto the living room sofa, exhausted to the bone, that Austin’s name finally flashed on my screen. “Paige, where did you go? Serena bought a ton of souvenirs and my hands are completely full.” His voice carried a light, irritated edge. “You just vanished without saying a word. Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Worried? Through the receiver, I could hear Serena’s bright, bubbly laughter echoing in the background. I remained quiet for a long second, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I wasn’t feeling well. I went home.” His tone softened slightly, though it still held a hint of scolding. “I told you to wear your thermals, but you wanted to look cute. You probably caught a cold. We’re on our way back now.” He paused. “Take some medicine first. The cold tablets are in…” “The left drawer of the master bedroom nightstand. You put them there after your last flu.” Serena’s voice cut in, answering for him. I opened the drawer. Right next to the blister pack of pills sat a half-used tube of her favorite lip balm. A wave of dizziness hit me. Looking around, I realized this apartment was overflowing with Serena’s presence. Her silk pajamas were currently spinning in our washing machine. Her expensive face wash sat on our bathroom counter. A pair of her personal slippers rested in our shoe rack. This was supposed to be my future home. I was the one paying half the mortgage. Yet, she looked far more like the mistress of this house than I did. I hung up the phone and walked out onto the balcony, desperate for a breath of fresh air. There, shoved into the dampest, darkest corner of the drying rack, was the wool sweater I had washed yesterday. It was cold, wet, and already beginning to smell musty. Meanwhile, Serena’s delicate activewear occupied the prime, sunlit center of the rack. Even my clothes were pushed aside to make room for hers. I stared at the musty sweater for a long time. Then, I reached out, pulled it off the hanger, and threw it straight into the trash can. Austin didn’t walk through the door until eleven that night. He immediately came over to press the back of his hand against my forehead, his touch familiar and warm. “I bought you some ibuprofen. Come on, sit up and take it.” I leaned away from his hand. “Austin, why have you never posted a picture of me on your social media?” His response was smooth, practiced. “My feed is strictly for work. It’s full of partners and clients. Posting personal stuff looks unprofessional.” I let out a quiet laugh. My face was unprofessional. But Serena’s smile was apparently perfect for his brand, considering she made an appearance on his page every other week. The exhaustion finally settled deep into my chest. “Let’s call off the wedding. We’re done.” Austin froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Paige, are you serious?” His voice rose, tinged with disbelief. “We’re already engaged. You’re throwing a tantrum over something this petty?” “Is it just this one thing?” I asked, looking up at him. The gentle facade on Austin’s face began to crack, his voice growing sharper. “The invitations are out. The venue deposit is paid. You want to call it off now? Do you want us to be the laughingstock of the city?” Before I could answer, his phone chimed, cutting through the heavy tension. The ringtone was a soft acoustic folk song. It was a track I had recommended to him a dozen times. Every time, he had called it nice but never bothered to save it. But when Serena took an interest in indie folk music a month ago, the song suddenly became his ringtone. He answered, and Serena’s trembling, tearful voice filled the quiet room. “Austin, Mittens is throwing up blood. I’m so scared…” Austin’s face paled instantly. He grabbed his car keys and jacket, already moving toward the door. “Calm down, Paige,” he threw over his shoulder. “Just get some rest. We’ll talk about this when I get back.” The front door slammed shut. The sound felt like a sharp slap to my face, shattering whatever illusions I had left. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in months. “Sean,” I whispered when he picked up. “Is your offer to open that bistro back home still on?” Austin didn’t return until the following morning. He walked in carrying a large paper bag from my favorite bakery, filled to the brim with every flavor of pastry they made. In the past, I would have squealed with joy, taken a dozen photos, and posted them online to show off how sweet my fiancé was. Now, I only felt a dull ache. Over our seven years together, my weight had climbed from a petite hundred and ten pounds to nearly a hundred and thirty-five. In the beginning, he used to squeeze my waist and tell me my curves were adorable. But gradually, his comments changed. “You should probably watch what you eat, Paige. It’s not a good look when a girl lets herself go. Cut back on the sugar.” So, I had stopped eating them. Austin set the box on the coffee table, pushing it toward me with an apologetic smile. “I stayed up all night thinking. I know I haven’t made you feel secure lately. From now on, I’ll post our photos on my main feed. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?” I didn’t say a word. I simply reached into the box and picked up a cinnamon danish from the side. A neat, semi-circular chunk was missing from the pastry. Someone had already taken a bite out of it. Austin cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. “Serena came with me to the bakery. Her blood sugar was dropping, so I let her have a bite to tide her over. If it bothers you, I can go buy another box.” I closed the lid of the box. “No need. It’s a waste of money.” Believing the storm had passed, Austin let out a sigh of relief. He immediately busied himself around the apartment, cleaning the kitchen and sweeping the floors with unusual enthusiasm. When bedtime rolled around, he slid into bed and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, his intentions clear. I pushed him away, pointing to the painkillers on the nightstand. “My cramps are starting early this month. I’m not in the mood.” Austin laughed, pulling me closer. “Serena told me that having regular intimacy actually helps with cramps. It keeps the circulation going. Honestly, once a week is too little anyway. It’s not healthy for you.” My body went completely rigid. My cycle. My pain. The private frequency of our intimate life. He had discussed all of it with Serena over casual conversation. A wave of hot anger surged through me. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Austin, you discuss our private life with her? What am I to you? A joke?” He stared at me, his brows furrowing in frustration. “Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill again? Serena is pre-med. She was just offering medical advice because she cares about you. She’s practically family. Is this really necessary?” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Serena gets cramps too, doesn’t she? Why don’t you go over and help her with her circulation?” His expression darkened instantly. “Watch your mouth, Paige. What did Serena ever do to make you this bitter?” I could criticize him all I wanted, but the moment I mentioned Serena, I crossed his sacred line. I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall, but he wasn’t finished. “I guess this is what happens when you grow up in a broken home. You’re always looking for a fight, blowing every tiny detail out of proportion.” I froze. The words cut straight into the rawest, most guarded wound of my childhood. My parents divorced when I was seven. I spent my school years being whispered about, labeled as the unwanted child. When I met Austin, he held me late into the night and swore he would protect me from that pain forever. I had trusted him. I had handed him the keys to my deepest vulnerabilities. And now, he was using them as a weapon to tear me down. My throat burned. I couldn’t help but remember the boy he used to be. The boy who knew I was severely allergic to roses, who would read the ingredient list on a bottle of body wash ten times just to be safe. The boy who carried me on his back to work for a week when I sprained my ankle. But everything had shifted the moment I introduced him to Serena. In the beginning, he complained that she was interrupting our private time. But somewhere along the line, he started asking, “Should we invite Serena? The more the merrier.” I had thought he was just being kind. Only now did I realize his heart had drifted long ago. Austin seemed to realize he had gone too far, his eyes softening with sudden regret. But the floodgates of my resentment had already burst. I shoved him toward the door, screaming at him to get out. He tried to knock a few times, but eventually, his footsteps faded down the hallway. “Lock the door, Paige,” his voice echoed faintly from the corridor. “It’s windy tonight. I’ll come back and apologize tomorrow.” As the silence settled over the empty apartment, my tears finally flowed freely. This was the end. Truly. As I began pulling my suitcases out of the closet, my phone rang. It was our wedding planner, her voice polite but hesitant. “Hi, Paige. We received a request from Austin to make a few changes to the floral arrangements for the reception. He wants to swap out the white lilies for champagne roses. We just need your final sign-off.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Did he request this himself?” The planner hesitated. “Well, a Miss Serena suggested it. She mentioned it would look much more romantic.” My heart felt like it had been dropped into ice. I was highly allergic to roses. Direct contact could trigger severe hives and restrict my breathing. Austin knew this better than anyone. He had originally banned roses from the venue entirely, even asking our guests not to wear rose-scented perfumes. Yet, for a passing whim of Serena’s, he was willing to turn my wedding into a hazard. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. My voice was entirely flat. “There’s no need to sign off on anything. The wedding is off.” The next morning, I walked into the bridal boutique to settle the cancellation fees. As I approached the glass doors of the fitting room suite, a familiar silhouette caught my eye. Austin was standing behind Serena, carefully trying to zip up the back of a delicate white gown. Suddenly, the zipper split, exposing the bare skin of her back. Austin instinctively reached out to cover her, but the sudden movement caused his nose to bleed. I pushed the door open. All three of us froze in a suffocating silence. Austin was the first to scramble for an explanation, wiping his nose quickly. “Paige, it’s not what it looks like. Your dress details needed to be adjusted, but since we were fighting, I couldn’t ask you. Serena’s measurements are almost identical to yours, so I just asked her to try it on for size…” I looked at my dream wedding gown, now stretched and torn at the seams on another woman’s body. It was pathetic. Just as the anger began to bubble up, the heavy studio spotlight above us began to creak and sway. In a split second, the metal fixture snapped, plunging down toward the three of us. In that terrifying instant, Austin’s reflexes kicked in. He lunged forward, throwing his body over Serena to shield her from the falling debris. A sharp shard of shattered glass sliced across my calf. Warm blood began to pool down my ankle, dripping onto the pristine boutique carpet. Oddly, I didn’t feel any pain. Austin scrambled up, his eyes wide with panic as he looked at me. But before he could take a step in my direction, Serena let out a sharp sob. “Austin… my ankle. I think it’s bleeding…” His attention snapped away instantly. Without a backward glance, he rushed to her side, lifting her into his arms. I didn’t say a word. I turned around, walked out of the store, and drove myself to the urgent care clinic, where a doctor put three stitches into my leg. By the time night fell, my phone was still completely silent. Austin had forgotten. Today was my twenty-sixth birthday. I opened my phone one last time. Serena had updated her social media. The photo showed Austin’s side profile, his head bowed as he carefully applied antiseptic to a tiny scratch on her ankle. His expression was so tender, so focused, that I couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at me that way. I let out a dry laugh and booked a room at a nearby hotel. Then, I drafted my resignation email to my boss and called my mother. “Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “Cancel the banquet. It’s over between Austin and me.” The next morning, I woke up to a single text message from Austin, sent in the dead of night. There was no inquiry about my injury, no mention of my birthday. Serena’s ankle is too sore for her to travel back to her place. She’s going to stay at the apartment for a few days. Since we’re short on beds, do you mind staying at the hotel a bit longer? I turned off my phone, went back to the apartment, and prepared to pack the rest of my belongings. But the moment I unlocked the front door, my blood ran cold. My mother was in the kitchen, her face flushed red from the heat as she bent over a steaming stove. In the living room, Austin and three of his friends were sprawled across the sofa, shouting over a video game. They were casually spitting peanut shells onto the hardwood floor, expecting my mother to sweep them up like a paid maid. Nobody offered to help. Nobody treated her like the mother of the bride. To them, her labor was completely invisible, a convenience they were entitled to. I dropped my bag, ready to scream, but my mother rushed out of the kitchen and pulled me in by the hand. She wiped her damp hands on her apron, her eyes filled with an apologetic anxiety. “Sweetie, I heard you and Austin had a disagreement, so I took the early train down to help smooth things over,” she whispered, her voice low. “You two have worked so hard to get to this point. Don’t let a little temper ruin it. Go sit with the guests. Don’t let them think we don’t know how to host.” My heart ached sharply. I grabbed her hand to pull her out of the kitchen to demand an apology from the living room. “Ah—” She let out a sharp cry of pain, flinching away. It was only then that I saw the raw, angry blisters bubble across the back of her hand and forearm. My eyes welled with hot tears. “Mom, what happened to your hand? We’re going to the hospital right now.” She looked down like a child who had broken a vase. “It’s nothing, really. Just a little spill. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Under my stubborn questioning, the truth finally spilled out. Ten minutes ago, while carrying a heavy pot of hot stew, she had slipped on a greasy wrapper someone had discarded on the floor. She had crashed hard, the boiling liquid splashing over her arm. And Austin? He had barely looked up from his game with Serena. “Careful, Auntie. The floor’s a bit slick,” he had muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. My body trembled with a cold, violent rage. I made a move toward the living room, but my mother held onto my sleeve with a desperate strength. “Please, Paige. They’re just having fun. Don’t make a scene because of me.” I looked through the kitchen doorway. Austin was currently picking out a prime slice of meat from a serving dish, gently placing it into Serena’s bowl. He hadn’t even noticed the quiet crying in the kitchen. My mother had lived a life of brutal frugality in our small town, saving every penny to send me to a top university in the city. I had promised her she would never have to suffer again once I made something of myself. And here she was, serving as a maid to a group of arrogant boys who wouldn’t even extend a hand to help her up after she burned herself. I forced myself to calm down. I wiped my face, bandaged my mother’s arm with cold compresses, and walked into the bedroom. I dragged my large suitcase out and began throwing my clothes inside, not caring how they folded. Once the bags were zipped, I took my mother’s uninjured hand and led her toward the front door. Hearing the heavy wheels of the suitcases, Austin finally paused his game. I kept my back turned to him, my heart braced for some kind of apology, some desperate plea for me to stay. Instead, a notification pinged on my phone. He had sent me fifty dollars. “Heading out?” Austin called out, his eyes already drifting back to the television screen. “Grab us a couple of pizzas from down the street on your way back.” The last shred of hope in my chest withered and died. I didn’t look back. I led my mother down the stairs and hailed a cab. It was only when the taxi pulled up to the train station that my mother finally realized what was happening. “Paige, where are we going? You’re getting married in three weeks. Don’t let a little accident between me and Austin ruin your future. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have come. Driver, please pull over!” I turned to look at her, my eyes rimmed with red. “Mom, this isn’t about the spill.” “Austin doesn’t respect you because he doesn’t love me.” I opened my phone and booked two one-way tickets back to our hometown. Back at the apartment, the guests eventually dispersed as the afternoon faded. Austin sat on the couch, realizing I still hadn’t returned. Just as he stood up to search for me, Serena suddenly began complaining of severe nausea and abdominal pain. By the time he carried her to the emergency clinic, waited through the registration, and watched her finish an IV drip, it was nearly midnight. He finally had a moment to check his phone. He pulled up his chat history with me and typed out a message. But when he hit send, a bright red exclamation mark popped up next to his text. You are no longer friends with this contact.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513585”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Just out of the clinic, my body still trembling from anesthesia, my phone buzzed. Someone tagged my husband Hugo in our main group chat. “Congratulations, Hugo! You’re finally a dad!” I froze, my mind struggling to process the words. Another notification popped up from Nora, my supposed best friend. “Thank you, everyone! We’ll have you over for drinks once we’re settled.” The chat flooded with messages from mutual friends congratulating them. “She got her happy ending.” “Five years in the shadows couldn’t have been easy.” “Hugo finally gave you his name.” I scrolled down, my eyes burning as I read each message. Then Vivian, my mother-in-law, posted a family portrait of Hugo, Nora, herself, and a newborn. I was completely missing. Sitting in the sterile hospital corridor, my lower abdomen throbbed with heavy pain. My fingers shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. Hugo and I had been married for eight years. He always said he didn’t want children, so I endured procedure after procedure to respect his wishes. But he didn’t refuse fatherhood. He refused it with me. His mother knew. Our friends knew. They kept the secret while celebrating behind my back. I looked at my crumpled discharge papers, then tapped the photo. I zoomed in on Hugo’s smiling face, then out, then in again. A suffocating weight pressed on my chest. Finally, I typed a single message. “Congratulations. Consider my eight years of marriage my gift to your child.” … The moment my message sent, the chat went dead silent. Then, one by one, the messages started disappearing. Deleted. Unsent. Someone quickly muttered something about posting in the wrong group. Others started chiming in with soft lectures, telling me that today was a celebration for the baby and that I shouldn’t ruin the mood. They told me to handle my private drama later, rather than making a scene. I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. I had just walked out of surgery. The baby in my womb had been gone for barely a few hours. Yet here they were, teaching me how to be polite and telling me not to rain on another child’s parade. It turned out that in my eight years of marriage, even my grief had to wait for a convenient time. Before long, a notification flashed on the screen. I had been removed from the group. A second later, Hugo’s name lit up my phone. “Is the procedure over? How are you feeling?” His voice was steady and calm, wrapping me in that same familiar warmth he always used. Just like every other time. If I hadn’t seen that portrait just minutes ago, I probably would have believed he actually cared. “I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t take what they said in the chat seriously. They were just messing around.” He sighed, his voice smooth. “Nora did have a baby, but it has nothing to do with me. My mom just went over to help, and they forced us into that photo.” I leaned my head back against the cold plastic chair, listening to him spin his lies, thread by thread. My heart was too tired to even break. “Allie? Are you there?” “I’m tired,” I whispered. “I just got out of surgery. I don’t want to talk.” He let out a breath, a sound of pure relief. “Go home and rest, okay? Don’t overthink things. I have a dinner meeting tonight, so I might be late. There’s soup on the stove, make sure you heat it up.” He had done this after every single miscarriage and procedure. He would remind me to take my pills, tell me to stay away from cold water, and tuck me into bed, playing the part of the perfect, doting husband. After the call ended, I sat in the quiet hallway for a long time. The cramping in my abdomen grew sharper, a dull, heavy ache dragging me down. I looked down at the crumpled discharge paper in my hand. The first time I got pregnant, I was ecstatic. I ran to Hugo with the positive test, but he only stared at it in silence. Then he held me tight and said his startup was still too fragile, and we couldn’t afford a distraction. The second time, he said it was a critical year for his career. The third time, his mother held my hand, pleading with me. She said I was young, that there would be other babies, but right now, Hugo needed a stable home so he could build his business. After that, whenever Hugo frowned, I would quietly book the appointment myself. I honestly believed we were making those sacrifices together. But we weren’t. He just didn’t want a child with me. I opened Instagram and scrolled through my feed. Someone had posted a story from the baby shower, complete with a location tag. Cove Haven. Our house. Last year, for our eighth anniversary, he had pressed the keys into my palm and promised me this house would be our fresh start, a sanctuary just for the two of us. I had stayed awake all night, giddy with joy, secretly planning the colors for a nursery. And now, another woman and her baby were living in that sanctuary. While I sat like a ghost in a hospital hallway, watching everyone celebrate their perfect life, I stared at the address and ordered a ride. “Cove Haven, please.” Outside, the city lights blurred into long, distorted streaks, but all I could see was Nora’s face. She had helped me choose my wedding dress. She had helped me pick out my rings. She had driven me to the clinic, holding my hand after every procedure, always the first one waiting for me outside the recovery room. How could she be the one to plunge the knife into my back? When the car pulled up, the house was glowing with light. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft cooing of a baby drifted through the windows. It felt like a mockery of my entire life. I pushed the door open. The living room was a sea of pastel pink. A massive backdrop for the baby shower blocked half the wall, pushing our wedding portrait to the very edge, hidden behind a stack of presents. Only a tiny corner of our smiling faces was visible. Just like me, squeezed out of my own life until only a pathetic trace remained. The room was packed. In the center of the crowd stood Nora, cradling a baby. She was wearing the brand-new silk dress I had bought last week, the one that was supposed to be sitting in my closet. Hugo stood right beside her, looking down at the baby with a smile so tender it burned my eyes. The truth hit me like a physical blow. No one had intruded on my marriage. They had all simply agreed that I was already gone. The laughter died instantly when they saw me. His mother, Vivian, was the first to scowl. “What are you doing here?” I almost laughed. This was my house, and my presence was treated as an intrusion. A mutual friend tried to play peacemaker, murmuring that they were just visiting the baby and that I shouldn’t overthink things. Don’t overthink things. I pulled the clinic papers from my bag, walked over to the gift table, and set them down. The white medical sheet stood out like a shroud among the pink gift boxes. “Keep going,” I said, looking around the room. “Why did everyone stop talking?” Hugo’s face darkened. He stepped in front of me, his voice a low, warning hiss. “Allie, don’t do this here.” I looked at him, wondering where he found the nerve to say those words. “I just lost a baby today,” I said softly, my voice carrying in the quiet room. “I walked out of the clinic to find a group chat congratulating you on becoming a father. And you’re telling me I’m the one making a scene?” The air turned ice-cold. I looked at the bundle in Nora’s arms. “That’s yours, isn’t it?” Nora clutched the baby tighter, her eyes immediately welling with tears. But before she could speak, someone else spoke up for her, claiming the baby was innocent, and that bringing medical papers to a baby shower was bad luck. Someone even muttered that after so many years of marriage, it was natural for things to fade, and that Nora had had a hard time raising the baby alone. A numb sensation spread through my chest. They all knew. They knew about Nora and Hugo. They knew whose baby it was. They knew about every single surgery I had endured, yet not a single person had warned me. They had just stood on the sidelines, watching me clear the path for someone else. Nora looked at me, her chin trembling. “Allie, I know you hate me. But I swear, I never wanted to take anything from you.” I stared at her. “You never wanted to?” “I just… I loved him too much,” she sobbed, a tear slipping down her cheek. “When I got pregnant, I couldn’t bring myself to end it. I’ve never asked him for anything. I just wanted my baby to have a peaceful life.” I looked at the baby, then at her. It was absurd. She was living in my house, wearing my clothes, hosting a party in my living room, and she claimed she had never asked for anything. Vivian stepped forward, her face twisted in annoyance. “That’s enough, Allie. You couldn’t even keep a pregnancy. Are we supposed to let the family line die out because of you?” I froze, the cruelty of her words sinking deep. But she was just getting started. “Nora gave this family an heir. She’s the one who deserves respect. You’re still the legal wife. If you play your cards right, you can keep your title.” Standing in that room, I felt a bone-deep chill. To them, I wasn’t a wife, a daughter-in-law, or a friend. I was just a piece of furniture that was expected to be quiet, accommodating, and blind. I looked down at the wedding band on my left hand. Eight years, and the metal was scratched and worn. I had always believed that as long as this ring was on my finger, my marriage was real. But I had been clinging to a useless piece of scrap metal. I slowly slid the ring off and placed it next to the clinic papers. “Hugo,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I’m done.” Silence fell over the room. A flicker of panic finally crossed his face, his jaw tightening. “Do you even know what you’re saying?” “I do.” Nora took a frantic step forward. “Allie, please. Blame me, hate me, but don’t divorce him. He’s had it so hard. He’s been caught in the middle for years…” “Shut up.” She gasped, freezing in her tracks. I looked at her, my voice quiet but sharp enough to cut. “You knew exactly how much pain I was in. But you still crawled into my husband’s bed and had his child. Now you stand here playing the victim, acting so delicate and wronged. Nora, doesn’t it make you sick?” Her face drained of color, and she took a step back. Hugo instantly stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. “That’s enough, Allie.” Watching him protect her, the last lingering ember of warmth in my heart died out. He did know how to protect someone. He had just never done it for me. I turned and walked toward the door. “If you leave him, what do you think you’ll have left?” Vivian’s cold voice threw itself at my back. I didn’t stop. “At least I won’t be covered in your filth.” I had barely reached the elevator when Hugo caught up to me. He grabbed my wrist, pulling me into the empty stairwell. “Allie, does everything have to be a scene with you?” I looked down at his hand on my skin and felt a wave of nausea. “Let go of me.” He didn’t. Instead, his brow furrowed with irritation, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “I admit, I lied to you. But it’s not what you think.” The classic excuse. I didn’t even bother to ask. He started babbling about how it was a mistake, how they had both had too much to drink after a corporate dinner, and how he was just trying to get her home safely. A mistake. Men always used that word as if it could wash away the dirt. “Then she got pregnant,” he continued, his voice softer now. “I wanted her to get an abortion, but she refused. The baby was innocent, Allie. I couldn’t force her to do it.” I listened, my heart sinking further into the dark. So when I got pregnant, he could let me go through with it. But when it came to Nora, he couldn’t bear the thought. “And what about me?” I looked at him. “When I begged you to let us keep our babies, how could you bear it then?” His frown deepened. “Your health was always fragile. Getting pregnant over and over would have destroyed you. I did it for your own good, Allie.” For my own good. A hysterical laugh threatened to tear through my throat. “And her?” “She was willing to carry the baby, and she didn’t ask for a marriage,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “I was only trying to minimize the damage.” “I’m not divorcing you,” he added, his voice turning firm. “I’ll give you the house, the money, the status. I’ll keep the baby elsewhere. She won’t interfere with your life. You just need to look the other way, and we can go back to normal.” I stared at him, completely speechless. How hollow did a man have to be to say something like that and think it was a generous offer? “What do you take me for?” I smiled, though my eyes burned with tears. His perfect solution was for me to sit quietly as his wife while he played family with another woman down the road. “You disgust me, Hugo.” His expression darkened, and his tone shifted, colder this time. “Don’t forget your grandmother is still in that care facility.” My chest tightened. “I’ve been paying the bills there for years,” he said, his eyes drilling into mine. “She needs constant care, and she can’t handle any stress. If you really want a divorce, Allie, make sure you can actually afford it first.” I stood there, frozen. My parents had passed away when I was young, and my grandmother was the only family I had left. She was frail, her mind slipping, completely dependent on that specialized facility. And I, to support Hugo, to build our life, to recover from those endless surgeries, had depleted my own savings long ago. He knew that. He was using the only person I loved to break me. “Are you threatening me?” “I’m reminding you of reality,” he said smoothly. “Once you calm down, you’ll see that divorce isn’t your best option.” Just then, the faint cry of a baby drifted from the apartment. Hugo’s head turned instantly, a purely instinctive reaction. I ripped my wrist from his grip, turned, and walked away. When I got back to my apartment, I didn’t even turn on the lights. I curled up on the sofa in the dark. The pain in my abdomen flared up again, sharp and twisting, and the tears finally came. I wasn’t crying for him. I was crying for the sheer waste of it all. Eight years of marriage, reducing myself to a ghost, only to find out I was the punchline of a joke everyone else had been laughing at for years. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. The next morning, the care facility called. The payment had been declined. I held the phone to my ear, unable to make a sound. He had threatened me yesterday, and today he cut off her care. By the time I reached the care home, my body was aching. But as I approached her room, I froze. Nora was sitting beside my grandmother, cradling her baby and humming softly. Vivian stood nearby, a warm, genuine smile on her face, a smile she had never once given me. And my grandmother, with her faded eyes, was reaching out to touch the baby’s cheek, a gentle smile on her face. My stomach dropped. “What are you doing here?” They all turned to look at me. Vivian spoke first, her tone dripping with irritation. “We came to visit. Is that a crime?” Nora gave me a soft, apologetic smile. “Allie, please don’t be upset. I just thought it would be nice for your grandmother to see the baby. Old people love babies.” I ignored her, walking straight to my grandmother’s side. I knelt down and took her hand. “Gran, I’m here.” It took her a moment to recognize me, but then her face lit up. She pointed a trembling finger at the baby in Nora’s arms. “Whose lovely little girl is that?” “She’s a family baby,” Vivian chimed in quickly. My muscles tensed. My grandmother looked at me, confused. “Do you and Hugo have a baby now, sweetie?” “No, Gran,” I said immediately. “Don’t listen to them.” Nora stepped closer, holding the baby out. “Her name is Sophie, Grandma. The house is going to be so much livelier now.” I looked up at her, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Get away from her.” She ignored me, taking another step forward. My grandmother smiled at the baby, her eyes softening. She didn’t know that I had been pregnant too. That I had carried life, only for those lives to be quietly erased. Vivian folded her arms, letting out a heavy sigh. “The family finally has an heir. A man works himself to the bone out there to build a legacy for his children, after all.” I stood up abruptly. “Get out.” My grandmother gasped, her hand trembling in mine. “Allie, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” I tried to soothe her, but Nora wouldn’t stop. She stood there with her red eyes, looking fragile and generous. “A woman without children has nothing to hold onto in the end, Allie. I was only trying to help you see that.” I turned to face her. “Say another word.” Her eyes welled with tears, looking as if she might collapse. “Did I say something wrong?” Vivian sneered. “She didn’t say a single lie. You couldn’t produce an heir, so you have no right to stop someone else from doing it.” My grandmother’s memory was failing, but she could sense the hostility. Her breathing grew rapid, her grip tightening on my fingers. “Allie, tell me what’s going on. Who are these people?” I reached out to calm her, but Nora pulled out her phone, tapping on the family portrait and holding it in front of my grandmother’s face. “Grandma, we just want you to know that Hugo is happy now. We aren’t trying to hide.” My grandmother stared at the photo, and the color drained from her face. Her hands shook violently, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked gasps. “This… you… how could you!” A warning alarm went off in my head. I spun around to hit the emergency call button, but Vivian stepped in front of me, blocking the wall. “What are you panicking for? She had to find out eventually!” “Move!” I shoved her aside. “Can’t you see she can’t breathe!” In the chaos, Nora stood back, clutching the baby and whimpering that she shouldn’t have to hide. My vision blurred as I scrambled to reach the call button. Just then, the baby began to cry. Nora screamed, “Allie, don’t touch my baby!” In that exact second, Hugo burst through the door. He walked in to see Nora cowering with a crying baby, his mother struggling with me, and my grandmother gasping for air in her wheelchair. He didn’t ask a single question. His first instinct was to pull Nora and the baby behind him, while I threw myself over my grandmother. The medical staff rushed in, wheeling her straight into the ICU. I stood outside the doors, my entire body shaking. But when Hugo walked up to me, the first words out of his mouth were: “Allie, when is this drama going to end?” I stared at him, numb. Nora stood behind him, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted to bring the baby to see her… but she lost her temper and almost hit Sophie…” Vivian backed her up, claiming I had lost my mind and tried to hurt the child. I couldn’t even find the words to argue. Soon, the doctor came out. He said they had stabilized her, but the stress had taken a severe toll on her heart. She was fragile, and any further shock could be fatal. My knees buckled, and I barely caught myself against the wall. That evening, I went back to the house to pack up my documents. When I opened the bedroom door, I froze. My room had been completely dismantled, turned into a nursery. And in the corner of the balcony, tossed aside like trash, was an old wooden chest. It was the only thing my mother had left me. Inside were her old photographs, her letters, and the tiny baby clothes I had secretly bought over the years. After every miscarriage, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away, so I had locked them inside that chest. But now, the lock was broken, and my memories were scattered across the concrete. I knelt down, my hands shaking as I gathered the papers and the tiny clothes. Nora stood at the balcony door, holding her baby, looking down at me. “Those dead things shouldn’t be taking up space anyway,” she said softly. The world went completely quiet. I stood up, holding the chest, and walked toward her. “Say that again.” She took a step back, but her voice remained sweet. “We all have to move on…” I lunged at her. But she saw something over my shoulder, screamed, and shoved the baby into the nearby stroller.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “513570”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel