Category: English

1 At the party, my girlfriend lost a round of Truth or Dare. The crowd immediately started chanting, egging her on to list ten of my childhood best friend’s greatest qualities. Lyla didn’t even hesitate. “He’s outgoing, handsome, in great shape, and knows exactly how to charm people,” she said, her voice bright. “He’s always smiling, has high emotional intelligence, is incredibly capable, and has impeccable taste. Oh, and he really knows how to make people happy.” In the next round, Alan smiled and turned the question back to her. “What about Miles? What are Miles’s best qualities, Lyla?” Lyla looked at me, pausing for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, she only offered a single word. “Dependable.” Someone laughed to break the sudden tension. “And? What else?” Lyla frowned, looking as if she were thinking incredibly hard. But after a long silence, she couldn’t find a second thing to say. In the middle of that awkward quiet, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Lyla and I had been together for seven years, and our wedding was scheduled for next week. Yet, after racking her brain, the only positive thing she could say about me was that I was dependable. This time, I didn’t want to be the dependable one anymore. … I stood up to leave, but someone slammed their hand on the table, laughing. “Don’t go yet, Miles! One last round!” “Let’s play something spicy. Let’s see who has the most chat history with whom on WhatsApp.” Alan chuckled, sliding his unlocked phone onto the center of the table. “Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing to hide.” But when the data popped up on the screen, the room went dead silent. The person Lyla messaged the most wasn’t me, her fiancé. It was Alan. Someone let out a forced, nervous laugh. “Well, look at that. Lyla and Alan sure talk a lot.” Alan blinked, his tone light and breezy. “Well, Miles is just so mature, you know? He handles everything on his own. Lyla gets stressed out sometimes and needs someone to talk to.” As he spoke, he carelessly scrolled through the screen, accidentally revealing a snippet of their chat history. Lyla’s text popped up: Miles is nagging about the wedding schedule again. He’s so rigid. Alan’s reply: He’s just too uptight. Unlike me. I think a wedding should just be fun and relaxed. Lyla: That’s why talking to you is so much easier. My fingers tightened around my glass. A second later, another exchange slid into view. Lyla: Miles is wearing that white shirt again today. Does he really think he looks good in white? Alan: Don’t be mean. But yeah, it’s not really his vibe. Too plain. Lyla: Yeah, you’d look much better in it. The room was completely silent now. I stood there, feeling as though something were choking me. A sharp, stinging ache spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe. All my quiet anticipation, all the nervousness I had felt while trying on my wedding suit, were nothing more than gossip for Lyla to mock with Alan. Alan walked over, casually putting an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t be mad, Miles.” “If Lyla were talking to anyone else like this, I’d yell at her for you. But I’m your best friend.” He tilted his head, his expression completely innocent. “I’m just keeping an eye on her for you. Isn’t that a good thing?” I stared at Alan’s hand resting on my shoulder. On his wrist was a sleek, silver watch. A few days ago, Lyla had sent me a picture of that exact watch while she was away on a business trip, asking if I thought it looked nice. I had stared at that photo for a long time, my heart bursting with joy as I typed back, It’s beautiful. I had assumed it was a surprise gift for our wedding. I had even planned to act surprised when she came home, pretending I didn’t know anything about it. I had waited days for that surprise. And now, there it was, sitting on Alan’s wrist. I slowly reached up and brushed his hand off my shoulder. Alan’s eyes immediately turned red. “Miles, do you not even trust me anymore?” Lyla finally frowned, her voice tight with irritation. “Miles, it’s just a game. Don’t be so sensitive.” When she said those words, any lingering sadness I had felt instantly vanished, replaced by a dull emptiness. I stood up, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m tired. I’m going home.” I made it all the way to the front door before realizing I had left my coat on the back of the sofa. When I went back to get it, the door to the private room was cracked open. “Lyla, are you seriously not going after him?” someone was asking in a hushed tone. “Miles looked incredibly pale.” Lyla was silent for a moment, but her voice was entirely dismissive when she spoke. “Miles won’t actually stay mad.” “He’s too dependable. Give him a night of sleep, and he’ll be fine.” My hand froze on the brass doorknob. “Alan’s the one who was embarrassed by the teasing,” she added. “I need to comfort him first.” My fingers grew cold against the metal. The word dependable felt like a blunt knife. It didn’t draw blood, but it slowly carved away at my chest. I didn’t go back into the room. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from our wedding planner. Mr. Barret, are you sure you want to cancel the wedding? You’ve spent over half a year preparing this. From the specific camellias to the soft lighting, the textured invitations, the seating cards… you personally approved every single detail. It would be such a shame to cancel now. I stared at the rendering of the venue she had sent. I remembered how, in the beginning, I had wanted a wedding filled with white camellias. But Lyla had taken one look at the design and sighed. Alan says camellias are too plain. A wedding should be lively and bright. So, the camellias were replaced with the red roses Alan preferred. I had wanted soft, golden lighting. Lyla had countered, Alan says warm orange makes for better photos. I had wanted simple, elegant invitations. Lyla had insisted, Let’s go with Alan’s idea. He has better taste. Eventually, the wedding I had spent six months planning had been systematically stripped away, replaced with everything Alan liked. And I, the groom, was reduced to nothing more than a name on the invitation. The planner sent another message: Are you absolutely certain about the cancellation? I looked at the unrecognizable rendering of the venue and let out a quiet laugh. Yes, I am certain, I replied. I will cover all the cancellation fees. When I returned to our apartment, I began packing my things. Lyla and I had chosen this place together. She had promised me that after a long day of work, the porch light would always be on, a pot of warm soup would be waiting in the kitchen, and the balcony would be lined with my favorite camellias. It had sounded like a dream. But looking around now, the apartment was filled with Alan’s presence. The fridge was stocked with his favorite peach soda, his jacket was draped over the back of our sofa, and the groomsman’s suit hanging next to mine looked far more tailored and exquisite than my own wedding attire. I stood in the closet, staring at the two suits. A bitter ache rose in my chest. Even before the ceremony had begun, the space that was supposed to belong to me had already been claimed by Alan. I didn’t cry. I simply packed my passport, my documents, and a few change of clothes into a small suitcase. Halfway through packing, the front door unlocked. Lyla was home. She carried a small designer bag, her tone carrying a hint of performative warmth. “Honey, don’t be mad anymore.” “I was walking past the store and saw these obsidian cufflinks. I remembered you saying you liked obsidian.” She opened the box, revealing a pair of dark, polished cufflinks. I did like obsidian. Years ago, I had stared at a pair through a shop window for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy them because of the price. Lyla had held my hand then, whispering, When we get married, I’ll buy you the best pair in the world. Now she had finally bought them. But they were cufflinks. And I never wore French cuff shirts. The only person who wore them was Alan. Lyla wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. “Let’s just put tonight behind us, okay?” I looked down at the box. Before I could speak, a paper receipt slipped from the designer bag, fluttering onto the floor. The amount listed was staggering. It was for a silk tie, costing ten times the price of the cufflinks. I recognized the brand instantly. Thirty minutes ago, Alan had posted a picture of that exact tie on social media. His caption had been: Groom’s gift from a certain someone. I’m going to be the most handsome groomsman next week. I stared at the receipt, and a hot tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto the paper. The warmth in Lyla’s face vanished, replaced by irritation. “Why are you crying again?” “Miles, honestly, this is exhausting.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I remembered how she used to react when I cried. She used to panic, clumsily wiping my tears away as she held me close, whispering, Miles, please don’t cry. My heart breaks whenever you do. Once, after a nightmare woke me up in tears, she had driven across three neighborhoods in the middle of the night just to buy me a bowl of hot soup. She had told me, You didn’t have anyone to comfort you when you were little. From now on, every time you cry, I’ll be here to hold you. Back then, she truly cared. But now, my tears were only met with a sigh of exhaustion. When your tears no longer touch a person’s heart, it’s time to dry your eyes. I wiped my face and said quietly, “I’m fine.” Lyla looked relieved. She leaned in to kiss me, but I instinctively turned my head away. Her expression turned completely cold, and she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “Fine. Get some space and calm down.” With that, she turned and locked herself in the study. Later that night, as I was preparing to turn off the lights, the iPad on my nightstand lit up. Lyla’s accounts were still synced to it. I had only intended to turn the screen off, but the notification banner that popped up caught my eye. Alan’s name on the screen sent a dull ache through my chest. Alan: Did you make up with him? Lyla: No. He’s getting harder and harder to deal with lately. Alan: Did you give him a proper makeup session tonight? A few seconds passed before Lyla’s reply appeared. Lyla: Don’t ask. He rejected me. Honestly, we’ve been together for seven years. I’ve lost any physical spark with him anyway. I’m actually glad he turned me down, otherwise I would have had to force myself to touch him. I stared at the screen. My eyes burned, but no tears came. Even showing me affection had become a chore she had to force herself to perform. I shut down the iPad. I placed the obsidian cufflinks back into the designer bag, setting them next to my engagement ring on the entryway table. It felt like returning a dream that had finally ended. Right then, my phone buzzed with a confirmation email. My ticket was booked. Tomorrow at 3:00 AM, a one-way flight to Iceland. From this moment on, wherever I flew in the world, I would never land by her side again. The next morning, as I dragged my suitcase past the study, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. Lyla’s soft laughter drifted out. She was on a video call. On the screen, Alan was lounging in bed, holding a sheet of paper. “Lyla, this part of your wedding vows is way too formal,” he teased, reading aloud. “Miles, thank you for seven years of companionship…” He let out a scoff. “It sounds like a corporate speech.” Lyla laughed. “I’m just not good at writing that kind of stuff.” Alan propped his chin on his hand, looking at her through the screen. “You could say something like, ‘You are my spring, the only person who makes me feel truly light and alive.’ Doesn’t that sound more romantic?” Lyla was quiet for a moment, her voice dropping. “That sounds more like you.” The call fell silent. Alan asked softly, “Are you sure you want to say that to Miles?” Lyla didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “It doesn’t matter who I read it to at the altar.” “Just pretend I’m secretly saying it to you.” I stood outside the door, my chest feeling as though it were being slowly torn open. For my vows, I had filled three entire pages, editing them over and over to find the perfect balance between sincerity and love. I had asked Lyla if we could write them together, but she had dismissed it, saying, There’s no need for that kind of performance. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about vows. She just didn’t care about writing them for me. Alan leaned closer to his camera, his voice a whisper. “Then come closer.” Lyla didn’t turn away. She simply stared at the screen and let out a soft sigh. “Alan, stop. I’m getting married next week.” Alan looked down, his voice laced with artificial sorrow. “I know. That’s why I wanted to be selfish one last time before you belong to someone else.” Lyla didn’t scold him. Her silence was a quiet indulgence. My fingers turned numb. If she truly felt he was crossing a line, why hadn’t she hung up the phone? Alan quickly shifted to the designs for the wedding venue. “Do we have to display all your old relationship photos? It makes me sad to see how happy you two used to be.” Lyla looked at the screen and replied quietly, “Let’s just take them down then. Miles is dependable, he won’t mind.” I felt a sudden, sharp sting in my eyes. That photo wall was the only part of the wedding I had fought to keep. Photos of the first snow we watched together, of our very first vacation where she held my hand tightly, of the birthday cake she had baked for me… I had curated those memories so carefully because I believed they were proof of our love. But with a single complain from Alan, Lyla dismissed them entirely. When your heart is broken completely, the pain fades into a dull, hollow numbness. I quietly turned and dragged my suitcase toward the front door. My phone buzzed. It was the wedding planner. Mr. Barret, Ms. Barlow just confirmed that the photo wall is canceled and the vows have been updated by Mr. Ward. Are you absolutely certain you want to cancel the wedding? I stared at the text and typed a final reply. Yes. Cancel it. The cold morning air rushed into the hallway as I opened the door. I pulled my suitcase behind me, stepping out into the dawn. Lyla had deleted seven years of our memories with a single sentence. And now, I was leaving her behind. As I stood at the gate, waiting to board my flight, the official cancellation notice finally reached Lyla’s phone. She immediately called the planner, her voice trembling. “What is the meaning of this?” The planner sounded more shocked than she was. “Mr. Barret canceled the wedding himself. He said he accepted a job in Iceland and won’t be coming back.” “Ms. Barlow… did you not know?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464473”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the fake heiress of a billionaire family. When the real daughter finally returned, everyone waited for me to lose my mind and fight for their affection. Instead, I packed my bags with record speed. “I can finally leave? Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so much.” The real heiress stared at me in shock. “You don’t hate me?” I patted her shoulder. “Girl, do you have any idea what the rules are in this house?” “Six in the morning cardio, eight at night curfew, absolute silence at the dinner table, and every single date has to be approved by a corporate board…” The color slowly drained from her face. I gave her a flashy wave. “Good luck with all that. I’m off to taste freedom!” 1 “Incoming call from Bruce. Incoming call from Bruce.” I was slacking off at the office, totally engrossed in a raid on my computer. The sudden ringtone from the family butler startled me so badly my hand jerked, and my character died instantly. “Miss Jenica, Mr. Collins wants you back at the main estate immediately.” I sat up straight, my eyes darting to the calendar in the bottom right corner of my screen. My chest tightened. Could it be that day? “Bruce, is it…” “Yes,” Bruce replied, his tone heavy with gravity. “Miss Lily’s DNA results just came back. Your father has already dispatched a motorcade to pick her up.” I shot out of my office chair like a rocket. In the next cubicle, Gwen was still glued to her screen. My sudden movement made her jump, her eyes wide. “Did you win the lottery or something? Why do you look so happy?” “Better than the lottery!” I shut down my computer at lightning speed, grabbing the little potted succulent from my desk and shoving it into my tote bag. “I’m finally free!” “Okay, but why are you stealing company property?” “I’ve watered this thing for three years. We have an emotional bond.” Half an hour later, I stood at the towering wrought iron gates of the Collins estate, taking a deep breath. This is the last time, Jenica. Just play your part for one final scene, and you can escape this gilded cage forever. 2 Pushing open the heavy oak doors, I found the atmosphere in the living room thick enough to cut with a knife. My dad, my mom, and my older brother, Carter. The three of them sat on the genuine Italian leather sofas in a perfect, rigid triangle. Well, triangles are known for their structural stability. “Dad, Mom, Carter.” I greeted them one by one, the picture of a perfectly raised socialite. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the manila folder containing the DNA report resting on the glass coffee table. I kept my face entirely blank. Inside, I was doing backflips. Which limited edition designer bags should I take with me tonight? My dad didn’t notice the absolute joy dancing in my eyes. He cleared his throat in a tactical maneuver. “Jenica, sit down. We have some news to share with you…” “I’m the fake daughter swapped at birth, the real heiress has been found, and she’s on her way home right now, correct?” I answered before he could finish. “Where is she? I’ll go greet her.” The sprawling, cavernous living room fell into a dead silence. My entire family looked like they had just swallowed sour lemons. Carter narrowed his eyes at me. “Are you okay, Jenica? Did the shock break your brain?” He paused, his voice softening just a fraction. “If you need to cry, just cry. Don’t hold it in.” “Sweetheart, Mom knows you must be devastated…” “Stop right there. I am absolutely fantastic.” I raised a hand to halt their pity party. “When does my sister get here? Do you need me to help decorate her room?” My dad’s brow furrowed into a deep V. “Jenica, you… you aren’t upset? Daddy still loves you, you know.” “Why would I be upset?” I blinked innocently. “Getting a new sister is amazing.” Three pairs of eyes stared at me with heavy suspicion. They clearly didn’t buy a single word. In the script they had written in their heads, my reaction should have been: A. A total mental breakdown with ugly crying. B. Flipping the coffee table in a fit of jealous rage. C. Passing out cold on the Persian rug. They had even prepared themselves to keep Lily waiting outside until I calmed down from my inevitable tantrum. “Lily is coming home. Your status here…” Carter let the sentence hang, his voice low and warning. It was bizarre. He was actually waiting for me to lose my mind. Too bad. I just blinked at them again, refusing to take the bait. Nobody can exploit me if I make myself completely useless. 3 Carter let out a cold scoff. “So dramatic.” Then, like a grade schooler trying to show off, he waved a hand at Bruce. The butler immediately escorted a girl in a simple white sundress into the room. She was biting her lower lip, her expression a mix of terror and unease. She looked like she was bracing herself for a war. The moment I saw her face, I understood exactly how they had tracked down the real heiress. We couldn’t call them identical twins, but she was an absolute carbon copy of our dad. I took a step forward. Instantly, the family’s collective gaze locked onto me, darting frantically between Lily and myself. Feeling a sudden urge to mess with them, I held back a grin and walked toward her in torturously slow motion. Then, under their horrified stares, I threw my arms wide open. “Sister! Welcome home!” Lily froze like a statue. Her eyes went as round as saucers, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She stuttered over her words. “You don’t hate me? I’m taking your place…” “Hate you? I’m trying to figure out how to thank you!” I had barely finished my sentence when a theatrical, rhythmic sobbing erupted behind me. My mom threw herself forward with the dramatic flair of a daytime soap opera star, pulling Lily into a crushing embrace. “My poor, suffering daughter…” My mouth twitched. I silently shuffled a few steps to the side, giving my dad and Carter enough room to join the performance. The four of them huddled together in a tearful group hug. It was a scene straight out of a prime time family drama. Standing on the sidelines, watching their genuine outpouring of emotion, a tiny, fleeting pang of loss brushed against my heart. But I packed that feeling away almost instantly. While they were drowning in the sentimental atmosphere of their family reunion, I quietly backed out of the room. I marched up the grand staircase and began tossing things into my suitcase with ruthless efficiency. The very first casualty was a heavy hardcover book on my nightstand titled The Elegant Socialite’s Guide to Etiquette. It went straight into the trash can. Twenty minutes later, I reappeared at the top of the stairs, dragging a massive Louis Vuitton trunk behind me. The heartwarming family moment below froze completely. The looks on their faces were pure comedy. “Jenica Collins! What on earth are you doing? Have you lost all sense of decorum?” “I’m making room for my sister, obviously.” Lily stood awkwardly by the sofa. “You really don’t have to do that…” Seeing her distress, I walked down the stairs and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Girl, do you have any idea what the rules are in this house?” 4 She shook her head, looking utterly lost. I started counting on my fingers. “Every single day starts with a six AM run. If you’re out, you have to be back by eight PM sharp. You cannot make a single sound with your silverware while eating. And if you want to date, you need the family board’s approval.” “Oh, right. I almost forgot. On my first date when I was seventeen, they sent three terrifying bodyguards to shadow us. They scared the poor guy so badly he transferred to a different school the next week.” Her face went paper white. She shot a terrified glance at her new parents. My mom tried to cut me off. “Jenica! Stop scaring your sister!” “I’m not scaring anyone.” Just stating the daily facts. Carter was the sharpest of the bunch. He was the first to realize something was genuinely wrong here, asking me exactly where I thought I was going. “I’m going to be a normal person.” He looked at me like I had grown a second head. Taking a long stride, his tall frame blocked my path to the door. “You’ve been pampered and spoiled your entire life. Do you honestly think you can survive outside the Collins family?” I stopped and gave him a highly mysterious smile. “Carter, care to guess exactly how much cash I’ve been secretly hoarding in my private accounts over the years?” “To be completely honest, I’m just thanking God for finally showing me some mercy.” Carter was left utterly speechless. Lily grabbed the sleeve of my faux fur coat, tears welling in her eyes. “Please don’t go…” I patted her head with motherly affection. “Be a good girl. You are the sole hope of the Collins family now.” With that, I gave them a fabulous wave, gripped the handle of my suitcase, and marched out the front door without looking back. “Good luck to all of you. I’m off to chase my freedom!” Outside, Gwen was idling in the driveway in a massive black G-Wagon. When she saw my outfit, her jaw practically hit the steering wheel. “Jenica, are you eloping?” My heels clicked rapidly against the pavement as I broke into a jog. “This is way better than an elopement. This is a prison break!” I scrambled into the passenger seat and yanked the seatbelt across my chest. “Drive, drive, drive! Step on it before they realize what’s happening.” As the engine roared to life, I took one final look at the sprawling estate I had called home for over twenty years. I let out a maniacal, supervillain style laugh. “I, Jenica Collins, am finally free!” As we peeled down the driveway, I could have sworn I heard my mom screaming from the front porch. “Stop her! That suitcase is stuffed with my crocodile skin Birkins!” 5 “So, bestie, where are we going to celebrate?” Gwen’s question snapped me back to reality. Celebrate. Yes. A monumental occasion like this demanded a proper celebration. I rubbed my hands together in sheer excitement. Pulling out my phone, I opened a note I had created ages ago titled 100 Things to Do After Escaping the Collins Family. I announced my plans with raging passion. “Stop one: Greasy late night chili cheese dogs. Stop two: Loaded nachos from that shady truck. Stop three: That BBQ diner that stays open until 4 AM!” Through the open car window, the cool night wind whipped through my hair. It brought the smell of street food, an intoxicating mix of fried grease and savory spices. Back at the estate, every single calorie I consumed was monitored by a private chef. I couldn’t eat anything fattening. I couldn’t eat anything that might dull my complexion. And I certainly wasn’t allowed anywhere near food that smelled pungent. But right now, I rolled the window down all the way, let out a massive cheer, and screamed into the night sky. “To hell with socialite etiquette. I’m going to eat until I explode!” “Yeah right. With your fragile little billionaire stomach, a few greasy ribs are going to put you straight in the ER.” Gwen paused, delivering a strategic and lethal follow up strike. “Besides, do you think William Sinclair is just going to let you vanish?” I choked on my own spit. My fiery rebellion was instantly extinguished. William Sinclair. Just hearing his name felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Seeing my silence, Gwen clicked her tongue. “What? Did you just chicken out?” “It’s not about chickening out. Corporate marriages are just an exchange of core assets between two dynasties. The most reliable asset is the biological daughter. Who the hell am I?” I might as well be smart about it and keep my distance voluntarily. “Oh, spare me. You two grew up together. William’s feelings for you are…” “You’re overthinking it.” I shook my head firmly. “It’s purely a business alliance. He’s a ruthless machine. He doesn’t care if his bride is Jenica, Lily, or even my brother Carter. As long as the last name is Collins, it makes no difference to him.” Who was William Sinclair? He was the undisputed heir to the Sinclair empire, a man who had terrified veteran executives at the negotiation table when he was only sixteen. He took over the global conglomerate at twenty, establishing himself as a brutal, blood chilling force in the financial world. To a man like that, feelings were probably the most worthless commodity on the market. Why must happiness be so fleeting? My heart cracked a little as I stared out the window. “He used to be my future husband. Now he’s going to be my brother in law.” 6 By noon the next day, I woke up with a hangover so vicious it felt like a freight train had parked on my skull. I dragged myself out of bed, completely disoriented. Bright sunlight poured through the windows. Squinting at my phone, I saw the time: 1:30 PM. Perfect. I had successfully slept through breakfast and lunch. Classic me. My notifications were exploding with a barrage of texts from Gwen. “So? How was your quality time with William Sinclair last night? Did you guys unlock any new locations? The bed? The couch? Against the mirror? Against the floor to ceiling windows?” “No need to thank me. I know you’ve been thirsting over that man for years. Losing control is only human nature.” [GIF of someone winking aggressively] “Honestly though, Sinclair is looking like a full course meal these days. I’d take a bite myself.” What? What was she talking about? Where did William come from? I dug my fingers into my temples, desperately trying to fish out any fragmented memories from the black hole of my blackout. But my brain offered absolutely nothing. I scrolled further down the chat and saw a video clip. The moment I tapped play, I nearly chucked my phone across the room. Oh god. In the video, my face was flushed bright pink. My eyes were totally unfocused. I was standing with one foot perched on a plastic patio chair at the diner. Looking up at the night sky at a dramatic forty five degree angle, I took a melancholic sip from a Capri Sun pouch and spoke in a deep, philosophical tone. “Gwen, you must remember this life lesson. Love will always betray you. But a double chocolate layer cake never will.” Gwen’s voice could be heard off camera, dripping with disgust. “Are you speaking English right now?” I held up a single, solemn finger directly at the lens. With my other hand, I slowly reached into my tote bag, pulled out a stark white chef’s hat, and placed it on my head with the gravity of a coronation. “The old Jenica is dead. Standing before you now is Jenica the Great. The woman who will make you wait in line for three hours just to buy her signature cheesecake.” Gwen’s sense of humor was practically nonexistent. She was laughing so hard the camera shook violently. “Oh my god, your main character syndrome is out of control… Wait!” Her voice abruptly hitched in the video. “Behind you…” On screen, I scoffed, refusing to look back. “Trying to trick me again? Last time we were at the club you pulled the exact same…” The next second, my on screen self froze solid. Because a long, elegantly pale hand draped itself gently over my shoulder. I turned around in a drunken stupor, locking eyes with a familiar, slightly exasperated pair of dark eyes. It was William. 7 William was dressed in a razor sharp, bespoke three piece suit. His tie was perfectly knotted. He radiated an aura of ruthless corporate elite, looking entirely out of place amidst the greasy smoke of a late night diner. And there I was, foot resting on a plastic chair, wearing a chef’s hat, clutching a Capri Sun. The air in the video seemed to freeze. On screen, I blinked slowly. Suddenly, a massive grin broke across my face, and I reached out to poke his cheek. “Huh? What is William doing in a place like this? Am I dreaming…” I leaned in closer, studying him through a hazy, drunken fog. “But why is this dream version of William so cold? He doesn’t even know how to smile…” Saying that, my hands suddenly grabbed both sides of his face, and I forcefully pushed his cheeks upward. I physically dragged his face into a terrifying “smile”. I even knocked his gold rimmed glasses slightly askew. Behind the lenses, those usually calm, unreadable eyes widened in rare shock. His long eyelashes fluttered. The video abruptly cut off. Me: “…” The phone slipped from my hand and hit the mattress with a soft thud. I slid off the edge of the bed until I hit the floor, burying my face in my hands and letting out a hollow wail of pure despair. “Just kill me now.” Right as I was calculating the logistics of faking my own death and fleeing the country, my phone started ringing. Caller ID: [William the Iceberg] I scrambled to pick it up, my voice trembling like a leaf. “H-hello??” His voice came through the speaker. It was deep, low, and carried a faint, barely detectable trace of exhaustion. “You’re awake?” “A-awake. Yes.” I curled into a ball of shame. “Does your head hurt?” “I-it’s manageable.” “Good. The kitchen is on the second floor. My chef left some hangover soup for you on the stove.” Your second floor? A horrifying realization crashed into me. I looked around. I was in a completely unfamiliar bedroom, decorated in an ultra minimalist palette of black, white, and gray. There was a half empty iced Americano sitting on the nightstand. I was in William Sinclair’s house. “Wait a minute! Why am I at your house?” 8 A heavy silence stretched over the line for two agonizing seconds. “You had too much to drink last night. You threw up all over my suit, and you ruined your own clothes. When I offered to drive you back to the Collins estate, you wrapped your arms around a streetlamp and refused to let go, screaming that you’d rather die than go back.” “Then you grabbed my sleeve, demanded that we elope, and asked if I was willing to run away with you…” Me: “…” “Gwen suddenly remembered an ‘urgent emergency’. She grabbed her car keys and practically sprinted away, looking like a woman on a sacred mission. So, my only option was to bring you here.” I was cringing so hard my toes were cramping. “So… we didn’t… you know. We didn’t do anything inappropriate, right?” “You really don’t remember a single thing from last night? Do you have any idea what you did to me…” His tone sounded utterly incredulous, but he cut himself off before finishing the sentence. My heart rate instantly spiked to a hundred and eighty beats per minute. A thousand wildly explicit scenarios flashed through my brain. The bed. The couch. Against the mirror. The floor to ceiling windows. Did we actually… do it?! Jenica Collins, that is your future brother in law! You are an absolute monster! Worse than a monster! “I remember! I remember! I just… maybe the details are a little fuzzy…” I let out a hollow laugh, desperately trying to cover up the fact that my mind was a total blank. I could hear the metallic tap of a fountain pen against a mahogany desk through the receiver. Tap. Tap. Tap. Beating right against my frayed nerves. A moment later, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh came through the phone. “Jenica.” “Present!” I answered out of pure reflex, standing up straight like a student called on by the principal. “Last night you mentioned…” He paused. “You want to open a bakery?” My heart did a little jump. “Y-yes. That’s the plan.” “Do you need venture capital?” I waved my hands frantically, even though he couldn’t see me. This tiny little business didn’t need Sinclair level investment. I had already done the math. The private stash of cash I’d saved up, combined with the limited edition bags I “liberated” from the estate, was more than enough to secure a storefront. “No, no, I’m fully funded. Just come by and buy a cupcake once in a while. Be my lucky charm.” “Alright,” he agreed easily. “I’ll be there on your grand opening day.” My eyes practically turned into dollar signs. The God of Wealth was gracing me with his presence. I could hear a low chuckle through the phone, a quiet, rich sound that held a hint of genuine amusement. Just when I thought the conversation was wrapping up, he suddenly dropped a sentence entirely out of nowhere. “What if I said I am willing?” I blinked. “Huh?” “Never mind.” His voice instantly snapped back to its usual icy composure, as if that brief moment of vulnerability was just a figment of my imagination. “Get some rest.” 9 After he hung up, my phone screen lit up with a new notification. A friend request hovered on the screen: [Lily Collins has requested to add you as a friend.] Her profile picture was a meme of a crying cat. I hit accept. Almost instantly, a voice memo popped up. Her voice sounded choked with tears. “Jenica, I didn’t realize how exhausting your life has been all these years. How did you manage to survive it?” I stared at the screen, falling into deep thought. How did I survive? By being a coward with zero backbone, obviously. But since she asked so nicely, I had to give her something. [It’s a piece of cake. (Emoji with a rose in its teeth)] Lily seemed amused. “I need to learn from you! I’m going to stay strong!” She followed it up with a [We can do this!] sticker. I replied with a [Head pat] emoji, casually adding, “My new bakery is opening in a couple of days. Do you want to drop by? Infinite free cake for you. You can eat whatever you want, as much as you want.” Nobody in their right mind turns down fresh cake. Lily was clearly touched. “I’m majoring in marketing at college. I’m going to write a dedicated promotional post for your shop on my socials to pay you back… and to pay for the cake!” She sounded as excited as a little kid. I smiled and shook my head, not taking it too seriously. It wasn’t until opening day that I realized how drastically I had underestimated my little sister’s internet clout. 10 The morning sun had barely touched the display window before a massive line snaked out the front door and down the block. Crowds of girls had their phones out, aggressively snapping photos of the pastries in the glass case. “It’s true! This is the place the ‘Sweet Tooth Detective’ recommended!” “I saw the viral post too! This tiramisu looks insane. I have to review this for my followers!” “Oh my god, I am literally crying over this velvet cake. I’ll say it a million times: humanity needs cake like the earth needs the sun!” [Cash App transfer received: $52.00] [Apple Pay received: $88.00] The glorious chime of the register rang out continuously like an angelic choir. My smile grew so wide it threatened to split my face in half. I had no idea I was related to a heavy hitter. Lily ran a massive food influencer account with over two hundred thousand followers. My parents had absolutely no clue. As I counted the cash, I silently repented. Jenica, you terrible person. Look at this sweet angel of a sister, and you’re still secretly thirsting after her fiancé? You are absolute garbage! By noon, the crowd doubled. My hands were moving so fast while boxing pastries that they were practically a blur. Even though I was rushed off my feet, even though my arms were shaking from exhaustion, the feeling was absolutely euphoric. The joy of making my own money, the grounding reality of building something with my own two hands. It was a sensation I had never experienced in the gilded cage of the Collins estate. 11 By six PM, the rush finally died down. I was leaning over the counter, tallying up the day’s revenue, when the brass bell above the door chimed. “Sorry, we’re totally sold out for the day…” I looked up and the words died in my throat. William stood in the doorway, dressed in a sharp charcoal gray three piece suit. Behind him, parked in the fading evening light, his Maybach gleamed with the sinful glow of exorbitant wealth. Just looking at him standing there, I could practically hear the money whispering in the air. Damn. The man I had my eye on really was built differently. That aura was unmatched. He walked up to the counter, his dark eyes locking onto me. He looked genuinely surprised. “In all the years you lived at the estate, I’ve never seen you look as happy as you did today. I honestly thought you only opened a bakery because you had nowhere else to go.” I chuckled, happily stacking a pile of bills. “Mr. Sinclair, you just don’t get it. If everyone in the world is busy being a billionaire CEO or a high society socialite, who is going to bake all the soft, delicious cakes?” “Besides, someone in this world has to play the role of the ordinary person.” “No dramatic ups and downs, no cutthroat boardroom battles. Just quietly existing in the background, playing a small, happy part in the universe.” William listened quietly. After a long moment, his gaze swept over the completely empty pastry displays. His voice turned slightly hoarse. “On my way here, I saw someone walking down the street carrying one of your boxes. They looked incredibly happy.” He paused, lowering his voice. “I imagine it must taste wonderful.” “It’s a shame I was too late.” “I’m sorry. It seems like… I’m never able to show up by your side at the right time.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464458”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On the day Sebastian Hale proposed to me, he built me a rose garden made entirely of gold. A billion dollars, just because I once said roses were beautiful. I cried from happiness. The moment I threw my arms around him, I realized his gaze had passed over my shoulder. It landed on a maid standing in the corner. Her face was covered in scars. Only later did I learn her name was Naomi Reed. She was Sebastian’s childhood sweetheart. They had loved each other. They had hated each other. At their worst, she had cut off half of Sebastian’s finger with her own hands. And Sebastian had personally destroyed the face she had once been most proud of. This was their first reunion after seven years apart. Sebastian recovered quickly. He looked at Naomi, his voice cold. “My fiancée’s shoes are dirty. Come wipe them.” Naomi lowered her eyes and obediently knelt before me. Bit by bit, she wiped the dust from my shoes. In Sebastian’s eyes churned emotions I could not understand. He smiled through gritted teeth. “Naomi Reed.” “How did you become this pathetic?” At that moment, looking at the loss of control in his eyes, I suddenly felt exhausted. So painfully exhausted. I stood there with the blue diamond ring Sebastian had just placed on my finger. A billion-dollar rose garden. A priceless engagement ring. Sebastian Hale, the most arrogant prince in Manhattan’s old-money circle, had gone down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Yet in that moment, I felt like a joke displayed on a stage. Sebastian finally seemed to notice my silence. He turned to me, and all those dark, turbulent emotions disappeared from his eyes. “Lily, don’t look at her.” “She’s no one. Don’t dirty your eyes.” As he spoke, he tucked a strand of hair blown loose by the night wind behind my ear. The movement was gentle and practiced. If I had not seen him lose control a moment ago, I might have believed again that he only had eyes for me. Sebastian really was good to me. So good that everyone said I was the woman he held in the palm of his hand. I casually said I liked roses, and he truly built me an entire garden of gold roses. I said my hands got cold in winter, so he had a glass conservatory shipped back from Northern Europe, temperature-controlled at seventy-eight degrees, just so I could look at flowers on snowy days. His love was grand, dramatic, and also meticulous. But the better he treated me, the harder it became for me to understand what that look in his eyes had meant when he saw Naomi. Naomi swayed slightly when she stood. I clearly felt Sebastian’s fingers tighten around mine. But he did not step forward. He only said coldly, “What are you pretending for?” “When you cut off my finger seven years ago, you had plenty of strength.” Naomi lifted her head. Her face was terrifyingly pale. She did not argue. She only said softly, “Mr. Hale, may I leave now?” Sebastian laughed. “Leave?” “The show is over, so you want to walk away?” The moment his words fell, Naomi’s eyes suddenly went dark, and she collapsed straight to the ground. Everyone cried out. Before I could react, Sebastian had already let go of my hand and rushed over. He picked Naomi up too quickly. So quickly that my hand was still suspended in the air. The blue diamond flashed under the light. It seemed to remind me that the words he had just said about marrying me had not yet scattered in the wind. Sebastian carried Naomi out. Halfway there, he seemed to suddenly remember me and turned back. “Lily, she fainted.” “I’ll take her to the hospital. I’ll be back soon.” The guests still stood in the golden rose garden. Their whispers pricked my ears like needles. Some even quietly raised their phones, camera lenses aimed at my pale face. Sebastian’s assistant came over, forcing himself to clean up the mess. “Miss Morgan, Mr. Hale said you should rest in your room first.” “We’ll handle the guests tonight.” I did not return to my room. Silently, I followed. I wanted to see with my own eyes how far Sebastian would lose control for Naomi. When I found Sebastian in the hospital corridor, an hour had passed. As I approached, I heard Naomi’s weak voice from inside the ward. “I’ll pay back the medical bills later.” Sebastian sneered. “Of course you will.” “Did you think I’d still be like before, feeling sorry for you and paying every bill?” “Naomi Reed, your life is worth nothing to me now.” His tone was cruel. But standing at the door, I only felt a sour ache in my chest. Because his mouth said he did not care, yet he had personally waited outside the emergency room. When the doctor came out, Sebastian’s first question was: “Why did she faint?” The doctor glanced at the test results. “Long-term malnutrition. Severe anemia.” “And some old injuries that were never properly treated.” “Her family should pay more attention.” Family. The moment that word fell, Sebastian’s expression turned icy. “I’m not her family.” That was what he said. But when Sebastian stood, he still instinctively looked toward the ward. As if afraid she might really die inside. I suddenly felt tired. Sebastian saw me and froze. All that coldness vanished from his face at once. He walked to me and reached out as if to hold me. “Lily.” “I wronged you today.” His voice softened, carrying the guilt and tenderness I knew so well. “I was only afraid she would die at the proposal banquet and ruin your place.” “I don’t feel anything else for her.” “Trust me, okay?” I looked into his eyes. There was apology there. Concern. Care for me. All real. But the panic in him when he picked Naomi up was real too. I asked softly, “Sebastian, do you hate her?” He was silent for a few seconds. Then he smiled. “Yes.” “I hate her so much I want her kneeling before me for the rest of her life, never able to lift her head again.” “Lily, the person I love is you.” “I will marry you.” He held my hand, his thumb rubbing over the ring. “The dignity you lost tonight, I’ll repay tenfold.” “Tomorrow, I’ll have every media outlet pull their drafts.” “Anyone who dares say one word will disappear from this circle.” When he said these things, his tone was calm, powerful, certain. The same way he had defended me countless times before. But just then, something shattered inside the ward. Naomi’s panicked voice rang out. “Don’t touch that!” Sebastian turned back almost instinctively. A young nurse ran out of the ward holding a photo wrinkled with blood. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help organize the patient’s bag.” “She reacted too strongly.” The photo fell to the floor. It slid right to Sebastian’s and my feet. In the picture was a little boy, about five or six years old. His brows and eyes looked exactly like Sebastian’s. Sebastian stared at that photo, his eyes turning red in an instant. “Whose child is he?” At last, a little moisture appeared in Naomi’s eyes. “Sebastian Hale, don’t you hate me?” “Don’t you hate me so much you want me kneeling before you forever?” “Now that you know there’s a child, why are you pretending to be so devoted?” Sebastian shoved her hard against the wall. “Why didn’t you just die?” “Naomi Reed, why didn’t you die out there back then?” “Why did you have to come back and disturb my life now?” The moment those words fell, I stood in the corridor, my fingertips turning cold bit by bit. So in Sebastian’s heart, everything between us could be disturbed so easily by Naomi’s name. Naomi looked up at him and suddenly smiled. “Then why were your hands shaking when you saw me?” “When you carried me to the hospital, why did you run so fast?” “Do you dare say you’re really over me?” Sebastian’s expression turned terrifying. “Shut up!” Naomi suddenly rose on her toes and kissed him. In that instant, Sebastian went completely stiff. I stood there and clearly saw his hand lift. As if he meant to push her away. But in the end, he did not move. Naomi slowly opened her eyes and looked past Sebastian’s shoulder at me. There was a nearly cruel challenge in her gaze. My stomach churned. I no longer had the courage to look for even one more second. I fled the hospital in a mess. When I got home, I started packing. My friend Paige stayed beside me, so anxious her eyes were red. “Lily, are you really leaving?” I placed my clothes into the suitcase one by one, my voice calm. “Yes. I’m tired.” Paige wanted to say something else. Then her phone suddenly buzzed. She looked down, and her expression changed instantly. On the screen was a video someone had sent from a bar. In the video, Sebastian sat in the innermost booth, eyes heavy with alcohol. A friend beside him sighed. “Sebastian, what the hell are you doing?” “You spent half a year preparing that gold rose garden.” “You clearly treasure Lily like she’s your life.” “But tonight, in front of everyone, you abandoned her and carried Naomi away.” Sebastian said nothing, only poured drink after drink down his throat. “Are you still not over Naomi?” Sebastian suddenly sneered. “Not over her?” “She cut off half my finger with her own hands.” “I ruined that face of hers myself.” “I want her to rot in the mud.” His friend was silent for a few seconds. “But when she kissed you, you didn’t push her away.” Sebastian slammed his glass onto the table. “I slapped her.” “I told her to get out.” “I told her the woman I love now is Lily.” His voice suddenly lowered. “I love Lily.” “I love her beyond saving.” “She wanted roses, so I built her a garden of gold.” “She’s afraid of pain, and I can’t even bear to see her frown.” “She is the woman I’m going to marry in this life.” His friend looked at him. “Then what about Naomi?” Sebastian lowered his head and laughed like a madman. “I don’t know.” “The moment I see her, I lose control for no damn reason.” “When she kneels, I get angry.” “When she obeys, I get angry.” “When she doesn’t hate me, I get even angrier.” “I clearly want her to hurt, but when she really fainted, I was afraid she’d die.” At this point, he suddenly covered his face. “Am I insane?” His friend tested, “Then what if Naomi has a new boyfriend too?” Sebastian lifted his head, his eyes blood-red. “I’ll kill that man.” The video fell silent there. I sat on the edge of the bed and suddenly smiled. But as I smiled, my eyes grew hot. So this was what Sebastian called hate. Maybe it was true that he loved me. It was true that he spent a billion on me, defended my dignity, and paved a glittering future for me. But all Naomi had to do was stand there. And he would lose control. He could say he loved me beyond saving. And at the same time, the thought of another woman having a new life could make him want to kill. I suddenly felt a deep sourness. Not jealousy. Not anger. Just bitterness. Like I had finally understood that no matter how much I was loved, I could never defeat the violent old wound between them. But Sebastian and I had also had three sweet years together. I closed the video and continued packing. Paige asked quietly, “Lily, are you okay?” I smiled. “I’m fine.” “At least I found out now, not after the wedding.” The video had not finished. In the last few seconds, Sebastian suddenly stood, his voice hoarse. “I’m done drinking.” “I’m going back to coax Lily to sleep.” “She’s timid. She can’t sleep without me.” I watched him stagger out of the bar on the screen. And suddenly remembered so many nights. I would wake from nightmares, and Sebastian would pull me into his arms, patting my back again and again. “Lily, don’t be scared.” “I’m here.” Back then, I thought he would always be there. Now I knew that his being there could vanish at any moment, as long as Naomi appeared. I zipped up the suitcase. “Paige, take me to the airport.” Before leaving, I looked one last time at the gold rose garden outside the window. Moonlight fell on the golden petals. It was beautiful like an expensive illusion. I did not look again. When Sebastian rushed back, the bedroom was empty. On the nightstand, only the blue diamond ring he had placed on my finger remained. Beneath it was a note I had left. There was only one sentence. “Sebastian, the rose garden is too heavy.” “I don’t want it.” “And I don’t want you either.” On the way to the airport, Paige held my hand the entire time. “Lily, once you’re abroad, don’t look back.” I watched the night scenery retreat beyond the car window and hummed softly. Sebastian’s calls came in again and again. I did not answer. But when the car reached the mountain road, a black van suddenly cut across in front of us. The next second, the car door was yanked open from outside. A sharp chemical smell covered my mouth and nose. When I woke again, the sound of roaring wind filled my ears. I was tied up at the edge of a cliff. Not far from me, Naomi was tied up too. There was no panic on her face. Instead, she looked at me calmly, with a faint mocking smile in her eyes. “Want to see who Sebastian really chooses?” “Haven’t you always believed he loves you?” “A billion-dollar rose garden. A blue diamond ring. The fiancée of Manhattan’s crown prince.” “Can any of those compare to this face he destroyed?” The wind stung my eyes. I looked at Naomi and suddenly asked, “So you deliberately let him see the child too?” Naomi smiled and did not deny it. Before long, the sound of a car came from afar. When Sebastian arrived, his tie was crooked, and his coat was half-thrown on. The moment he got out of the car, his gaze crossed over me first. It landed on Naomi. With just that one look, I suddenly laughed. So when a heart truly dies, it no longer hurts. It only thinks, of course. Sebastian quickly looked toward me, his voice tight. “Lily!” He took one step forward, and the kidnapper immediately pressed a knife to the rope. “Mr. Hale, don’t move.” “You can only choose one.” Sebastian’s expression changed. “I’ll pay you. Whatever amount you want.” The kidnapper laughed. “We don’t need money.” “Today, we only want to see Mr. Hale choose.” The wind at the cliff edge was fierce. Sebastian stood there, his eyes violently unsettled. He looked at me, then at Naomi. I saw him struggle. I saw him hesitate. I saw his throat move again and again. Naomi suddenly began to cry. “Sebastian…” “The water below is so fast. I can’t swim.” “I’ll die.” Sebastian’s face changed sharply. Naomi continued, “Do you remember?” “Back then, when I nearly drowned, you pulled me out with your own hands.” “You said that even if one day you hated me, you still wouldn’t let me die in water.” Her tears rolled down along her scars. “We also have a child.” “The child I gave you.” “He’s already spent five years without his father.” “Can you really bear to make him lose his mother now too?” Sebastian closed his eyes. In that moment, I finally knew the answer. He turned to look at me. His eyes were full of pain and apology. “Lily.” My chest was terrifyingly calm. Sebastian’s voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. “You can swim.” “You won swimming competitions when you were little.” “I’ll save Naomi first.” “I’ll come back for you right away.” I looked at him and suddenly remembered what he said on the day he proposed. “Lily, from now on, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” It turned out all I wanted was to be chosen firmly, just once. And he could not give me that. I smiled faintly. “Sebastian.” “From today on, you never have to choose me again.” His face went white. “Lily…” But Naomi suddenly laughed. The sound was not loud, but Sebastian froze. She lifted her head, tears still hanging on her face, yet there was not a trace of fear in her eyes. “Sebastian.” “The kidnappers are mine.” “I only wanted you to see clearly.” “To see who is really in your heart.” “Look. You still chose me.” Sebastian looked as if he had been struck by lightning. “Are you insane?” Naomi looked at him, her voice light as a sigh. “Yes.” “I went insane seven years ago when you ruined my face.” “Sebastian Hale, if I can’t live well, neither can you.” Sebastian lunged forward. “Let Lily go!” But it was too late. Naomi suddenly leaned toward me. Her movement looked panicked, but her shoulder struck my arm with perfect accuracy. My feet were already at the cliff’s edge. That hit made me lose my balance. Wind rushed past my ears. As I fell, I saw Sebastian throw himself toward the cliff edge like a madman. “Lily!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464474”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

While watching my older brother play basketball, I shot a quick text to my online boyfriend. “Babe, I’m at a game right now.” “No way. Me too, beautiful.” “Really?! Then good luck out there!!” A few minutes later, my brother’s team was getting boxed out by the rival squad. The score was painfully tight. I jumped out of the bleachers, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Go babe! You’re the absolute best!!” Thud. The moment the words left my mouth, the rival team’s captain dropped his basketball right onto the hardwood. 1 “Yes! We got it!!” Final minute on the clock. My brother sank a clean three-pointer, completely flipping the score and securing the championship title. I practically vibrated with excitement, jumping up and down in the stands and waving frantically at him. “Reginald! You were incredible!” “What are you doing here?” My brother grabbed the water bottle I held out to him, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his jersey. I told him I had just gone to the campus bookstore to print some syllabi. On my way back, I heard the squeak of sneakers and the buzzer from the court. He had texted me about the finals earlier this week. I remembered, so I took a detour to watch. His teammates started trickling toward the sidelines to hydrate. When they saw me, their eyes went wide. “Pierce! Since when do you have a gorgeous girl hanging around?” “Back off.” Reginald shot his teammate a lethal, warning glare. The guys just laughed it off, though their eyes kept drifting toward me with blatant curiosity. I couldn’t exactly blame them. I was a brand-new freshman. Reginald was a grad student. He had gotten early admission to his master’s program, locked himself in a lab for a major physics project, and hadn’t been home in half a year. He wasn’t even there when I took my finals or applied for colleges. By the time I got accepted into his university, he had essentially moved me into my dorm on day one, patted my head, and vanished back into his laboratory. This was the very first time I was officially standing in front of his friends. “Hi everyone. I’m Harper.” I offered them a polite smile. I was just about to add that I was Reginald’s little sister, but he cut me off entirely. “Alright, show’s over. Head back to your dorm. Text me if you need anything.” He snatched my tote bag off the floor and handed it to me. He stood tall, deliberately blocking his teammates’ line of sight like he was shielding me from a pack of wolves. I blinked, totally lost, but nodded obediently. Whatever. The game was over anyway. I needed to get back to my room and text my boyfriend. I wondered how his game went. “Oh, right. Reginald, that three-pointer was insane. I got it on video. I’ll send it to you later,” I bragged. A highlight reel like that deserved to be immortalized. Reginald’s face softened into an exasperated smile, and he waved me off. I turned on my heel to leave. And immediately slammed face-first into a solid wall of a chest. Smack. “Ow!” My phone slipped from my grip and clattered onto the polished wood floor. I froze in a panic, dropping to my knees to grab it. Before I could even look up to see who I had hit, Reginald’s entire demeanor shifted. He took a sharp, aggressive step forward. “Brooks, what is your problem?!” 2 “She bumped into me.” The voice was cold, flat, and completely devoid of emotion. It felt like a layer of frost settling over my skin. I couldn’t help but shrink back a little as I finally looked at the guy. I recognized him, but I didn’t actually know him. He was the rival captain Reginald had just gone head-to-head with. The same guy who nearly crushed my brother’s team a few minutes ago. “Why the hell were you standing right behind her blocking the way? Apologize to her!” “You’re out of your mind, Pierce.” Maybe the adrenaline from the court hadn’t worn off yet. Reginald’s voice dropped to a dangerous octave. The way he was looking at this guy was entirely different from his usual teasing arrogance. He pulled me behind his back, glaring holes into the other captain. But the other guy wasn’t backing down either. Neither of them gave an inch. The air between them felt thick enough to spark a fire. Seeing the situation escalating purely because of my clumsiness, I tugged anxiously at the hem of Reginald’s jersey. “Reginald, stop. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking.” I had just started college. The last thing I wanted was my brother getting into a fistfight on my account. Reginald set his jaw, turning his back to the guy to look down at me. “Just go back to the dorm. It’s fine.” “Don’t start a fight.” “I won’t.” I gripped the straps of my tote bag tight. I nervously peeked over Reginald’s shoulder at the rival captain. He was already looking at me. His gaze was dark, heavy, and razor-sharp. It was terrifying. It felt like he was trying to nail me to the floor with his eyes alone. I didn’t dare stay a second longer. I mumbled a quick apology to the air and practically sprinted out of the gym. 3 Nope. Absolutely not. I had to tell my boyfriend about this immediately. That guy was a nightmare. The second I unlocked my dorm room door, I pulled up my messages with Ro. “Babe, are you there? I just got so scared.” While I waited for his reply, my roommates filtered in from their afternoon classes. Someone asked if I had actually gone to watch the basketball finals. “Yeah.” “How was it? Which of the Twin Stars won?” I blinked. “Twin Stars?” My roommate stared at me like I had just admitted I didn’t know how to read. “Professor Harris’s golden boys! The physics department prodigies!” Professor Harris was an absolute titan in the academic world. His standards for taking on mentees were notoriously brutal. Because he was retiring in a few years, he had stopped accepting new students entirely. But this year, he made an unprecedented exception and took on two final graduates. He publicly stated they were the brightest rising stars the physics department had ever seen. Before they even officially joined his lab, they had represented the university in an international physics decathlon and brought home gold. The university had their faces plastered on the website’s homepage for an entire month. My roommate pulled up the university’s unofficial Instagram gossip page, scrolling to the paparazzi-style photos the campus admins had posted of the two of them. I took one look. Wait, isn’t that Reginald? He was that much of a big deal? A wave of intense, unbothered pride washed over me. My mood instantly skyrocketed. “Oh. My brother won.” “Your brother?” “Yeah. This guy. He’s my brother.” I pointed proudly at Reginald’s photo on the screen. The dorm went dead silent for a solid five seconds. Then, they burst into laughter. “Harper, stop messing around. How could Reginald Pierce be your brother?” “Exactly. You guys have totally different last names. You don’t even look alike.” I sighed. I knew this was coming. I had heard this exact script hundreds of times since I was a kid. But this time, I came prepared. “Look. Here’s our official family registry, and here’s a family portrait from last Christmas.” I pulled out my phone and swiped to my favorites album, holding it up with a smug grin. My roommates’ jaws hit the floor. I kept going. “I took my mom’s maiden name, Sullivan. He took my dad’s last name, Pierce.” As for not looking alike. That was just genetics. But if you looked really, really closely at our eyes, you could see the resemblance. A moment later, a collective shriek echoed through the dorm. “Oh my god! Reginald is actually your brother?!” “Yep.” They would have met him on move-in day, but he was in such a rush to get back to the lab that he literally dropped my boxes in the lobby and sprinted away. 4 My roommates couldn’t hide their excitement. They practically begged me to introduce them the next time I saw him. They wanted to breathe the same air as a certified campus legend. I agreed easily. No big deal. Then someone asked another question. “What about the other one? Your brother works in the same lab as him. Do you know him too?” “Who?” “This guy.” My roommate swiped to the next photo. She told me this was the other “Star.” I looked down. Wasn’t this the guy I literally just crashed into?! Judging by the photo, it was taken during halftime. He was sitting on the bench, a white towel draped around his neck. Black and white jersey, dark hair pushed back with a sweatband. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring down at his phone like he was texting someone. Whoever took this photo deserved a Pulitzer. How did they manage to make a guy with a death glare look like the brooding male lead of a coming-of-age movie? It was the most liked photo on the entire campus page. Mostly because the guy was looking down at his screen with a faint, barely-there smile. What was he smiling at? I had only seen him look like he wanted to commit a felony. “I don’t know him,” I said, shaking my head. My roommates looked a little disappointed and were about to pivot to a new piece of gossip when my phone buzzed on my desk. My boyfriend finally texted back!!! 5 “Hold on, I have to reply to this.” I tuned out my roommates’ chatter and unlocked my screen. Ro: “Beautiful. I just got out of the shower. What happened?” I originally wanted to vent about the terrifying guy at the basketball court. But after the whole conversation with my roommates, the incident didn’t feel like a big deal anymore. “Nothing, babe. Just missed you. How was your game?” The typing bubble popped up. He went quiet for a full minute before sending a single word. “Lost.” Oh no. He must be crushed. My heart squeezed. My fingers flew across the keyboard trying to comfort him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” “We’ll get them next time.” “It was just a bad matchup.” “In my heart, you’re always the MVP anyway.” I fired off four or five texts in a row. Sensing my panic, he sent back a cute sticker of a cat patting another cat’s head. “It’s probably because I didn’t have you in the bleachers cheering for me.” “The other team had a lot of girls screaming for them today.” Oh, so that was it. I spammed him with a dozen heart-eyed stickers. He went quiet again. But I could see the typing indicator flashing on and off at the top of the screen. He was hesitating. “Babe, do you want to say something?” “Can you send me a picture of yourself?” Huh? Ro: “I just really want to know what you look like right now.” Ro and I met online right before my final high school exams. I had been so anxious that I posted a thread on a college forum asking for study tips and survival guides. He had left a massive, incredibly detailed comment breaking down everything I needed to know. At the very end of his essay, he wrote: “It’s just one normal test. You’ll face a million other tests in your life. Take a deep breath.” When my scores came out, I realized I had enough points to get into Reginald’s university. I went back to the forum specifically to thank him. We kept talking. Eventually, it turned into something real. We had planned to meet up in person. But moving to a new state and dealing with freshman orientation had kept me too busy. The meetup kept getting pushed back. “Sure.” Before we started dating, I had actually dared him to send a picture first. “Let me see those abs.” He had just gotten out of the shower back then, too. Surprisingly, he actually listened. He sent a mirror selfie that completely rewired my brain chemistry. That photo was honestly fifty percent of the reason I flirted so aggressively until he agreed to be my boyfriend. I had wanted to send him a picture of myself back then, but he never asked, and I didn’t want to seem desperate. Luckily, I loved taking photos, so I had a massive backlog of great ones. Without overthinking it, I scrolled through my camera roll and picked a candid I took right before the basketball game today. “Here’s my OOTD for today.” 6 Honestly, my heart was hammering against my ribs. I stared at the screen, waiting in pure agony for his reply. But he didn’t say anything. What was happening? Did he think I was ugly? No way. My mom used to put me in child modeling catalogs. In high school, a talent scout literally tried to stop me at the mall. Plus, my selfie lighting was immaculate. There was no way I looked bad enough to render him speechless. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” “Am I ugly?” I frowned at my phone. Please don’t let this be a disaster. We were supposed to meet up in person soon. I hadn’t even touched those abs yet! I was instantly regretting sending the photo. Then his text came through. “No. You’re beautiful.” “Really? Swear to god.” “I swear.” Thank god. I let out a massive sigh of relief. But the typing indicator popped up again. He clearly wanted to say something else. I waited. And waited. Nothing came through. I didn’t have time to overthink it because my roommates had finally caught on to my giggling. They swarmed my desk. “Harper Sullivan! Fess up right now. Who are you texting?!” “Is that a boyfriend?!” 7 After classes the next day, Reginald texted me to meet him at the graduate dining hall for dinner. “How are classes? Are you adjusting to the dorm? Are your roommates crazy?” He sounded like a stressed-out soccer mom. I nodded along to his interrogation while staring down at the sautéed beef liver on my cafeteria tray. I cringed. I picked up my fork and immediately started shoving every single piece of liver onto Reginald’s plate. “What are you doing? Put that back.” “I hate the texture.” “Tough. You have anemia. You are not skipping your iron.” Reginald’s voice dropped into his serious, authoritative tone. I had no idea who he learned that terrifying glare from, but I had been scared of him since we were kids. Whenever his face went blank like that, I lost all my nerve. I pouted dramatically. Slowly, miserably, I moved the liver back to my plate and started chewing it like it was cardboard. Reginald watched me suffer for a minute before sighing. He stood up to go buy me a juice to wash it down. The second he walked away, Ro texted me. “What are you doing, beautiful?” “Eating. Beef liver is a crime against humanity.” I snapped a tragic photo of my food and sent it to him. “If you hate it, don’t eat it.” “I can’t…” I was just about to explain that I was anemic and my family treated my diet like a military operation, but Reginald returned with a bottle of apple juice. “Who are you texting?” That was fast. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I definitely couldn’t let my overprotective brother know I had a secret internet boyfriend. “Nobody. Just a girl from my dorm.” Reginald didn’t push it. He handed me the juice. “Wash it down. Focus on your food.” “Fine.” I shoveled rice into my mouth. Looking at how casually Reginald was eating, I carefully plotted my next move. “Hey, Reginald. Can you transfer me some cash?” “Didn’t I just send you your allowance last week?” “I had to buy textbooks and dorm stuff. It vanished.” I gave him my absolute best puppy-dog eyes. Reginald sighed heavily and pulled out his phone. “Sent.” I eagerly opened my banking app. “Thank you—wait, why is it so low?” He usually sent me a thousand. This time, it was barely a hundred. “You blow through money too fast. You need to learn how to budget.” I glared at him. “Do you want it or not? If not, send it back.” “I want it, I want it.” Even pocket change was better than nothing. I smiled sweetly and accepted the transfer. Reginald finished his meal and stood up. “I have to get back to the lab to check on a simulation. Finish your food before you leave.” “Got it.” Once Reginald walked away, I lost all motivation to finish the liver. I poked at my rice with my fork. That was when I noticed a guy sitting a few tables behind where Reginald had been sitting. Wait. Wasn’t that the terrifying guy from the gym? He ate here too? Since when? I hadn’t even noticed him sitting there. Curiosity got the better of me, and I stared at Henry Brooks for a few seconds too long. Maybe he felt me looking, because those icy, razor-sharp eyes snapped over to mine. He didn’t say a word. He just picked up his tray and walked right past my table toward the exit. What the hell? I apologized to him yesterday, didn’t I? Why was he still looking at me like I owed him blood money? I shook it off, headed back to my dorm, and texted Ro again. “Babe, did you eat yet?” “Yeah. Just finished.” Then another text popped up. “Do you need money right now?” Huh? What did he mean? Before I could even process the question, a transfer notification hit my screen. [Incoming Transfer: $5,000.00] I sucked in a sharp breath. “Why did you just send me this?!” “For you to spend.” “I have money.” My parents and Reginald already gave me an allowance. My savings account was completely fine. I was just typing out that I didn’t need it, but his next text stopped me in my tracks. “Keep it. It’s a gift. You don’t need to send it back.” “Spending money on my girl is exactly what I’m supposed to do.” My face flushed hot. I couldn’t stop grinning. I slapped my own cheeks to calm down. Fine. I’ll keep it. 8 The next few weeks fell into a totally normal college routine. When I struggled with an assignment, I went to find Reginald. My texting routine with Ro stayed exactly the same as before. The only stressful part was that Reginald took my parents’ orders way too seriously. He insisted on monitoring my dinners. Because of that, there were multiple times Ro would text me right while I was eating with my brother, nearly exposing my entire secret life. Aside from that, I started running into Henry Brooks constantly. In the dining hall, outside the science building, crossing the quad. Obviously, he worked in the same lab as Reginald. Bumping into him wasn’t entirely unnatural. But I had heard rumors from the upperclassmen. Apparently, Reginald and Henry despised each other. If you walked past their lab, you could regularly hear them arguing. “Are they, like, mortal enemies?” I asked a senior in my dorm. “It’s not that deep. It’s physics. Friction creates progress.” Right. That explained why every time I caught Henry looking at Reginald, his eyes were practically shooting lightning bolts. I didn’t think much of it. Until one evening. I had just finished dinner and was lounging in the dorm when my roommate suddenly sat bolt upright in her bed. “Holy crap. You guys, you have to read what just got posted on the campus confessions page!” She dropped a link into our group chat. [Anonymous Confession: What do I do if I found out the girl I like has another boyfriend?] “Another boyfriend? What is this drama? Read it!” The comments on the post were already exploding. The anonymous poster explained that he was planning to meet up with his girlfriend in person soon, but he just discovered she was secretly involved with another guy on campus. [Bro, you’re the side piece!] read the top comment. OP replied: [Shut up. The one who isn’t loved is the side piece.] OP updated again: [I’ve been watching them for days. That guy doesn’t even care about her. He forces her to eat food she hates, he refuses to give her enough money, and he snaps at her all the time.] [It breaks my heart. How do I get her to break up with him?] The replies were pure chaos. Everyone loved a good trainwreck. My roommates were scrolling through the thread like it was a reality TV finale, reading the funniest comments out loud. I couldn’t have cared less. It wasn’t nearly as interesting as Ro’s abs. “This is totally fake for attention,” I said, flipping a page in my textbook. “Who knows? But look at everyone egging him on. This is hilarious.” It really was. People were hyping the OP up, telling him to steal the girl and save her from the toxic boyfriend. My roommate even left a comment telling him to go for it. The craziest part was that the OP actually listened. [Thanks for the support, everyone. I’ve made up my mind. I’m making my move tomorrow.] My roommates howled with laughter. “I can’t believe guys like this actually exist at our school. He’s weaponizing the comments section to steal someone’s girl.” I shrugged. Not my circus, not my monkeys. 9 The next day was Saturday. I went to the library to study. I was trying to grab a reference book off a high shelf, but someone had taken the step stool. I was on my tiptoes, stretching as far as I could, but my fingers kept slipping off the spine. Suddenly, a hand reached over my shoulder and pulled the book down. “Here.” I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun around and froze. Henry Brooks? What was he doing here? Seeing me paralyzed, he held the book out a little further. “Is this the one you needed?” “…Yes. Thanks.” I grabbed the book and practically bolted to an empty desk. I pulled out my laptop, but when I looked up, Henry was pulling out the chair directly across from me. He sat down. What the hell? Didn’t grad students have private study lounges? Why was he sitting in the general undergrad section? I was confused, but I didn’t want to talk to him. I quickly shot a text to Ro telling him I was at the library, then buried my face in my textbook. When I glanced up a few minutes later, I noticed the guy across from me was typing rapidly on his phone. Oh. He had someone to report to, too? I found that mildly amusing. My phone lit up. Ro: “Good girl. I’m reading right now too.” A massive grin spread across my face. We were so perfectly in sync. But my good mood didn’t last long. Things started getting weird. For the next few days, if I went to the track to run, I ran into Henry. If I went to play tennis, I ran into Henry. I even saw him at the campus swimming pool. Seriously? My brother was practically chained to his desk in the lab dying of exhaustion. Why did this guy have so much free time? Why was he literally everywhere? I glared at Henry from across the pool. He swam like a professional. When he pulled himself out of the water, the droplets traced down the hard lines of his abs. Wow. That was… actually a really nice view. But definitely not as good as Ro’s. I texted Ro immediately, demanding a new ab pic to cleanse my palate. Ro didn’t reply. I packed up my gym bag and walked out to the lobby. It was pouring rain outside. A total torrential downpour. I didn’t have an umbrella. I was about to text my roommates to save me, but I remembered they were both off-campus at their part-time jobs. The rain showed zero signs of stopping anytime soon. “I’ll walk you back.” A black umbrella popped open right above my head. I looked up, then spun around. Henry was standing right behind me. “No… it’s fine. I texted my brother.” “Reginald is running the particle simulator. Phones aren’t allowed in that wing. He won’t see your message for at least two hours.” “…” I swallowed my pride. “Okay… thanks, then.” Henry gave me the faintest, almost invisible curve of a smile. “Let’s go.” When we got to my dorm building, I thanked him again and practically sprinted upstairs. The second I hit the third floor, my phone buzzed. Ro: “I’ll take a picture for you when I get home.” Me: “Okay! Btw, it rained so hard today. I was almost stranded at the pool. Luckily a nice guy walked me back to my dorm with his umbrella.” “…” 10 A few days after the storm, the weather spiked into a brutal heatwave. The campus felt like the inside of an oven. Around noon, I had to run an errand off-campus. By the time I walked back through the main gates, I felt like I was going to melt into the pavement. I passed by the physics building and decided to detour to Reginald’s lab to steal some air conditioning. But Reginald wasn’t there. The only person in the outer lab was Henry. “Looking for Reginald? He went to Professor Harris’s office. You can wait inside.” Normally, I would have made up an excuse and left. But it was over ninety degrees outside. I nodded gratefully, pulled up a stool, and sat down. Henry glanced at me, then pulled a chilled bottle of water out of a mini-fridge and handed it to me. “Drink.” “Thanks…” The lab was split into an outer office and an inner clean room. Henry went back into the inner room to monitor a machine. Through the glass partition, I caught him looking up at me every few minutes. His eyebrows were pulled tight. Then he would look down at his phone and type furiously. I was so confused. I barely knew this guy. We had spoken maybe ten sentences to each other since the semester started. I ignored it, leaning my head against the cool metal of the desk. The heat outside had totally drained me. My vision started blurring at the edges. A moment later, Henry set his phone down and walked out of the inner room. “Harper…” “Yeah?” I tried to lift my head. Right as I moved, the heavy lab door swung open. Reginald walked in. “Harper? What are you doing here?” “Reginald…” I stood up. Maybe I moved too fast, or maybe the heat had finally won. Black spots swarmed my vision, and the floor dropped out from under me. Both guys lunged forward. “Harper!” “Her blood sugar crashed.” Multiple hands grabbed my arms to stop me from hitting the floor. One pair of hands felt different. They were slightly cool to the touch, not warm and calloused like my brother’s. I heard the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. A second later, something intensely sweet was pressed against my lips. I opened my mouth, tasting strawberry. My lips brushed against soft, cool fingertips. Not my brother’s hands. “Brooks, I told you a hundred times no food or drinks in the lab! You’re sneaking candy in here again?!” Reginald’s voice echoed in the room. Wait. So the candy… and the hands… “She’s literally passing out on the floor and you’re lecturing me about lab safety protocols?! Do you even care about her at all?!” Oh. That was Henry shouting. He had candy in his pocket? But his words sounded so weirdly accusatory. I blinked, my vision slowly clearing. I caught the furious look on Reginald’s face. I instinctively grabbed Henry’s wrist. “Don’t talk to him like that.” “…” Before I closed my eyes again, the furious look had completely transferred onto Henry’s face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464459”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 A drunk man hunted me through dark, empty streets last night while I dialed Chazz Antoon five times. The first call, I screamed for help. The second, only trembling sobs escaped. The third, the fourth… they rang out unanswered. By the fifth, a notification lit up my screen—a new post from his social media. It was Daphne Lloyd, serene in sleep. The caption read: My ninety-ninth successful bedtime. While I ran for my life, my husband was across town tucking his patient into bed. I stumbled into a bright, fluorescent-lit convenience store. My reflection in the mirror was pathetic—disheveled clothes, eyes wide with terror, clinging to the hope he would save me. How incredibly foolish I had been. For five years, his psychiatric clinic and my botanical greenhouse sat barely three miles apart, yet he never once offered me a ride. On our wedding night, his phone buzzed for a single second before he snatched his keys and vanished, claiming psychiatric patients were unpredictable and his line must remain open 24/7. That always-on phone was never available for his own wife. A cold gust swept through the store. I stared at his post, unable to look away. After a long silence, a dry, mocking laugh escaped me. If he was sleeping elsewhere, there was no point keeping the porch light on. The botanical research project transfer list was finalized. It was time to pack up and leave. … “Ms. Barlow, do you remember any distinct physical features of the suspect?” At the precinct, my knuckles turned white as I tried to piece together the terrifying details of the previous night. Before I could speak, my phone buzzed on the metal table. The caller ID read Chazz Antoon. I offered a quiet apology to the officer and stepped aside to answer. “It’s the weekend. Are you not at home?” “No,” his voice was crisp. “Is everything alright at the greenhouse?” I swallowed hard. “Yes, it’s fine.” “Good.” “Chazz, I have something to tell you…” I closed my eyes, trying to find the words, but my voice was instantly drowned out by a soft, sleepy murmur from his end of the line. The rustle of bedsheets came through the speaker. “Chazz…” the woman cooed. “Go back to sleep, sweetie,” Chazz whispered back, his tone dripping with protective tenderness. The plea to ask him to come home and stay with me died in my throat. My chest felt as if it had been pierced by a cold needle. “What were you saying?” Chazz’s voice returned to the receiver, suddenly formal. I forced a weak smile. “Nothing.” “Your voice sounds strange.” I dug my fingernails into my palm, letting the sharp pain anchor me. Outside the station windows, the sky had turned a heavy, bruised grey. Rain began to patter against the glass. “I’m just tired.” I expected him to hang up, but he hesitated. “Get home early, then.” By the time the statement was finished, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour, roaring against the pavement. “Ms. Barlow, would you like us to give you a ride home?” the officer at the desk offered kindly. I shook my head and declined with a polite smile. I had already learned how to handle the storm on my own. I reached the house just as the water began to pool around my ankles. Before I could punch in the security code, the door swung open. Chazz stood in the hallway. “You’re back. Is it pouring out there?” I wiped the dampness from the tips of my hair. “A bit.” “Why didn’t you ask me to pick you up?” I kicked off my wet shoes, my voice entirely flat. “I called you last night. You didn’t answer.” Chazz’s hand paused on the doorknob. “I was exhausted last night. I fell asleep early.” Early sleep. Or perhaps, early bedtime stories for Daphne. I lined up my shoes neatly and caught sight of his damp trousers. The cuffs were soaked through. My gaze drifted up to his face. “Did you just get back too?” Chazz poured himself a glass of water, offering a casual nod. “The storm was bad. Daphne is terrified of thunder, so I went to check on her.” He could anticipate Daphne’s fears in a storm, but he never stopped to wonder if his wife was walking home in the downpour. “You really care about her, don’t you?” “She’s my patient, Iris. It’s my job to care.” Chazz didn’t look up as he opened a takeout container and handed me a pair of chopsticks. I didn’t take them. “She was discharged months ago, Chazz.” Chazz let out a heavy sigh, setting the chopsticks down. “Not this again. Daphne suffers from severe psychiatric trauma. Even after discharge, the threat of a relapse is constant.” He reached out, patting my head with a patronizing tenderness. “Be a good girl. You don’t need to wait up for me tonight.” “And what about me?” “You’re different.” Was I different because I was strong, or because I simply didn’t matter? I pushed the food aside as a massive crack of thunder rattled the windowpanes. I swallowed down the urge to beg him to stay, choosing a different approach instead. “Can you drop me off at the greenhouse on your way out? The storm is getting worse, and I’m worried the roof might leak.” Chazz blinked, looking at me in surprise. “I can take you first thing tomorrow morning.” Tomorrow morning? If the roof leaked, all my rare orchids would be ruined by then. “Why not now?” Before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly softened into a smile. “Alright, get some rest,” he said, already reaching for his coat. “Daphne is frightened. I have to go.” The door clicked shut, leaving me completely alone in the silent, dark house. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by the sharp chime of my phone. Notification: The transfer assignment has been officially scheduled for seven days from now. Please ensure your personal affairs are in order before departure. I stared at the screen for a long moment before typing two words. Understood. Confirmed. The next morning, before the sun had even cleared the horizon, the front door opened. Chazz’s mother stood on the doormat, carrying several heavy grocery bags. She looked around the empty hallway. “Where is Chazz?” I took the bags from her hands, placing them on the counter. “It was pouring last night. He was worried…” Mrs. Antoon paused, then let out a knowing, soft chuckle. “Iris, dear, you have to understand. Daphne was the very first patient Chazz successfully cured. He’s bound to be a little overprotective. You must be patient with him.” I didn’t say a word. I hadn’t even mentioned Daphne’s name, yet she already knew. Mrs. Antoon hummed a cheerful tune as she unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Soon, the sound of her dialing her phone echoed through the apartment. “Chazz, darling, it’s Mom. I’m at your place. Bring Daphne over for lunch. I’m making her favorite herb-crusted cod.” As she spoke, a fresh fish slipped from the counter, flopping wildly on the floor and splashing water everywhere. Mrs. Antoon quickly scooped it up, slamming it onto the cutting board to stun it before expertly scaling it. She caught me watching and smiled warmly. “We’re having a fish feast today, alright? I went to the harbor early this morning to get the absolute freshest catch.” She asked for my opinion, but she didn’t wait for an answer before returning to her work. As the kitchen filled with steam, Chazz walked through the door. Daphne peeked out from behind his shoulder, her eyes crinkling into a sweet smile. “Hi, Iris.” Chazz offered me a reassuring smile, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Are you still angry with me? Do you want me to take you to the greenhouse now?” “No need,” I replied quietly. “Good. Daphne brought you a little peace offering.” He handed me a gift bag containing a hand-knit scarf. Chazz knelt down to help Daphne slide into a pair of slippers, explaining on her behalf, “Daphne knit this herself. I remembered red is your favorite color. Do you like it?” “My favorite color is red?” Chazz looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Isn’t it?” I suddenly lost all energy to correct him. After three years of marriage, he didn’t even know my favorite color. “Yes. I love red.” I looked down at the scarf. The stitching was uneven, loose in some places and tight in others. But it looked incredibly familiar. “The blue scarf you keep locked in your closet,” I murmured. “Did she knit that one too?” “Yes, she did,” Chazz replied casually. I finally understood why he had thrown such a massive tantrum when I accidentally touched it while folding his laundry. “Why are these slippers this color again?” Daphne pouted, wiggling her toes in disapproval. “I don’t like them. Didn’t I ask you to replace them, Chazz?” “My mistake,” Chazz said gently, without a hint of annoyance, as he slid a different pair onto her feet. “I’ll buy you those pink ones you wanted later today, okay?” I watched them, a suffocating weight settling in my chest. Last month, when I was burning with a fever, I had asked him to boil some warm water so I could take my medicine. He had promised he would, but when I finally dragged myself out of bed hours later, the kettle was ice-cold. Perhaps I should have gotten used to this a long time ago. “Daphne, you’re here!” Mrs. Antoon called out, bringing the steaming dish to the table. Daphne immediately rushed over, wrapping her arms affectionately around the older woman’s shoulders. They looked far more like a family than I ever did with them. Over the last three years, I had visited the Antoon household countless times. But every time I tried to get close, Mrs. Antoon would flinch away, avoiding my touch as if I were a threat. Chazz had always excused it, saying, “My mother just isn’t a physical person.” It turned out she was perfectly fine with physical affection. She just didn’t want it from me. The three of them sat down at the table, their laughter filling the dining room. “Iris, aren’t you joining us?” Mrs. Antoon finally noticed me standing by the door. I didn’t move. The doorbell rang, and I opened it to collect a takeout delivery I had ordered minutes before. “You guys go ahead. I’m having this.” I held up the takeout container with a polite smile. I sat down on the floor by the coffee table, peeling back the lid of my food. The laughter in the dining room died instantly. Chazz’s brow furrowed. “Iris, my mother spent the entire morning cooking a fresh meal, and you’d rather eat cheap takeout?” I ignored him, taking a quiet bite of my sweet-and-sour chicken. With a harsh scrape of wood against the floor, Chazz stood up, marched over, and grabbed my wrist. “Iris, I am speaking to you.” His grip was tight, sending a dull ache up my arm. The sweet taste of the food in my mouth suddenly turned to ash. “Chazz, I am severely allergic to fish.” Chazz froze, his grip loosening. Silence fell over the room. No one spoke, and no one asked why I had ordered takeout anymore. Mrs. Antoon patted her temple with a nervous chuckle. “Oh dear, look at my memory. I saw the fresh fish at the market and completely forgot Iris doesn’t eat seafood. My mistake, dear.” I looked down, offering a small, hollow smile. “It’s fine.” I had gotten used to this, too. On my very first visit to the Antoon home after our wedding, they had asked about my dietary restrictions. Yet, they had served an entire table of fish. It happened the second year, and the third. The only difference was that this time, I refused to play along. “Well, if you can’t eat the fish, you can still have some of the roasted vegetables on the side,” Mrs. Antoon tried to smooth things over. “Come, sit with us.” Chazz didn’t say another word. He grabbed my takeout box with one hand and pulled me up with the other, ignoring my silent resistance as he led me to the table. With me sitting there, the atmosphere turned incredibly tense. I didn’t care. I kept my head down, focusing entirely on my own food. “Daphne, isn’t your birthday coming up soon?” Mrs. Antoon asked, desperate to break the silence. Daphne smiled brightly, launching into her birthday plans. I finished my meal quickly, setting my chopsticks down. “I’m finished. I’ll leave you all to enjoy the rest of your lunch.” Before I could close my bedroom door, Chazz shoved his way in. “Iris, my mother is getting older. Her memory isn’t what it used to be.” “And Daphne is incredibly sensitive. If you just walk out like that, she’s going to think she did something wrong.” He didn’t care about my feelings. His only concern was protecting Daphne’s fragile ego. “Chazz,” I said, turning to face him. “Do I really have to walk on eggshells for another woman in my own home?” He let out a soft laugh, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Are you jealous, Iris?” “Daphne is my patient. Her mental state is still highly unstable, and as her doctor, I am legally and morally responsible for her safety.” And what about my safety? I looked down, keeping the words locked behind my teeth. “I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.” I brushed his hands off. As I did, the collar of my shirt slipped, revealing a dark purple bruise and a nasty scratch on my shoulder. Chazz’s eyes locked onto the injury. “What happened to your shoulder?” It was from the night I was followed, when the drunk man had thrown a glass bottle at me. I pulled my collar back up. “Just an accident at the greenhouse.” His fingers trembled slightly. “I’ll go get some ointment for you. Wait here.” I listened to him. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him all night. But Chazz never returned. I called his phone, but it rang out continuously. The next morning, Daphne posted a new photo online. It was a shot of the sunrise from a mountain peak, captioned: The sunrise is beautiful, and the person watching it with me is perfect. I locked my phone and smiled. For the next several days, Chazz didn’t come home. He merely sent a courier to drop off a bag of medical ointments at our door. He finally returned the night before Daphne’s birthday. “How is your shoulder?” he asked, walking into the bedroom. “It’s fine.” “Are you… packing a suitcase?” Chazz stopped, staring at the open luggage on the bed with a look of confusion. I nodded calmly, reaching into my purse to retrieve the divorce papers my lawyer had drafted. “My transfer has been approved, Chazz. Let’s sign the—” Before I could finish the sentence, Chazz took a step back, his elbow catching a glass on the nightstand. It shattered against the hardwood floor with a sharp crash. At the sound of the shattering glass, a sudden wave of panic washed over me, and my body began to shake uncontrollably. As Chazz knelt down to clean up the water and glass, his phone rang. In the midst of the chaos, the phone rang for less than a second before he swiped the screen. It was Daphne. His voice immediately turned soft and comforting, but as he spoke, he reached out and snatched the papers I had laid on the desk to wipe up the spilled water. Within seconds, the divorce agreement was soaked, ruined, and tossed into the wastebasket. When he hung up, he finally noticed the missed calls on his screen. “Did you call me last night?” “Yes.” “Don’t call so late next time. It might disturb…” He trailed off, but I knew what he meant. He was worried I would disturb Daphne’s sleep. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Iris, tomorrow is Daphne’s birthday. I need you to prepare the floral arrangements, just like last year.” Every year, I made the bouquets for her party because Chazz said she loved flowers, and I happened to grow them. “This year, she wants white tulips,” he added. “And what about me?” I interrupted him. Chazz paused. “What?” “What flowers do I like, Chazz?” “Roses? Peonies?” He frowned, clearly annoyed. “Does it really matter right now?” For Daphne’s birthday, he remembered every detail. But my preferences were entirely insignificant. “I’ve prepared the bouquets,” I said flatly. I had made two. One was for Daphne’s party, and the other was a parting gift for Chazz, a final marker to end our hollow marriage. “Good. I’ll come by the greenhouse to pick them up later,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.” I checked my watch. My flight was in six hours. This would be the last time I ever waited for him. One hour passed. Then two. “When are you coming?” I messaged him. My flight was now three hours away. My message went completely unanswered. I closed the app, ordered a courier service, and had the bouquets delivered directly to the banquet hall. Then, I grabbed my suitcase and took a cab to my greenhouse. I had spent six years in this industry, and this greenhouse had been my sanctuary for five of them. Before I left this city forever, I wanted to say goodbye to my flowers. Just as I was about to arrive, a message popped up on my phone from Daphne. “Iris, your flowers are absolutely stunning! I took a bunch of them to decorate the main stage. Thank you so much for the birthday gift!” Attached were several photos. The moment I saw them, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I jumped out of the cab before it had even fully stopped. I rushed to the greenhouse doors and threw them open, only to be met with complete devastation. My sanctuary was in ruins. Rare orchids had been brutally ripped from their stems, delicate petals were crushed into the dirt, and soil was scattered everywhere. Five years of painstaking labor had been trampled into nothingness. My hands shook violently as I reached out to touch a broken stem. I dialed Chazz’s number. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him how he could let her do this, how he could walk into my private sanctuary and destroy my life’s work without a second thought. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally, he answered. “Iris?” I looked down at a rare white orchid, now crushed into the mud. “Why did you go into my greenhouse, Chazz?” Chazz let out a light laugh. “Oh, sorry, I meant to tell you. Daphne decided she didn’t want the tulips after all, and I knew you had plenty of other flowers, so I brought her over to pick some.” “To pick some? Chazz, those flowers were my entire life!” “Look, Iris, the party is starting and it’s really loud here. Let’s talk about this when I get back, okay?” The line went dead. I stared at the ruins of my life’s work. Without a single tear, I opened my settings, blocked Chazz’s number on every platform, and boarded the flight to the misty valleys of the Northwest. He didn’t care about the flowers blooming or dying. But someone else would. [Will Chazz realize his devastating mistake? Unlock the next chapter to see Iris find her true worth and leave him in the dust…]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464475”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before our senior graduation trip, my roommate stole the secret gaming smurf I had been hiding for three years. Top 100 on the server. Every skin unlocked. An account that had solo-killed pro players three times during private scrimmages. And she was using it to flirt on voice chat until dawn. Using a voice filter. Sending my pictures. Spending my premium currency to buy matching couple skins. When I confronted her, she just laughed. “You aren’t going pro anyway. What’s the big deal if I borrow a stacked account for a bit?” Furious, I tried to change the password. That was when I realized the account was already bound to her phone number. The next day at the esports resort in Santa Monica, her name was plastered across the lobby’s giant screen right next to my ID, branded as an “Academy Team Prospect.” While I stood there paralyzed, glowing text suddenly floated across my vision in thin air. [Why is the side character throwing a tantrum over a smurf account?] [Tessa is finally taking back her rightful stage.] [Zane, hurry up and give your future wife that team jersey!] Zane? I stared at the name, stunned. Wasn’t that the hotshot mid-laner my boyfriend’s pro team had just signed? 1 I first realized my account had been compromised the night before the trip. Our dorm looked like a hurricane had ripped through a shipping center. Three suitcases lay open on the floor. Sunscreen, swimsuits, charging cables, and Polaroids were scattered everywhere. Tessa sat at her desk wearing a headset. Her shoulders shook with giggles. I didn’t pay it much attention until a text message popped up on my phone. [Your gaming account is being rebound to a new device in a different location. Please confirm if this is you.] My fingers froze. The account name was LunarNoCS. It was the smurf account I had kept hidden for three years. It had a gorgeous win rate, sat comfortably in the Top 100 Challenger tier, and had a maxed-out cosmetic inventory. More importantly, it was the account I used to secretly practice mid-lane match-ups to help my boyfriend, Kieran, with his training. Kieran was the captain of the Crown esports roster. He trained constantly, and I never wanted to hold him back. So I practiced behind his back, grinding game after game. Losing until my hands shook. Staying up until 3 AM. Waking up the next day to review my VODs and do it all over again. To me, it wasn’t just a burner account. It was the physical proof of every midnight loss and every hard-fought victory. I immediately opened the game client. Login failed. The screen read: [Account has been bound to a new phone number.] A loud ringing filled my ears. Following the sound of giggling, I walked up behind Tessa. On the spare tablet I usually let her use to watch Netflix, my account was logged in. I hadn’t signed out, and the backup email had still been linked. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment crime. She had been targeting my account for a while. Her party microphone was still open. She pitched her voice up into a sickly sweet tone. “Are you going to recognize me at the resort tomorrow?” A lazy male voice responded through her headset. “I’ll recognize you. It’d be pretty hard to forget a playstyle like Lunar’s.” Tessa smiled even sweeter. “Then you have to bring me a team jacket tomorrow, okay?” I reached out and ripped the headset off her ears. “Tessa.” She jumped, nearly knocking the tablet off the desk. “Are you crazy? Don’t sneak up on people.” I stared dead at her. “Why are you logged into my account?” Her eyes darted away for a second, but she quickly straightened her posture. “What’s wrong with borrowing it? It’s not like you’re doing anything useful with it.” I tapped the chat history on the screen. The most recent message was a photo she had sent. A girl in a white dress. A side profile. The beach. It was a picture Kieran had taken of me last summer. Below it was a text: [If you give me a hug tomorrow, I promise I won’t be nervous anymore.] I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “You stole my account, stole my pictures, and you’re catfishing guys online?” Tessa lunged to grab the tablet back. “Don’t make it sound so ugly. It’s not catfishing. He’s a pro player. I just want to network with people in the industry.” I didn’t let go. I kept scrolling up. Matching skins. Flirty voice notes. Pentakill highlight reels I had edited myself. Screenshots of my practice match reviews. She had even sent a selfie of my wrist. The guy’s contact name was saved as [Zane]. My finger hovered over the screen. Zane. The star mid-laner Crown had just dropped a fortune to sign. Kieran had mentioned him to me just a few days ago. “The new kid is pretty arrogant,” Kieran had said while peeling an orange for me in his kitchen. “Stay away from him, babe.” I had teased him for being territorial. It wasn’t so funny anymore. Seeing me go quiet, Tessa seemed to gain confidence. “You already have Kieran. Do you really need to hoard this account too? I just want people to look at me for once. Don’t be so selfish, Luna.” I opened my mouth to tear into her. Suddenly, a line of glowing text drifted right across my line of sight. [Why is the female side character getting so mad? The female lead is just taking back her rightful stage early.] I froze. A second later, more text flooded my vision like a live-stream chat. [The Lunar account was always meant to make Tessa shine.] [Luna is so greedy. She already has a pro boyfriend and she still wants more?] [The identity reveal scene at the graduation trip is going to be epic!] I read the floating words, then looked back at Tessa. She was clutching the tablet, her face twisted in a mask of perfect victimhood. Like I was the one trying to ruin her life. I suddenly smiled. “Okay.” Tessa blinked, caught off guard. I slowly set the tablet back down on the desk. “The graduation trip is tomorrow. We’ll settle this face-to-face.” 2 Tessa’s face changed. “What is that supposed to mean?” I pulled out my own phone and started screen-recording the chat logs. “It means I’m going to sit back and watch exactly how you use my account to shine.” She lunged to snatch my phone, but I took a step back. Jenna popped her head over the edge of her top bunk, a sheet mask still plastered to her face. “Who’s shining? Did a lightbulb blow out?” Maddie walked out of the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. “Are we fighting? Let me rinse first.” I turned the screen around for them to see. They read the logs in utter silence. Jenna slowly peeled off her sheet mask. “Tessa, did you steal Luna’s account?” Maddie swallowed hard. “And you’re using her pictures to hit on a pro player?” Tessa’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “I wasn’t hitting on anyone. I just love esports so much. I’m not like Luna. Her boyfriend is a team captain. It’s so easy for her to get into the scene.” My voice dropped to ice. “When have I ever used Kieran to get into the scene?” Tessa bit her lip. “Haven’t you? Nobody even knows if you climbed to that rank yourself. Kieran probably duo-queued with you and boosted you the whole way up.” The dorm went dead silent. I stared her down. “Say that again.” Tessa acted like she had just stumbled onto the ultimate truth. “Am I wrong? How could a girl like you get such a high rank? Your boyfriend carries you every night. It’s totally normal.” The holographic comments spiked instantly. [The female lead speaks the truth!] [Luna is just a boosted e-girl. Why is she acting like a god?] [Once Tessa wins on stage tomorrow, Luna won’t have anything left to say.] A sharp ache pierced my chest. I could handle the stolen account. I could call the police over the stolen photos. But casually writing off three years of my blood, sweat, and tears as a man carrying me to the top? That was sicker than stealing. I walked right up to her, forcing her to look up at me. “Tessa, you can steal my login credentials. But you can’t steal my mechanics. The game won’t play itself for you.” Her face went pale. I kept going. “You already signed up for the campus showmatch tomorrow, didn’t you?” Panic flashed in her eyes. I opened our college group chat. Sure enough, she had posted a message half an hour ago. Tessa: [I’ll be playing on my main account to carry everyone to the championship at the showmatch tomorrow night.] Someone had asked: [What’s your main?] Tessa: [LunarNoCS.] A string of shocked emojis followed. [Holy shit, the Top 100 account?] [Tessa, you’ve been hiding this?] [Carry us tomorrow!] She had even replied with a bashful smiley face. I shoved my phone in her face. “You claimed my ID. So tomorrow, you better back it up with raw skill.” She shrank back. “Don’t push me.” I laughed. “Weren’t you the one who stole it?” Tessa looked up, her eyes completely bloodshot now. “Luna, if you’re really that good, just go grind a new account. This one is in my hands now. Whoever’s name is on it, owns it.” I nodded slowly. “Remember you said that.” The floating text was still scrolling by. [The side character is so aggressive.] [Tessa just wants to be noticed, what did she do wrong?] [Tomorrow Zane is going to personally welcome Tessa. Luna is going to get humbled so hard.] I let out a cold laugh. We would see exactly who was getting humbled tomorrow. 3 The next morning, we boarded the charter bus to Santa Monica. The graduation trip was a three-day, two-night event organized by the college. Beach bonding, an esports-themed resort, and a massive collegiate showmatch. It sounded like paradise. If Tessa wasn’t glaring daggers at me the entire ride, my happiness would have easily doubled. She obviously hadn’t slept. Even heavy concealer couldn’t hide her dark circles. I, on the other hand, had slept beautifully. Even though the phone number had been changed, I had already contacted customer support and submitted my ID and three years of purchase receipts. It just needed time to process. Tessa thought I was powerless. She spent the entire bus ride furiously typing on her phone. I didn’t even have to look to know she was continuing her little charade with Zane. Halfway through the drive, Kieran texted me. [On the bus?] [Yeah.] He replied instantly. [Getting motion sick?] [No.] Kieran: [Then are you thinking about me?] I couldn’t help but smile. [Doesn’t Captain Kieran have practice today?] He sent a photo of the team’s training room. Half an iced Americano sat next to his mechanical keyboard. His hand rested on the edge of the desk, veins tracing over his knuckles. [Five-minute break. Specifically to think about you.] My ears grew hot. Just as I was about to type a reply, Tessa’s snide voice drifted over. “Must be nice having a pro boyfriend. Checking up on you even on a graduation trip.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “You can just ask your Zane to check up on you.” Maddie didn’t miss a beat. “Assuming he can even recognize you.” Tessa’s expression soured. My phone buzzed again. A new friend request. The note read: [Zane.] I narrowed my eyes and accepted it. His first message popped up. [See you tonight?] I didn’t reply. He sent another. [Or should I call you Lunar?] My stomach dropped. I took a screenshot and forwarded it straight to Kieran. Kieran’s side went dead quiet for three seconds. Then my screen flashed with an incoming video call. I answered it. His striking, stoic face filled the screen. “Babe.” “Yeah?” He enunciated every single word. “Zane. Added. You?” Seeing his face practically smoking with jealousy instantly lifted my mood. “Yep.” He took a deep breath. “Ignore him.” I rested my chin in my hand. “But the floating text says he’s going to get me into the academy team.” Kieran frowned. “What floating text?” I paused. Right. He couldn’t see the magical novel comments. The text started flying across my vision again. [The captain is so salty.] [But Zane is the official male lead!] [Wait a minute, Kieran’s face is honestly so much better looking though?] Reading the comments, I suddenly felt a surge of confidence. The so-called plot didn’t seem entirely unbreakable. 4 We arrived at the resort right at four in the afternoon. The lobby of the esports hotel was massive, lined with rows of high-end gaming rigs. Neon signs bathed the room in a sharp, electric glow. A giant LED screen in the center of the room displayed the roster for tonight’s showmatch. I looked up and saw it immediately. [Special Guest: Tessa] [In-Game ID: LunarNoCS] [Role: Genius Female Mid-Laner] I stopped in my tracks. Jenna sucked in a breath. “She has zero shame.” Maddie muttered a colorful curse. Tessa acted like she couldn’t hear us. She had deliberately worn the white sun-jacket from my photos. She even had the exact same hair tie on her wrist. An event coordinator jogged over with a bright smile. “You must be Tessa. Zane is already here. He gave you a glowing recommendation to the team manager. Pass the verification match tonight, and you’ll officially secure an academy scouting trial.” The crowd of students around us immediately exploded. “Zane? Crown’s new mid-laner?” “Tessa is actually LunarNoCS?” “An academy trial? She already has one foot in the pro scene!” The coordinator hung a VIP lanyard around Tessa’s neck. It read: [LunarNoCS – Crown Academy Prospect]. Tessa looked down, tracing the plastic badge with her fingers. Then she looked up at me, keeping her voice low. “Look at this, Luna. Sometimes if you’re a step too slow, what’s yours becomes someone else’s.” I pulled out my phone, intending to log in and prove her wrong on the spot. But the app flashed a system warning. [Account is currently under security lockdown. Login disabled.] Tessa’s smile widened. “Don’t bother. I already submitted the supplementary security forms. Whoever this account is registered to is the real Lunar.” My grip on my phone tightened. People in the lobby were starting to call out to her. “Lunar, you better carry us later!” “Tessa, how did you keep this a secret for so long?” “Top 100 mid-laner! Absolute legend!” With every cheer, a heavy weight sank deeper into my chest. I was standing right here, watching someone else slowly erase my name from the scoreboard. Footsteps echoed from the lobby entrance. A group of guys in black esports jerseys walked in. The guy at the front was tall, his jacket unzipped, his eyes lazy and arrogant. The silver Crown logo gleamed on his chest. It was Zane. He was holding a spare team jersey in his hand, walking straight toward Tessa. Tessa’s eyes lit up. “Zane…” The cheering from the crowd nearly took the roof off. The holographic comments were going completely insane. [Here it comes! The female lead’s golden moment!] [A pro player personally handing over his jacket, I’m screaming.] [Luna must be dying of jealousy right now hahaha.] Zane stopped right in front of Tessa. He looked down at her. A second later, he smirked. “Lunar?” Tessa blushed deeply and nodded. “Yeah, it’s me.” Zane extended the team jersey to her. Tessa reached her hands out. My phone screen was still locked on the failed login prompt. Everyone around us was chanting her fake name. Just as her fingertips brushed the fabric of the jersey, a voice sliced through the noise. It was cold, heavy, and absolutely furious. “Who gave you permission to touch that?” 5 I spun around. Kieran was standing by the entrance, a heavy duffel bag in his hand. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes. His black jacket was wrinkled from travel, the zipper totally misaligned. It looked like he had bolted straight from the training room and rushed all the way here. He walked past everyone and stopped right beside me. He shoved a warm cup of milk tea into my hands. “It’s hot,” he murmured. I took it, completely stunned. Only then did he lift his gaze to the giant screen. “LunarNoCS. Tessa?” He let out a low, dark laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it silenced the entire lobby. “That ID has been burned into my memory for three years.” He locked eyes with Tessa. His stare was as lethal as a grand finals match point. “Of all the people you could have impersonated, you chose my girlfriend?” Dead silence. Tessa’s hand froze in midair. Zane raised an eyebrow. “Captain, you’ve been hiding her well.” Kieran ignored him. He looked down at me. “She still has the account?” I nodded. His expression turned glacial. Tessa finally snapped out of it. The tears arrived instantly. “Kieran, you can’t just help her steal my account just because she’s your girlfriend.” Whispers broke out across the crowd. “Wait, who’s the real one?” “Tessa can log into the account, so it must be hers, right?” “But the captain literally just said it’s his girlfriend’s.” Tessa cried harder, looking like the ultimate victim. “Luna, isn’t having Kieran enough for you? Why do you have to steal my only opportunity?” The floating comments rushed to her defense. [The female lead is so pitiful.] [Boosted e-girls always act so entitled.] [Tessa literally has the account on her phone. What proof does Luna have?] Before I could say a word, Kieran smiled. He had a beautiful smile. But anyone who knew him understood one thing: the brighter he smiled, the more dangerous he was. “You can rebind a phone number,” Kieran said smoothly. “You can’t rebind raw mechanics.” He glanced over at Zane. “Haven’t you been trying to track Lunar down for six months?” Zane lazily pulled the jersey back. “Yeah.” He looked at Tessa, the amusement in his eyes fading slightly. “She solo-killed me three times in a private server. I’ve been holding a grudge ever since.” Tessa’s face drained of color. “I’m… I’m not feeling well today.” I stared at her. “That’s okay. You were feeling fine when you stole my login.” Maddie let out a loud snort. Jenna started slow-clapping. The event coordinator realized things were spiraling and quickly changed the rules. Instead of a casual showmatch, they set up an identity verification duel. A 1v1 solo lane. Tessa on her so-called “LunarNoCS” account. Me on a brand-new tournament client. Zane would referee. Kieran stood directly behind my gaming chair. He leaned down. “Nervous?” I shook my head. “Not at all.” He chuckled softly. “Good. To crush her? It’s more than enough.” I placed my fingers on the keyboard. In that moment, all the frustration and injustice vanished. I just wanted to teach Tessa a lesson. You can steal an account. You can buy skins. You can steal photos. But you cannot steal the muscle memory someone carved into their hands night after grueling night. 6 Tessa locked in an execution-heavy assassin. She had clearly memorized my match history and knew I played that champion often. But picking the champion doesn’t mean you know how to play them. I locked in an aggressive, lane-bully mage. The moment the game loaded, a massive crowd gathered behind our monitors. Tessa’s hands were visibly shaking. Level one, she missed her first minion. Then she missed her second. The guys watching behind us started muttering. “A Top 100 player missing basic CS like that? Kind of tragic.” Tessa’s face tightened. She suddenly looked up at the coordinator, her eyes glassy. “I’m really nervous. Can I use my own headphones? The crowd is too loud.” The coordinator opened his mouth to object, but someone in the crowd defended her. “She’s being forced to prove herself on the spot, obviously she’s nervous. It’s just headphones, not an aimbot.” Tessa immediately slipped her own noise-canceling headset over her ears. My brow twitched. Level two. I heard a very faint male voice bleeding from her headset. “Play patient. Go in for a trade at level two.” I heard it. Kieran heard it, too. His eyes instantly darkened. I didn’t call it out. She wanted to put on a show? I would let her perform. Following the voice, she pushed forward to pressure me. I took a deliberate half-step back. Thinking I was scared, she blew all her cooldowns at once. A second later, I turned, dodged, and locked her down. Auto-attack. Ignite. Wave management. First blood. The entire room let out a collective “Whoa.” Tessa went totally pale. The voice leaking from her headset sounded panicked now. “Why didn’t you dodge?” Tessa hissed under her breath. “How was I supposed to know her burst was that high?” I tapped my keyboard lightly. “Tessa.” She looked up at me. I gave her a tight smile. “A booster can talk you through it. But your hand is still the one on the mouse.” The holographic chat froze for a split second. Then it exploded. [She hired an Elo-booster?!] [Wait, the female lead is a fraud?] [Hold up, how did Luna even hear that?] Zane walked over, grabbed Tessa’s headset, and pulled it off her head. A frantic male voice echoed loudly out of the earpieces. “Hello? Can you hear me? Stop going in by yourself—” Dead silence in the lobby. The last ounce of color vanished from Tessa’s face. “Pause the match,” Kieran commanded. He looked at the coordinator. “Do we really need to keep verifying?” 7 The staff confiscated Tessa’s tablet and headset. They quickly pulled up the backend logs. She hadn’t just stolen my account. She had contacted an Elo-booster in advance, paying him to remotely dictate her every move during the showmatch. The chat logs were explicitly clear. [As long as I survive the verification duel tonight, I’ll get the Crown Academy tryout.] [Luna won’t do anything about the account anyway. She doesn’t have the guts to make a scene.] The lobby broke out in an uproar. Tessa sobbed, gasping for air. “I just wanted to prove myself so badly!” Jenna scoffed. “Prove that you don’t know how to last-hit a minion?” Maddie twisted the knife. “You suck at the game, and you suck at being a decent person.” Tessa buried her face in her hands. “You’re all bullying me.” I stared at her. “Tessa, you didn’t want to prove yourself. You just wanted to rip off someone else’s hard work and wear it as your own.” She snapped her head up, her eyes venomous. “Luna, stop acting so holy. Who knows if your account is even legit? Everyone knows Kieran probably boosted you.” The room went quiet again. It was the last bucket of dirty water she had left to throw. And the most disgusting one. Some people in the crowd started to murmur in agreement. “I mean, it’s not impossible…” “She’s the captain’s girlfriend. Getting carried by a pro is pretty standard.” “The stats on that account are insanely high for a normal player.” The floating comments flared back to life. [Exactly! Why does Luna get a free pass?] [Tessa was wrong to steal, but Luna isn’t necessarily innocent either.] [Boosted e-girls getting carried by their boyfriends happens all the time.] My hands curled into tight fists. Kieran took a breath to speak, but I stopped him. “Don’t talk for me.” He looked down at me, pausing. I turned to the coordinator. “Aren’t you missing a mid-laner for the main event tomorrow?” The coordinator blinked. “I’ll play,” I said. “Kieran won’t shot-call. He won’t be on stage. He won’t even touch a headset.” I looked right at Tessa. “You think I got carried? Then I’ll let everyone watch. Let’s see if I actually know how to play.” 8 After the scene in the lobby, our college counselor arrived. Tessa was dragged into a conference room. I thought she would finally shut up. But at ten o’clock that night, she posted a massive essay on the campus forum and the college gaming boards. The headline was glaring: [I admit I borrowed an account, but Luna is no saint either.] It was a mix of half-truths and lies. She admitted to logging in, but claimed I had offered to let her borrow it. She wrote: [Luna always portrays herself as this gaming god, but her boyfriend is the captain of Crown. We all know how she really got those ranks.] [I’m just a normal girl with no connections, so they teamed up to bully me.] The comment section exploded. [Playing the victim after stealing an account?] [But honestly, a pro player’s girlfriend being boosted is totally believable.] [We’ll see at the showmatch tomorrow. She’ll get exposed if she sucks.] [Pro groupies need to stay out of the scene.] I stared at the screen, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. I didn’t want to cry when my account was stolen. I didn’t want to cry when the login was changed. But seeing words like “boosted,” “carried,” and “groupie” made my eyes burn. All those nights I stayed up grinding match-ups. All those early mornings where my hands cramped but I refused to log off. Reduced to nothing but a byproduct of a man’s success. When Kieran knocked on my hotel door, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. He was holding a plastic bag filled with throat lozenges, eye drops, chocolate, and a bottle of warm milk. He set the bag down and crouched in front of me. “You upset?” I looked away. “No.” He didn’t call my bluff. He just reached out and gently brushed his fingers against mine. “Luna.” “Yeah?” “I won’t say a single word tomorrow.” I looked back at him, surprised. His eyes were deeply serious. “I’ll sit at the caster’s desk,” he said softly. “You play your own game. They say you rely on me? Then you beat them so badly they never open their mouths again.” My nose stung. “What if I play badly?” Kieran smiled faintly. “Then it doesn’t matter. But I know you won’t.” He paused, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “I believe in you more than you believe in yourself.” The floating comments went dead quiet for a few seconds before a wave of text rolled through. [Wait, I’m actually crying.] [He doesn’t want to win for her. He wants to watch her win for herself.] [Who said he was just blindly obsessed with her? He knows exactly how to love her.] I looked down, finally letting a real smile break through. “Then tomorrow,” I whispered. “You just wait for me to win.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464460”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The factory motor was literally smoking. I sprinted over with my toolbox, only to be stopped cold by the Production Supervisor. “Did you fill out the emergency work order?” I gritted my teeth, scribbled the form, and rushed the main breaker. Then the Safety Officer blocked my path. “Where is your lockout-tagout risk assessment?” I told him the machine was seconds from melting down; my apprentice was already bringing parts. But when my apprentice arrived, the Warehouse Manager intercepted him. “Where is the parts requisition slip? No slip, no parts.” My voice was hoarse. I screamed at them to let me fix the damn thing. He just sneered. “Protocol isn’t finished.” I stared at the three of them, asking one final time, word by word. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to let me cut the power and fix this machine?” All three stepped forward. Not a single one moved. It finally clicked. They didn’t care about the problem. They just wanted to flex their tiny ounce of power. Prove nothing happens here without their nod. The fight drained out of me. I nodded. “Fine. Don’t regret this.” The words had barely left my mouth when a muffled explosion shook the concrete floor. The motor blew. The entire plant went pitch black. 1 My radio crackled to life. “Marcus, Motor 3 is smoking! Get down here!” I grabbed my tool bag and sprinted out of the maintenance room. My brain was locked onto one single thought. Cut the power, unhook the wiring, find the fault. By the time I hit the double doors of the production floor, the bitter stench of burning ozone hit my nose. The motor was tucked away at the very back of the assembly line. Through the gaps between the heavy machinery, I could see thin trails of toxic blue smoke rising into the air. I picked up my pace, power-walking toward the source. Suddenly, an arm shot out, blocking my chest. Victor Wallace, the Production Supervisor, looked at me with maddening slowness. “Where is the emergency work order?” I froze. “Victor, the motor is smoking. I need to get in there right now…” “Who gave you permission to touch the equipment without a ticket?” he asked, barely glancing at me. I swallowed my frustration and tried to explain. “I have not touched anything yet! I need to get over there and assess the situation!” “Assessing the situation is classified as a maintenance action. Any maintenance action must be preceded by a filled-out work order, signed by the shift supervisor. Those are the rules.” He recited the employee handbook without even blinking. My stomach dropped. Victor and his clique of middle managers had always been completely jealous of the electrical maintenance crew. When the machines were running smoothly, we sat in the breakroom on standby. To them, we were just lazy guys getting paid thirty bucks an hour to do nothing. So whenever a machine broke down, guys like Victor practically thrived on it. Protocols, signatures, approvals, audits. The red tape they completely ignored on a normal Tuesday suddenly became absolute law the second something caught fire. When you are sweating bullets, they take their sweet time flipping through clipboards. That smug little smirk hiding in the corner of their mouths says it all. They just love watching you panic. “Victor,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “The motor is smoking. Smell the air. That is not normal. If we delay this, it is going to cause a massive chain reaction.” “Then you should hurry up and fill out the ticket.” Victor did not budge an inch. He pulled a cheap ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “The blank forms are in the dispatch office. Fill it out, I will sign it, and you can get to work. It will only take you a few minutes.” A few minutes? I did the math in my head. A four-hundred-yard sprint to the office, filling out the paperwork, and sprinting back. Ten minutes minimum. In ten minutes, the core temperature inside that motor would spike from two hundred degrees to six hundred. Victor checked his watch. “If you run now, you can be back in six minutes. I am timing you.” I stared at him. He stared right back. The blue smoke behind him was getting thicker, turning into a nasty, toxic black cloud. I could not afford a staring contest with him. A minor burnout was about to turn into a total system failure. I gritted my teeth, spun on my heels, and sprinted back to the dispatch office. I grabbed the clipboard and scribbled like a madman. By the time I sprinted back to the production floor, my lungs were burning. Victor was still standing in the exact same spot. Panting heavily, I slapped the clipboard directly against his chest. He took it. He slowly smoothed out the paper. He held it up to the fluorescent lights, his eyes hovering over the ‘Safety Observer’ box. He stayed silent for about two excruciating seconds. My heart hammered against my ribs. He frowned. “Your handwriting is way too messy. You need to rewrite this later for the archives.” “You missed the cross on the ‘t’ in my name right here. Pay attention next time. Anyway, leave this ticket with me, I will get it filed with dispatch after I sign it, and you…” “Can I go now?!” I practically yelled. “You may proceed.” Victor took half a step back, clearing the path. I bolted past him. The motor was practically screaming now, a high-pitched metallic whine. I took one look and knew exactly what it was. If I cut the power right this second and swapped out the scorched bearings, the motor could still be saved. We still had time. I spun around and sprinted toward the main breaker panel, reaching out to yank the heavy red disconnect lever. “Hold it right there!” 2 A thick hand clamped down hard on my wrist. It was Paul Jenkins, the floor Safety Officer. “What do you think you are doing?” “Paul! The motor is catching fire! I need to cut the power!” I pointed wildly at the machine behind me. My voice cracked from the sheer stress. “Cut the power? Did you complete the lockout-tagout risk assessment? Are you blind? The safety regulations are posted right on the wall, or do you just use them as toilet paper?” He barked at me, stepping directly in front of the breaker box, using his entire body as a shield. I was losing my mind. “We are out of time, Paul! Get out of the way! Let me cut the power first, and we can do whatever analysis you want afterward! I will sign anything!” I tried to shoulder past him, aiming my right hand at the lever again. Paul shoved me back with both hands. “Are you trying to violate safety protocols on my watch?!” I stumbled backward, my boots slipping on the slick floor, and hit the ground hard. The veins in Paul’s forehead bulged. “I told you, no one touches that breaker until the risk assessment is done! Have you been pulling these reckless stunts the whole time? No wonder your safety audit scores were absolute garbage last month!” He pulled an iPad out from his belt holster and shoved the screen in my face. It was the digital assessment form. Dozens of mandatory checkboxes. “You see this? Thirty-one points! You want to pull that lever without checking a single one? Who takes the fall when someone gets killed? You?” I pulled myself up from the floor. My chest ached from the shove. I took a deep breath, swallowing the boiling rage in my throat, and forced myself to speak calmly. “Paul, listen to the motor. The bearings are grinding to dust. If I do not cut the power, the coils are going to short out. It will blow the end caps right off the casing! Look at those empty wooden pallets stacked next to the panel! One spark and the whole place goes up! The entire assembly line will go down!” He tilted his chin up, shouting right back at me. “That is not my problem! I am in charge of protocol! If you do not do the assessment, you do not pull the lever. If the motor burns out, that is a maintenance issue. If the building catches fire, that is a fire department issue. But on my floor, nobody breaks the rules!” Seeing that Paul was completely unmovable, I pulled out my phone and dialed my apprentice, Toby. “Toby, get down to the supply cage right now. Grab a replacement bearing for a Type-3 motor. You know exactly which shelf it is on. Run! Do not walk, run!” I hung up and glared at Paul. “Fine. The risk assessment. Thirty-one points, right? Let’s do it. You ask, I answer.” Paul nodded, looking incredibly smug. “Now that is more like it.” The motor had maybe thirty minutes left before it completely fused. If I played along with Paul’s little power trip, I could get the sign-off, kill the power, and wait for Toby. Once the bearing got here, it would be a quick swap. Paul cleared his throat and read the first line off his tablet. “Confirm the scope of the power outage.” I rattled it off instantly. “Panel 3, feeding three pieces of equipment…” Paul slowly tapped a green checkmark on his screen. The seconds ticked by. The grinding noise from the motor was getting louder, turning into a sickening crunch. But I could not rush Paul. If I pushed him, he would just throw another tantrum. I just kept praying in my head. Hurry up, Toby. Please, hurry up. Halfway through the checklist, I saw Toby sprinting across the factory floor, clutching a cardboard box to his chest. “Marcus!” Toby skidded to a halt in front of me, bending over and gasping for air. “I got… I got the bearings!” I snatched the box from him, ripping the tape open to check. Perfect. Right part. I was just about to let out a sigh of relief when another nightmare walked up. 3 Gary, the Warehouse Manager, came storming down the aisle, his face red with anger. “You little punk! Who told you to take that? You stand right there!” Gary pointed a fat finger at Toby. “Did you fill out the parts requisition slip? You think you own the damn supply cage? Do you have any respect for company policy?” Toby flinched, shrinking behind my shoulder. I quickly stepped between them, forcing a polite, apologetic smile. “Gary, listen, I told him to grab it. The motor is about to blow. It is an emergency rush job. I will backdate the slip for you as soon as…” “Backdate?” Gary practically threw a blank form into my face. “The warehouse operates on rules! If you do not hand me a properly filled-out slip right now, you are giving that part back! I will lock it back on the shelf myself!” Toby spoke up nervously. “Gary, please, it really is an emergency. Look at the machine, it is literally smoking…” He pointed at the toxic cloud billowing behind us. Gary barked a laugh. “I do not care if it is melting into a puddle! We follow the process!” The motor spat out a thick plume of black soot. Paul, still holding his tablet, tapped the screen impatiently. “Marcus, we are only on item fifteen. Can you focus? Stop wasting my time.” Caught in a crossfire of utter stupidity. I swallowed the urge to punch a wall and turned to my apprentice. “Toby, fill out the damn slip right now.” I shoved my pen into his hand and lowered my voice. “Write fast. Make it legible. Do not leave any blanks.” I spun back to Paul. “Keep going.” “Marcus…” Toby stammered, looking totally helpless. “The Department Head is in a summit meeting all day. I asked the front office. They said his phone is off and he will not be reviewing any requests until tomorrow…” Tomorrow? This motor would not survive the next twenty minutes. Gary heard him and let out a mocking snort. “You hear that? Without the boss’s signature, that piece of paper is trash. Hand over the bearing.” He reached out to snatch the box out of Toby’s hands. My reflexes kicked in. I slammed my hand down on top of the box, trapping it. “Gary,” I said, locking eyes with him. “Just wait a second.” My brain was running in overdrive. “Toby,” I spoke incredibly fast. “Go find Brenda in admin. Tell her the boss is unreachable, the factory is about to catch fire, and ask her to stamp it. She has the proxy stamp for emergencies.” Toby dropped the clipboard and took off running. Gary tried to step around me to chase him, but I grabbed his uniform sleeve. “Gary, let him go. He will be back in ten minutes. You will have your form, you will have your stamp. You will get everything you want. Just stand right here and wait. I need to start prepping the machine. Deal?” Gary scoffed, yanking his arm away. “No deal. We wait for the paperwork. You do not touch that machine until it is official.” Paul’s voice dragged from behind me, dripping with annoyance. “Marcus! Are we doing this safety analysis or not? If you refuse, I am reporting you to Corporate for gross insubordination!” “I am doing it!” I snapped, spinning back to Paul. I glanced at the tablet, scanning the rest of the list. “Item twenty. On-site safety monitor. That is you, Paul. Sign it.” Paul took the tablet back and spent an agonizing five seconds slowly tracing his signature on the screen with his index finger. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Toby. I pulled it out, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. 4 Toby: Marcus, Brenda says this form is the wrong format. Toby: She said they rolled out a new version of the requisition slip last month. The old ones are void. We have to print out the new one from the intranet and start over. When the hell did they roll out a new version? Nobody told maintenance. Our dispatch office was stacked with hundreds of the old forms. No one had ever rejected them before today. My thumb hovered over the screen. I had absolutely no idea how to reply. “Marcus.” I looked up. Victor Wallace was standing right in front of me again. He was holding a fresh stack of paper. “Replacing a bearing requires dismantling the equipment housing,” Victor said, his tone utterly relaxed, like we were discussing the weather. “You have not completed the teardown analysis. This is a separate form. Separate approval chain. Fill it out now, or you cannot start the repair.” “Victor,” I pleaded, sweat dripping down my forehead. “This packet is over forty pages long. How long is this going to take?” “Standard processing time is twenty minutes.” “Listen to me,” I begged, trying to reason with him. “Let me tear down the housing. Let me swap the part. Once the machine is stable, I will sit down and fill out every single page of this packet. I will write a formal incident report. I will take full responsibility. Just let me work.” Victor pushed the stack of papers right against my chest. “Protocol dictates that teardown analysis must be completed prior to physical labor. Proceeding without it is a severe safety violation. If you cause an accident, you are looking at criminal negligence.” Paul chimed in, his voice full of self-righteous anger. “Marcus, just fill out the damn paperwork! You are wasting everyone’s time! You fill it out, Victor signs it, I sign it, you fix the machine. Everyone covers their ass. Simple.” A massive, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. If this motor burned out, the entire factory floor would shut down for three days. We were right in the middle of a massive rush order for our biggest client. Three days of downtime meant millions of dollars in losses, not to mention the breach-of-contract penalties. But it had been almost an hour since the first radio call. I had spent the entire hour filling out bullshit paperwork. And now, because some pencil-pusher changed the margins on a form, I could not even hold the spare part in my own hands. My hands started to shake. Pure, unfiltered rage. “Can you guys seriously not just let me fix the machine first?! We are completely out of time!” Paul glared at me. “You follow the protocol! What happens if someone dies?!” “I have been an industrial electrician for twelve years! I have torn down hundreds of these motors…” “Twelve years of experience means you should know better than to make amateur mistakes,” Victor interrupted smoothly. “Senior techs need to set an example. If you dive in there without authorization, it is reckless behavior. What happens when the junior guys see that? It completely undermines management.” Gary muttered from the sidelines. “Yeah, exactly. You maintenance guys always try to bend the rules. Not today.” Three men. Three mouths. Every single word was ‘protocol’, ‘rules’, and ‘compliance’. Their faces were glowing with petty triumph. They finally had the perfect excuse to put me in my place. They hated that my team operated outside their usual chain of command. Now that the building was practically burning down, they were using the flames to roast marshmallows. I took one long, deep breath. “I am going to ask you one last time. Are you going to let me cut the power and fix this machine?” Paul let out a condescending scoff. “You have not finished the protocol.” Behind me, the motor let out a sickening, metallic crack. It was a sound every electrician knows by heart. The death rattle. The final breath of a machine before total catastrophic failure. I took two steps back and let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Fine. Do not regret this.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Regret what? We are following company policy to the letter.” Victor chuckled, shaking his head. “Wow, Marcus. Listen to yourself. You are acting like we are the ones stopping you from doing your job. You are the one refusing to follow procedure.” Gary nodded eagerly. “Yeah. You think you can scare us? We have seen guys like you throw tantrums before.” The moment the words left his mouth, a massive, muffled explosion shook the concrete floor. The motor blew. The entire plant went pitch black.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464476”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Before my roommate went to meet her online crush, I warned her. I told her Eric was way out of her league, a guy who stood on a pedestal. I told her he would never fall for a big girl. Tears welled in her eyes. Defeated, she let me go in her place. It worked out perfectly for me. I dated Eric, married him, and became the envy of everyone we knew. But after the wedding, he grew cold. Distant. Guilt ate at me. I was a fraud, so I constantly needed proof that he actually loved me. I became suffocating. Tracking his phone, bombarding him with calls, threatening to jump off the roof if he came home ten minutes late. That was my normal. Seven years of that. He finally burned out. Even when I dragged a blade across my wrist, he barely blinked. He just calmly told his assistant to dial 911. When I looked at him with bloodshot eyes and whispered that I might actually die this time, he looked exhausted. “Do it,” he replied. “If you die, I can finally marry someone normal.” He didn’t know I actually meant it. I closed my eyes as the biting hum of an experimental psychiatric treatment took over my senses. I really did die. But when I opened my eyes again, I was sitting on my dorm bed. It was the exact day my roommate was supposed to meet him. I looked down at the expensive white dress she had bought for the occasion. I pulled it off and handed it back to her. “I’m not going.” 1 The rain was coming down in sheets. I remembered this weather from my past life. The wind had been howling. By the time I had rushed to the cafe, I was an hour late, and the white dress Diana had bought me was plastered to my skin. Eric hadn’t asked any questions. He just walked over and draped his warm jacket over my shivering shoulders. It wasn’t until the dessert arrived that I remembered to introduce myself. “I’m Josie.” That was the screen name Diana used. He had paused, then nodded. “I’m Eric.” I walked home that night wearing his jacket. Diana had noticed it immediately. She stared at the floor for a long time before asking in a small voice if he had been disappointed. “Not at all,” I had told her. “He really likes me.” I knew I was breaking her heart, but I was too thrilled to care. She had trusted me with her secret online romance. She had no idea I was obsessed with Eric, too. Besides, Diana had everything. A wealthy family, parents who adored her, an easy life. I had nothing. Why couldn’t she let me have this one thing? I used to envy her. I was jealous of her. But once I had Eric, all of that vanished. I thought we could finally be real friends. “You’re not going? But why?” Diana’s voice pulled me back to the present. Her eyes were red. “Sadie, are you mad at me? I’ll apologize, I swear. But the meetup is in an hour. I can’t go looking like this.” “Diana.” It was the first time I used her real name. I usually called her some teasing nickname about her weight. “Do you trust me?” “I do.” “Then go meet him yourself. He’ll like you. And even if there’s no spark, you guys will make great friends.” She sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “He won’t. He won’t like a girl who weighs a hundred and sixty pounds. You literally told me that last night.” I swallowed a heavy sigh. “He’s not that shallow. I know him.” “You know him? Since when do you know him?” Did I? We dated for three years and were married for seven. A whole decade. He never truly understood me, and looking back, I didn’t understand him either. The last thing he ever said to me was that he wished I were dead. I spent my whole life trying to prove his love, but in the end, the only thing I proved was his hatred for me. A deep, bone-chilling hatred. “Everyone knows him,” I lied smoothly. “Besides, you didn’t talk to him for months just to score a boyfriend, right?” Her cheeks flushed. “Well, it would be nice. It’s Eric we’re talking about.” Eventually, I talked her into it. She threw on her favorite oversized hoodie and sweatpants and headed out into the storm. I sat by the window, watching the rain. Would Eric like Diana? Probably. In my past life, I once overheard his friends asking about his ideal type. Lively, upbeat, emotionally stable, and above all, kind. “What about looks?” his friend had asked. “Looks don’t matter to me.” I had kicked the door open and demanded to know what he meant by that. He just looked at me with that dead, calm expression. “It means exactly what you think it means. I don’t love you. I could never love a lunatic like you.” I spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. The sky turned bruised and dark before the dorm door clicked open. Diana walked in. She was wearing Eric’s jacket. She sat down on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the wall. “Sadie, I think he was really disappointed.” 2 I turned to look at her, genuinely surprised. Eric had manners practically coded into his DNA. He wasn’t the type to bank his entire love life on an internet stranger. Even if Diana wasn’t his usual type, he would never let his disappointment show. “Why would you say that? Are you overthinking it?” Diana threw her hands up, her dramatic flair returning. “I sat down and said, ‘Hey, I’m Josie.’ And he kept looking past me. Like he was waiting for some supermodel to walk through the door and say, ‘Just kidding, I’m the real Josie.’” “And then,” she continued, “he asked me like three times, ‘Are you really Josie? The one I’ve been talking to?’ He didn’t drop it until I literally pulled up our chat logs on my phone.” She slumped back against my pillows. “Men are all the same. Shallow. I’m officially giving up on the male species.” “Sadie, I wish I was as pretty as you,” she whimpered, resting her head on my shoulder. “I wish we could swap places. Just for one day.” I stared at the ceiling. She had no idea how much I used to wish the exact same thing. Diana only cried for one night. By the next morning, she was back to her usual self, eating pancakes and cracking jokes. My life slipped back into its familiar, exhausting routine. Classes, part-time jobs, sleep, repeat. “Sadie, sweetie, this is for you.” I had been tutoring for Sarah, a young single mom, for about a year. She was incredibly sweet. She handed me a paper bag. Inside was a thick winter coat and an envelope with a cash bonus. I looked down at my own jacket. The cuffs were frayed to threads. “Thank you, Sarah. You really didn’t have to.” I was packing my bag to leave when the doorbell rang. Sarah trotted over to answer it. “That must be my cousin,” she called over her shoulder. “She brought a friend from campus to fix my laptop.” I didn’t think much of it until the door opened. I looked up, and my eyes locked with a pair of startlingly familiar ones. “Do you guys know each other?” The girl standing next to Eric looked between us, tilting her head. “No.” “We don’t,” Eric said, cutting me off before I could finish my sentence. He was finally free of me. I should have been happy for him. Instead, a sharp, twisting pain flared in my chest. I kept my eyes glued to the floor and squeezed past him. The girl stepped aside to let me through. I knew her. Audrey. She was the daughter of Eric’s academic advisor. His favorite protégé. She was also the reason Eric had brought up divorce for the first time. He had been dead serious. He slid the papers across the kitchen counter. “You can keep everything. The house, the money. I just want out.” He was willing to walk away with nothing just to get away from me. Any sane woman would have taken the deal. But I wasn’t sane. “I’m not signing anything,” I had screamed at him. “If you try to leave me, I’ll kill myself.” He hadn’t even flinched. He just offered a bitter, hollow laugh. “I’ll make sure you get a beautiful funeral. And the day after, I’ll marry someone else.” I had gripped those divorce papers, marched out to the campus lake, and thrown myself in. I knew he wouldn’t let me die. Not in front of him. His moral compass, his family’s reputation. It forced his hand. He dove in and dragged me out. The divorce was never mentioned again. My phone buzzed, snapping me out of the memory. It was Diana. “Hey, I found that doctor you asked about. She’s a college friend of my mom’s. Super highly rated.” “Is she expensive?” “Nah, I told her you were my best friend. She’s giving us a massive discount.” I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. In my past life, Eric constantly tried to drag me to a psychiatrist. Every time he brought it up, we ended up in a screaming match. It got so bad I once pulled a kitchen knife on him. I refused to go to a loony bin. That was where my mother died. My father had dragged her there himself. I was six years old when I watched them haul her away. She looked like a feral animal fighting for its life. The next time I saw her was two years later. I had sneaked onto the bus to visit her. A tired nurse walked me down a sterile, bleached hallway. “Is my mom in jail?” I had asked. The locked doors and heavy wire mesh looked like the prisons on TV. The nurse said no. She pointed into a bleak room. Huddled in the corner was a woman with completely white hair, rocking back and forth. “That’s your mother.” When my mom saw me, she reached out her bruised hands. I was so terrified I turned and ran. By the time I finally gathered the courage to go back, she was in a body bag. I knew I was sick. I had known it even when Eric tried to help me. I was just too terrified I would end up like her. But this time, I wanted to try. Diana had told me it was just an illness. You take your meds, you talk to someone, and you get better. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be healthy. Maybe seeing Eric had triggered something, because that night, I dreamt of what happened after I died. Eric had moved out by then. He was renting an apartment right above Audrey’s. They were in the same major, working on the same projects. They always had something to talk about. Not like us. Every conversation we had felt like walking through a minefield. Audrey had probably never seen Eric lose his temper. Hell, even his own mother hadn’t seen the dark, explosive side of him that I brought out. In the dream, his phone rang. I had been dead for exactly a month. He didn’t even check the caller ID. He just answered with an exhausted sigh. “I thought you’d finally give it a rest. Obviously not.” “Look, I’m coming back tomorrow. Stop calling me. You’re giving me a headache.” “And what was all that poetic bullshit you texted me? ‘Setting you free?’ Did you watch a tragic movie and decide to play the victim again?” He always used his sharpest words on me. With Audrey, his voice was like velvet. The person on the other end finally spoke. “Eric? It’s Audrey. Were you talking to someone else?” Eric froze. He pulled the phone away, rubbed his temples, and let out a harsh breath. “Sorry. What’s up?” “I was wondering if you wanted to catch a movie tonight? I really want to see that new thriller, but I hate going alone.” “Let’s raincheck,” he said quietly. “I’m just really tired.” He hung up. Then he stared at his phone. It was the longest I had ever gone without contacting him since we started dating. Frowning, he grabbed his keys and drove back to our house. The place I had finally called home. But it was completely empty. I had cleared out. The only thing left on the kitchen island was the signed divorce papers. I hadn’t taken a single dime. That was the fate of a fraud. Kicked out with nothing. He tore through the house. I had even taken the potted basil and the little succulent we bought together. I didn’t want to, but he always hated taking care of plants. I knew they would die without me. Eric dialed my number. It rang out. He sent a voice note. “What kind of game is this? You actually signed the papers? You’re really letting me go?” “If you’re serious, come back tomorrow so we can finalize this at the courthouse. I don’t want you dragging this out and ruining my chances of moving on.” Silence. He sat heavily on the couch, glaring at the screen. Just as his thumb hovered over the record button again, the doorbell rang. A dark smirk crossed his face as he walked to the front door. “Could you be any more predictable? I barely hit send and you’re already back—” He pulled the door open. His smirk vanished. It wasn’t me. It was two police officers. “Is this the residence of Sadie Collins?” Eric’s jaw tightened. “What kind of stunt is she pulling now?” “Sir, we found a body.” 3 The color drained from Eric’s face instantly. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Finally, he whispered, “Sadie?” “Sadie.” “Sadie, wake up.” My eyes snapped open. Diana’s face was hovering inches from mine. “What are you doing?” I gasped. She tapped her phone screen. “Our appointment with Dr. Bennett. It’s today.” “Right.” I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, sitting in stunned silence until my soul fully snapped back into my body. “You’re coming with me?” Diana was already doing her makeup in the mirror. “Obviously,” she said, popping her lips. “But don’t worry, I’ll wait in the lobby. Total privacy.” She held up a pair of massive headphones. “Active noise cancellation. I won’t hear a thing.” I grew up in a tiny, suffocating town where secrets didn’t exist. If someone lost a spoon, the whole neighborhood gossiped about it by Tuesday. Naturally, everyone knew my mother was a crazy woman. I spent eighteen years in that town. No one let their kids play with the crazy lady’s daughter. I hated them all. Diana was my first real friend. After college, she moved back to her hometown, and we drifted apart. I was too ashamed of my toxic life to keep in touch. When she mailed me a wedding invitation, I ghosted her. She had been hurt, but she still mailed me the bridesmaid gift. I remembered opening the box. There was a handwritten card inside. I hope Sadie is always happy. I had ripped it into pieces and thrown it in the trash. Eric had watched me do it, his eyes full of disbelief. “Why do you destroy everyone who tries to care about you?” “She’s not my friend,” I had spat back. “I don’t have friends.” Later that night, I caught him taping the shredded card back together. He left it on my desk. Ironically, when I packed up my life before I died, that taped-up card was the one thing I made sure to take with me. “Diana,” I said softly from the bed. “I’m sorry.” She walked over and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. “Are you running a fever? What are you apologizing for?” I just shook my head. When we got to the clinic, the receptionist recognized Diana’s name and waved us right back to Dr. Bennett’s office. The door was cracked open. Diana, being Diana, immediately hunched over and peeked inside. I reached out to pull her back, but she gasped. “Is that Eric? What is he doing here?” I leaned in. Through the gap, I could see the sharp, familiar slope of his shoulders. “It’s him,” I breathed. “You sure?” Diana whispered. Then his low, strained voice drifted into the hallway. “If she has severe control issues… if she constantly lashes out, and sometimes hurts herself… what kind of medication does she need?” Dr. Bennett sighed. “Eric, I’ve told you. I cannot prescribe anything without evaluating the patient in person.” Eric slumped in his chair. He looked utterly defeated. “She won’t come.” The doctor gave him a sympathetic look. “Who is she to you?” Eric was quiet for a long time. “She’s my girlfriend.” Diana’s jaw dropped. She turned to me and mouthed, He has a girlfriend. The conversation wrapped up, and Eric stood to leave. I grabbed Diana by the sleeve and yanked her into the nearest stairwell. Through the heavy fire door window, I watched Eric walk past. The grief in his eyes was suffocating. Who was he talking about? Me? But he didn’t even know me in this timeline. Not really. “Come on,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “It’s our turn.” Diana shoved me into the office and shut the door behind me. Dr. Bennett was warm. She promised today was just about getting to know each other, though we might eventually have to unpack some ugly boxes. By the time I walked out, it was past noon. Diana knew I was broke, so she dragged me back to the campus dining hall, insisting it was her treat. We had just sat down when my phone rang. It was my academic advisor. She demanded I come to the administration building immediately. “What’s wrong?” Diana asked, seeing my face drop. “I don’t know.” I rarely got called to the office, let alone with that kind of urgency. Diana grabbed my hand. “I’m coming with you. Don’t panic.” My anxiety spiked instantly. I was so used to waiting for the other shoe to drop. When we reached the office, the door was open. I heard a voice that made my blood run cold. “Look what she did to my husband! Do you have any idea how much this has cost our family? And she gets to sit pretty in a fancy university while he’s rotting in a bed!” The advisor was trying desperately to calm her down. Diana’s eyes went wide. “Are they talking about you?” 4 I let go of Diana’s hand and stepped into the room. There she was. Aunt Brenda. And lying in a specialized wheelchair next to her, completely paralyzed, was her husband. Uncle Richard. “Sadie, you’re here. What is the meaning of this?” My advisor rushed over, practically shielding me with her body. “She’s right about one thing,” I said, staring dead at Brenda. I couldn’t stop a dark, twisted smile from spreading across my face. “My only mistake was not hitting him hard enough to finish the job.” If only I hadn’t been half-starved back then. I would’ve had the strength to cave his skull in completely. My advisor grabbed my arm. “Sadie, what are you saying?” I turned to her, letting the tears fall right on cue. “I was thirteen years old. He—my uncle—tried to force himself on me.” Richard’s eyes bulged, bloodshot and manic. He couldn’t move anything below his neck, but his jaw worked furiously. Saliva sprayed from his lips as he made guttural, choking sounds, trying to deny it. “Are you running a school for criminals?” Brenda shrieked. “She’s a psycho! She tried to murder him!” “Who’s a murderer?” a voice cut in from the doorway. Eric stepped into the room. I had no idea how long he had been standing in the hall. He walked right up and stood beside me. His voice was steady and loud enough for everyone to hear. “I only see a brave girl who defended herself against a predator.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464461”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Dr. Franklin Prescott was a saint in the eyes of the public. To the medical world, he was a pioneering savior, a man of profound mercy. But to me, he was a monster. He was the man who drove my mother mad and tossed his wife and daughter aside like garbage. Thirty years ago, on a rainy night, my mother caught him in bed with his mistress. The very next morning, she was bound in a straightjacket and hauled off to an asylum. By the time she was finally released, her mind was completely shattered. She ended up giving birth to my younger brother under a cold concrete bridge. I was only six years old when I had to shoulder the weight of our ruined lives. I clawed my way up from the dirt, fighting through the dark until I became the chief psychiatric expert at this very hospital. And today, a very special patient was referred to my clinic. It was Tyler Prescott, the golden boy Franklin had with the mistress who successfully usurped my mother’s place. Tyler had gone drag-racing while wasted, plowing into a crowded bus stop and killing over a dozen people. Now, he was lounging in my office, expecting me to sign off on a forged psychiatric evaluation to get him off the hook. The hospital board has been breathing down my neck, demanding I cooperate. But none of them know that I have been waiting for this exact day for thirty years. … Inside the evaluation room, I kept my eyes on the thick file in my hands. Across from me, a young man in his early twenties sat on the leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He kept his head down, scrolling through his phone, occasionally letting out a soft, mocking chuckle. He did not have a care in the world. “Look, Dr. Brooks, let’s not dance around this.” Tyler pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his designer bag and slapped it onto my desk. “Just make the report a little vague. Say I suffer from intermittent blackouts. Do that, and this cash is yours.” Tyler Prescott. He was the precious son of my hypocrite father, Franklin, and his mistress, Brenda. Three days ago, Tyler had drunk-driven a heavily modified sports car through a red light downtown. He smashed right into a crowded bus stop, killing four people instantly and leaving nine critically injured. The tragedy sparked outrage across the city. Yet, Tyler had spent less than twenty-four hours in holding before being released on bail. The excuse was a suspected psychiatric episode that required a forensic evaluation. And the doctor assigned to write that evaluation was me. I closed the folder and looked him in the eye. “Tyler, based on all your test results, your mental state is completely normal. I will not sign off on a falsified evaluation to excuse your crimes.” “What did you just say?” “I think I made myself clear.” The lazy smirk vanished from Tyler’s face, replaced by a sudden, ugly rage. He slammed his hands on the desk and stood up, sending the stack of bills scattering across the floor. A few notes drifted onto my white lab coat. “Don’t play the saint with me!” his voice rose to a harsh shout. “My dad is Franklin Prescott. You better think long and hard about whether you want to disrespect his name.” I looked down at the bills on the floor and remained still. He took a step closer, his tone turning smug. “Listen, Dr. Brooks, the alcohol in my system is long gone. If you quietly edit the report, no one will ever know.” “You took over a dozen lives.” “They shouldn’t have been standing there,” he shrugged, entirely indifferent. “I’ll tell you one more time: my dad is Franklin Prescott. A woman with no backing doesn’t climb to chief of psychiatry easily. You should know when to take a helping hand.” His eyes slowly slid from my face down to my collar. “But hey, if you want to play nice with me instead, I’m down. I’m not picky.” I stared at his face. The brow, the bridge of his nose, the curl of his lip, he looked exactly like a young Franklin. He possessed the same condescending arrogance Franklin had shown thirty years ago when he ruined my mother with a single, casual sentence. It made my stomach turn. I picked up the bills that had landed on my coat, placed them back on the desk, and pushed them toward him. “Your father was the one who insisted on inviting the media to witness this process. Every major step of this evaluation has been recorded on video and audio. My conclusion is based entirely on objective medical data. There is no room for negotiation.” Right on cue, the office door was pushed open. Three journalists carrying heavy camera gear filed into the room, and the red recording lights flickered to life. “Good afternoon, everyone. We are live from the hospital for Tyler Prescott’s psychiatric evaluation results…” Tyler had clearly not expected me to actually go through with it. Facing the cameras, I calmly laid out the evaluation process, the tests administered, and the raw data. Then, I delivered the final blow. “The subject, Tyler Prescott, shows no signs of cognitive or psychiatric impairment. He is fully competent to stand trial.” “His decision to drive under the influence was a deliberate act. There are no psychological factors that would limit his understanding of his actions or his control over them.” The live chat on the broadcast erupted. Tyler jumped to his feet, knocking his chair back with a loud screech. “You’re going to regret this! Just wait, my dad is going to ruin you!” He shoved a camera out of his way and stormed out of the office. A reporter tried to follow him for a comment, but Tyler kicked the microphone out of her hand. I stood there, watching his shadow disappear down the hallway. Thirty years have passed. I wonder if my dear father will finally recognize his own daughter. And I wonder if he will remember the woman he broke. As soon as the broadcast ended, I was summoned to the director’s office. “Audrey, you are one of our brightest young minds, you have a brilliant future ahead of you,” Director Crawford said, slamming his teacup onto his mahogany desk. “Do you have any idea who Franklin Prescott is? He is the Vice President of the Medical Association. He chairs three major journals. He practically wrote the state guidelines for psychiatry. If he asks you for a minor favor, you take the exit he offers. Why on earth did you have to pull a stunt like that on a live broadcast?” I stood straight before him. “Director Crawford, the evaluation is based on facts. He committed a crime, and he should face the law.” Crawford slammed his hand on the desk. “He ran people over, which is a matter for the police and the courts! Since when is it a psychiatrist’s job to play judge and executioner?” “Forensic evaluation is part of the legal process. If anyone doubts my findings, they are welcome to request a secondary evaluation through the proper channels.” “You’re lecturing me on the proper channels?” Crawford scoffed, temporarily speechless. He knew as well as I did that the state randomly assigns forensic evaluators to prevent tampering. Even with all their influence, they couldn’t bypass the system easily. “Audrey, it’s good for young people to have principles, but you can’t fight a brick wall. Go apologize to Franklin. Soften the wording of the report, and we can make this go away. He is not someone you want as an enemy.” “The report stays as it is.” Crawford took a deep, trembling breath. “Then you are suspended. Leave your keys and stay out of the ward until this is resolved.” I turned and walked out. By that evening, the internet was flooded with targeted articles about me. #AudreyBrooksEvaluationControversy #InsiderExposesAudreyBrooks A prominent tabloid account posted a scathing update: “An anonymous source reveals that Dr. Audrey Brooks, a young psychiatrist who rose through the ranks via questionable connections, targeted Tyler Prescott after he rejected her personal advances.” Attached was a cropped photo from an academic conference a few years ago, edited to make it look like Tyler and I were sharing an intimate moment. The caption read: “If I can’t have you, I’ll destroy you?” The comment section went wild. How is this woman even allowed to practice medicine? No wonder she wouldn’t sign the papers. She was just mad she couldn’t bag a rich guy. Disgusting. She’s using her position for a personal vendetta. Investigation needed. Then came the coordinated wave of fabricated scandals. Someone posted “wild photos” of me at a nightclub, which were actually heavily edited pictures from a department karaoke night three years ago, with my clothes photoshopped to look provocative. Others targeted my academic record, claiming I had plagiarized my thesis, using the records of another student with a similar name. They even forged a text message exchange showing me negotiating a bribe with a patient’s family. The comments grew viler by the minute. With a face like that, no wonder he turned her down. A psychiatrist? She looks like she belongs in a ward herself. She needs to be fired before she hurts anyone else. The next morning, a crowd of strangers was waiting for me outside the hospital gates. People thrust their phones into my face, recording me, while others deliberately bumped into me. One man waved a consultation slip, sneering, “Hey, Dr. Brooks, my head feels a bit funny. Why don’t you give me a private exam?” The security guards barely managed to push them back. Meanwhile, Franklin Prescott granted an exclusive interview to a major news outlet. He wore his white lab coat, his hair perfectly coiffed with silver at the temples, his expression heavy with sorrow. “As an elder in the medical community, I don’t wish to criticize a junior colleague. However, forensic psychiatry is about human freedom and reputation. When personal emotions are allowed to dictate a professional evaluation, it damages our entire industry.” He never mentioned my name. But everyone knew who he was talking about. The comment section praised him. “Dr. Prescott is a class act. He’s still defending the profession after being targeted like this.” “He has spent his life saving people. To see his son treated this way is heartbreaking.” “This is what happens when good people get taken advantage of.” By that afternoon, the hospital board issued a formal notice. “In light of the severe negative public impact caused by Dr. Audrey Brooks, the board has determined that Dr. Brooks must deliver a formal apology to Professor Franklin Prescott within three days and revise Tyler Prescott’s evaluation. Failure to comply will result in immediate termination.” The HR director hand-delivered the letter to me, adding a quiet warning. “Audrey, don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is your last chance.” I looked down at the thin sheet of paper. A formal apology? Perhaps it was indeed time to pay a visit to the man who ruined my mother’s life. The Prescott estate was nestled in the exclusive gated community in the eastern hills. The driveway was flanked by ancient, manicured pines that had reportedly cost a fortune to import. When the housekeeper led me through the grounds, a lavish afternoon tea was laid out in the garden. Brenda was sitting with a group of wealthy socialites, chatting over fine china. “Brenda, you and Dr. Prescott are truly a fairytale couple,” a woman with a round face gushed. “After all these years, he still dotes on you.” Brenda sighed, putting on a show of elegant melancholy. “Well, we had our share of trials. His first wife was… unstable, to say the least. She put poor Franklin through so much pain.” “Oh, really? Was it that bad?” “It was dreadful,” Brenda shook her head. “She lost her mind right after they married. Screaming, throwing things. Franklin was kind enough to pay for her treatment, but she escaped the facility. She took the kids and vanished. Franklin spent years looking for them.” “How tragic. Dr. Prescott is such a saint to have endured that.” “Exactly. Brenda, you are the one who truly stood by him through the hard times.” My fingernails dug deep into the palms of my hands. Brenda. Thirty years ago, she was just a shampoo girl at a cheap salon near our apartment complex. Now, she was the lady of the manor. Drugged into madness. Sent away out of kindness. Escaped. Every word out of her mouth was a calculated lie. When Franklin had nothing, it was my mother who married him against her parents’ wishes, cutting ties with her own family to support his dreams. For years, Franklin didn’t bring home a single dime, leaving my mother to work triple shifts at a textile factory to keep us fed. When my mother’s parents passed away, Franklin went as far as to block her phone calls, ensuring she never got to say goodbye. And the moment he gained status and wealth, he turned around and slept with a salon girl. When my mother discovered the truth, she didn’t get an apology. She got hauled off to an asylum, injected with experimental sedatives, and systematically driven out of her mind. Brenda raised her teacup, pretending to notice me just then. She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over me with cold disdain, before turning to the maid. “Martha, you must be getting old. Since when do we let stray dogs into the garden?” The other women smothered their snickers behind their silk napkins. I kept my voice perfectly level. “Brenda, I am here to see Franklin. Tell him I’m here.” “See Franklin?” Brenda arched an eyebrow. “My husband is busy. Come back another day.” Before she could finish, footsteps echoed from the veranda. Tyler stepped down the stairs, dressed in designer loungewear, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He paused when he saw me, then let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Well, well. If it isn’t Dr. Brooks.” He ambled over, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking down at me with supreme satisfaction. “Regretting your little stunt now?” “It would have been so much easier if you had just listened to me in the first place,” he said, flicking his collar. “But in the end, you still have to crawl back and beg for mercy.” He turned and called out to Brenda, “Hey Mom, I’m heading out!” He brushed past me, deliberately slamming his shoulder into mine as he walked toward a brand-new Porsche parked in the driveway. The car he used to kill those people was still impounded, yet he already had a replacement. The engine roared to life, and he drove off as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I clenched my fists and took a step toward the house. “Dr. Brooks?” A deep, commanding voice called out from behind me. I turned. Franklin Prescott stood there, dressed in a grey cashmere cardigan, his silver hair perfectly styled. He looked at the scene in the garden, bid a polite farewell to his guests, and gestured for me to follow him into his study. The walls of his study were lined with photographs of him shaking hands with city officials and prestigious medical boards. Below them sat rows of trophies. The largest trophy in the center was engraved with the words: To a Healer of Great Mercy. The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, his elegant demeanor vanished. “Audrey, I’ve looked into your file,” he said, crossing his fingers on the desk. “Making chief at thirty-two is an impressive feat. You are a smart girl. You must know what this evaluation report means for your career.” He opened a drawer and slid a thick envelope across the desk. “Inside is a formal nomination for the state medical board, along with two prestigious offers from private clinics. If you help me with this minor issue, all of this is yours. I will also personally see to it that the online rumors about you disappear.” I didn’t move. His voice softened, taking on a warm, paternal tone. “Tyler is my only son. I am getting old, and he is my legacy. As a doctor, surely you can understand a father’s heart.” “I understand you have a younger brother, and your mother’s mental health is… precarious. You of all people should know that a father will do absolutely anything to protect his child.” He had investigated me. He knew about my brother, my mother, and where we lived. But he still had no idea who I actually was. I reached into my pocket and quietly pressed the record button on my device. “Dr. Prescott, the report stands. If you want to fire me, go ahead.” Franklin had expected me to bow my head. Seeing me defy him, his paternal mask cracked, and he slammed his hand onto the desk as he stood up. “You are a woman with no family, no backing, and no influence. Do you honestly think you can survive in this industry if you cross me?” I reached for the door handle, not bothering to look back. “You can certainly try to stop me.” As I stepped out, the sound of a heavy crystal glass shattering against the mahogany desk echoed behind me. In the garden, Brenda was still laughing with her friends, bragging about how her husband was the most honorable man in the city. The retaliation was swift. The next morning, when I tried to scan my badge at the hospital entrance, the turnstile let out a sharp, grating beep. Access Denied. A security guard approached me, looking apologetic. “Dr. Brooks, the administration has terminated your employment effective immediately. You are no longer permitted on the premises.” I stared at the red light on the scanner for a second, then turned on my heel. When I got back to my small apartment and opened my phone, the internet was already ablaze with new details. They had dug up my mother’s medical history. Audrey Brooks’ mother, Margaret Brooks, was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia thirty years ago. How can we trust a psychiatrist whose own mother is mentally unstable? Is madness hereditary? She should be evaluated herself before she hurts her patients. Worse still, someone had leaked my home address. A small crowd of people with cameras was already gathered outside my building. One man shouted at my window, “Crazy Margaret! Your daughter is a criminal! Come out!” I pushed through the crowd, slipped inside, and immediately drew the heavy curtains shut. My brother, Toby, was holding our mother’s hand, his face pale. “Audrey, what do we do?” My mother was curled into a tight ball in the corner, her hands over her ears, shaking violently. The shouting from the street and the word “crazy” had dragged her straight back to that sterile, white room from thirty years ago. “I’m not sick… please… I’m sorry… don’t send me back… don’t give me the shots…” My heart felt as if it were being squeezed by a cold hand. “Mom,” I knelt before her, gently taking her trembling hands in mine. “You are not sick, and you did nothing wrong. I promise you, I am going to make him pay.” My mother looked at me, a rare spark of clarity returning to her hollow eyes. She reached out and touched my cheek with a shaking hand. “Audrey… I trust you.” I opened my desk drawer and pulled out my notebook, my mother’s original marriage certificate, and the audio recording device. On the television, Tyler was giving another high-profile interview. He sat before the cameras, flashing a smug grin as he held up a stamped document. “The previous evaluation was deeply flawed. I have received a proper diagnosis from an accredited private clinic proving I suffer from intermittent cognitive impairment. I will be cleared of all charges shortly. Thank you all for your support.” I dialed a number on my phone. “I’m ready. Come pick me up.” An hour later, I arrived at the broadcasting studio in a police cruiser. Tyler had just finished his interview and was walking out of the lobby, surrounded by his assistants and bodyguards. When he saw me, he smirked. “Told you so, Dr. Brooks. You couldn’t stop me even if you tried…” But his smirk died the second he saw the badges flashing behind me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464477”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Honey, the soles of my shoes are lambskin and cannot get wet. Please come pick me up.” Just as I hit send on the text to my husband, Bruno, a barrage of glowing text suddenly exploded across my vision in the pouring rain. [I seriously cannot stand this wicked wife. She treats the billionaire male lead like a dog.] [Our sweet heroine just joined his company. Once the male lead gets a taste of her gentle understanding, he will kick this spoiled brat to the curb.] [Hilarious. After the divorce, she has zero real skills. She will end up as a desperate cam streamer just to pay her rent.] Staring at the screen full of floating, malicious words, I clenched my fingers so tightly my knuckles turned white. Right at that moment, Bruno rushed over under a black umbrella, half of his bespoke suit completely soaked by the rain. Noticing my pale knuckles, he paused, then carefully tugged at the cuff of my coat. “I am so sorry, sweetheart. If I drove any faster, I would have been speeding.” 1. The glowing comments were still scrolling frantically above my head. [Thinking about how this villainess actually got to marry the male lead makes me feel so bad for our sweet heroine.] [Just wait until the male lead gets together with the real heroine. Then he will finally know what true love is.] [The more she acts out now, the harder she will fall later. Just thinking about it is so satisfying.] True love? When I lived in a freezing basement with him, splitting a single stale bagel for two meals, where was that sweet heroine? When I sold the house my mother left me and liquidated my dowry to help him survive his financial crisis, where was she? Now that Bruno was a billionaire CEO, she wanted to swoop in and harvest the fruits of my labor? On what grounds? “Sweetheart? Why are your hands so cold?” Bruno lowered his head and rubbed my hands to warm them up. His brow furrowed, his tone incredibly cautious and gentle. But looking at his handsome face, only one thought echoed in my mind. He was going to push me to the brink of ruin for another woman. I pulled my hand back. “I do not want to go home. Take me to the company.” Bruno froze in surprise. “Why do you want to go to the office today?” “I want to wait for you to finish work. We can go home together.” His eyes curved into a brilliant smile. “Okay.” When we arrived at the executive floor, his secretary immediately rushed over to remind him of a pending board meeting. “Sweetheart, go wait in my office. I will be back as soon as I can.” He hurried off, leaving me to walk into the top floor suite alone. Pushing open the heavy oak doors, the first thing that caught my eye was a bag of premium imported oranges sitting squarely on his pristine desk. They were a vibrant, flawless orange, each one carefully wrapped in delicate tissue paper. One glance told me they were ridiculously expensive. Just as I reached out to touch them, the floating comments exploded again. [Villainess, get your hands off! The sweet heroine bought those for the male lead. They are twenty five dollars each!] [She usually only dares to eat discount dollar meals, but she spent that much to buy him premium fruit. She really loves him so much.] [The heroine’s love is true love. The wicked wife only knows how to take and take.] Twenty five dollars for a single orange. She certainly was generous. I turned around, walked straight into the main administrative bullpen, and held up the bag of fruit. “Who bought these oranges?” A girl with a low ponytail timidly stood up from her cubicle. She had a very pure, innocent look. Her eyes were wide and nervous, resembling a frightened deer. “I bought them.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “If the Madam does not like them, I can take them back to my grandmother. She usually cannot bear to spend money on things like this.” The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The gazes directed at me suddenly held a heavy layer of judgment. It was as if they were all silently saying: The poor girl was just trying to be nice, why are you throwing your weight around as the boss’s wife? I did not get angry. I simply held up the oranges and smiled brightly. “You misunderstood me.” “These oranges are absolutely delicious. After all, they are twenty five dollars a piece.” The expressions on the employees’ faces shifted again. When they looked back at the girl, their eyes were filled with ambiguous speculation and quiet judgment. The girl’s face flushed a violent crimson. She opened her mouth to explain herself. I did not give her the chance. “Everyone has been working incredibly hard lately. I just ordered a massive shipment of these exact oranges. After work, every single person can go to the reception desk and claim a full box.” The office erupted into immediate cheers. “Thank you, Mrs. Crawford!” “The Madam is so generous!” The girl’s innocent smile completely stiffened on her face. Her hands gripped the hem of her shirt so tightly her knuckles turned white. The floating comments returned with a vengeance. [Ugh, trying to buy people’s loyalty. She is not even spending her own money!] [What else can the villainess do besides spend money? Once the male lead realizes how amazing the heroine is, let us see how long she can stay arrogant.] [Exactly. The male lead belongs to our sweet girl. What is she so proud of?] I looked directly at the trembling girl. “What is your name?” “Sophie. Sophie Hayes.” I nodded slowly, then turned around and walked back into the private office. A short while later, Bruno returned from his meeting. He pushed the door open with a warm smile. “Sweetheart, what were you doing out there earlier?” “Fire Sophie.” His smile froze instantly. “What?” “I said, terminate Sophie’s employment.” 2. Bruno frowned deeply. “Just because of a bag of oranges? She was just trying to be nice.” “She has ulterior motives regarding you.” Bruno stared at me for a few seconds before letting out a soft laugh. He walked over and tried to grab my hand. “You are overthinking things. She is just a young girl fresh out of college. Her work performance is outstanding. She personally secured several major contracts for the marketing department.” “I do not care about your company’s affairs.” I pulled my hand out of his grasp. “But I absolutely despise this person.” Bruno let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening to a coaxing whisper. “Sweetheart, please stop making a scene.” “The company has rules. I cannot just fire top tier talent based entirely on your intuition. What would people say if word got out?” [The male lead is protecting our sweet girl! So romantic!] [Look at the villainess eating her own bitter medicine. So satisfying.] [This is only the beginning. Later on, when she tries to frame the heroine, the male lead directly locks her up in a psychiatric ward.] A psychiatric ward. It felt as though a giant hand had violently crushed my heart. The pain was so sharp I could barely breathe. I looked up at him. His eyes still held gentleness. He still had patience. He was still trying to coax me. But he had no idea that the floating text had already shown me my gruesome ending. I closed my eyes tightly, forcing the turbulent emotions back down into the depths of my chest. “Fine. You do not have to fire her.” Bruno let out a visible breath of relief. “Thank you for understanding, sweetheart.” “Transfer all of your assets and properties into my name. Have it legally notarized.” The massive office fell dead silent. Bruno’s expression turned completely rigid. “Avery, we are in a corporate setting.” His voice dropped into a low, warning register. “Stop being completely unreasonable.” I stared at him, offering absolutely no response. His phone suddenly began to ring. He answered it, exchanged a few brief words, and hung up. He looked back at me. “I have a business dinner tonight. I will have the driver take you home first.” He did not wait for my response. He turned on his heel and walked out. His footsteps were incredibly fast. It looked exactly like he was running away. [Haha, the villainess is getting depressed!] [Serves her right. Demanding all his assets? Let us see if he ever pays attention to her again.] [Later on, when the male lead gets together with the heroine, he voluntarily hands over all his financial power. The difference in how he treats them is obvious.] I honestly do not know how I made it back to the empty mansion. By the time I snapped out of my daze, I was sitting in front of the computer in the study. The floating comments claimed that after the divorce, I would have zero skills and be forced into becoming a desperate cam streamer. What a complete joke. I double clicked a hidden folder on my desktop. It was completely filled with my professional photography portfolios. Alongside the images were scanned copies of several prestigious photography magazine awards. I scrolled through the images one by one. My gaze finally stopped on the very last file. It was a massive photo mosaic. It used thousands of pictures of Bruno and me to form a portrait of his face. Every single small photo was a cherished memory. Except for the very center, right over where his heart should be. That spot was completely empty. It was supposed to hold a photograph of the Northern Lights. Back in college, we had made a solemn promise to go see the aurora together. He told me the Northern Lights were the ultimate symbol of eternal love. Ten years had passed. We never made the trip. Opening a premium job hunting portal, I began filling out a fresh resume. I typed out every single one of my past awards and exhibitions. I attached the link to my digital portfolio at the very bottom. Then, I clicked submit. The very next day, I began picking up all the life skills I had thrown away during my marriage. I started by making my own breakfast. I ignited the stove and poured oil into the hot pan. When I cracked the eggs in, the hot oil violently splattered. A burning drop landed directly on the back of my hand, causing me to hiss sharply in pain. Bruno came sprinting down the grand staircase. He grabbed my hand and shoved it under the running cold water of the sink. “Who told you to do this kind of work?” [The drama queen is at it again. Pretending to be an independent woman.] [Does she seriously think doing this will make the male lead feel sorry for her?] [Hilarious. The male lead is just going to think she has lost her mind.] Bruno forced me to sit down on the kitchen island stool while he gently applied burn ointment to my skin. “Are you still angry about yesterday?” I remained completely silent. “I swear there is absolutely nothing going on between her and me.” “If it truly bothers you that much, I will have human resources transfer her to a branch office out of state.” The floating comments instantly went into a frenzy. [No! If she gets transferred, how will their romance develop?!] [Do not panic. They are the official couple. Even if she gets transferred, destiny will bring them back together.] [The male lead will belong to our sweet girl sooner or later. The wicked wife is just wasting her energy.] “There is no need. How you arrange your personnel is entirely your business.” Bruno looked at me, hesitating as if he wanted to say something more. He told me to sit still and not move. He went back to clean up the mess I had made at the stove and finished cooking the breakfast himself. While we were eating, my phone vibrated quietly on the marble table. It was an interview invitation. Starlight Media. It was the elite entertainment company I had dreamed of joining right after graduation. They exclusively managed top tier celebrities. That included my absolute favorite idol, Asher Lockwood. I clicked accept on the invitation, the corners of my lips involuntarily curling upward. Bruno looked up, his gaze sharpening with suspicion. “Who are you chatting with?” “An interview confirmation. I do not want to be a full time housewife anymore.” I took a large, satisfying bite of my food, my mood significantly improved. Bruno opened his mouth to object, but ultimately swallowed his words. Perhaps he just did not want to ruin the rare peaceful morning. After breakfast, Bruno left for the corporate tower. I stripped off my elegant designer dress and changed into a familiar, comfortable pantsuit. The interview went surprisingly well. However, landing a position at a powerhouse like Starlight Media required passing at least two more rounds of interviews before a final decision was made. Over the next few weeks, Bruno seemed to become increasingly busy. He came home later and later every single night. Occasionally, his clothes carried the faint, lingering scent of a perfume that simply would not wash out. I knew perfectly well that Sophie had not been transferred. But since I had already mentally prepared myself to walk away, I only focused on the path directly under my own feet. 3. It was my first official day on the job. My direct supervisor was a woman in her forties named Valerie. She was sharp, efficient, and incredibly capable. “Avery, I reviewed your portfolio. Your composition shows a lot of unique vision.” “Thank you, Valerie.” “Newcomers always start by shadowing the outdoor location shoots. Can you handle the physical strain?” “Absolutely.” The rookie phase was brutally exhausting. Outdoor shoots meant enduring the scorching sun and biting wind while lugging heavy camera equipment all over the city. After just one week, my face had tanned significantly, and the heavy camera straps had left two permanent red welts across my shoulders. But I genuinely loved it. The moment the lens pulled into sharp focus, the entire chaotic world went completely silent. There was only light and shadow. There was only the exact moment I wanted to capture. One afternoon, I had just powered down my camera and found a spot of shade under a tree to rest. Bruno sent a text message. “Sweetheart, I have another business dinner tonight. Do not wait up for me to eat.” “Do not push yourself too hard at work. You always have me.” Just as I began typing a generic reply, the floating comments flared to life again. [The male lead is finally learning how to lie for the heroine!] [He says it is a business dinner, but he is actually helping the sweet girl move into her new apartment. They are decorating their little home together!] [The male lead looks so handsome when he cooks! Such domestic bliss! They are a perfect match!] Cooking. He had never once cooked a proper meal for me. Back when we first got together, he was so poor his pockets echoed. My heart ached for him, so I fought to do all the cooking to save him time and energy. Later, when he became ridiculously wealthy, he hired private chefs and housekeepers. There was even less reason for him to ever touch a spatula. Yet he was willing to personally cook a meal for that woman. My eyes suddenly felt a little dry and stinging. I set my phone down on the grass and did not reply. It was nearly midnight when Bruno finally returned home. I was lying on my side in the massive bed, my eyes tightly closed. He walked into the bedroom and leaned down, intending to press a kiss to my forehead. There it was again. That foreign perfume. I rolled over, smoothly dodging his lips. “Sweetheart?” “I am exhausted. Go to sleep.” Bruno stood in suffocating silence for a very long time. “Alright. Goodnight.” When I woke up the next morning, there was a thick legal document resting on my nightstand. It was a notarized asset transfer agreement. Bruno had already signed his name at the bottom. The floating comments went absolutely insane. [What the hell? Did the male lead seriously give his entire net worth to the villainess?!] [Do not panic! Legally, it can be reclaimed! A marital asset transfer done before a divorce can be easily revoked in court.] [He definitely just feels guilty for spending so much time with the heroine lately. He is just doing this to keep the wicked wife from throwing a tantrum.] I had almost been genuinely moved. I placed the document back down on the nightstand. Then, I opened my chat with my best friend, Harper, who was a ruthless divorce attorney. “Help me draft a formal divorce agreement. Divide the assets strictly according to standard marital law.” Later that week, Valerie called me into her glass enclosed office. “Avery, we landed a massive contract. The client specifically requested you as the lead photographer.” “Who is it?” “Asher Lockwood.” I completely froze, certain I had misheard her. “Are you serious?” Valerie tossed the glossy contract across the desk toward me, a proud smile on her face. “Dead serious. He specifically reviewed your portfolio and demanded we book your schedule.” The fingers I used to open the folder were trembling slightly. Asher Lockwood. He was the idol I had worshipped since middle school. Back in college, I had starved myself for weeks just to save enough money to buy a ticket to his concert. I ended up fainting in the middle of a lecture hall and became the laughingstock of the entire campus. When Bruno found out, it was the very first time he had ever screamed at me. “Have you lost your mind? What is so great about him? You almost killed yourself over a celebrity!” Years later, when Bruno became a billionaire titan, his corporation collaborated with Asher’s agency several times. Yet he never once bothered to ask for a simple autograph for me. Stepping out of Valerie’s office, my first instinct was to text Bruno and share the incredible news. But remembering his explosive reaction from years ago, my fingers hovered uncertainly over the keyboard. In the end, I typed out a very different message. “I have to go on a business trip. I will be gone for about a week.” It took him over ten minutes to finally reply. “Alright. Do not push yourself too hard. You have me.” Staring at the words “You have me,” I felt an overwhelming wave of dark irony. I had him? He was going to completely belong to someone else very soon. 4. The photoshoot took place on a rugged, secluded beach. I arrived at four in the morning. I set up the heavy tripods, adjusted the exposure parameters, and ran the light tests in the freezing dark. The coastal wind was brutal. The sand whipped against my face, stinging my cheeks, but I was too focused to care. My heart had been racing since last night and refused to slow down. At exactly seven o’clock. A sleek black luxury van pulled up to the edge of the sand. Asher stepped out of the vehicle. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and dark slacks. His hair was completely unstyled, falling effortlessly across his forehead. He looked almost exactly like the brilliant young boy on stage ten years ago. No, he had changed. He was leaner now. His jawline was sharper, more defined, and his eyes held something deeper. It was the undeniable gravity of a man who had been tempered by time. “Hello, Ms. Avery.” He extended a hand toward me. I took it, my palm slightly slick with nervous sweat. “Hello.” “I studied your portfolio. Your composition is incredibly bold, and your mastery of lighting is phenomenal. I specifically asked Valerie to clear your schedule.” He offered a devastatingly handsome smile. “I hope I did not put too much pressure on you.” “Not at all.” I took a deep breath, forcing my professional mask into place. “I will give you my absolute best.” After the brief introductions, we dove straight into the work. Asher was a dream to photograph. His spatial awareness and connection with the camera were so flawless that he barely needed any direction. I crouched on the wet sand, searching for the perfect angles. The midday sun scorched my back, but my mood was soaring higher than it had in years. During a brief water break, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Harper had sent over the finalized divorce agreement. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” I stared at the PDF file. I thought about the lingering, foreign perfume on Bruno’s collar. I thought about the floating comments praising their “domestic bliss.” “Yes.” Rather than waiting around to be utterly discarded, I might as well strike while he still felt a shred of guilt and secure a decent alimony fund. On the third day of the shoot. I was carefully adjusting my aperture settings when the floating comments suddenly erupted into a blinding frenzy. [Oh my god! The male lead and our sweet girl went to Tromsø! The Northern Lights! It is so unbelievably beautiful!] [It is minus twenty degrees in Norway. The male lead was afraid the sweet girl would freeze, so he took off his own designer coat and wrapped it around her! So romantic!] [Holy crap, this is the exact scene from the original novel where they officially fall in love!] [Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!] The heavy professional camera slipped from my trembling hands and crashed onto the sand. “Ms. Avery? Are you alright?” Asher quickly walked over. “I am fine. Just fine.” I crouched down to retrieve the camera. My fingers were shaking so violently that it took me two tries to finally pick it up. The Northern Lights. He had promised to take me to see the Northern Lights. Back in that freezing college basement, he had held my hands tightly and sworn, “Avery, when I finally make it big, we are going to see the aurora.” He said the Northern Lights were the ultimate symbol of eternal love. He made me wait ten agonizing years. And now, he had taken another woman to see them. “Ms. Avery, you look incredibly pale.” Asher bent down, looking at me with genuine concern. “Are you suffering from heatstroke?” “I think I might be.” Asher immediately ordered his assistant to fetch some electrolyte medicine and handed the bottle to me himself. “Go back to the hotel and rest. We can resume the shoot tomorrow.” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. My mind was a complete wreck. Any photos I took right now would be utterly lifeless. “I am so sorry for delaying the production schedule.” “Do not worry about it. Your health comes first.” Returning to my hotel room, I sat numbly on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The air conditioner hummed loudly, blending with the erratic thumping of my heart. Suddenly, I found the entire situation completely hilarious. I had already decided to walk away. Why was I still crying over a broken, ten year old promise? I opened Bruno’s chat and sent over the PDF of the divorce agreement. “If everything looks correct, we can sign this as soon as I return.” I honestly expected him to call me the very second he saw it. I thought he would at least ask me why. But there was nothing. An entire hour crawled by. Bruno did not send a single reply. Around nine o’clock that evening, the doorbell chimed. I opened the door to find Asher standing in the hallway, holding a warm cup of artisan tea. “Feeling any better?” He handed the cup to me. “Much better, thank you. I promise I will make up for the lost time tomorrow.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I have a favor to ask you.” “Next month is my parents’ golden anniversary. I would love for you to shoot their commemorative portraits. Can you clear some time in your schedule? I will pay triple your usual rate.” I blinked in genuine surprise. “Me?” “Yes. Your lens captures genuine warmth.” “Thank you for the incredible compliment. I would be honored.” “Would you be open to grabbing dinner together? My parents happen to be in town, and we could sit down and discuss the aesthetic direction.” “Absolutely. Let me change into something appropriate.” After Asher headed down to the lobby, I checked my phone one last time. Still no response from Bruno. I changed into an elegant evening dress and headed down to the private dining room Asher had reserved. He and his parents were already seated at the table. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood.” “Sit, sit, please do not be so formal.” Asher’s mother immediately took my hand, her eyes sweeping over me with clear delight. “You are such a beautiful young woman.” “Thank you, Mrs. Lockwood.” Asher sat directly across from me. He offered a warm, reassuring smile and mouthed the words: Do not be nervous. I smiled back. Mrs. Lockwood held my hand, happily chatting about a dozen different things. She talked about her youth with Asher’s father, how they first met, and the trials they overcame to build their life together. “Fifty years.” She patted the back of my hand gently. “Avery, I am leaving these precious photos entirely in your capable hands.” “Please do not worry, Mrs. Lockwood. I will capture them perfectly.” Right in the middle of my sentence, the heavy mahogany doors of the private room were violently shoved open. Every single person at the table turned to look. Bruno was standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted and frantic. His tie was loose and crooked. His eyes locked onto Asher, then shifted to his parents, and finally landed squarely on me. His eyes were bloodshot. “You want to divorce me… for him?” His voice was shaking with raw fury. “You are already meeting his parents?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “464462”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel