Category: English

Dinner tonight was a bitter pill to swallow. I’d spent the entire morning at the farmer’s market and the afternoon hovering over a hot stove, prepping a spread that could feed a small army. My back ached, but I wanted everything to be perfect. Across the table, my sister-in-law, Amber, flashed me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Her voice was sugary, but the words were laced with venom. She started dropping hints about how “comfortable” I’d made myself, how I seemed to treat my childhood home like a free hotel every time I was on break from grad school. Then, she pointedly looked at my plate. “You’re really going for the expensive stuff, aren’t you, Dana?” she asked, her voice tilting upward in mock curiosity. Before I could respond, my six-year-old niece, Piper, pushed her bowl away. Her eyes welled up with performative tears. “Auntie Dana took all the shrimp! I didn’t get any!” I froze. I had literally just picked up my second piece. Amber didn’t hesitate. She reached over with her own fork, snatched the shrimp right off my plate, and dropped it into Piper’s bowl. She sighed, looking at me with a patronizing pity. “It’s not that I’m stingy, Dana. It’s just… you’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t be lingering in someone else’s house, eating them out of house and home.” Someone else’s house? I turned to my brother, James. He kept his head down, shoveled rice into his mouth, and refused to meet my eyes. 1 My mom had only been on her dream trip to Tuscany for two weeks, and already, they were acting like this house—the house I had lived in since I was in diapers—belonged solely to them. A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in my throat, fueled by pure indignation. Amber set her silverware down with a delicate clink and leaned in. “Look, Dana, I’m not trying to kick you out.” She sighed again, her tone so maternal it made my skin crawl. “I left home before I even finished high school. I worked three jobs, paid my own way, and even helped my younger brother with a down payment on his condo. And here you are, in your mid-twenties, still relying on family. I’m just worried about you.” She paused, her gaze narrowing. “A girl can’t stay in her ‘maiden home’ forever. It looks bad to the neighbors. People talk.” Every sentence was wrapped in the guise of “caring for me.” But every word felt like a deliberate needle prick. I gripped my fork so hard my knuckles turned white. Beside her, Piper pointed a greasy finger at me and shrilled, “Leech! Mommy says you’re a shameless leech!” “Piper! Don’t say that!” Amber chided, though the corners of her mouth were twitching upward. I stared at the grains of rice in my bowl, my voice trembling when I finally found it. “I come home on breaks because this is my home. And I never come empty-handed. Every time I’m here, I—” “Oh, please!” Amber cut me off with a sharp laugh. “We’re family, why are you keeping score? You stay here for free, don’t you? We don’t charge you rent.” She glanced at James, then back at me, her eyes glinting with a calculated spark. “Tell you what. Based on the current market rate in this neighborhood, why don’t you just give your brother fifteen hundred a month? Consider it a ‘contribution’ to the household. Sound fair?” I was stunned. I’d lived here for over twenty years. And now, I was being asked to pay for the privilege of sleeping in my own bed? I opened my mouth, but the words died in my throat. James finally looked up. His expression was cold, distant—the look of a landlord, not a brother. “Dana, just do what Amber says. It’ll make things easier for everyone.” Easier for everyone. It hit me then. This wasn’t a spontaneous argument. They had choreographed this. Amber played the villain, James played the “reasonable” decider, and even a six-year-old had been coached on when to call me a leech. I looked at the man sitting across from me. He felt like a stranger. I remembered when our parents were going through their messy divorce years ago; he was the one who held my hand and told me, “Don’t be scared, Dana. I’ve got you.” When I got into my Master’s program, he’d slipped a few hundred dollars into my bag and told me to study hard. But this version of James? He was treating me like an unwanted tenant. I couldn’t take it. I slammed my cutlery onto the table, stood up, and stormed back to my room. As the door swung shut, I heard Amber’s voice drift from the dining room. “Look at that temper. No wonder she’s still single.” She didn’t whisper it. She wanted me to hear. Then James’s voice: “Let it go. If she won’t pay, she won’t pay. Don’t stoop to her level.” I leaned against the door, the first hot tears spilling over. My phone buzzed in my pocket. 2 I swiped at my eyes and looked at the screen. It was a text from Mom. “Hi honey! I managed to change my flight. I’ll be home tomorrow! I picked up those dark chocolates you love from that little shop in Florence. Can’t wait to see you!” The tears came faster then. I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I typed out a long, rambling message about how cruel they were being, then deleted it. I typed it again. Deleted it again. Finally, I just replied: “Sounds good. Safe flight.” Outside, I could hear Amber and Piper laughing. “Mommy, the shrimp is so yummy!” “Eat up, baby. It’s all yours.” I closed my eyes, letting the tears disappear into my hair. When Amber first married into the family, I truly looked at her as the sister I never had. She came from a rough background—a small town where girls weren’t expected to do much, and she’d been working since she was sixteen. I remember the first time she told me about her past; her eyes had been red, her voice thick with the pain of being ignored by her own parents. I’d felt so much for her. I’d taken her hand and told her, “Amber, this is your home now. You have us.” When Piper was born, I was the one who stepped up. I did the midnight feedings so Amber could sleep. For her birthday, I used my meager savings from a work-study job to buy her a designer scarf. She’d bragged about it for weeks. “My sister-in-law has such great taste,” she’d tell everyone. Once, when she and James had a blow-up fight and she ran out of the house crying, I’d chased her down for three blocks. I bought her a coffee, sat with her in the park, and listened to her vent until the sun went down. I took her shopping, did her nails, introduced her to the city. She told me no one had ever treated her like that before. I thought we were family. But looking back, maybe she never saw me that way. Maybe I was just a convenience. When I was picking a grad school, she was the loudest voice in my ear, telling me to stay local. “Stay close to home,” she’d say. “If anything happens, James and I are right here to back you up.” I had been so touched. I thought she loved me. I even bragged to my friends about what a “cool” sister-in-law I had. But once I started school, the calls started every weekend. “Can you come home? We’re so busy.” And every time I came back, I was the one grocery shopping, cooking, scrubbing the floors, and doing the laundry. She would just sit on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, acting as if my labor was a given. One summer, she went on a trip with her friends and left Piper with me for a week. I was trying to finish my thesis while wrangling a toddler. When she returned, she told her friends right in front of me, “Dana is so great. She’s better with the baby than I am!” I took it as a compliment then. Now, I see it for what it was: a tactic to keep me working. Even a few months ago, when the refrigerator died, she complained about it for days until I used two thousand dollars from my part-time tutoring gig to buy a new one for the house. I treated her like a sister. She treated me like an ATM and a maid. The weight of the betrayal felt heavy in my chest. I pulled the duvet over my head, trying to stifle my sobs. After a while, the silence of the house settled in. I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I passed James’s room, I heard hushed voices. 3 It was Amber. “I’m telling you, we can’t wait. We have to get her out of here before your mom gets back.” I froze, my breath catching in my throat. “Every month she’s here, the utility bills go up,” Amber continued. “And you know how your mom is. She favors her. Who knows if she’ll try to leave the whole house to Dana in the will? We need to secure the deed now, so we can move forward with that… other thing.” “Yeah,” James’s voice was low, resigned. “You’re right.” “I’ve got a plan,” Amber whispered, followed by a soft, sharp laugh. “You’ll see tomorrow.” My heart hammered against my ribs. A plan? The next morning, the living room was a hive of activity. I woke up to the sound of hushed, urgent whispering. “It’s just shameful… she needs to be taught a lesson…” “You can’t let this kind of behavior slide…” I frowned, threw on a robe, and stepped out of my room. The living room was crowded. James, Amber, and Piper were there, but so were the neighbors: Mrs. Higgins from downstairs, Sarah from across the hall, and Mrs. Gable from the next unit over. They all turned to look at me at once. Their eyes weren’t friendly. They looked at me like I was a criminal caught in the act. On the coffee table, several empty jewelry boxes were scattered, along with Amber’s favorite leather tote bag, which had been turned inside out. Amber spoke first. “Dana, I need to ask you something.” Her voice was trembling, the perfect image of a victim. “My diamond necklace, my gold hoops, and all the cash I had in my bag… it’s all gone. There’s no one else in the house. Did you take them?” I looked at her, and a cold, sharp realization washed over me. So this was the “plan.” Luckily, I hadn’t spent the night just crying. I’d prepared. “I didn’t take anything,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. Amber scoffed. “You didn’t take it? So it just grew legs and walked away?” “I have no idea where your things are.” I turned to walk back to my room. Suddenly, Piper stepped out from behind Amber’s legs. “Auntie Dana…” Her lower lip trembled, her eyes wide and tearful. She looked up at the neighbors, then pointed a small, shaky hand at me. “Mommy told me to be honest… it’s not right…” She started to sob. “Yesterday… I saw Auntie Dana go into Mommy’s room. She was digging through the jewelry box… she told me not to tell or she’d hurt me…” 4 A bucket of ice water couldn’t have made me feel colder. To coach a six-year-old to lie like that—to use her own child as a weapon—was a new low. Amber immediately pulled Piper into a hug. “Oh, Dana! How could you? She’s only six! You’re terrifying her into lying for you!” I opened my mouth to defend myself, but I looked at James instead. He was staring at the empty jewelry boxes, his head bowed, refusing to look at his own sister. Mrs. Higgins sighed, shaking her head. “Dana, honey, if things are tight, you should have just asked. But this? Your sister-in-law has been so good to you. This is heartbreaking.” Sarah chipped in, “Honestly, these grad students… they look so respectable, but you never know what they’re doing behind closed doors. Stealing from family? How do you even show your face?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. “I. Did. Not. Take. It.” Amber put a hand to her chest, looking like she was about to faint. “Dana, just admit it. Keep the jewelry, I don’t care. Just don’t lie to me.” I took a deep breath and looked directly at my brother. “James. Do you really believe this?” His shoulders tensed. It took him a long time to speak. “If you took it… just give it back. Don’t make this harder on everyone than it already is.” Amber saw my silence as a white flag. She stood up, her voice rising an octave, gaining strength. “My mother-in-law isn’t here, so I’m going to do what’s necessary. I’m setting a boundary!” She pointed toward the front door, her eyes gleaming with a manic sort of triumph. “Pack your bags and get out. Now! We will not have a thief under this roof!” I stood my ground, crossing my arms. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?” “Get out!” she screamed. “Evidence,” I said calmly. “Everything requires evidence. Tell you what. Go into my room. Search it. If you find anything, I’ll leave and never come back. But if you don’t, you apologize to me in front of everyone here.” Amber blinked, caught off guard for a split second, but she recovered quickly. “Search? Why would I search? You’ve obviously hidden it somewhere else. I’m not playing your games.” She turned to the neighbors, her face a mask of wounded dignity. “You see? Even caught red-handed, she’s so arrogant. I’ve done everything for her, and this is how she treats me.” Mrs. Higgins stepped forward to play peacemaker. “Dana, just apologize. Don’t let it get this ugly…” Amber didn’t wait for her to finish. She lunged forward and grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward the door. “Go! Just go! I don’t want to see your face—” The moment her hand touched my skin, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the room. Click. The front door swung open. My mother stood there, her suitcase in hand, staring at the chaos in her living room.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450747”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When I pushed open the doors to the VIP lounge, Carter Sterling was down on one knee, holding up a massive diamond ring. Only, the proposal wasn’t meant for me. Standing in front of him was a young woman in a white dress, elegant and breathtakingly beautiful. Tears of joy streamed down her face as she nodded, crying out, “I do.” When I walked in, Carter didn’t even look up. His absolute focus was on sliding the ring onto the girl’s finger. It wasn’t until her best friend escorted her to the restroom to touch up her makeup that Carter finally cast a cold, indifferent glance my way. “Chloe is innocent, and she scares easily. It took me a lot of time and effort to win her over,” he said flatly. “Whatever messy history we had, you better make sure she never finds out about it.” “Also, she just accepted my proposal. I’m announcing our engagement to the press tomorrow.” Carter and I had been dating in secret for three years. Aside from the elders in our two families, only a tiny handful of people in our social circle knew the truth. As soon as the words left his mouth, the few insiders in the lounge awkwardly averted their eyes to look at me. I took a deep, trembling breath. “Carter, could you hold off on the announcement for just a little while?” “Even if it’s just a month… no, just half a month…” Carter let out a sharp laugh, a faint trace of mockery dancing in his eyes. “Hazel, we’re already at this point, and you’re still desperately clinging to me?” 2 “Carter, for the sake of our past together…” “That’s enough!” Carter suddenly snapped, his face turning freezing cold as he smashed his wine glass against the table. “Over the past three years, the Sterling family has poured at least thirty million dollars into the Hayes family’s sinking ship. Isn’t that enough for you?!” I was completely speechless. “Go home. I don’t want Chloe to come back and get the wrong idea.” I turned around, my body stiff as a board. As I opened the door to leave, I heard Carter mutter to someone in the room, “If your heart bleeds for her so much, why don’t you marry the bankrupt heiress yourself?” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at my own expense. It was true. The Hayes family was bankrupt. Ever since my parents passed away in a tragic accident, our company had been teetering on the edge of total collapse. But Carter conveniently forgot one thing: it was our “bankrupt” Hayes family that had saved his and his grandfather’s lives at sea many years ago. He only remembered the resentment. He hated that my family had used a life debt to leverage our relationship. He hated me, the woman he felt had been violently forced upon him. 3 The news of Carter and Chloe’s engagement swept across New York City like wildfire. My grandfather, who was already severely ill from the grief of losing my parents, had a massive heart attack from the sheer rage of the betrayal and was rushed to the ICU. While I spent day and night holding vigil at the hospital, my Uncle Robert led a hostile takeover of our corporate headquarters. In the past, with the Sterling family backing us, my uncle and his faction were too terrified to make a move. But now? Against an orphaned twenty-four-year-old girl with no safety net, they stripped away all their scruples. During a brief moment of consciousness, my grandfather gripped my hand with whatever weak strength he had left. “Hazel… the company is your parents’ lifeblood. Even if it burns to the ground, you cannot let those wolves take it from you.” My eyes flushed red with hot tears. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. I already have a plan.” Uncle Robert and his faction were using the archaic excuse that a female heir couldn’t carry on the family legacy, plotting to legally strip me of my parents’ estate. But I would absolutely never let them win. 4 During the second week of Carter’s highly publicized engagement, I made the most absurd—yet most crucial—decision of my life. I needed a child. An heir to inherit the Hayes legacy. Because I didn’t meet the strict medical requirements for immediate IVF, I ultimately chose the traditional method: natural conception. As for the father of my child— George, the loyal butler who had served my grandfather his entire life, placed a single, meticulously vetted file on the desk in front of me. “Miss Hazel, please take a look.” The profile was simple. He was from Chicago, raised in a single-parent household, and took his mother’s maiden name. His academic records were flawless, proving a genius-level IQ. The genetics wouldn’t be an issue. A highly detailed medical report confirmed he was in peak physical condition with zero hidden hereditary diseases. But the most striking detail was the face in the photograph. He was so breathtakingly handsome it almost made my head spin. “Uncle George, are you sure a man this brilliant and… striking… actually needs to resort to this kind of business?” I couldn’t help but ask. George smiled kindly. “I believe a close family member of his has fallen severely ill. He’s desperate for quick cash to cover the medical bills.” Thinking of my own grandfather fighting for his life in the ICU, a wave of profound sympathy washed over me. “Add another fifty thousand dollars to his compensation.” “Right away, Miss Hazel.” 5 It was the twelfth day after Carter’s engagement announcement. It was also the peak of my fertile window. That night, I met the man named Liam Archer. He was wearing a generic black dress shirt and dark slacks. I couldn’t spot a single designer logo; they looked like cheap department store clothes. Yet, somehow, the bargain-bin outfit didn’t look cheap on his frame. Just as the contract stipulated, his eyes were securely covered with a black silk blindfold. When I pushed the bedroom door open, he instinctively stood up and faced the doorway. It was only then that I realized just how incredibly tall he was. He had to be at least 6’2″. His proportions were flawless—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and endlessly long legs. “Miss?” Liam spoke, his voice carrying a probing, cautious tone. His voice was deep and rich. A wave of satisfaction settled in my chest. “It’s me. Don’t be nervous.” I walked slowly toward him, lifting a hand to give his arm a reassuring pat. His muscles were rock solid. “Have you showered?” I asked. “Yes, I have.” Truthfully, I was so incredibly nervous that a cold sweat had broken out across my back. But I deliberately put on a facade of a seasoned, confident employer. “Then let’s begin.” 6 Liam couldn’t see me, but I could see him perfectly. The moment the words left my mouth, the corner of Liam’s lips curved into a faint, subtle smirk. Facing me, shielded by the black silk, he gave a slight nod. “Of course, Miss.” His long, elegant fingers unfastened the buttons of his shirt one by one. With a smooth, practiced motion, he pulled the hem free from his trousers. The second I saw his perfectly sculpted waist and the sharp V-line dipping below his belt, my face erupted in flames. When he reached for his belt buckle, I panicked and immediately spun around, facing the wall. The rustling of fabric finally stopped. The man’s voice, now laced with a husky, magnetic edge, echoed in the quiet room. “Miss, I’m ready.” “Ah… oh, right. Okay, then… go lie down on the bed.” 7 I forced myself to take a deep breath, desperately trying to look relaxed and natural as I turned back around. But my eyes instantly widened. The long tails of the black silk ribbon cascaded down his sharp jawline. The blindfold concealed his eyes, only serving to highlight the aggressive, perfect bridge of his nose. In my twenty-four years of life, this was the very first time I had ever been this intimately close to a man’s bare body. “Miss?” Perhaps because I had remained dead silent for too long, Liam called out softly. He took a step forward, reaching out a hand as if searching for me in the dark. His fingertips brushed against my shoulder. After a brief pause, he boldly wrapped his hands around my shoulders—crossing the professional boundary. And in the very next second, he effortlessly scooped me up into his arms, carrying me bridal style. 8 My body sank into the plush mattress. Liam respectfully braced his hands on either side of me, ensuring none of his heavy weight crushed me. “If anything is uncomfortable later, please make sure to tell me.” My heart was hammering so violently against my ribs I was dizzy, practically suffocating. “Stop talking so much and just hurry up,” I snapped. I turned my face away, biting down hard on my lower lip. I had no idea that the tips of my ears and the back of my neck were glowing crimson. “Alright.” He lowered his head. The black silk brushed feather-light against my collarbone. When Liam leaned in to kiss me, I aggressively turned my head. “Don’t touch my mouth.” I bluffed, trying to sound as fierce and commanding as a billionaire heiress should. But I didn’t realize the end of my sentence trembled with unmistakable vulnerability. “Bite me if it hurts.” Liam’s cool fingers gently cradled my face as he pressed a searing, lingering kiss against the side of my neck. But the exact moment his chest pressed flush against mine, my phone began to ring loudly on the nightstand. 9 Liam instinctively froze. I pushed myself up slightly and grabbed the phone. I was completely caught off guard to see the name Carter Sterling flashing on the screen. I hesitated for a second before hitting decline. But almost immediately, the phone started vibrating again. My eyes drifted to Liam’s face in the dim light. He had incredibly thin lips. People always said men with thin lips were inherently cold-hearted and ruthless. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: Cold-hearted is good. A ruthless man was perfectly suited for a transactional business deal like this. We would part ways at dawn, severing all ties forever. I swiped the green button to answer. Carter’s voice sounded bizarrely foreign to my ears. “Hazel, why didn’t you tell me your grandfather was hospitalized?” “It’s not exactly a secret.” “Where are you right now? I’ll come pick you up, we can go to the hospital to see him together…” “That won’t be necessary.” “Hazel, your grandfather always treated me well. I just want to give the old man some peace of mind right now.” “I said, it’s not necessary. But thank you for the gesture.” “Hazel… you should know when to quit.” Carter’s voice was now tightly laced with barely suppressed rage. I knew him too well. For an arrogant, prideful man like him to actually call me and offer an olive branch was a massive concession on his part. But I genuinely didn’t need it. It was too late. I gripped the phone tightly, glancing at the man hovering over me. I could physically feel the turbulent wave of lust radiating from his body, forcibly restrained by sheer willpower. “Carter…” Before I could finish, Liam’s dark, gravelly voice cut through the silence. “Miss, can we continue now?” A scorching kiss was violently pressed against the corner of my lips. And he, fully primed and lethal, made his move. The phone slipped from my sweaty palm and crashed onto the hardwood floor. I furrowed my brows and let out a soft, pained whimper. “It hurts…” From the floor, Carter’s frantic, furious voice echoed from the speaker: “Hazel… who the hell are you with?!” The screen went black. The pain was so sharp I opened my mouth and sank my teeth viciously into Liam’s forearm. He paused for just a fraction of a second before leaning down. With devastating tenderness, yet undeniable dominance… He kissed my lips. 10 My first instinct was to violently shove him away. But the brief kiss was followed by an agonizing, tearing pain that felt like I was being split in half. Liam stopped moving immediately. The black silk ribbon cascading from his eyes brushed softly against my neck. I cried from the pain, my fingernails subconsciously digging deep into the flesh of his arms. His large hands, which had been gripping my waist, suddenly shifted. He pulled my entire trembling body tightly into his warm embrace. His long fingers gently swept aside the sweat-drenched hair sticking to my cheeks. Another scalding, bone-melting kiss fell against my lips. As my body slowly adapted, my mind slipping into a dizzying, euphoric haze… He drove me down into the mattress once more. Somewhere in the middle of the night, I briefly lost consciousness. Because of that, I never knew the truth. I never knew that in that exact moment, Liam ripped the black silk blindfold from his eyes. In the shadowy, moonlit bedroom, he stared deeply at my face. And he kissed me, inch by inch, starting from the center of my brow, all the way down. When I finally opened my eyes the next morning, I found myself dressed in a fresh, soft silk nightgown. The other side of the bed was completely empty and cold. It was as if the chaotic, intimate storm of last night was nothing more than a fever dream. I dragged my aching body out of bed to wash up. When I limped downstairs for breakfast, Uncle George informed me that Liam Archer had left in the dead of night, exactly as the contract dictated. I sat at the grand dining table. Remembering his aggressive boundary-crossing last night, and how I had completely, helplessly surrendered to it… the back of my neck burned with heat. “Did you pay him?” “As agreed, we wired him the first third of the payment. The remaining balance will be transferred the moment your pregnancy is medically confirmed.” I nodded, not saying another word. 11 At the Plaza Hotel. Liam Archer had long since discarded the cheap, off-the-rack clothing he wore the night before. He had just finished swimming laps in the hotel’s private penthouse pool. His family’s senior butler was waiting respectfully in the living room. “Madam heard you were staying in New York. She demands you join her for dinner tonight.” Liam casually tossed his damp towel onto a lounge chair and let out a low, amused scoff. “She has an ulterior motive.” “You are turning twenty-eight after the New Year, sir. You can’t blame Madam for being anxious.” Liam walked over to the minibar and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water. He slicked his dripping black hair back, exposing his sharp, aristocratic forehead and striking, aggressive brow line. “What’s the rush? Tell her that in a few weeks, she might just become a grandmother.” Liam took a swig of water, throwing a teasing smirk at the butler who had watched him grow up. The butler nearly had a heart attack. “Young Master, you cannot joke about something of this magnitude!” “You are the sole heir to both the Kensington and Archer dynasties! The future heir of this family is more precious than solid gold! You cannot be reckless with your bloodline…” “The future Madam of this house must be welcomed with a grand, traditional church wedding and all the proper respect!” “I am fully aware of that.” Liam sat down gracefully on the velvet sofa. He lowered his gaze, staring intently at his left forearm. The deep, crescent-shaped bite mark was still vividly clear against his skin. Remembering that night, an incredibly soft, tender warmth crept into his eyes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450763”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was the Labor Day weekend, and I had agreed to drive out to the suburbs to meet Beth’s parents. We had just settled the final details of our pre-nuptial financial agreement—a tense but necessary conversation—when the atmosphere in the dining room curdled. Beth’s mother, Mrs. Walters, had disappeared into the kitchen to fetch the roast when it happened: a shimmering, translucent line of text flickered across my vision like a digital hallucination. The words were a chilling warning. They claimed that Beth’s mother was about to frame me for stealing a gold heirloom bracelet. It went further, predicting a systematic campaign to bleed my family dry, eventually forcing me to sign over my house. I was still blinking, trying to make sense of the glowing script, when a sharp cry erupted from the hallway. “My vintage bracelet! It’s gone! I left it right here on the nightstand!” Beth’s sister-in-law, Cynthia, immediately whipped her head toward me, her eyes narrowing with practiced suspicion. “Wait… didn’t I see Wyatt go toward the master suite a few minutes ago?” I felt a cold smile touch my lips. Instead of panicking, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. “Since you’re so certain,” I said, my voice steady and dangerously calm, “let’s let the police explain it to us.” 1 When Mrs. Walters shrieked, “My gold bracelet is missing!” I was already reeling from the bizarre text hovering in the air. Now, a localized chill crawled up my spine. I suppressed the urge to rub my eyes. I watched her closely, noticing the quick, jagged glance exchanged between her and Cynthia. “Pretty sure Wyatt was the only one in the master bedroom recently,” Cynthia repeated, her finger practically touching my nose. Suddenly, every eye in the room was a weapon. The relatives leaned in, their gazes heavy with judgment and a dark, eager curiosity. My skin prickled. The text flitted across my field of vision again, and I felt the blood drain from my face. Beth stepped close to me, her hand gripping my bicep a little too tightly. She lowered her voice to a frantic whisper. “Wyatt, did you take it? That was my dad’s twenty-fifth-anniversary gift to her. She’s obsessed with it. If you have it, just give it back now before things get ugly.” I looked at her, truly looked at her, and felt a hollow ache of disappointment. “You actually think I’d steal a piece of jewelry from your mother?” Beth’s eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. She knew better. The housewarming gifts I’d brought today—the rare vintage wine and the designer handbag for her mother—cost more than that bracelet was worth. Mrs. Walters sniffed, her voice dripping with artificial sorrow. “I thought we were bringing a gentleman into the family. I didn’t realize we were inviting a common thief.” The insult burned. I stood my ground, watching them with the detached interest of a scientist observing a lab rat. Beth, losing her patience, began to tug at my arm. “Just let them look in your briefcase, Wyatt! If you didn’t do anything, you have nothing to fear, right?” Before I could even voice my refusal, Mrs. Walters lunged for my bag. As I moved to block her, a fresh wave of text surged before my eyes: [Holy crap, Beth’s mom is a pro. She slipped the bracelet into the side pocket of the briefcase while he was in the bathroom. He’s screwed.] My heart skipped a beat. A setup. A goddamn trap. I stepped in front of her, my voice dropping an octave. “Is this how you treat a guest? Slander and illegal searches?” Beth didn’t skip a beat. She grabbed both my arms, pinning them to my sides. “If you’re innocent, why are you acting so guilty? Mom, go ahead. Check it!” Mrs. Walters spat a curse, grabbed my leather briefcase, and turned it upside down. A cascade of files and my laptop hit the hardwood floor, and then—with a metallic clink—a heavy gold band rolled across the floor, coming to rest right against the toe of my shoe. Mrs. Walters pounced on it like a bird of prey. “Not even officially in the family yet, and you’re already looting my house!” she screamed. “What kind of people raised you? You’re a goddamn criminal!” The digital feed was losing its mind: [They planned this. They want to use the ‘theft’ as leverage to trap him into a one-sided marriage contract.] The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing. The condemnation in the room was physical, a weight pressing on my chest. I took a deep breath. If I let this narrative take hold today, my family’s reputation would be shredded, marriage or no marriage. Beth let go of me, rolling her eyes with a theatrical huff. She poked me in the chest. “My mom said she was going to give me her jewelry for the wedding anyway, but you couldn’t wait? Just apologize, Wyatt. Now.” 2 My brow furrowed, the veins in my temples throbbing with a rhythmic heat. Before I could speak, Mrs. Walters cut me off with a jagged laugh. “I don’t want his apology. The wedding is off!” I was shaking with rage, but my mind remained unnervingly sharp. I looked her in the eye. “What proof do you have that this bracelet is actually yours?” The shimmering text paused for a fraction of a second before exploding: [Damn, he’s got a brain! He’s not falling for the ‘prove you’re innocent’ trap.] [Go get ‘em, King!] Mrs. Walters choked on her next insult. I reached down, snatched the bracelet from her hand before she could react, and held it up to the light. “It’s a plain gold band. No engraving, no unique markers. How do you know this isn’t mine? I carry high-value items for my business all the time.” She was speechless, her face turning a mottled purple. The chorus of relatives started up again, accusing me of being disrespectful and delusional. I didn’t engage. In the distance, the faint, wailing herald of a siren began to grow louder. I looked at their ugly, distorted faces and smiled. “Why don’t you tell the police all about it?” The text feed went wild: [Wait, when did he call the cops?] [This isn’t how the script usually goes!] A moment later, two officers were at the door. I finally let go of the phone I’d been clutching in my pocket. The moment I had seen the first ‘hallucination’ and realized the vibe in the room had shifted, I’d sent a pre-written emergency text to a friend of mine on the force. Mrs. Walters tried to turn on the charm the second she saw the uniforms, waving it off as a ‘family misunderstanding.’ I stepped forward, my voice echoing in the small foyer. “She performed an illegal search of my property after orchestrating a false accusation of theft.” Beth tried to play the peacemaker, stepping between us, but I spoke over her with clinical precision. “Your mother claims the item was stolen from the bedroom. I noticed the curtains were open when we arrived—there’s a Nest camera on the neighbor’s porch that has a direct line of sight into that window. Shall we pull the footage?” I had spent the last ten minutes scanning every inch of the environment while they were screaming at me. The lead officer nodded, taking out his notebook. Mrs. Walters turned pale. She started stammering, and I didn’t give her an inch. I crossed my arms. “If you can’t prove the bracelet is yours, then it’s mine. It was in my bag, after all.” Trapped by her own lies in front of her entire family and the law, she finally hissed through gritted teeth, “I… I must have accidentally dropped it into your bag while I was helping you with your coat.” I laughed, a sharp, cold sound. “That’s a neat trick. My bag was zipped shut in the living room, and your bracelet was in a jewelry box in the back of the house.” Beth reached for my hand again, but I recoiled as if she were a viper. “We’re done, Beth. Your family is a nightmare, and I’m clearly overqualified for the role of your victim.” The officers watched as I gathered my things. Beth’s family screamed insults at my back as I walked down the driveway. “Let him go! We don’t need a petty, small-minded man like him in this house anyway!” I got into my car, the adrenaline finally beginning to ebb. The text feed was still scrolling: [Beth isn’t going to let a wealthy, only-child catch like Wyatt go that easily. That whole family was planning to live off his inheritance.] I stared out the windshield, my heart sinking, but a plan was already forming. I wasn’t just going to walk away. I was going to make sure they paid for the attempt. When I got home, my parents were waiting in the living room. My mother saw my face and stood up immediately. I dropped the ruined gifts on the floor and told them everything. 3 My mother’s eyes turned like flint as I finished. “They were trying to break you,” she said quietly. “I told you those people were vultures. What do you want to do now?” My father chimed in from the armchair. “It’s a blessing, son. Better to see the fangs now than after you’ve signed a marriage license. Walk away and don’t look back.” My heart swelled. They were my bedrock. I was ready to move on. But the next morning, I was jolted awake by the shimmering text: [Wyatt is still sleeping while the Walters clan is at his front door. They brought a ‘dowry’ briefcase to force a reconciliation.] The last remnants of sleep vanished. I threw on a robe and headed for the door. Beth was there, looking manic and over-eager. “Wyatt! Baby, listen. My mom feels terrible about the misunderstanding. Look—she went to the bank this morning. She’s putting up an extra hundred thousand for our house fund. More than we even discussed!” She held up a heavy silver briefcase. I narrowed my eyes. Yesterday, they were trying to frame me; today, they were showering me with cash? Something stank. “I thought I made myself clear yesterday,” I said. “There is no wedding.” Mrs. Walters pushed her way forward. “You’ve been living with my daughter for a year, Wyatt. You can’t just toss her aside like yesterday’s trash. Think of her reputation!” I said nothing, but the text feed was screaming in neon: [They haven’t changed a bit. The briefcase is stuffed with counterfeit bills.] I felt a smirk tugging at my lips. Mrs. Walters kept talking, trying to charm my mother, who had appeared behind me. “This money is for the kids’ future,” Mrs. Walters pleaded. “A gesture of goodwill!” I chuckled. “So, we should display this at the wedding? Like a traditional gift table?” My mother gave me a sharp, questioning look, but Beth and her mom beamed, thinking they’d won me over. The feed went nuclear: [I see their game. They want him to accept the ‘cash’ now, so they can later claim he stole or lost the real money at the wedding. It’s a double-scam.] “You know,” I said, “it’s not safe to keep this much cash in the house. We should go to the bank and deposit it right now.” Beth and her mom exchanged a frantic look. “Oh, it’s fine for a few days,” Beth said quickly. “Besides, we want it for the ceremony photos. Don’t be so difficult.” I stared at her until she shifted uncomfortably. Then, I turned and walked into my study. I emerged a moment later carrying a professional-grade bill counter. “If this is going to be our ‘future,’” I said calmly, “let’s count it. I wouldn’t want there to be any more… misunderstandings about missing assets.” The color drained from their faces. Beth started snapping at me, telling me I didn’t trust them. I ignored her and signaled for our housekeeper to block the exit. I started the machine. The first stack went through—genuine hundreds. I felt a flicker of doubt. Was the feed wrong? Then I hit the second layer. Beep. Beep. BEEP. The machine jammed. The bills were high-quality fakes. I pulled out the rest of the stacks and realized the middle was filled with “Motion Picture Use Only” prop money—bundles of paper that looked real from the side but were blank in the center. My mother let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Well. I suppose you don’t need a machine to tell those are fake, do you?” Beth was sweating now. “The bank… the bank must have made a mistake! They gave us the wrong bundles!” I leaned in, my voice a cold whisper. “Which bank, Beth? Tell me exactly which branch. We’ll go there with the police right now.” She went silent. I didn’t hesitate. I picked up my phone. “I’d like to report a massive fraud attempt,” I told the dispatcher.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450748”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the seventh year of our marriage, I went to the hospital to drop off Ethan’s dinner, just like I always did. But outside his office door, I heard his colleagues teasing him, calling a female patient “Mrs. Vance.” And Ethan didn’t correct them. Instead, he just smiled, tacitly accepting it. I set his thermos down, turned around, and walked away. He chased after me, yelling at me for being unreasonable. “Mia is just a patient! She just had surgery and can’t be stressed out.” “I’m a doctor. As my husband’s wife, can’t you be a little more understanding?” In the past, I would have thrown a massive fit. I would have turned the hospital upside down. But now, I truly didn’t care anymore. … When Ethan got home, I was already lying in bed. Last night, he had texted me saying his stomach hurt and he was going to sleep in the doctors’ lounge. When I called him, his phone went straight to voicemail. So I had woken up bright and early today to make him a special bone broth and drove it all the way to the hospital. If I hadn’t seen him looking perfectly healthy while flirting with Mia Sinclair, I probably would have still felt sorry for him. The mattress dipped as his heavy frame climbed into bed. Ethan wrapped his arm around my waist and whispered, “Honey, why did you go to sleep without waiting for me?” In the past, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and eagerly reciprocated his hints. But now, I just wanted a good night’s sleep. Seeing my silence, he took my left hand and gently rubbed it. “The soup was delicious. I finished it all. Just be careful next time, you burned your hand.” “I’ll put some ointment on it for you.” The cool sensation of the medical ointment quickly spread across my palm. He kissed my left hand and went to take a shower. As the sound of running water started in the bathroom, I pulled my red, blistered right hand from under the pillow, got up, and applied the ointment to it myself. While Ethan was showering, his phone kept buzzing on the nightstand. As a lead cardiothoracic surgeon, he often got late-night calls from the hospital. Afraid he might miss an emergency, I pressed answer. Before I could even speak, a sweet, delicate voice came through the speaker. [Dr. Vance, did you like dinner today? I learned a new recipe. I’ll make you slow-roasted short ribs tomorrow.] Before I could say a word, the phone was violently snatched from my hand. “Didn’t I tell you never to answer my phone?” His hand gripped exactly where my burn was. He squeezed so hard that a layer of blistered skin peeled right off. Blood immediately began to well up. I gasped in pain, clutching my hand. He told the person on the phone he’d call back later, then grabbed my wrist again. “You’re such an idiot. You don’t even know how to cook, yet you insisted on making soup. Now you’re hurt. Serves you right!” “Sit down! I’ll redo the bandages.” It was the middle of summer. If the wound wasn’t treated properly, it would easily get infected. I sat on the couch. He brought out the first-aid kit from the study and knelt in front of me to treat the wound. He sighed, his tone softening. “Does it hurt, honey?” I didn’t answer. I just felt his grip loosen slightly, and he blew on the wound a few times to ease the pain. As he stood up, a keychain fell out of his duffel bag. I picked it up and looked closely. It featured a cartoon dog and cat, with a line of text engraved below: [Hope my Golden Retriever Ethan is happy every day. Yours, Mia the Kitten.] Ethan frowned. “She gave that to me when she was discharged today. I just accepted it to be polite.” I placed the keychain on the coffee table and said calmly, “Hmm. That was very thoughtful of her.” The air in the room seemed to freeze for a second. Ethan looked at me in shock. “You want me to keep it? You’re not going to throw it away?” I looked up, feigning confusion. “Why wouldn’t you keep it? A harmonious doctor-patient relationship is a good thing. I should be happy for you.” His shock was entirely within my expectations. After all, the old me would have blown up and thrown away anything connected to another woman. But now, these petty little tricks couldn’t stir a single ripple in my heart. He was about to say something else when a loud crack of thunder shook the house, and the entire room went pitch black. The power went out. I couldn’t help but shrink back. He immediately pulled me into his arms, comforting me softly, “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. Your husband is here.” I had terrible night blindness, so I was terrified of the dark. Ethan coaxed me gently while reaching for the candles we kept in the drawer. Right at that moment, his phone rang again. Mia’s sobbing voice was crystal clear in the quiet room. [Dr. Vance, my power went out and I’m so scared. I feel like my chest is tight and I can’t breathe.] Ethan immediately dropped the candle he was holding, grabbed his car keys, and headed for the door. “Mia isn’t feeling well. I’m just going to go check on her and I’ll be right back. Light the candle yourself.” My phone was dead. I blindly felt around with both hands until I found the candle and lighter he’d left behind. But the candle had no wick. It couldn’t be lit. In my panic in the pitch black, I slammed my waist hard against the corner of the table. A piercing pain shot through my entire body. Just as I was about to collapse onto the floor, I caught myself with my hands. But the burned area on my palm took the brunt of the impact. I lay on the floor in the dark, gasping for air like a stranded fish. A massive thunderstorm raged outside. I sat on the couch with my knees pulled to my chest for three whole hours. Ethan never came back. The next morning, Ethan rang the doorbell, looking exhausted from the storm. There was a faint smudge of pink lipstick on his collar. He frowned. “I forgot my keys last night. I knocked on the door all night, why didn’t you answer?” It had rained heavily all night. I hadn’t slept a wink, but I hadn’t heard a single knock. “The hotel bed was so hard and uncomfortable. It was awful,” he complained. If it were the past, I would have immediately hugged him and given him a massage after hearing his complaints. But now, I just slowly took a sip of my morning coffee, not even giving him a glance. He immediately walked over and started explaining. “I really did sleep at the hotel right by our subdivision last night. Look, I brought you those bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches from the corner deli. You’ve been craving these, right?” I glanced at the sandwich bag but didn’t pick it up. It was indeed the place I used to eat at the most. Back when Ethan and I first got married, our careers were just starting out, and we had to scrape together our meager salaries just to pay the mortgage. That corner deli was cheap and the portions were huge. I ate those sandwiches for seven years. Just then, my Instagram app pushed a notification from a “Person You May Know.” Mia had posted a photo of a luxurious candlelit dinner with the caption: [A 6’2″ cardiothoracic surgeon who is amazing in the living room and the kitchen. The best Golden Retriever Ethan in the world.] I calmly locked my phone. Ethan picked up a piece of the sandwich and held it to my lips. “Eat it while it’s hot. It won’t taste good if it gets cold.” The greasy smell of the bacon hovered right at my nose. I instinctively pushed it away, and the sandwich fell to the floor. Ethan slammed his hand on the table and sneered. “I just left you home alone for a little bit! I even got the candles ready for you! Do you really have to throw a tantrum over this?” “I’m a doctor. I have to be responsible for my patients. If something happened to Mia last night, neither of us would ever be able to live with the guilt!” I picked the sandwich up, threw it in the trash, and didn’t even turn around. “I respect your profession. I have absolutely no problem with it.” But Ethan wouldn’t let it go. He grabbed my wrist. “We’ve been married for seven years. Playing hard to get is a game for little girls. You need to stop watching so many romantic movies, they’re rotting your brain.” When I was younger, I loved watching romantic dramas, crying and laughing over other people’s love stories. Ethan would always pour cold water on me, calling me a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot. Now that I was older, anytime I didn’t cater to his every whim, he would accuse me of playing hard to get like the girls in those movies. If I dressed up a little, he would mock me and say, “Pink is for teenagers. Aren’t you a little old for that?” And then he would watch me slowly take off my makeup and change into sweatpants before he was finally satisfied. Listening to these words that used to sting me so deeply, I felt absolutely nothing. I just gave him a side-eye, looking at him like he was brain-dead. Then, I went into the bedroom, changed into a form-fitting black dress, sprayed on my newest perfume, grabbed my purse, and opened the front door. “Where are you going?” his angry voice rang in my ear. “I have plans.” The old Ethan never cared where I went. Because deep down, he believed that no matter where I went, I would always end up back by his side. But today, it was like the sun rose in the west; he was relentlessly interrogating me. It wasn’t until I sat in my car and hit the gas that the incessant buzzing in my ear finally stopped. My best friend Harper’s fashion studio was having its grand opening today, and she had invited me for the ribbon-cutting and champagne. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I haven’t seen you dress like this in years! Isn’t your husband going to be pissed?” I smiled and handed her a congratulatory card with a generous check inside. “It’s my body. I can wear whatever I want. He doesn’t get a say.” She happily took the card with a money-loving grin. “Yes, exactly! You’ve still absolutely got it.” Amidst the clinking glasses and flowing champagne, I realized I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a very long time. Meanwhile, my phone, which I had put on silent, was vibrating non-stop. Harper, her face flushed from the alcohol, nudged me. “Twelve missed calls. I think your husband is losing his mind.” I flipped the phone face down and kept drinking. After a few more rounds, I grabbed my purse and went downstairs to wait for my Uber. Instead, under the neon streetlights, I saw a furious Ethan. “Olivia Davis, you’re unbelievable. You ignore my calls and come here to get blackout drunk? Did you ever stop to think I’d be worried about you?” He canceled my Uber, threw me over his shoulder, and tossed me into the backseat of his SUV. In the cramped, suffocating space, he pinned my wrists down. His eyes burned with a familiar lust. He slowly leaned in, but the second his lips touched mine, I shoved him away. “Are you done throwing this fit?! You’re my wife! Am I not even allowed to touch you now?” The buzz from the alcohol instantly vanished. I sat up, straightened my messy dress, and said coldly, “Just drive home.” Ethan was always busy with work, so in the past, whenever he was home, I constantly wanted to be close to him. When he was leaning back on the couch reading medical journals, I would lean in for a kiss, and he would coldly shove me away—just exactly like I did to him right now. It used to pour a bucket of ice water over my burning heart. Seeing the firm rejection in my eyes, he froze for a long moment. Then, he slammed the car door shut and sped off. When we got home, I grabbed his blanket and threw it into the guest room. “I drank today and I’m a restless sleeper. So I don’t disturb you before work tomorrow, you’re sleeping in the guest room.” Hearing my absolute refusal to compromise, Ethan’s face darkened drastically. Finally, without a word, he went into the guest room. In our king-sized bed, I used to always want to cling to him. But now, I just realized how incredibly comfortable it was to have the whole bed to myself. When I woke up the next day, Ethan had already left for work. He had left cold deli sandwiches and coffee on the table. Bacon and egg sandwiches again. I was so sick of them. I packed up the food and went downstairs to feed the stray cats. While waiting for the elevator, I saw a job posting from my old company. Three years ago, Ethan was promoted to Deputy Chief of Surgery. To focus on taking care of him, I quit my job.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450764”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The two-week cold war finally fractured at dinner when my husband, Zack, walked through the door. He sat down, and his first words were a seismic shift in my reality: “I’ve fallen in love with my assistant.” “All these years, and Jessica is the only one who makes me feel that spark again—like the very first time,” he added, a flicker of excitement dancing in his voice that he didn’t even try to hide. I remained expressionless. I stood up, poured him a glass of lukewarm water, and sat back down to continue my meal as if he’d just commented on the weather. Zack seemed caught off guard by my silence. He blinked, staring at me for a few seconds before finding his voice again. “Don’t get any ideas. Your place as my wife—as the mistress of this house—is secure. That’s never going to change.” I picked up a piece of glazed rib and placed it in his bowl. After a long beat of silence, I said three words: “Just eat dinner.” He didn’t touch his fork. Instead, he pushed an elegantly boxed cupcake toward me, his tone bordering on a recommendation. “Try this. Jessica insisted I bring it home for you. She’s an incredible baker.” “You’ll love it,” he emphasized. I set my chopsticks down and looked him straight in the eye, my gaze steady and cold. “Zack, I’m severely allergic to eggs. You’ve known that since the day we met.” 1 The air in the dining room turned brittle. Zack rubbed the bridge of his nose, a tell-tale sign of his fleeting guilt. “I’ve been so busy lately. I forgot. I’m sorry.” A bitter, jagged laugh threatened to spill out of me. He hadn’t forgotten; he just hadn’t bothered to remember. Our first anniversary: he bought a cake. I spent the night in the ER, my throat closing up. The second year of our marriage: I was recovering from a miscarriage. He made “healing” custard. I went into anaphylactic shock and nearly died on our kitchen floor. Every year, he ‘forgets.’ Every year, I pay the price. This year was the seventh. I forced a thin smile and pushed the plate back toward him. “The food’s getting cold. Eat.” He reached out, pinning my hand to the table. His eyes searched mine, flickering with something like irritation. “Evelyn, I’m trying to talk to you about Jessica.” “After dinner,” I said. Zack suddenly slammed his hand against the wood, the sound echoing through the house. “There’s nothing to eat, Evelyn! It’s always the same. Ribs and eggplant, night after night. No variety, no life. I am so damn tired of this routine.” I looked down at my plate, a dull ache blooming in my chest. I remembered when we lived in that cramped studio apartment, counting pennies just to survive. Meat was a luxury we saved for weeks to afford. I’d make ribs; he’d make roasted eggplant. Back then, he’d scrape the plates clean and swear he wanted to eat that meal every day for the rest of his life. It turns out “forever” had an expiration date I wasn’t told about. Watching his chest heave with frustration, I spoke softly, my voice barely a whisper. “If that’s how you feel, then we should get a divorce.” “Di… Divorce?” His brows knitted together, his anger replaced by a sharp confusion. “No. I don’t agree to that.” “Yes, I love Jessica. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you. You’re throwing a tantrum, Evelyn, and it’s not going to work.” I turned away. I couldn’t even remember when the man I loved had vanished. I only remembered that after the money came, so did the endless parade of “other women.” I had screamed, I had fought, I had even confronted them. He never cared. Once, in a desperate, broken moment to keep him from walking out, I had even picked up a blade. He just looked at me like I was a theatrical nuisance. But Jessica, his secretary, was different. She was the one he truly curated. He poured money into her, gave her resources, took her to high-level meetings, and personally refined her proposals. He had essentially announced to our entire social circle that she was “his.” When I had tried to make things difficult for her, he froze my credit cards for the first time. He was marking his territory. And I, the wife, was no longer part of it. Seeing my silence, Zack pulled out his phone. “Is there something you want? That Hermès bag you were looking at? I’ll get it for you.” His tone was casual, a peace offering wrapped in leather. This was our cycle: he buys a gift, I accept the apology, and we pretend to be the golden couple again. I opened my mouth to speak, but the doorbell rang. Jessica stood there holding a tiered bento box, looking small and fragile. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Evelyn. Zack didn’t eat all day at the office, and I was worried about his stomach, so I brought him some dinner.” The irony was a physical weight in my gut. “He’s already eating.” I moved to close the door, but Jessica stepped forward, a subtle smirk playing on her lips before she intentionally tipped the container, letting the hot food spill over her own hand and dress. “Oh! Evelyn, I… I just didn’t want him to go hungry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her eyes welled with practiced tears. “It’s okay if you hate me, but the food… it’s such a waste…” Zack was there in an instant, pushing past me to shield her. “Are you okay, Jessica? Did you burn yourself?” She shook her head, leaning into him. “It’s nothing, Zack. Please, don’t let me come between you two. Your relationship is more important.” “Relationship?” Zack spat the word at me. “She doesn’t care about us. If she did, she wouldn’t be bullying you in my own home. Evelyn, she just brought me a meal. Do you have to be this cruel?” They looked like a portrait of tragic lovers, and it made my eyes burn. I remembered going to his office months ago, only to be blocked by Jessica at the door. She had “accidentally” spilled coffee all over me then, too. Zack had watched and told me to “stop being dramatic” and “let it go.” Now, the roles were reversed, but I was still the villain. He looked at me with a profound, chilling disappointment. Then, without a second thought, he picked Jessica up in his arms and walked out the door. 2 At the threshold, he paused. He didn’t look back. “Evelyn, I remember when you used to be a kind person. What happened to her?” What happened to her? She spent every waking moment loving you. She underwent three grueling rounds of IVF, desperate to be a mother, to build a family with you. And what did she get? A lost child, a body mapped in surgical scars, and a husband who treated her like a ghost. He had driven her to the edge of madness and now had the nerve to ask why she wasn’t “kind.” As the sound of his car faded, I clutched my chest, gasping for air as the panic clawed at my throat. I calmly dumped the remains of our dinner into the trash. I went to my office and pulled out my old portfolio—the life I’d abandoned to be his wife. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Professor?” My voice broke. “Does your offer still stand?” I booked a one-way flight for the following week. Looking around the house we’d built, I finally felt the tether snap. I was leaving. Zack didn’t come home that night. In the early hours of the morning, my phone buzzed. The background noise was a chaotic thrum of a nightclub. He sounded drunk. “Evelyn… come get me. My stomach hurts. It’s the ulcer.” “Call a doctor, Zack.” I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. “No. I want you to come,” he slurred. I didn’t answer. I turned the phone off. I remembered another night like this. I had rushed to a bar with medicine and warm ginger congee, only to find him using Jessica to block shots of tequila. When he saw me standing there, he’d smirked and kissed her right in front of me. “She came,” he’d whispered against Jessica’s lips. “I win the bet.” The congee had shattered on the floor. I was nothing but a punchline to them. My thoughts were interrupted by a notification. Jessica had sent me a photo. Zack’s head was buried in her lap, his eyes closed in a drunken stupor. “He says only I give him that spark, Evelyn,” the caption read. “It’s not that you aren’t beautiful. It’s just that he can’t breathe without me.” It had been ten minutes since his call. One moment he was begging for his wife; the next, he was in his “sweet escape.” It was a tired script. Every time I reached my limit, Jessica would find a way to twist the knife. The last time I confronted Zack with her recordings and photos, he hadn’t even looked up from his desk. “She just took those to make herself feel better, Evelyn. The angles are misleading. You just had a miscarriage; you’re hormonal and overthinking.” He knew. He knew I’d lost the baby while he was busy driving Jessica back to her hometown because “the mountain roads were too dangerous for her to drive alone.” When he finally saw me gasping for air that day, he’d pulled me onto his lap. “Evelyn, it hurts that you don’t trust me. No matter what I do with them, you’re the one who matters.” He’d kissed my neck, his voice thick with a promise. “Just get healthy. Get your strength back, and we’ll try for another baby. I promise I’ll be home every night.” And he had been. For two weeks, he was the perfect husband. I, the fool, had softened. I had forgiven him. But the “perfect” life lasted fifteen days. I found a video online of him at a karaoke bar, cradling Jessica, singing the lullaby I used to sing to him. I checked our home security footage. Every night after I fell asleep, Zack would slip out of bed, drive to Jessica’s apartment, and return before dawn. When I slapped him, screaming about how disgusting he was, his eyes went dark. “Jessica is afraid to sleep alone,” he said, opening the door to leave. “I have to go to her.” 3 Every time I remembered that moment, a chill settled in my bones. His heart hadn’t just strayed; it had been transplanted. I didn’t call him for the next three days, and he didn’t reach out. On the fourth morning, he walked into the bedroom carrying a designer shopping bag. I handed him the divorce papers I’d prepared. “The terms are set. Just sign them, and we can go to the courthouse.” He didn’t even look at the folder. He held up a dress. “This just hit the runway. Put it on. We’re going to my mother’s for lunch.” I looked at the label. It was a brand I loved. Years ago, when we were poor, he’d skip meals just to buy me a scarf from that house. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that he still remembered my taste while actively destroying my soul. When I didn’t move, he stepped forward to help me dress. “Zack, I’m talking about a divorce.” “I heard you. I’m not signing.” He stiffened for a second, then took my hand with forced normalcy. “Let’s go. Mom is waiting.” When we pulled into his mother’s estate, I realized Jessica was already there. She was wearing a piece from a recent high-end auction—a dress I had pointed out months ago. Seeing me stare, Jessica looked down sheepishly. “Zack, I’ve never worn anything this expensive. I feel like I don’t belong in it… maybe I should give it to Evelyn? I can wear her outfit. I don’t want her to be angry with me.” I felt a surge of nausea. “If you don’t belong in it, take it off.” Zack shot me a warning glance and patted Jessica’s shoulder. “Ignore her. Keep it. You’re my executive assistant; you need to look the part. You both go sit with my mother. I’m going to check on the kitchen.” Jessica flashed a triumphant smirk and brushed past me to the table. I ignored her and poured a bowl of soup for Zack’s mother. She took two sips, and suddenly, she collapsed. Her eyes widened, staring at me in shock. “Evelyn, you…” I froze. Jessica was on the floor in an instant, kneeling by the old woman. “Mrs. Sterling! Oh god, what’s happening?” Jessica screamed, then turned her tear-filled eyes toward me. “Evelyn, I know you hate me, but how could you take it out on his mother?” Zack rushed in, lifting his mother in his arms. He looked at me, his face a mask of cold fury. “What did you do?” Jessica sobbed, pointing at the soup. “She drank the soup Evelyn gave her and just… Evelyn, you can kill me if you want, but don’t hurt innocent people! She’s Zack’s mother!” Zack was checking Jessica’s arms, noticing small scratches she must have given herself earlier. “I didn’t do anything! I don’t know what happened!” I cried. Zack didn’t hesitate. He swung his leg, kicking me hard in the ribs. The force sent me reeling. “Evelyn! My mother has been nothing but kind to you! How could you be this twisted?” He spat. “No wonder your parents abandoned you at birth. You’re malicious. You tried to force Jessica to lie for you, and when she wouldn’t, you did this!” The pain was blinding. I tried to reach for his mother. “I swear, I didn’t—” Zack pushed me away with a sneer. “Still lying? My mother is lying there half-dead. Jessica is the kindest soul I know; you think she’d make this up?” I stumbled, hitting a pedestal. A heavy porcelain vase shattered, and I fell backward onto the shards. I felt the sharp sting of ceramic piercing my skin, followed by the warm, sticky sensation of blood soaking through my dress. Zack’s pupils contracted. He reached out as if to catch me, then stopped himself. Jessica grabbed his sleeve, trembling. “There’s so much blood… will she be okay?” “Don’t worry about her,” Zack snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and something else. “She’s rotten to the core. Whatever happens, she deserves it.” He barked an order to his driver. “Take her back to the house. Lock her in her room. No food, no way out until she’s ready to crawl on her knees and apologize. Watch her. I won’t have her hurting anyone else.” He turned to Jessica, softening his voice. “Come with me to the hospital. If I leave you here, she’ll find a way to torment you again.” ——– I was dragged back to the house and locked in. My consciousness flickered, and it took hours for the fog to clear. The cameras. There had to be a way to prove it. I pushed through the pain, using every contact I had left to remotely access the Sterling estate’s security feed. There it was. Clear as day: Jessica slipping a powder into the bowl when I turned to grab a napkin. I pounded on the bedroom door, screaming for someone to listen. The door finally opened, but it wasn’t a guard. It was Jessica. “Move,” I hissed. Jessica tilted her head, a mocking grin on her face. “Got your little evidence? Going to tell on me?” She laughed and landed a sharp slap across my face. She gripped my chin, her nails digging into my skin. “You want the truth out? Think about your best friend in the hospital first.” I recoiled. “What are you talking about?” I grew up in an orphanage. I had no family. Only Becca. She was the one who protected me, the one who shared her food with me. Now, she was battling leukemia, waiting for a bone marrow transplant. Jessica smiled. “Isn’t it a coincidence? Becca’s lead oncologist? He’s an old college friend of mine.” I stared at her, horror dawning on me. “Don’t you touch her!” She toyed with a lock of her hair, leaning in to whisper against my ear. “Then what is the great Mrs. Sterling going to do to keep me happy?” 4 My knuckles turned white as I clutched the phone with the evidence. Slowly, I deleted the video in front of her. I immediately arranged for Becca to be transferred to another hospital, but it was too late. That very afternoon, a “dosage error” occurred. Becca was gone before I could even say goodbye. I found Jessica at a café, looking serene. “Evelyn, come sit. Have some tea.” She was smiling. Around her neck was the locket I had given Becca for her birthday. My hand shook with a rage so primal I couldn’t speak. “Jessica. I will make you pay for this with your life.” She didn’t flinch. Instead, she grabbed the balcony railing and leaned dangerously backward. “Evelyn, please don’t kill me! I didn’t do anything to Becca, I swear—” Zack came charging in, lunging to pull her back. “I’ve got you, Jessica. You’re safe.” He turned to me, his eyes burning. “Evelyn, you’re still at it? You want to kill her now?” “Zack, she murdered Becca!” Zack’s gaze was freezing. “Where’s your proof?” “I have a recording! I have—” “Enough!” He stepped up to me and delivered a blow that sent me spinning. “Poisoning my mother, framing Jessica… how long are you going to play this insane game?” “Are you going to keep going until we’re all dead?” I tasted blood in my mouth. I closed my eyes, a profound sense of hopelessness washing over me. Seeing me swaying, Zack’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second. He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and tossed it on the table. “There’s enough on here for a lavish funeral for Becca. Consider it my final respect to her. Just stop hounding Jessica, and we can still go back to how things were.” Even now, he thought I was just being “difficult.” Even with a life lost. I looked at him and began to laugh—a hollow, broken sound. “Zack. Just you wait.” ——– I hadn’t even decided on my next move when Zack broke down my door the next morning. “You are going to apologize to Jessica. Today.” He dragged me to a hotel suite, forcing my head down against the carpet until my forehead bled. The room smelled of sex and expensive perfume. Jessica was huddled on the bed, wrapped in a sheet, sobbing. When she saw me, she crawled over and hugged my knees. “It’s okay, Zack. I don’t blame her. I did what she said… I went to see Mr. Vaughn. I even… I gave him my body, but he still won’t sign the contract with you. I’m so useless. I’d do anything for you, Zack. Even die.” I looked at the open window and let out a dry rasp of a laugh. “Is that so? Then do it. Jump. Show us how much you love him.” Jessica scrambled toward the window ledge. “Jessica!” Zack turned pale, rushing to pull her down. “Don’t do something stupid!” He turned and kicked me squarely in the stomach. “Evelyn, she’s fragile! Why are you so bent on destroying her?” “You’re both women. Why do you have so much malice in your heart?” “I’m so disappointed in you.” He carried Jessica out without looking back. But I saw it. Over his shoulder, Jessica flashed me a sharp, victorious smile. After that, Zack stopped going to the office. He spent every hour with her. He, a man who detested animals, even went out and bought her a kitten because she said she was lonely. I had begged for a dog for years. He’d always said no. It didn’t matter anymore. My flight was in two days. I lay down to rest, but suddenly I felt a jolt. Everything went black. When I woke up, my clothes were torn. My body ached with a familiar, violated pain. I closed my eyes and wept. Jessica stood over me with a camera, grinning. “Imagine if these go viral, Evelyn. What will happen to the ‘prestigious’ Mrs. Sterling then?” “It’s time for a new wife to take the throne.” The last string of my sanity snapped. I lunged at her, dragging her by the hair toward the door. We collided with Zack in the hallway. He looked horrified, then stepped in front of Jessica. “Evelyn! What now?” “Zack, look at me!” I screamed, my voice raw. “She did this to me! She destroyed me! Are you still going to protect her?” Zack grabbed my shoulders, his voice a low growl. “Calm down! Jessica was just upset; she lost control. You’ve hurt her so many times… let’s just call this even.” “Even?” I pushed him away, tears streaming down my face. “What do you mean, even? Becca is dead! I’ve been assaulted! And you call it even?” I couldn’t believe these words were coming from the man I had loved for a decade. The man I had treated as my sanctuary was the one who had sharpened the knife and driven it into my heart. “Evelyn, I didn’t hold you accountable for my mother or for what you did to Jessica. Don’t be so petty. Stop playing the victim. You brought this on yourself.” I laughed, a jagged, terrifying sound, and grabbed Jessica, shoving her into my car. “Then let’s all die together.” I floored the accelerator, weaving through traffic until Zack’s SUV forced me onto the shoulder of a high bridge. I dragged Jessica out and pinned her against the railing. “Go to hell!” “No!” Zack sprinted forward. In his desperation to save Jessica, he lunged at me, his arms extended to shove me away from her. I let his momentum carry me. I didn’t fight it. As I fell backward over the edge, a small, serene smile touched my lips. Zack looked up, his face contorting in slow motion as he watched my body descend into the dark water below.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450733”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve always had a terrifying capacity for survival. It didn’t matter how deep the cut or how shattered the bone; my body simply refused to stay broken. I was a biological miracle, a freak of nature, a man who couldn’t be scarred. Until the woman I loved decided to weaponize it. On the day her adoptive brother turned eighteen, Isabelle didn’t give him a car or a watch. She brought a “specialist” back from a remote retreat in the East and forced a ten-year Soul-Binding Rite upon me. The mechanics were simple and cruel: every ounce of physical pain, every injury, every sickness that should have touched Toby was instantly transferred to me. “It’s an early birthday present for him,” Isabelle had said, her voice as cool as a glass of Sancerre. She explained it with the terrifying logic of the ultra-rich: Toby was reckless, he was adventurous, and above all, he was deathly afraid of pain. Since I was the one who could heal from anything, I would be his human shield for the next decade. She had stroked my cheek then, her touch lingering with a tenderness that felt like a threat. She promised me that once the ten years were up, she’d finally give me what I wanted—a name, a ring, a permanent place by her side. So, I became a ghost in my own skin. When Toby totaled his Porsche over a canyon ledge, my legs snapped into jagged, unrecognizable shapes. When he got into a bar fight with the wrong people and took a dozen stiletto blades to the gut, I felt my own intestines spill out onto the floor of our penthouse. When he went BASE jumping and the chute tangled, my ribs punctured my lungs, and I spent hours drowning in my own blood on a pristine white carpet. Year after year, my flesh rotted and knit back together. My scars opened and closed until I didn’t recognize the man in the mirror. Then came the day she took me to a private research station on the edge of the Arctic Circle. She told me, with that mix of exasperation and indulgence she reserved only for him, that Toby wanted to try under-ice diving without a suit. He wanted to feel the “extremes.” I looked out across the jagged ice. Toby stood there in nothing but a pair of swim trunks, shivering with an adrenaline-fueled grin, looking like a boy who had never known a day of consequence in his life. I was shaking. My body, usually so resilient, was screaming. “Isabelle, I can’t do this,” I whispered. “This isn’t a broken bone. This is total system failure. I won’t hold.” She just reached out and ruffled my hair, the way one might soothe a nervous golden retriever. “Be a good boy, Kit,” she said. “The Rite is almost over. This is the last time. I promise, when we get back to the city, we’ll start planning the wedding.” But there was something she didn’t know. This time, I wasn’t going to heal. And more importantly, I had finally earned enough “Endurance Credits.” I was finally allowed to leave this world behind. … In the distance, the diving instructor hesitated, his breath hitching in the sub-zero air. “Mr. Steven, diving under the shelf without gear… it’s suicide,” he stammered. “What are you worried about? I’ve got a literal fall guy,” Toby snapped, interrupting him with a sneer. He threw a contemptuous glance my way. “As for his pathetic life? That’s not on your tab.” He tossed his oxygen tank into the snow, gave Isabelle a mischievous wink, and plunged into the black, jagged hole in the ice without a second thought. Isabelle let out a soft, indulgent laugh, shaking her head. “That little maniac,” she murmured, her eyes full of a pride that made my stomach turn. To them, this was a thrill. To me, it was the end. My core temperature plummeted instantly. My limbs went numb, then started to burn with a white-hot intensity. My teeth chattered so hard I thought they’d shatter. “Cold… Isabelle, it’s too much… make him come up…” “Just endure it,” she said, her eyes fixed on the dark water where Toby had disappeared. Her expression was soft, dreamy. “It’s his birthday, Kit. Don’t ruin the mood.” “I can’t… I really can’t…” I collapsed onto the ice, my body seizing in a violent spasm. She finally looked at me, her brow furrowing in minor irritation. “Kit, honestly. You’ve never been this dramatic before.” I closed my eyes. I could barely hear her over the roar of the blood in my ears. As Toby dove deeper into the abyss, the sensation of drowning took hold. My throat closed. My lungs felt like they were being filled with molten lead. Inside my mind, I screamed: [System, can I exit now?] The System’s voice sounded uncharacteristically sheepish: [We’ve hit a server upgrade…] [Then at least give me back my healing factor…] The voice grew even smaller: [All functions are suspended during the upgrade. It’ll be five days, minimum. Maybe… try asking Isabelle for help?] I forced a breath into my failing lungs, the sound rasping and wet. “Isabelle… it’s different this time. I’m serious…” I reached out, my frozen fingers catching the hem of her designer coat. “Please. Something’s wrong. If he doesn’t come up… I’m going to die.” She looked down at me, and for a fleeting second, I saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes. But then she looked back at the water. “It is different,” she agreed, her voice hardening. “You’ll just be a little banged up, but this is Toby’s last chance to be truly reckless before he has to grow up. Tell you what—when we get back, I’ll buy you that private island in the Keys you liked. Consider it a wedding gift, okay?” Gifts. It was always gifts. Bespoke suits from Savile Row, rare rubies from Sotheby’s, keys to villas she knew I’d never visit alone. She could see the price of my suffering, but she refused to see the suffering itself. She ignored the grey tint of my skin, the tremors in my hands, the way my voice broke. Healing quickly doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You still have to live through the agony before the skin knits back together. And now, the knitting had stopped. I tried to scream, but when I opened my mouth, a thick, dark slurry of blood erupted. It was heavy, clotted with bits of tissue that shouldn’t have been outside my body. Isabelle’s face finally went pale. “Kit!” She barked orders at her staff, making them pump me full of stimulants and nutrients. “Kit, stay with me. You have to hold on. At least until Toby has had his fun.” I curled into a ball on the ice and laughed, a wet, bubbling sound. She thought I had spent ten years in silence for a promise of marriage. For a title. For her. She didn’t know that my “miracle” was just a tether to a Masochism System. Every trauma I endured for Toby earned me points. I had stayed for the credits, for the chance to buy my way out of this hellscape and back to a reality that made sense. Now, the meter was full. The mission was over. The only thing left was the timer. My heart slowed to a crawl. Just before the darkness took me entirely, I saw Toby’s head break the surface of the water, laughing and invigorated. In my head, the mechanical chime rang: [System Upgrade: 90% Complete.] I woke up in a private wing of the Steven Medical Center. “Your healing factor is gone? Why didn’t you tell me?” Isabelle’s voice was low, laced with a rare, jagged edge of exhaustion. “You’ve been out for three days. The doctors said it was a miracle you survived. I haven’t left your side.” I looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes looked real. The words of resentment died in my throat for a moment. Seeing my silence, she sighed and cupped my gaunt face. “Are we still sulking?” Her thumb brushed against my cracked lip. “Toby is spoiled, I know. I made him that way. But can’t you just let it go? For me?” I dug my nails into my palms. It was always the same. His monstrous behavior was “spoiled.” My near-death was “sulking.” “Don’t worry,” I croaked out. “I’m leaving soon. I won’t be in your way much longer.” “Leaving?” Her brows snapped together. “The wedding invitations are at the printers. Where could you possibly go?” “A wedding?” I let out a dry, hacking laugh. “Do you honestly think your golden boy will allow that?” She paused, her expression softening into patronizing pity. “Oh, so that’s what this is about. You’re jealous.” “Toby is being very mature about this,” she continued softly. “He’s actually very involved in the planning.” As if on cue, Toby burst into the room, clutching a tablet. “Isabelle! I was thinking—what if the wedding theme is ‘Midnight Onyx’? All black. It would be so edgy and chic!” I frowned. Was he planning a wedding or a funeral? But Isabelle just smiled at him. “If you think it works, Toby.” “And the cake! Definitely mango mousse. It’s the best.” I’m deathly allergic to mangoes. Isabelle nodded without a second thought. “Whatever you want, honey.” “I’m tired,” I interrupted. “Go discuss your funeral arrangements elsewhere.” The room went silent. Toby pouted, his lower lip trembling with practiced precision. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t like my ideas?” “Of course he does. Toby has wonderful taste.” Isabelle’s hand moved to Toby’s waist, but her eyes were cold as she looked at me. “Apologize to him, Kit. Or you can find somewhere else to recover.” The last flicker of warmth in my chest went out. I reached up and ripped the IV from the back of my hand, letting the blood well up and drip onto the white sheets. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Toby’s eyes gleamed. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Isabelle, I think he’s lying to you. If his healing powers were really gone, why is he acting so tough? He’s just doing this for attention, isn’t he?” Isabelle’s gaze turned predatory. “Kit, when did you become so manipulative?” “Disobedience requires discipline. You know the rules of this house.” “The cane, or an apology to Toby. Choose.” They just wanted blood. Fine. I picked up the paring knife from the fruit basket on the nightstand. Without a blink, I dragged the blade across my wrist. Deep. The skin parted like silk, and hot, crimson blood sprayed across the sterile white duvet. Toby shrieked and scrambled back. “Are you insane?!” Isabelle’s face transformed, her eyes wide with genuine shock. “Is that apology enough?” my voice was a flat, dead calm. Toby started to whimper. “Isabelle, she just asked for an apology and he does… that? He’s trying to make us look like monsters! He’s terrifying!” He ducked into her arms. “See? I told you he was faking the pain. He didn’t even flinch.” “It’s okay, Toby,” she soothed him, stroking his hair, but the look she gave me was pure ice. “This grandstanding is pathetic. It seems you need a reminder of who you belong to.” “Bring the rod.” They held me down. The heavy rattan cane lashed across my back, over and over. Each strike was a thunderclap of agony. I bit my tongue until I tasted copper, but I didn’t make a sound. When the cane finally snapped, Isabelle tossed the remnants aside. “You’ve had your penance. This subject is closed.” “Tomorrow is the engagement gala. Clean yourself up. Don’t embarrass me again.” She walked out, Toby trailing behind her like a triumphant puppy. In the heavy scent of iron and sweat, I heard the chime. [System Upgrade: 95% Complete.] I lay on the cold floor, a memory surfacing through the haze of pain. Three years ago, I could have left. I had earned enough points back then, but Isabelle had been caught in a corporate ambush—a literal hit. She was clinging to life in an ICU. I had used half my hard-earned credits to buy her a “miracle” recovery. The system had called me an idiot. But back then, I remembered how she had dug me out of a mudslide with her bare hands until her fingernails tore off. I remembered the way she’d drive across the city at 3 AM just to get me the specific soup I liked when I was sick. I remembered the Alpine snow falling on our joined hands. I thought that woman still existed. I was wrong. The snow had melted, and only the dirt remained. I was shaken awake by Isabelle’s security team. “Time for the gala.” I didn’t care about the engagement, but I knew I was leaving soon. It didn’t matter where I spent my final hours. At the hotel ballroom, Toby met us at the door, acting strangely affectionate. “I’ll take Kit to get changed into his suit,” he chirped, grabbing my arm. I pulled away. “I can manage myself.” His face fell instantly. Isabelle shot me a warning look. “He’s trying to be nice, Kit. Don’t be ungrateful.” At her signal, two guards grabbed my shoulders and forced me into the dressing room with Toby. As soon as the door clicked shut, the guards didn’t reach for a suit. They reached for my clothes, tearing them off with brutal efficiency. The bandages on my back were ripped away, taking the fresh scabs with them. I saw spots of black. I was too weak to fight. Someone kicked me in the gut—the same spot where I’d taken the pressure of Toby’s ice dive—and I coughed up a spray of red. Toby leaned down, whispering in my ear with a jagged little smile. “Tonight, Kit, everyone is going to see exactly what you are. A dog.” When they dragged me into the center of the ballroom, the roar of the crowd died instantly into a vacuum of silence. I looked at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was dressed in a costume that stripped away every ounce of dignity. A “beast-man” outfit. Wolf ears pinned to my hair, a harness of sheer black mesh that showed every bruise, and a plush, humiliating tail pinned to the base of my spine. My back was a roadmap of raw, bloody stripes. Toby made a fake gasp, putting a hand to his mouth. “Oh no! I must have grabbed the wrong garment bag! Isabelle is going to be so mad at me!” Isabelle froze for a second, looking at me. Then, she reached out and patted Toby’s hand. “It was an honest mistake, Toby. How could I be mad at you for being stressed?” “But the guests… they’ll think I did it on purpose,” he whined. “They won’t.” Her voice was firm. She grabbed my wrist and hauled me onto the stage. I stumbled, my legs barely holding. Her voice boomed through the microphone, steady and commanding. “Thank you all for coming. As you can see, my fiancé has a rather… adventurous personality. He enjoys a certain level of ‘theatrics’ in his private life, and I choose to respect his kinks. I trust you are all sophisticated enough to understand.” The room erupted in whispers. “The rich really are different. Imagine marrying a slut like that.” “Look at that waist, though… and the tail… God, he’s built for it.” “He’s just a toy. She’ll keep him at home and play elsewhere.” Someone yelled from the back, “What happened to his back, Ms. Steven?” She didn’t flinch. She draped her own blazer over my shoulders. “Foreplay. Let’s leave it at that.” The media went into a frenzy. The flashes were blinding, a rhythmic stabbing against my retinas. I stood there, stripped bare before the world, a hollowed-out shell. And then, the cold, mechanical voice returned. [System Upgrade: 99% Complete.] [Countdown to Extraction initiated…] Once the reporters were cleared out, Isabelle shoved me into a private lounge. Her face was dark with fury. “How long are you going to keep this act up? Are you enjoying the attention?” “You’re making it look like I owe you something. Was this your plan? To humiliate me?” “There is no ‘owing’ anymore, Isabelle,” I said, my voice a ghost of itself. “We’re even. From this moment on, we are strangers.” Isabelle’s eyes narrowed. She grabbed my wrist. “Even? Strangers? Stop talking nonsense. Once we’re married, you’ll have a life people would kill for. You’ll be a Steven.” I looked at her, and the absolute lack of emotion in my eyes seemed to finally unnerve her. “No…” “Enough. Stop being dramatic.” She stood up abruptly, a flash of something—panic?—flickering in her eyes. “I have guests to attend to. Clean yourself up. Stop embarrassing me.” She threw a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic at me and slammed the door. I didn’t touch them. What was the point of healing a body I was about to discard? I lay down on the sofa, waiting for the clock to hit zero. But Toby couldn’t let it go. He pushed the door open, his face twisted in a sneer. “Still playing dead? Give it up. Isabelle is always going to choose me.” “You can marry her, but she’ll always crush you into the dirt the second I ask her to. I own her, Kit.” I didn’t even open my eyes. He lowered his voice, leaning in close. “You want to know a secret? That miscarriage she had two years ago? It wasn’t an accident. I was curious about some ‘herbal’ stimulants I found, and she drank the tea I made. She lost the baby because of me.” My eyes snapped open. “You cried for weeks,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking. “You blamed yourself for not taking care of her. I loved watching that. Isabelle knew, by the way. She just didn’t care enough to punish me.” My blood turned to ice. I remembered her teary eyes, but her immediate command that “no one be held responsible.” “The child wasn’t meant to be, Kit. Let it go. We’ll have others, I promise.” The flowers she bought me daily after that, the sudden trips, the gifts—it wasn’t love. It was a distraction. It was a cover-up for the boy who had killed our child. That child was the only reason I had considered staying. I wanted to leave her a piece of me so she wouldn’t be lonely. “He was innocent,” I hissed through gritted teeth. Toby laughed. “He was a mistake. Just like you.” The rage finally broke through the numbness. I lunged upward and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had left. He didn’t hit me back. Instead, he grabbed the silk curtains and set them alight with a lighter. Then, he grabbed a decorative canister of lighter fluid from the bar and doused the floor. The flames roared to life. Toby screamed. The alarm shrilled, and heavy footsteps approached the door. He looked at me and grinned. “Who do you think she saves first?” I didn’t say a word. I lunged and bit down on his neck, the taste of copper filling my mouth. “What are you doing?!” Isabelle’s voice screamed as the door was kicked open. “Isabelle! He’s crazy! He attacked me, he’s trying to burn me alive! Save me!” Toby wailed, collapsing into her arms. In a heartbeat, a heavy boot slammed into my chest, throwing me backward into the growing inferno. Isabelle held Toby tight, looking at me with a face full of pure, unadulterated loathing. “You want to die that badly?!” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. It didn’t matter. [System Upgrade Complete. Extraction in progress.] [Bonus Feature Triggered: ‘The Unfiltered Truth’.] [Target: Isabelle Steven. All deceptions regarding the host are now being uploaded to her consciousness.] As the fire licked at my skin, Isabelle’s body suddenly went rigid. Her eyes glazed over for a split second. “Wait… Kit… I… I’ll come back for you. Stay there!” She began to drag Toby out, her movements frantic, her face a mask of sudden, jarring confusion. My consciousness began to drift upward. I watched her retreating back through the orange haze and I smiled. There is no “back,” Isabelle. Not for us.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450749”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My family was poor, the kind of poor where we didn’t know where our next meal was coming from. Mom and Dad just holed up at home, refusing to work or earn a dime. I once overheard them talking: “Just endure it a little longer. Once Claire is born, everything will be fine.” Later, my little sister was born. They named her Claire. Overnight, my deadbeat dad founded a company and became a billionaire CEO. My lazy mother suddenly transformed into a sophisticated, highly sought-after socialite. By chance, I overheard another one of their conversations. It turned out my sister was the “female lead”—born to be the undisputed queen of this world. 1 My family was poor, the kind of poor where we’d eat one meal and starve the next. Mom and Dad were the town’s notorious deadbeats. They idled their days away, shamelessly begging for scraps from the neighbors. I still remember one winter, my mom dragged me to Mrs. Gable’s house next door to beg for a casserole, only to get kicked out. My mom cursed all the way home: “Today I’m begging you, but just wait until my Claire is born. You’ll be the ones on your knees begging me!” It wasn’t the first time I had heard something like that. She and Dad kept the phrase “wait until Claire is born” constantly on their lips, muttering it like a mantra. It was as if “Claire being born” possessed some magical power to completely alter our family’s destiny. Even though I was young, I didn’t believe it. Our family was in ruins; how could popping out another baby change anything? But the facts proved them right. 2 My dad, Arthur, said that on the day he and my mom got married, an eccentric fortune teller wandered into town. The man seemed half-crazy, rambling on and on about bizarre things. He claimed that the world we lived in was actually a book. He said their second daughter would be the female lead of this world. Once she was born, our family’s wretched fate would instantly change, because the female lead was destined to grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth. My dad believed him completely. After the wedding, he and Mom continued to slack off at home, refusing to lift a finger. I originally had an older sister. When she was born, they were disgusted that she was a girl—just another useless mouth to feed—so they abandoned her in the woods behind our town. When I was born, they assumed I was the female lead the psychic had prophesied. They treated me decently, but our house remained dirt poor. Until my mom got pregnant again. The very day she found out she was expecting, the county issued a massive commercial buyout notice for our area. Our family owned acres of useless, undeveloped land. Almost instantly, we became the wealthiest family in the county. My dad had a sudden, terrifying realization: the baby in Mom’s belly was the true female lead they had been waiting for all these years. To test his theory, on the day we received the buyout funds, my dad took half his net worth and headed to the casino. A week later, he drove back home in a luxury sports car. He scooped my mom, Fiona, into his arms, practically tossing her into the air. “Fiona! This baby is our savior, our guardian angel! She’s basically my god!” My mom looked at the towering stacks of expensive supplements and designer gifts he had brought back. Pushing out her barely-there pregnant belly, she paraded around the neighborhood for hours. She was positively glowing with arrogant pride. I stared at the yard full of fancy food, reaching out to touch a box here, a tin there. My dad fiercely swatted my hand away. “Greedy brat! This is to nourish your mother’s body. If you starve your little sister, I’ll end you!” My mom’s previously elated mood soured the moment she looked at me. “You useless, unpresentable thing! All of this belongs to your sister. Don’t even think about taking a bite!” With that, she placed her hands on her hips and started ordering my dad around. “You better serve me well! If I get upset, Claire will be the first to punish you for it!” My dad nodded profusely. “Yes, yes, of course!” For the next few months, he waited on her hand and foot. Until it was time for the delivery. My mom had a difficult labor with Claire. She begged my dad to come into the delivery room with her. My dad got a phone call about a massive business deal and walked away. Before leaving, he didn’t forget to literally shove me into the delivery room in his place. He stubbornly refused to authorize a C-section, repeating over and over: “This is our family’s golden goose! She absolutely cannot be touched by a scalpel!” In his ignorance, he was terrified that the surgeon’s knife might accidentally graze Claire. And so, my mom took out all the agonizing pain of childbirth—and all her resentment toward my dad—entirely on me. She grabbed my arm and bit down with everything she had. By the time Claire was finally born, the exhausted doctors and nurses realized that a massive chunk of flesh had been bitten out of my arm. When Mom was wheeled out of the delivery room, my dad scooped up Claire, hovering obsessively by Mom’s bedside. “Look, Fiona! Our precious baby girl. She’s absolutely stunning.” Only I stood shivering at the door of the hospital room, completely lost. I had been so terrified by my mom’s screaming that I had wet my pants, completely forgetting the searing pain in my arm. Smelling dirty and gross, my dad blocked me from entering the room. “Get lost! If you stink up the room for your mom and sister, I’ll skin you alive!” Mom lay weakly on the hospital bed. Dad excitedly explained everything to her. His factory permits had been instantly approved, and he had just signed a multimillion-dollar contract. “Fiona! Claire really is our lucky charm! I just sat at home, and the money practically delivered itself to our doorstep!” “Of course she is. Claire is our family’s greatest hero!” And Claire certainly didn’t disappoint them. From a very young age, she was the most dazzling existence in any room. 3 When I was seven, we moved into a lavish mansion in the city’s most exclusive neighborhood. If Claire snuck out to play, she would miraculously bump into a Wall Street tycoon who would safely escort her home. If she squatted by the front door playing with weeds, a renowned classical oil painter walking by would spot her and immediately take her on as his final apprentice. If she stood up for a homeless kid, she would instantly win the adoration of every child in the neighborhood. Just like Mom and Dad always said, she existed entirely as the main character. Everywhere she went, she sparkled. Because of this, every time my mom looked at me, her face contorted with disgust. “Get away from me! How on earth did I give birth to such an ugly monster!” Claire had porcelain skin and a bright, dazzling smile. I was tanned dark from the sun, horribly frail from malnutrition, and my hair was as dry as straw. Anyone who saw us said we looked absolutely nothing like sisters. Claire was like a little sun, making everyone around her feel warm and comfortable. And I was an out-and-out feral child, a peasant. My very existence was a constant reminder to them of those destitute days, of the humiliating past where they had to beg for scraps with their heads bowed. 4 As a young child, I didn’t understand the complexities of adult emotions. Having nothing else to do, my mom spent her days shopping with her new wealthy friends. She would bring home piles of gorgeous little dresses and hold them up against Claire. She didn’t have much experience shopping for kids yet, so many of the dresses were far too big. I thought they were bought for me. Overjoyed, I put one on and ran up to her, spinning in a circle. “Mom, is it pretty?” What greeted me wasn’t a compliment, but her explosive rage. “Who told you to wear that?! You don’t deserve it!” She frantically ripped the dress off me, her long, manicured nails leaving bloody scratches all over my skin. “Can’t you be a little more sensible? These are your sister’s clothes, and you’re trying to steal them?!” She was completely hysterical. After screaming at me, she turned around and pulled a terrified, crying Claire into her arms, comforting her with absolute tenderness. “There, there, Claire. Mommy’s got you.” As she said it, she didn’t forget to aim a harsh kick at my leg, ordering me back to my room. I was eight years old that year. Claire was three. Stripped down to my underwear, I fought back tears and walked back to my room. In my innocence, I desperately wanted to ask my mom: Since my sister has so many clothes, why couldn’t I just wear this one big dress? Why can’t you spare just a tiny bit of love for me? Just a little bit. But the words died in my throat the moment I saw the sheer, unbridled hatred in her eyes. 5 Once Claire started kindergarten, she was constantly bringing home certificates and gold stars. Whenever that happened, my dad would lift her high into the air or throw her over his broad shoulders, running wildly around the yard while she giggled. Mom would agree to absolutely any request she made. I started studying fiercely. I thought that if I, like Claire, brought home lots of awards, they would definitely be happy too. I wanted to be carried on my dad’s shoulders. His shoulders looked so broad and sturdy; sitting up there had to be incredibly comfortable. I consistently maintained first place in my entire grade. Yet, I never heard a single word of praise from my parents. “What’s the use of good grades? With our family’s wealth, if you have to rely on grades to eat, you’ll be laughed out of town!” At first, I didn’t understand what my dad meant. Then, Claire started taking all sorts of extracurriculars: ballet, piano, classical painting, etiquette classes. She traveled abroad two or three times a year. She had custom-made designer jewelry. Both materially and emotionally, Claire was raised like royalty. Meanwhile, when I was so hungry I stole a pack of expired cookies from the trash and was caught and beaten half to death, she just blinked her innocent, huge eyes and asked, “Sister, there are expensive imported truffles in the kitchen. Why don’t you go eat those?” That pack of expired cookies had been tossed in the garbage bin. I was so desperately hungry that I dug them out. Since they were individually wrapped, even though they were expired, they still tasted sweet and milky—a hundred times better than the sour, spoiled leftovers I used to beg for back in the old neighborhood. When Mom heard from Claire that I was digging through the trash, she grabbed me by the hair without a word of explanation and slapped me across the face, left and right. “Why can’t you learn how to behave?! Eat, eat, eat, are you the reincarnation of a starving ghost?!” She hit me so hard that after a few slaps, my right ear exploded in agonizing pain. I cried and begged for mercy. “Stop hitting me, stop hitting me! I won’t eat them anymore, I won’t eat them anymore!” “Chloe, are you trying to piss me off to death?!” “Get the hell back to your room!!!” Claire trotted over, hugging Mom’s leg to comfort her. “Mommy, don’t be mad. Claire loves you!” Watching this beautiful picture of maternal love, I stumbled back to my bedroom. My ear hurt like hell, but I didn’t dare beg her to take me to a doctor. Later that evening, the housekeeper came into my room to pass on a message. Because of my “disgraceful behavior” of digging through the trash, Mom ordered me to reflect on my actions. No dinner allowed. “Madam said if she doesn’t teach you a lesson, you’ll never learn.” She muttered a bunch of other things, but my ear was in such excruciating pain I couldn’t hear her clearly. Before she finally left, she spat hard on my floor. “You really think you’re some rich young lady? You’re absolutely nothing!” That night, starving and in agony, I didn’t even know how I eventually passed out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450765”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A bone-deep chill swept through me, settling into my marrow. In that moment of clarity, I realized the man I truly needed to find—the real father of my child—was the last person I ever wanted to see. The fuse for this explosion was lit at a high-school reunion dinner, where my husband, Mark, had spent the last hour treating me like a sideshow attraction. He’d had too much bourbon, his arm draped possessively yet dismissively over the back of my chair as he described my “genetic gifts” to a table of leering men. He boasted about my “maternal constitution,” claiming my breast milk was a miracle elixir—part beauty secret, part performance enhancer for men who wanted to “regain their edge.” The table erupted. Drunk on expensive scotch and toxic entitlement, the men began to hoot and holler, demanding to see the “liquid gold” for themselves. That’s when Tinsley, Mark’s lifelong “best friend” and the woman who had been a thorn in my side since our wedding day, stood up. She swirled her wine, a predatory glint in her eyes as she sauntered over to me. “Andie, sweetie, Mark shows us the photos of you pumping every day,” she purred, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “He says we’re all family, so there’s no harm in sharing. I have to say, those pictures are… quite provocative.” She turned to Mark, her tone shifting to a playful, mocking lilt. “Why don’t we let the boys have a taste of the real thing? A live auction for a fresh bottle. Who’s the highest bidder, Mark? Where do we start the opening price for your wife’s… services?” The room dissolved into a roar of crude laughter. Tinsley stood there, basking in the attention, waiting for Mark to shut it down. Instead, Mark took the glass from her hand, his expression unreadable. “Drinking isn’t good for your health, Tins. I’ll finish this for you.” Then, he leaned back, his eyes cold as they landed on me. “It’s all in good fun, right? Let’s start the bidding at a penny.” … 1 “Looking at those photos, it’s not just the milk—the wife is a total knockout!” “Mark, you lucky bastard. No wonder you’re always so full of energy.” “A penny for a miracle cure? Count me in for the charity drive!” “I’m gonna bid high, take it home, and pretend my old lady looks like Andie for once…” The sounds of their muffled, greasy laughter scraped against my eardrums like sandpaper. I sat there, frozen, watching the scene play out like a car crash in slow motion. Tinsley was practically sitting in Mark’s lap now. She’d pick up a piece of food she didn’t like, take a tiny bite, and then drop the remains into Mark’s bowl. Without a second thought, Mark would pick it up and eat it. It was a small gesture, but it cut deeper than the insults. When we first started dating, Mark told me he was a germaphobe. He said he couldn’t stand the thought of “bodily fluids.” On the night of our first kiss, he made me use antiseptic mouthwash three times before he’d let his lips graze mine for a fraction of a second. He had maintained that cold, sterile distance for years. But with Tinsley, the rules didn’t apply. “Andie, why are you just sitting there?” Tinsley asked, her voice cutting through the noise. “You’re the girl who’d do anything for Mark, right? Everyone knows the story—how you have a paralyzing fear of heights, but the moment Mark said he’d only marry a woman who’d skydive with him, you jumped without a second thought. This is just a little game.” “Yeah, don’t be a buzzkill,” one of the men added. “If Tinsley hadn’t told us to call you ‘Mrs. Dalton,’ we wouldn’t even know who you were.” “Tinsley was always the one meant for that seat,” another voice muttered, loud enough for me to hear. “If you hadn’t snuck your way in…” The malicious whispers were cut short when Tinsley glanced at Mark with a look of practiced modesty. “Stop it, guys,” she sighed, though her eyes were dancing. “Even if I do send Mark my bikini photos every night to help him… ‘unwind,’ Andie is still his wife. I’m just his little sister. That’s all I’ll ever be.” The longing in her voice was palpable. Mark reached out and placed a bowl of hand-peeled shrimp in front of her. “If they want to speak the truth, let them. In this circle, Tinsley, your word is law.” The men exchanged knowing smirks. Under the table, my fingernails dug into my palms until I drew blood. She’s just a sister, Andie. She’s high-strung, she’s a tomboy, you need to be more understanding. That had been Mark’s mantra for three years. Today, the lie finally fell apart. Tinsley reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a breast pump. “Well, Andie? Since you’re being shy, let me help you.” She reached for the collar of my silk blouse, her movements aggressive. I shoved her away instinctively. Tinsley let out a sharp cry, stumbling back and falling perfectly into Mark’s waiting arms. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, then shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. Mark’s face contorted with disgust as he shielded Tinsley. “Andie, have you lost your mind? It was a joke! A game!” “She’s my sister,” he hissed. “The least you could do is show her some respect.” Sister. The word tasted like ash. “Since you’re so reluctant to play along with Tinsley’s kindness,” Mark said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register, “we’ll skip the pump. We’ll just go straight to the auction. Highest bidder gets it fresh, right from the source. After all, you’re so ‘generous’ with me, what’s the difference doing it in front of the boys?” He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Opening bid: one cent.” 2 “I’ll bid five cents!” one man shouted, leaning forward. “After all, when I was short on cash for that merger, Andie emptied her personal trust to lend me five million. She hasn’t even asked for it back. It’s the least I can do!” “Ten cents!” another yelled. “Mark gave me the rights to that downtown development project—the one worth a hundred million—just for being a ‘good brother.’” My heart stopped. That land… Mark had told me his company was on the verge of bankruptcy. He said he needed that deed to save the Dalton legacy. I had poured every cent of my own company, Becket Global, into securing that bid, only to hand it to him on a silver platter. He told me we lost the bid to a competitor. He didn’t lose it. He gave it away to his drinking buddies. “That’s nothing,” a third man laughed, his voice oily. “Mark gave me the deed to that private cemetery plot—the one where Andie’s father is buried. We cleared out the old man and the rest of her ancestors last week. Dug ’em up and tossed ’em in a ditch somewhere out in the sticks. For that kind of friendship, I’ll bid a whole dollar. But not a penny more. She isn’t worth the extra change.” The room erupted in a bidding war of insults. Tinsley giggled, leaning her head against Mark’s shoulder, watching me bleed out emotionally. She stood up slowly, her eyes locking onto mine. “Since everyone wants a taste, I shouldn’t be the villain. Why don’t we just forgo the bidding and let everyone share? Andie is such a ‘giving’ person, I’m sure she won’t mind.” She looked back at Mark with a playful wink. I was shaking so hard the water glass in my hand shattered against the floor. The sound was like a gunshot. I looked at the man I had loved, the man who had sat silently through this entire nightmare. “Mark,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Are you really okay with this?” Mark frowned, but when Tinsley gave his hand a little squeeze, his expression hardened into a mask of indifference. “Why not? If it wasn’t for that ‘heirship contract’ you signed with my mother, Tinsley would be the one standing here. You’ve given me the child. But you haven’t even begun to pay back what you took from her.” Took from her? If his mother hadn’t drugged me and locked me in a room with him, I would never have been in this position. And Mark hadn’t been drugged. He knew exactly what he was doing that night. I fought back tears, my jaw aching from the tension. “Mark, your mother told me the company was failing. She told me I was signing a medical release for your surgery. She said she’d only sign the consent forms for your life-saving operation if I stayed and took care of you.” Mark’s face stiffened for a split second, a flicker of unease crossing his eyes, before he shouted over me. “Lies! All of it! This is just another one of your schemes to drive a wedge between me and Tinsley. When I was in that accident, Tinsley was the one who paid the bills! You were out spending the money my mother got from liquidating the company! You drugged me to get pregnant and secure your spot in this family. Tinsley is the only one who ever defended you, and now I see exactly who the monster is.” His gaze softened as he looked at Tinsley, then turned back to me, frigid. “My child will be raised by a woman like Tinsley. As for you and that little brat… you can both rot for all I care.” Tinsley stiffened slightly at the mention of the baby. Her voice turned unnaturally sweet. “Mark, the baby is innocent. He’s yours, after all. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. But… with Andie’s ‘unstable’ mental state, I worry she might hurt him in private. If it were me…” She let the sentence hang, heavy with implication. I knew what she wanted. Tinsley was infertile; she wanted my son to complete her image of the perfect life. And Mark’s mother wanted my bloodline to inherit Becket Global. They wanted the money, the legacy, and the child—but they wanted me gone. “Andie,” Mark said, his voice flat. “For the sake of the boy, you’re handing him over to Tinsley. Only a woman as pure as her can raise a son of mine to be a decent man.” 3 I felt the blood drain from my face. My legs felt like lead. The men were still circling, waiting for their “prize.” I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper. “And what if Toby… what if he isn’t yours, Mark? What if he’s only mine?” The words were lost in the roar of the room. Mark saw my lips move, and for a moment, a flash of genuine terror crossed his face. Tinsley, sensing the shift, took a jade bracelet from her wrist and dropped it. Clink. The pale green stone shattered into two pieces on the hardwood floor. My heart stopped. That was my mother’s bracelet—the only thing she gave me before she died. I remembered her thin, frail hand clutching mine in the hospital, her eyes burning with a final, desperate light. “Andie, if you’re ever in trouble, send this to 187 East Bay. Keep it safe. Promise me!” I had kept it in a biometric safe. Only two people knew the code. The coldness in the room turned into a blizzard. “Oops!” Tinsley cried, feigning shock. “I’m so clumsy. Mark said this was just some piece of junk he found, so I thought I’d play with it. Now that it’s broken, I guess it belongs in the trash. You don’t mind, do you, Andie?” I dropped to my knees, gathering the shards. The sharp edges sliced into my fingers, but I didn’t feel the pain. I just held them tight. Mark’s eyes flickered to my bleeding hands, but Tinsley’s voice pulled him back. She pointed at the front of my blouse, where my milk was starting to leak through the silk—a physical reaction to the stress and the thought of my baby. “Look! She can’t wait!” Tinsley laughed. “I won’t keep the boys waiting any longer. Let’s see how ‘miraculous’ she really is.” Mark looked at me, a flash of genuine revulsion crossing his face at the sight of my damp clothes. The men began to close in like wolves. I scrambled back, pulling my phone from my pocket. I’d been dialing a number for twenty minutes. It finally connected. I threw the phone onto the table in front of Mark. “You love being ‘Mr. Dalton,’ don’t you, Mark? But let’s remind everyone who owns the chair you’re sitting in. Becket Global is 99% mine. And your mother is on the line.” Mark froze at the sight of the caller ID. He picked it up with trembling hands. The background noise of a high-stakes bridge game on the other end went silent. “Mother?” “Get home. NOW,” a sharp, authoritative voice barked through the speaker. At least, in this one moment, Beatrice Dalton would protect what was hers—the “propriety” of her family name. Mark’s face was a study in repressed rage, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. In total silence, flanked by a smug Tinsley and a phalanx of disappointed men, we left. The moment we stepped into the Dalton manor, Beatrice was there, a forced smile on her face. She pulled me toward the dining table, her voice thick with maternal manipulation. “Andie, dear. Your mother and I were best friends. She wanted this marriage for you. She wanted you to have a good life with Mark.” She leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “Mark is a successful man. There are temptations everywhere. If a woman can’t hold her husband’s heart, what use is she? And Tinsley… she’s like a daughter to me. You need to stop being so paranoid. It’s unseemly. Mark saved your life once; you should be showing him your gratitude.” “A man is the head of the house, Andie. You need to lean on him. And since you aren’t doing anything with those shares, you should transfer them to Mark. Prove to him that you’re a devoted wife.” Mark sat to the side, looking like a pouting child. Beatrice kicked his leg under the table, and he looked away with a huff. 4 I stayed silent. But a different kind of silence was bothering me. The house was too quiet. Beatrice kept talking, her voice droning on until… “Andie, if you won’t think of yourself, think of the baby. Do you really want him raised by a mother who’s a—” The baby. Toby was usually a whirlwind of noise by this time. He should have been crying for a feeding. My stomach dropped. I sprinted toward the nursery and threw open the door. My vibrant, happy boy was lying in his crib, his breathing shallow, his face swollen and red. I gathered him into my arms, his tiny body limp. As I turned to run, I collided with Mark in the doorway. I fell to the floor, curling my body around Toby to protect him. “Mark, please!” I screamed, looking up at him with pure desperation. “Take him to the hospital! Something is wrong!” Beatrice stood behind Mark, placing a hand on his shoulder, pulling back the hand he had instinctively reached out toward me. “Mark, a house needs order,” she said coldly. “Andie was very disrespectful tonight. She needs to learn her place.” She looked down at me, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “I gave him a little peanut butter before you got back. Just a taste. I figured a little ‘lesson’ would remind you who runs this house. It’s just a minor allergy, Andie. Stop being dramatic.” “A minor allergy?” I gasped. Toby was gasping for air. “He’s anaphylactic, you monster!” “Mark,” Beatrice said firmly. “Think of how much Tinsley has suffered because of this woman.” Mark looked at me, then at his mother. Slowly, he withdrew his hand. The hesitation in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, stony resolve. I gathered every ounce of strength I had and tried to bolt past them, but Mark blocked the way. He shoved me back into the nursery and locked the door from the outside. I screamed. I begged. I threw myself against the wood until my shoulders were bruised and my voice was gone. Mark stood on the other side, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass, silent and unmoving. When the house finally went quiet, I heard his footsteps fade away. I slumped against the door, my heart shattered. Toby’s tiny hand reached out from his swaddle, feebly grasping my finger. Even in his distress, his little face tried to form a weak, innocent smile, as if trying to comfort me. I looked at my son, his life slipping away, and I looked at the large floor-to-ceiling window. I stripped the silk curtains and the heavy bedding, knotting them together into a makeshift rope. I strapped Toby to my chest with my scarf and climbed out into the night. I hit the ground hard. I didn’t realize I’d lost my shoes until I was running down the asphalt of the gated community, my bare feet bleeding. I flagged down the first car I saw. The window rolled down, revealing a sharp, elegant jawline and a pair of eyes that seemed to see right through me. He looked at me, then at the baby in my arms. “Miss Becket?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone. “What happened?” Before I could answer, he was out of the car. He didn’t ask questions. He took Toby from my arms and sprinted to the passenger side. “Get in. Now.” At the hospital, he was a blur of motion, carrying my son into the ER while I stumbled behind him. I waited outside the ICU, clutching the business card he had pressed into my hand before he stepped away to handle the paperwork. Zavier Knight. Watching Toby through the glass, hooked up to a dozen tubes, a tidal wave of fury rose within me. If they wanted a war, I would give them a massacre. I pulled out my phone and sent a single encrypted message. Then, after a moment of hesitation, I put the broken shards of the jade bracelet into an envelope and addressed it to the address my mother had given me years ago. 187 East Bay. The next morning, every official social media account for Becket Global posted the same message: “Celebrating the return of our CEO. We are giving away $1 million to 100 random followers who share this post. The Queen is back.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450734”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A line of glowing text drifted across my vision, shimmering like a glitch in the air: She’s been through three lifetimes and she still hasn’t realized her mother is faking the illness. I froze. Today was the morning of the National Merit Finals—the single most important day of my academic life. And yet, here I was, locked in my own bedroom. My mother was having another “episode.” She claimed her prosopagnosia—her face blindness—had flared up again. She screamed that I wasn’t her daughter; she claimed I was her mother-in-law, the woman who had tormented her for years. “I won’t let you out to hurt me again!” she shrieked through the heavy wood of the door. “Stay in there, you old hag!” I hammered on the door, my voice cracking. “Mom, it’s me! It’s Julie! I have to leave for the exam right now. Please, Mom, look at me!” But she just kept muttering to herself, a rhythmic, terrifying chant about how she had to protect herself. Desperation clawed at my throat. I looked at the third-story window, actually considering the jump. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done this. Years ago, on the day of my Ivy League prep camp interview, she’d caught me at the door. That time, she’d “mistaken” me for my father’s mistress. She’d lunged at me, tearing at my blazer, screaming that I was a home-wrecker. She’d dragged me by my hair, her sharp, manicured nails digging into my cheeks, leaving two deep scars that took months to fade. I’d always forgiven her. Because she was sick. Because when the “episodes” passed, she would collapse in tears, cradling me and whispering, “I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy is so sorry she breaks down when you need her most…” 1 I stood in the center of my room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Faking? It couldn’t be. Ever since my father left, Linda had been fragile, drifting in and out of reality. But that text… it was still there, floating in the air like a live social media feed only I could see. I shook my head violently, trying to clear the hallucination. Stress. It had to be the stress. I looked up, and the text scrolled faster. [It’s already 7:30. At this rate, she’s just going to jump again. What a waste.] [The first two times she jumped, she hit the pruned hedges downstairs. Ended up paralyzed from the waist down. Spent the rest of her life in a wheelchair.] I lurched back from the window as if the glass had turned red-hot. I couldn’t jump. I couldn’t risk the hedges. I turned back to the door, my palms bleeding from where I’d bitten them. “Mom! It’s the finals! I am not Grandma! You’re confused!” I screamed. “I spent a whole extra year studying for this after the ‘accident’ last year. Open the door!” The text accelerated into a blur. [Why is she still begging? Is she serious?] [Linda’s acting is top-tier. If I didn’t have the bird’s-eye view, I’d be fooled too.] [She doesn’t even know that the ‘accident’ last year—getting stuck in the elevator for twenty-four hours—was Linda’s handiwork.] [Think about it, Julie. Who gets face blindness only during life-changing moments? Who mistakes their own daughter for a mistress? Only a naive kid would buy this.] My hand, raised to strike the door again, went limp. The hair on my arms stood up. The elevator. Last year. I had missed the exams because I was trapped in a metal box between the fourth and fifth floors of our building. I’d screamed until my throat bled, but no one came. [Linda saw the ‘Out of Order’ sign. She tore it off and watched the elevator doors close on her daughter. She heard her screaming and just… went to get a latte.] [And when she was finally ‘rescued,’ Linda just said she’d been at her sister’s place. Total lie.] The world seemed to tilt. I remembered the maintenance man’s face when the firefighters finally pried the doors open. He had been muttering, “I know I taped the warning sign right there…” I’d thought I was just unlucky. A cold, oily sensation washed over me. I remembered when my father offered to pay for me to study in London. Linda had thrown a fit, saying she couldn’t bear to be apart from me. I thought it was love. I let out a sharp, jagged laugh. It wasn’t love. It was a cage. She didn’t want me to have a future. She wanted me right here, under her thumb, broken. I looked at the clock. 07:50. The exam started in seventy minutes. The testing center was across town. I backed up to the far wall, my eyes fixed on the old mahogany door. I tucked my shoulder, gathered every ounce of rage and betrayal I possessed, and charged. CRACK. My shoulder screamed in protest, but I didn’t stop. CRACK. THUD. On the third hit, the frame splintered. I burst into the hallway, stumbling into the light. 2 Linda was standing by the foyer, a look of pure, cold shock crossing her face before she quickly masked it with a mask of trembling terror. “You!” she gasped, shrinking back. “You old witch! What are you doing out of your room?” [Look at her. Award-winning performance.] [Good luck, Julie. You’re dealing with a pro.] I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I reached up and wiped a stray tear with the back of my hand, my eyes hard as flint. I didn’t have time to process the trauma. Not yet. I ducked back into my room to grab my bag. I’d left my ID and my admission ticket right in the center of my desk last night. The desk was empty. I tore through my drawers, threw my books on the floor, my heart rate spiking. They were gone. And for the first time, I didn’t need a floating text to tell me where they were. I walked back into the living room. Linda was still cowering in the corner, playing the victim. “Where are they?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “My ID. My ticket.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, you hag—” “Stop it,” I snapped. “The act is over, Linda. If you really thought I was Grandma, why would you steal a high schooler’s ID? Does Grandma have a National Merit ticket? Does she?” Linda froze. The “fear” drained from her face, replaced by a cold, vacuous expression that made her look like a stranger. Then, she let out a dry, mocking snort. “Well,” she said, her voice perfectly normal. “If you’re so smart that you figured it out, why don’t you go find them yourself?” My fists clenched so hard my nails drew blood. We lived in a three-bedroom apartment filled with twenty years of clutter. I had sixty minutes. She was playing a game with my life. The wall clock ticked. 08:00. I was shaking, a primal urge to scream rising in my chest. Linda didn’t care. She sat down on the velvet sofa, picked up the remote, and turned on a morning talk show. She reached for a bowl of almonds and started snacking. “Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, eyes on the TV. “I just thought you were looking a little too stressed. Too tense. I wanted to give you a little break. I took the papers, sure.” I took a step toward her. “Where. Are. They.” She popped an almond into her mouth and chewed slowly. “I honestly don’t remember where I put them. Somewhere safe.” I grabbed her wrist, my vision tunneling. “Mom! Stop this! This is my life! Just tell me where they are!” A frantic pounding at the front door broke the tension. I ran to open it. Standing there, drenched in sweat and looking frantic, was my father. “Julie? Why aren’t you at the center?” Thomas gasped. “I’ve been waiting outside the gates since seven. I thought… after last year… I thought something happened.” Seeing him, the dam finally broke. I sobbed, pointing at Linda. “She took them, Dad! She locked me in my room and hid my ID and my ticket! She won’t let me go!” My father’s face turned a shade of purple I’d never seen. He stepped into the room and towered over the sofa. “Linda! I’ve put up with your’ episodes’ for fifteen years for the sake of our daughter, but this is the line. This is her future! What the hell is wrong with you?” The moment he attacked, Linda’s “calm” evaporated into a screeching fury. “Oh, here we go! The two of you ganging up on me! After everything I’ve sacrificed? I gave up my youth to raise this girl, and all I get is a husband who cheats and a daughter who turns on me!” “I’m going to kill myself! I’ll do it right now!” 3 She made a theatrical dash toward the wall, as if to throw herself against it. I turned pale and moved to stop her, but my father held me back. He looked at her with a weary, soul-crushing disgust. “Linda, enough,” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly quiet. “You can scream, you can cry, you can play the martyr. I stayed away because I thought you were at least a good mother. I thought that despite our mess, you loved her.” “We’ll stay,” he continued, glancing at the clock. 08:10. “If she misses this, she’ll stay in-state for college. She’ll stay right here with you. Is that what you want? To ruin her just to keep her?” Linda stopped her histrionics. She sat back down, smoothing her hair. “If she misses it, she can just retake it next year,” she muttered. “What’s the big deal?” I felt a hollow, aching despair. I wanted to hit her. I wanted to scream until the windows shattered. My father saw the look on my face. He turned back to Linda, his voice like ice. “Linda, if Julie doesn’t make it to that exam today, the five thousand dollars a month in alimony? Gone. I will burn that money before I give you another cent. I’ll tie you up in court for the next ten years. You won’t get a dime.” That hit home. Linda’s lifestyle was expensive—the designer bags, the daily trips to the spa, the high-end hair salons. She spent money like water, yet somehow my five-hundred-dollar textbook fees were always “too much.” She faltered, her eyes darting around. “I… I really did lose them. I hid them and I don’t remember where…” My knees went weak. I felt like I was falling. “I didn’t do it on purpose!” she whined. “Why is everyone being so mean?” My father growled, “Don’t expect another penny from me.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Mrs. Adler, my honors advisor. “Julie? Where are you? The doors are opening, and you’re the only one not checked in.” I broke down, the words tumbling out through my tears. “Mrs. Adler, I can’t find my ID. My mother… they’re gone. I don’t know what to do.” I expected a lecture. I expected her to tell me it was over. Instead, her voice was calm. “Julie, listen to me. Get down here right now. The state changed the regulations this year. We have an on-site verification system for emergency lost documents. As long as I can vouch for your identity and we have your digital record, we can issue a provisional pass. But you have to be here before the final bell.” “Really?” I wiped my eyes, a spark of hope igniting in my chest. I didn’t look at Linda. I grabbed my pens and ran. When we reached the elevator, I saw the silver doors and felt a phantom sensation of suffocation. I veered toward the stairs. “The stairs, Dad. We’re taking the stairs.” He didn’t ask why. He just ran with me. 08:18 We made it to the testing center in record time, my father driving like a man possessed. Mrs. Adler was waiting by the gate. “Most students don’t know about the emergency policy,” she whispered as she rushed me toward the administration office. “We don’t broadcast it because we don’t want kids being careless, but for a student like you? We make it work.” In ten minutes, I had a temporary pass in my hand. Mrs. Adler walked me to the door of the hall. “Go get ’em, Julie. Show them what you’re made of.” I turned to thank her, but a commotion at the security gate stopped me. My mother was there, breathless, her face contorted. “Wait! Officer! I need to report something!” My father’s face fell. I felt a cold dread settle in my stomach. Linda pointed a trembling finger at me. “I’m her mother! I have to tell the truth! Julie is planning to cheat! She has notes hidden in her clothes!” The crowd of parents waiting outside fell silent. All eyes turned to me—judgmental, suspicious, shocked. Linda sobbed, her voice carrying across the lawn. “Julie, honey, I love you, but I can’t let you do this! Success means nothing if you steal it! Please, give the officers the notes!” Before I could move, she lunged forward, reaching into the pocket of my hoodie and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “See! Look! These are her cheat sheets!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450750”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Right after the final AP exams, a local news reporter interviewed the first student to walk out of the testing center. While the school’s top student smiled at the camera and said this year’s questions weren’t too hard, I walked out right behind him, my face pale, clutching my stomach, and wiping away tears. This starkly contrasting image was screenshotted by netizens and became the internet’s newest viral meme for exam season: “The Smiling Valedictorian and the Crying Slacker.” The comments section was ruthless: “The smiling nerd in the front is so handsome, and the crying slacker in the back really knows how to put on a tragic show.” Me: Gee, thanks a lot. Y’all are so sweet for complimenting my crying skills. 01 During the two days of our final exams, my period hit me like a truck. After the very last subject, my classmates couldn’t wait to throw a massive senior wrap party. Because I was in agonizing pain, I skipped it. As a result, a rumor spread like wildfire that I had bombed the exams so badly I had a mental breakdown and couldn’t even show my face at the party. 02 I slept like the dead at home all night, completely oblivious to the drama. The next morning, I went to school for yearbook signing and senior photos, only to find everyone looking at me with weird, pitying eyes. I didn’t care much, though, because I had something far more important to do today. I was eagerly looking for Ethan Cole. We had made a promise that once finals were over, we would officially start dating. But when I finally found him, he was tucked away in a corner of the hallway, kissing my desk-mate, Hailey Morgan. Their eyelashes fluttered, their cheeks were flushed, and the kiss looked incredibly tender and sweet. Seeing this, my brain instantly short-circuited. After all, just two days ago, Ethan had texted me. He wrote: “Riley, just thinking about you becoming my girlfriend in two days keeps me up at night! I won’t let you down. Let’s meet at the top!” Had the world really spun off its axis in just forty-eight hours? 03 I stood frozen in place. For a second, I didn’t know if I should march up and slap him, or just turn around and walk away. If I slapped him, I didn’t entirely have the moral high ground. Even though the whole senior class knew Ethan and I liked each other, technically, we weren’t officially together yet. But just walking away made my blood boil. While I was hesitating, Ethan spotted me. He instinctively shoved Hailey away and sprinted over to me, looking panicked. “Riley, listen to me, I can explain.” I crossed my arms and sneered. “Go ahead. I’m listening.” How could he possibly spin this into something acceptable? Ethan opened his mouth, seeming to realize how absurd his next words were going to sound. But he said them anyway. “At the wrap party yesterday, you didn’t show up, and Hailey confessed her feelings to me.” I replied that I didn’t go yesterday, and he didn’t even bother to text me once. Turns out, he was busy getting confessed to. I clenched my fists. “And then you two got together?” “No, I didn’t say yes,” Ethan said in a low voice. “She got drunk yesterday and kissed me. Today, she asked me to return that kiss to her so she could have closure, which is why I…” I was dumbfounded. I stared at Ethan. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” Ethan shook his head, offering a bitter smile. “No, I’m telling the truth. Honestly, my head is a total mess right now.” “You don’t need to be conflicted,” Hailey suddenly spoke up from the side. She walked up to me, her voice hoarse. “I was drunk and out of line yesterday when I kissed Ethan. Today, I practically begged him to return the kiss. None of this is his fault. He’s just too much of a gentleman. Don’t blame him.” I was utterly speechless. After delivering her lines, Hailey wiped the tears from her face and smiled tragically at Ethan. “Thank you for letting me leave high school with no regrets. My crush on you ends here. I wish you happiness, Ethan.” With that, Hailey choked back a sob and walked away. Ethan looked at me, then looked at Hailey’s retreating, weeping figure. He gritted his teeth and said, “I’m sorry, Riley. Wait for me, I’ll explain everything properly later.” Then he actually chased after Hailey, leaving me standing alone in the wind. 04 By the time my best friend Savannah Mitchell ran over, I was still standing there like a statue. She practically tackled me, almost knocking me to the floor. Savannah grabbed my shoulders, shaking me back and forth, sobbing loudly. “Riley, you idiot, what happened?! How could you drop the ball at the most critical moment of your life? Waaaah!” I looked at Savannah in confusion. She was genuinely bawling, massive tears rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto the floor. “I know you’re hurting the most right now, and I should be comforting you, but I just can’t hold it in! I’m so sad! Riley, you jerk, you’re usually so arrogant and confident! How could you bomb the finals? You total failure, waaaah!” In no time, Savannah had soaked the shoulder of my shirt with her tears. I looked at her scrunched-up, crying face. “Sav, stop howling. Who told you I bombed the exams? I did perfectly fine.” I pulled out a tissue and wiped her face. Savannah pouted. “Really? Then why didn’t you answer any of my calls last night?!” “I was exhausted after the tests. I went home, skipped dinner, and crashed. I didn’t hear my phone.” Savannah looked at me with red eyes. “Then… did you actually finish the AP Calculus section? Did you write real answers?” I nodded. “I finished the whole thing. I answered everything seriously and even had thirty minutes left over to check my work.” Savannah’s lips curled up into a wobbly smile, but then she frowned again. “But last night, Hailey said you looked awful after the math exam. She said you told her the test was incredibly hard, that you only knew the multiple-choice, and you guessed on all the free-response questions.” “Hailey said that?” Savannah nodded. “She announced it in front of the whole class at the party! Also, you haven’t been on social media since yesterday, right? A news crew caught you on camera. You went viral.” I was completely lost. “What are you talking about?” I only missed one party. How did a whole season of television drama happen in one night? Seeing my blank face, Savannah pulled out her phone and showed me a video. In the video, a reporter was interviewing the first student out of the testing center. I knew the guy—Carter Hayes from Class 2, the genius who was constantly battling me for the #1 rank in our grade. Because Carter was incredibly good-looking, the video had blown up online. While Carter was smiling at the camera saying the exam wasn’t that difficult, I walked out in the background, my face pale, clutching my stomach, and wiping away tears. Someone took a screenshot of this dramatic contrast, creating the ultimate meme: “The Smiling Valedictorian and the Crying Slacker.” The comments were wild: “The smiling nerd in the front is so handsome, and the crying slacker in the back really knows how to put on a tragic show.” Me: Gee, thanks a lot. Y’all are so sweet for complimenting my crying skills.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450766”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel