Category: English

On the night of my eighteenth birthday gala, I was drugged. In a haze of heat and confusion, I pulled my bodyguard of eight years, Carl Vaughn, into my bed. I had never seen him as just a bodyguard. We knew each other’s souls. I was only waiting to become a legal adult so I could finally confess our love to my parents. But the next morning, the number one trending topic on the internet was a six-hour, unedited, high-definition video of us in that bed. I thought a corporate rival had framed us. That was, until I overheard him on the phone with a friend: “My sister went to work for their family, and they drove her to her death. Eight years she’s been missing. I just recorded a little video. Honestly, I think I went too easy on them.” There were no corporate rivals. It was all him. It was all revenge. My father, blindingly furious, lunged to strike him. Carl simply kicked him away. My father hit his head against the marble floor and slipped into a permanent coma. The Astor family empire collapsed, buried under tens of millions in debt. My mother worked herself to the bone, juggling jobs until she collapsed and died of exhaustion on a rainy night. To pay for my father’s life support, I sold myself to an underground syndicate compound in Central America. Two years later, I connected with Carl on a video call. He recognized my voice instantly. A cruel scoff filtered through the speaker. “Well, look at the little Astor heiress, running scams now?” “I can give you your sales quota,” he purred. “Let’s see if you can swallow it. Now, take your clothes off.” … 1 “Take them off. What, are you feeling shy now?” The video feed snapped into focus. Carl’s devastatingly familiar face filled the screen, twisted into a mocking sneer. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, using the metallic taste of blood to force the suffocating ache back down into my chest. When I lifted my eyes again, the mask was perfectly in place. I offered him a practiced, sultry smile. “Where would the boss like me to start?” I hooked a finger under my strap, sliding it agonizingly slow down my shoulder. Then, I stood up, angling myself toward the webcam, and began to pull the hem of my silk dress upward. Pale thighs and the curve of my chest were practically spilling into the frame. Just as my fingers moved to drag the neckline lower— “Enough!” The vein at Carl’s temple throbbed. His voice cracked like a whip. “Bonnie Astor, is this how you usually close your deals? Stripping for men online?” “Do you have a single shred of human dignity left in you? You make me sick.” His words were jagged glass, twisting directly into my heart. My eyes burned with a sudden, acidic sting. When you’re starving and fighting just to draw your next breath… what the hell is dignity? Swallowing the lump in my throat, I leaned closer to the lens, letting my voice drop to a husky whisper. “Is the boss not satisfied? Or were you hoping for something a little more… hardcore—” The screen went black. He hung up. A second later, my phone pinged. A wire transfer notification. Fifty thousand dollars. Attached was a single message: Even talking to you makes me feel dirty. The last thread of adrenaline snapped. I collapsed onto the concrete floor, the cold seeping into my bones. Three years ago, this was the man who knelt beside my legs, looking up at me like I was the only star in his sky. “You are the brightest, most untouchable thing I’ve ever seen,” he had whispered, his hands trembling as he held mine. “Please don’t ever leave me behind. Okay?” But in the end, the hands that pushed me into the dirt, the voice that called me filthy… belonged to him. I took a shaky breath, pulling myself up to hand the transfer confirmation to the floor supervisor. This fifty grand was my quota for the day. It bought me a twenty-four-hour reprieve from the cattle prods and the beatings. More importantly, it covered another month of my father’s life support. The supervisor’s face split into a greasy grin. He shoved me toward the locker room. “We’ve got VIPs hitting the casino floor tonight. You’ve been hitting your numbers lately, so I’m giving you a shot at the high-roller table.” He grabbed my chin, his grip bruising. “Don’t screw this up, Bonnie. Or your old man’s plug gets pulled.” I nodded frantically. I remembered the day the debt collectors breached the nursing home back in the States. They had nearly beaten me to death right there in the sterile hallway. They had their hands on my father’s oxygen tube. It was this supervisor who had stopped them. “Come work for us,” he had offered. “What you earn pays off the debt, and keeps the machine breathing for your daddy.” I said yes. I would do anything to survive. In the locker room, I expertly applied heavy concealer over the fresh, angry welts and the burn marks from the stun guns. When I stepped onto the plush carpet of the VIP room, my breath caught. Carl was sitting dead center at the baccarat table. He was in a bespoke charcoal suit, radiating an untouchable, arrogant wealth that was even more suffocating in person than on a screen. “Gentlemen, this is our dealer for the evening, Bonnie.” The supervisor bowed obsequiously. The men at the table looked me up and down, their eyes leaving a trail of slime over my skin. Someone let out a low whistle. “Goddamn. She’s a live wire.” “With a dealer looking like that, I don’t even care if I lose.” Their leering gazes stuck to me like venom. I forced my lips into a breathtaking curve, slipping smoothly into the empty chair beside them. Beneath the table, I let my knee brush lightly against the leg of the man to my right. “With me here, I promise the bosses will only have a winning streak,” I purred. The man practically melted. He pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and shoved them directly into the cleavage of my uniform. I giggled, thanking him sweetly as I tucked the cash deeper against my skin. Carl let out a dark, hollow laugh. When I looked up, his eyes were burning with a terrifying, destructive fire. “Has this dealer been washed?” he demanded, his voice dropping the temperature in the room. The supervisor froze. “Uh… well, of course, Mr. Vaughn. All our girls are impeccably clean.” Carl stood up slowly, towering over the table, his gaze pinning me to my seat. “Tell us, Bonnie. Are you clean?” The other men exchanged bewildered looks, unsure why the billionaire was suddenly turning the room into an interrogation chamber. His relentless, suffocating pressure made my chest physically ache. When I didn’t answer, a cruel smirk twisted his lips. “Actually, I heard the little Astor heiress was starring in amateur porn before she was even legally allowed to drink.” Carl leaned forward, bracing his hands on the velvet table. “Six hours. High-def. Uncensored. Seems she likes to play rough.” Recognition dawned on one of the other men. “Holy shit, no wonder she looked familiar! That’s the Astor girl. The one whose sex tape leaked at her debutante ball and sent her parents to an early grave.” The man turned to the supervisor, his eyes turning predatory. “Hey, if she’s that kind of trash, she’s not just here to deal cards, right? How about…” The implication hung heavy and vile in the air. Under the table, Carl’s polished leather shoe hooked the hem of my skirt, dragging it up an inch. “Since you’re already this filthy,” Carl whispered, his voice dripping with venom, “why are you still wearing clothes? Didn’t you hear what the bosses want? Do your job, sweetheart.” 2 The way Carl looked at me… it was as if he were scraping dog shit off his shoe. But he wasn’t always like this. I was ten years old when eighteen-year-old Carl Vaughn first stepped in front of me. He had dropped to one knee, looking at me with absolute reverence. “Miss Astor, from today onward, your safety is my life. As long as I am breathing, no one in this world will ever harm a hair on your head.” For the next eight years, he was a man of his word. He absorbed the blows of the world so I wouldn’t have to. Every time I stumbled, his strong arms were there, catching me before I ever hit the ground. “Careful, Bonnie.” He was always my shadow, indulging my every reckless whim with a quiet, devastating fondness. When I wanted to climb the ancient oak tree on the estate, he laced his hands together and offered his shoulders as my stepping stone. When I wanted to watch the Fourth of July fireworks over the bay, he smuggled me out past the security gates at midnight, hoisting me onto his shoulders so I had the best view in the world. Whenever I cheered in delight, a rare, beautiful smile would break across his face. “Let’s keep this our little secret from your father, okay?” Even the time an unhinged rival tried to kidnap me, Carl literally tore through them. Bleeding, battered, he carried me out of that warehouse without letting a single drop of my blood spill. I had cried, reaching out with my small, trembling hands to wipe the blood from his cheek. But Carl caught my wrists. His grip was fiercely protective, yet painfully restrained. “I’ll get you dirty. Don’t touch me.” My heart had seized in my chest. It pounded like a war drum. I had grabbed him by the lapels of his ruined suit and kissed him. “You’re not dirty. You’re never dirty to me…” Tears mixed with the copper taste of his blood. That was my eighteenth-year awakening. The name Carl Vaughn had been the absolute center of my entire adolescence. “Strip. What are you waiting for?” Carl’s voice snapped me back to the nightmare. “You want money?” He grabbed a handful of heavy casino chips and hurled them violently into my face. Clack. The sharp plastic hit my cheekbone like a slap. “Is that enough?” he sneered. I blinked, forcing myself back into my shell. I stretched my lips into a sickeningly sweet smile. “More than enough. Thank you so much, Mr. Vaughn~” “I promise to take very, very good care of you gentlemen tonight.” I dropped to my knees, crawling over the carpet to gather the scattered chips, deliberately tucking them into the lace tops of my thigh-high stockings. Then, I slipped the straps of my dress off my shoulders. The heavy air-conditioning of the casino hit my bare skin, making my teeth chatter, though whether from the cold or the terror, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t dare look into his eyes. I couldn’t bear to confirm the absolute disgust I knew was swimming in them. “Ooh, the little rich girl wears some naughty lingerie,” one of the men laughed, his eyes roaming over me like a starving wolf. They looked to Carl. “Hey, Mr. Vaughn, if you aren’t interested in partaking…” Carl took a slow sip of his bourbon. A violent storm was brewing in his dark eyes, but his voice was terrifyingly flat. “Do whatever you want. I have no interest in riding the town bicycle.” The town bicycle. I forced a laugh, my fingernails biting so hard into my palms they drew blood. I was suffocating on my own tears. The humiliation was a physical weight crushing my throat, but I kept the smile plastered on my face. “Well, practice makes perfect, right? I know all the tricks…” The game resumed. As the men drew their cards, their hands constantly wandered beneath the table. My stockings were torn. The fabric of my corset was pulled and stretched until the seams popped. Carl sat at the head of the table the entire night. He didn’t say a single word. By the time the game ended, my skin was mottled with purple bruises, pinch marks, and bites. I swallowed the agony, kneeling on the floor to gather the crumpled bills and fallen chips. “You are truly pathetic, Bonnie.” Carl watched me, a humorless, tight smile on his face. “Do you really love money this much?” I didn’t hesitate. I nodded. Money was oxygen for my father. Money could buy a headstone for my mother. “Fine.” He ground the word out through clenched teeth, his eyes flashing red. “Since you love money so damn much, I’m going to give you the ultimate opportunity to make it.” 3 Carl paid off my remaining debt to the syndicate. He dragged me out of the compound and flew us to an elite resort on the coast of Belize. When he burst into my hotel room, I hadn’t even finished changing. His eyes locked onto the angry red and purple marks littering my body. His brow furrowed deeply. “How did you get these?” Before I could formulate a lie, his gaze dropped to the open suitcase on the bed, spilling over with cheap, scandalous lingerie. He let out a dark, cynical laugh. “Right. In your line of work, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by a few battle scars.” It felt as though someone was systematically driving long needles into my chest. The pain was quiet, but infinite. I didn’t argue. Instead, I walked over to him, lightly draping my arms around his neck. “And what about you? Sneaking into my room at this hour… are you looking for—” I leaned in to whisper against his ear, but before I could finish, he shoved me backward. The veins in his neck popped. A dark flush spread from his collar to his jaw—whether from rage or something else, I couldn’t tell. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy.” Even though I had spent years getting used to this version of him, the words still made my heart bleed. “Be in the lobby in thirty minutes.” “Five clients. As long as you keep them happy, they’re paying three million a head.” With that, he threw his suit jacket at me and walked out without looking back. Five men. Fifteen million dollars. That was more than enough to clear the lingering debts back home. I could finally go back to my father. A few minutes later, a hotel attendant knocked, handing me a small tube of scar-fading ointment. “Mr. Vaughn sent this.” I stared at the half-used tube of ointment, my mind going entirely blank. Back in the day, Carl wasn’t just my shadow. My father often sent him on dangerous acquisition and security missions. He frequently returned bruised, battered, and bleeding. He had a jagged knife scar running from his abdomen all the way up to his chest. I had spent an exorbitant amount of my allowance at a private auction to buy a medically advanced scar-fading serum. But when I gave it to him, he just smiled gently. “Miss Astor, you shouldn’t waste this kind of money on a servant like me.” I had refused to listen. I clamped one hand over his mouth and stubbornly applied the ointment to his chest with the other. The tube the attendant just handed me… was the exact same tube from years ago. Why did he still have it? Before I could unravel the knot in my stomach, the thirty minutes were up. When I stepped into the dim, velvet-draped lobby, several men wearing Venetian masks turned to stare at me with hungry eyes. “Carl, my man, thanks for taking care of our wives tonight.” “Your little girlfriend looks like a wildcat. First time at a swingers club, huh?” Carl was leaning back on a leather sofa, two half-naked women draped over him. He smirked over the rim of his glass. “Who knows how many times she’s done this.” A bomb went off in my skull. The ringing was deafening. I thought he wanted me to pour drinks. Or deal cards. I never, in my darkest nightmares, imagined he brought me here to trade me at an underground swingers club. The sheer humiliation and betrayal crashed over me like a tidal wave. It was the middle of summer in the tropics, but I was shivering violently. He looked up at me lazily. “What? Are you backing out?” He raised three fingers. Three million. That money was the only rope that could pull me out of the abyss I’d been drowning in for years. I bit my tongue until I tasted copper, forcing my trembling limbs into submission. “Why would I back out? It’s my absolute honor to serve these gentlemen.” Carl’s face instantly darkened into a thunderous scowl. He sat there, perfectly still, watching me pour their drinks. Watching me feed them fruit from the platter. Suddenly, one of the masked men yanked me up by my arm. “I can’t wait anymore. I’m taking her up to the room!” He scooped me up over his shoulder and marched toward the elevators. Instinct took over, and I thrashed against him. Smack. He backhanded me across the face so hard my vision blurred. “Shut the fuck up. Vaughn literally handed you over, why are you playing the virgin?” My ears were screaming. I opened my mouth, silently mouthing Carl’s name. But from the moment I was carried away, Carl never once looked in my direction. The heavy oak door slammed shut. I was thrown violently onto the mattress. The stench of the man’s cologne and sweat made my stomach heave. Carl always smelled like crisp cedarwood and snow. Whenever he came back from a mission, he brought me something. Sometimes it was a necklace he bought with his entire month’s salary. Sometimes it was just a perfectly preserved autumn leaf he found on the road. But now, I had nothing. Riiiiiiip. The sound of my dress tearing filled the quiet room. Pure, unadulterated terror seized my throat. I clenched my fists around the tiny tube of scar ointment and squeezed my eyes shut. Just endure it. Endure it, and it will be over. As long as Dad gets his medicine. As long as he lives. Nothing else matters. … Down in the lobby. Carl downed glass after glass of amber liquor. But the burning in his throat did nothing to quell the vicious, clawing anxiety tearing at his chest. “What’s wrong, Carl? Getting possessive over your little toy?” One of the women traced a manicured finger down his chest. He shoved her off with brutal force. “Possessive? Over her? You could hand her to me on a silver platter and I’d still throw up.” But the moment he heard Bonnie’s muffled, agonizing scream echo down the hallway… His knuckles turned bone-white around his glass. He told himself this was justice. This was payback for what the Astors did to his sister. To his family. He was right. But he realized, with a sickening drop in his stomach, that he simply could not endure the sound of Bonnie breaking. He surged to his feet, storming out to the hotel terrace to light a cigarette. The lighter had barely flared when a voice cut through the humid night air. “Carl?!” He froze. When he turned around and saw the face of Michelle Vaughn standing under the patio lights, his entire universe short-circuited. “Maddie…” Michelle’s eyes were red. She offered him a trembling smile. “It really is you… God, look how much you’ve grown, Carl.” “Carl, back then… it was such an emergency. I had to flee the country with my husband. We didn’t even have time to contact you, I’m so sorry.” “But we’ve been living a good life overseas! Look, this is my son, Sammy.” She gently pushed a twelve-year-old boy forward. “Sammy, say hi to your Uncle Carl.” The boy politely mumbled a greeting. Carl stood there, paralyzed, the cigarette dropping from his numb fingers. “Wait. So… all these years. You’ve been perfectly fine?” Michelle looked confused. “Of course? Why wouldn’t I be?” Her casual, innocent confusion drove a spike directly into his brain. Then what the hell was my revenge for? The leaked tape. The ruin. The absolute hell I dragged Bonnie into… what was it all for?! The color drained entirely from Carl’s face, leaving him looking like a corpse. Like a madman, he shoved past them, sprinting back into the hotel, tearing down the hallway until he reached the heavy oak door. He raised his leg and kicked the door right off its hinges. “Bonnie!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414024”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My brother and I are boy-girl twins, but growing up, there was only ever one birthday cake. And my name was never on it. I asked my mother about it once. I was eight years old. She pulled me into a hug that felt more like a restraint, her voice dripping with that soft, practiced sweetness. “Because you’re the older sister, Hazel,” she whispered into my hair. “The good things have to go to your brother first. You’ll understand when you’re older.” I am exactly four minutes older than him. The year we took our SATs, I scored in the top tier of our county. My brother, Chester, completely bombed his. I remember my father sitting on the porch steps of our rusted-out trailer, peeling the wrapper off a cheap butterscotch candy. He handed it to me, then crouched down so we were eye-to-eye. “Listen to me, girl,” he said, his voice carrying a gravelly, manufactured grief. “I know you’re smart. But on my salary, we can’t cosign loans for two kids. Your brother is a man. He’s the one who’s gonna have to carry the family name, provide for a household. You… you gotta understand where I’m coming from, okay?” He made his voice sound thick, broken. As if he were the one being sacrificed. As if he were the victim of circumstance, and not the executioner of my future. Chester went to a private prep school on my father’s borrowed dime, and eventually, off to college. I went to work at the auto-parts factory on the edge of town. I spent ten hours a day on an assembly line tightening valves until the joints in my fingers swelled so badly I couldn’t hold a fork at dinner. When I came home for the holidays that first year, my mother held my bruised, calloused hands in hers. She stroked them for a long time, her eyes welling with strategic tears. “You’ve always been our low-maintenance one,” she sighed. “So mature. So understanding.” Understanding. She wielded that word like a scalpel for eighteen years, carving me hollow with it, demanding that I bleed and then smile and tell her it didn’t hurt. … 1 My mother flipped my hands over, palms facing the ceiling. She pried open my curled, stiff fingers to inspect the thick yellow calluses and cracked skin. She let out a heavy sigh. “Hazel, honey… how much are you managing to put away from the factory every month?” “About three thousand,” I said. Her eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before she ducked her head, slipping effortlessly into that tormented, back-against-the-wall expression I’d seen my entire life. “Your brother found himself a girl,” she murmured. “A girl from the city. She comes from a good family, Hazel. Money.” “Okay.” “The girl’s family laid down an ultimatum. If Chester wants to marry her, he needs to buy a house in the suburbs. Paid in full. No mortgage. Otherwise, the wedding is off.” I stared at the chipped linoleum floor. I said nothing. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your dad and I ran the numbers. Between what we have and the money you’ve been sending home these past few years, we’re still short. You must have some savings stashed away, right?” I kept my mouth shut. The silence made her frantic, her words spilling out faster. “Don’t look at me like that, Hazel. If your brother loses this girl because he can’t afford a house, how are we supposed to show our faces in town? You’re his sister. Helping your brother out is just… it’s the natural order of things. It’s what family does.” The natural order of things. I pulled my hands out of her grasp. That evening, Chester brought his girlfriend, Madison, home to our cramped house. Madison walked across our uneven, patched-up floors with a permanent crease between her eyebrows. Chester fluttered around her like a moth, pulling out her chair, pouring her sweet tea, laughing too loud at things that weren’t funny. Dinner was a massive spread—pot roast, glazed ham, roasted vegetables. I had bought every single ingredient with my holiday bonus. Chester piled Madison’s paper plate high. She picked at a piece of ham for a few seconds before setting her plastic fork down. “Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” Madison said, her tone perfectly polite and utterly chilling. “Chester mentioned that you’re already finalizing the arrangements for the house?” My mother nodded so hard I thought her neck would snap. “Oh, yes, yes. It’s all being taken care of. Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetheart.” Madison’s gaze flicked to me for exactly two seconds before sliding away. I knew that look. I had seen it my entire life from people who looked right through me, people who decided I was part of the furniture. After dinner, I was at the kitchen sink scrubbing plates. My mother slipped in and quietly shut the door behind her. She reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, smoothing it out on the counter. Written on it were two names: Hazel Miller and Earl Jenkins. “Now, just hear me out before you get upset,” my mother started. “You know the Jenkins family over by the county line? The ones who own the massive auto-salvage yard? Well, their oldest boy, Earl. He’s thirty-seven. Never settled down. He sent someone over to ask about you. He’s offering thirty thousand dollars. Cash.” Thirty thousand dollars. I stared at the piece of paper. My name was spelled wrong. “Thirty-seven?” My own voice sounded hollow, like it belonged to a ghost. “Older men know how to treat a woman right,” my mother said quickly, looking down, wiping her hands on her apron over and over. “He runs a massive business. You’d never have to worry about bills again. Besides, how long can you really work the assembly line? You have to get married eventually.” I knew who Earl Jenkins was. The whole county knew Earl. He had rotting teeth, walked with a heavy limp, and smelled like stale beer and chewing tobacco. His last fiancée ran away in the middle of the night. The one before that he put in the ICU with a broken jaw. My mother knew all of this. “The things people say about him—” I started. “It’s just small-town gossip,” she snapped, cutting me off. “People are jealous because he’s got money. They’ll say anything.” The kitchen door creaked open. My father stepped in, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, coughing into his fist. “Girl, I’m not trying to sell you. Don’t go putting it in your head like that,” he rasped. “The Jenkins family has deep pockets. You wouldn’t have to work manual labor another day in your life. And with the… financial arrangement… well, you know the situation with your brother.” He flicked his ash onto the floor. His voice took on that exact same gravelly, wounded tone he used when he forced me to give up college. “I’m out of options here. You gotta understand where I’m coming from, okay?” Eighteen years. It was always the exact same script. 2 Madison was suddenly standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. She wiped her manicured hands on a paper towel, not looking up. “Honestly, it’s a pretty smart move,” she offered casually. “Marrying someone with actual assets beats spending the rest of your life screwing caps on in a factory.” She paused, finally raising her eyes to meet mine. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Hazel, but for a factory girl to pull a guy who owns his own business? You’re marrying up.” Chester stood right behind her. He was smiling. He didn’t defend me. My parents didn’t say a word. I slowly set down the soapy sponge. I dried my hands on a towel. “I’m not marrying him.” I looked at my mother. “And I want my money back.” The kitchen fell dead silent for two agonizing seconds. “What money?” my mother asked, her voice tight. “The money I’ve sent home every month for the last six years. I kept the receipts. I kept a ledger. It totals exactly eighteen thousand dollars.” My father pushed off the doorframe. He took his cigarette and ground it out directly against the painted drywall. “The money you sent home? That was your contribution to the roof over your head. You don’t get to ask for that back.” “And did you ask me before you took my ‘contribution’ to buy Chester a house?” Chester stepped out from behind Madison, a smug, arrogant smirk plastered across his face. “Come on, Hazel, stop throwing a tantrum. You have a high school diploma. What the hell else are you gonna do with your life? Marry the rich guy, enjoy the easy life. Hell, when you get married, I’ll even throw two hundred bucks in a card for you.” Two hundred bucks. I hadn’t bought a piece of clothing that cost more than fifty dollars in six years. Chester blew through my monthly remittances in a weekend. And that was his exact valuation of my entire existence. Two hundred bucks. “Chester’s right. Stop being so bitter, making it sound like we’re holding a gun to your head,” my father barked, his voice rising. “It’s supposed to be a happy night. Wipe that miserable look off your face. What is Madison gonna think of this family?” My mother immediately chimed in. “Exactly! Your brother finally brings home a decent girl, and you’re trying to ruin it. If you scare her off, are you going to take responsibility for ruining his life?” Chester wrapped his arm around Madison’s waist and let out a booming laugh. “Yeah, Hazel. Let’s just drop it until tomorrow. Don’t kill the vibe.” They stood there, a united front, perfectly calibrated in their emotional warfare. I looked at them, rotating through their roles of aggressor, pacifier, and victim. It was almost comical. Six years away, and their choreography had only gotten better. “I said what I said. I am not marrying him. And you are going to give me my money back.” My father’s face hardened into a scowl. “You think you’re grown now? You think you run things?” “It’s not about who runs things. It’s about the fact that you do not own me, and you do not get to sell me.” Chester threw his hands up in theatrical annoyance. “Jesus, Hazel, could you stop being so dramatic? You’re a factory worker. You don’t get to make demands. You are literally the only person in this family who causes problems.” “I cause problems?” I locked eyes with him. “How many classes did you fail in your four years of college, Chester? How did you actually graduate?” His smile slipped. “Every finals week, crying to Mom on the phone that you were broke, that you needed to ‘bribe’ your professors by taking them out to expensive dinners to pass. Where do you think that money came from?” Chester’s face flushed scarlet. “It came out of my bleeding fingers,” I whispered. “You’re full of shit!” Chester yelled. My father lunged forward, jabbing a thick, calloused finger hard against my forehead. “You shut your damn mouth! Is that how you speak to your brother? Have you got no respect?” “Where was his respect for me?” My father’s face turned a mottled, furious purple. He kicked the wooden stool by my feet, sending it crashing into the cabinets. “You disrespectful little bitch!” As the stool clattered against the wood, my mother started screeching. “Ungrateful! You ungrateful brat! We raised you, put food in your mouth, and for what? For nothing!” Chester, his smugness fully restored, guided Madison back toward the living room. He tossed a look over his shoulder. “If you don’t wanna marry him, fine. Earl’s gonna be here in ten minutes. You can tell him to his face.” I froze. “What?” My mother refused to look at me. My father lit another cigarette and stared at the floor. Three minutes later, the gravel driveway crunched beneath the heavy tires of a pickup truck. Earl Jenkins had arrived. He stood in the doorway holding a cheap bottle of bourbon and a wilted bouquet from a gas station. He smiled, his lips pulling back over a row of yellowed, rotting teeth. My mother’s face instantly transformed. She beamed, practically shoving past me to welcome him inside, her voice dripping with honey. My father stood up, clapping Earl on the back like an old war buddy. My mother grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin, and shoved me down onto the sagging living room sofa. She forced me to sit right next to Earl. He smelled like stale sweat, motor oil, and cheap tobacco. It made my stomach churn. He turned his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes dragging down my face, lingering deliberately on my chest. Sitting across from us, my mother smiled sweetly at Earl. Then, reaching around the back of the sofa, she grabbed a fistful of the flesh on my lower back and twisted violently. “Smile,” she hissed through her teeth, her voice so low only I could hear. “If you say one wrong word to him, I swear to God I will break your legs.” 3 Watching my parents bow and scrape, offering Earl cigarettes and negotiating the price of my life like I was a used car, a flood of memories suddenly broke through the dam in my mind. During my first year at the factory, the other girls on the line asked me about my family. I told them my parents loved me, that they were holding onto my savings to build me a nest egg for my future. It was the biggest lie I had ever told. I didn’t even own a blanket that was just mine. Growing up, I slept under Chester’s hand-me-downs—stiff, matted comforters that had lost their stuffing. In the dead of winter, I would shiver so violently I spent the whole night curled into a tight, aching ball. My mother always said girls were naturally tougher against the cold. Chester was “delicate.” He needed the new down comforter. Chester was built like a linebacker. He had never done a day of manual labor in his life. When my parents bought fruit, Chester always picked first. He’d take a single bite out of the best apple, decide he didn’t want it, and leave it on the counter. I was only allowed to eat the bruised, soft ones at the bottom of the bag. Once, my aunt came to visit and bought a premium box of Honeycrisp apples, specifically handing them to me. The second her car pulled out of the driveway, my mother picked up the box and carried it straight into Chester’s bedroom. When I went to get one, Chester shoved me out of his door. “Mom said these are mine.” I went to my mother. She didn’t even look up from the TV. “Your aunt was just being polite. Chester needs the brain food for his exams. You’re not testing for anything, what do you need them for?” The winter I turned fourteen, our washing machine broke. I spent three hours outside washing the family’s laundry in a plastic tub of freezing water. My hands swelled up like balloons. That night, the skin across my knuckles split open. Blood seeped out, staining the cuffs of my sweater. My mother took one look, went to the shed, and brought back a handful of axle grease. “Rub this in. It’ll stop the bleeding.” Meanwhile, Chester was in the living room playing Xbox, his hands soft, unblemished, and perfectly warm. When I got my first period, I was terrified. I woke up to blood soaked through my pajama pants. I didn’t have pads, and I was too scared to ask for them. I tore up an old undershirt and stuffed it in my underwear. It didn’t hold. By noon at school, it had bled completely through my jeans. We were out on the playground. One of Chester’s friends pointed at the red stain on my pants and started yelling. Chester was standing right there in the crowd. He didn’t take off his jacket to tie it around my waist. He didn’t defend me. He pointed at me, threw his head back, and laughed louder than anyone else. “My sister is so freaking gross!” he shouted. That night, I snuck out to the pharmacy and spent my only five dollars—money I had saved for two months—on a box of tampons. When my mother found out, she screamed at me for wasting money. Her punishment was making me stand on the back porch for an hour. It was December. I was wearing a thin t-shirt. Chester popped the screen out of his bedroom window and leaned out. “Hazel, are you stupid? Just apologize to her and come inside.” I didn’t apologize. My legs were shaking so hard I couldn’t stand straight, my teeth clattering together in my skull, but I didn’t say the words. Because I didn’t know what I was apologizing for. Later, I scored high enough to get a full-ride academic scholarship to a pre-med program. I thought it was my ticket out. I thought it would finally change things. I brought the acceptance letter home and laid it on the kitchen table. My father looked at it, took a drag of his cigarette, and told me they couldn’t afford the room and board, and they wouldn’t cosign any student loans. “A boy needs to be the one to carry the family,” he had said. Chester hadn’t even met the minimum requirements for the local community college. But my father went to the bank, took out a second mortgage, and handed a private academy twenty thousand dollars in “donations” to secure Chester a spot. Twenty thousand dollars. More than I could save in three years on the assembly line. “Your brother struggles. He needs the extra support,” my father had reasoned. “You’re smart. You’ll survive anywhere.” My mother had walked into the room and handed me a folded blue uniform from the auto-parts factory. That was the day the illusion shattered. My intelligence wasn’t a gift to be nurtured; it was a resource to be exploited. Because I was strong enough to survive the cold, I was expected to freeze. I sat on the sagging sofa. Earl Jenkins lifted his heavy, grease-stained hand and rested it heavily on my bare thigh. 4 I moved purely on instinct. I grabbed the tall glass of ice water off the coffee table and hurled it directly into Earl’s face. He recoiled, sputtering and roaring, “You! You crazy bi—” Before he could finish, I had snatched the heavy iron fireplace poker from the hearth. “Get out.” The room froze. My mother was the first to shriek. “Have you lost your mind?! Put that down!” “I said, get out of this house.” Earl wiped the water from his eyes, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. He took a heavy step forward, reaching out to grab my wrist. I didn’t flinch. I leveled the heavy iron tip of the poker directly at his chest. He stopped. Chester lunged at me from the side, trying to wrest the iron bar from my grip. “Are you psycho?! Earl is a guest in this house! Look how you’re acting!” The second his hand grazed my arm, I grabbed a heavy ceramic coaster off the table with my left hand and smashed it directly against his knuckles. Chester recoiled, his face scrunching up in agony, cradling his hand to his chest. “Hazel, you’re a psycho bitch!” My mother came at me from behind, grabbing my left arm and twisting it violently up my back. Her fingernails bit deep into my skin. “Drop it! You’re gonna ruin this family! Drop it right now!” “Get him out of here first,” I gritted out. “Who do you think you are making the rules?! You don’t get a say in this house!” From the corner of my eye, I saw my father grab the heavy hickory handle of a broken yard broom—the exact same piece of wood he had used to beat me throughout my childhood. He swung it down with terrifying force. It connected cleanly with my left shoulder. I heard a sickening crack. The pain blinded me. My grip faltered, and the iron poker clattered to the floor. My mother instantly threw her weight against me, tackling me back onto the sofa and pinning me down. “You sit down and shut up!” she screamed in my face. Chester, still clutching his hand, hurriedly ushered Earl back to a chair, practically bowing in apology. My father rushed over, offering Earl a fresh cigarette. “Earl, I am so sorry. The girl doesn’t know her place yet. Please, don’t hold this against us,” my father pleaded. He turned back to me, gripping the hickory stick tight, his eyes wild. “You make one more sound, and I swear to Christ, I will break both your legs tonight.” My mother leaned down, her hot breath on my ear. “You’re marrying him. Willingly or not, you are marrying him. Your brother’s future is more important than your tantrum.” She said it with absolute, unshakeable conviction. In the corner of the room, Madison stood with her arms crossed. Her expression was entirely blank. She didn’t look horrified. She didn’t think any of this was abnormal. Neither did Chester. He was currently pouring Earl a glass of bourbon, laughing nervously. “Sorry about that, Earl. She’s been working at the factory too long. Breathed in too many chemicals. Her brain’s a little fried.” My twin brother. The boy who shared a womb with me. He was auctioning me off to a monster, and he didn’t feel a single ounce of hesitation. A low, dark laugh bubbled up from my throat. My mother pressed her knee harder into my hip. “What the hell is so funny?” “I’m laughing at the fact that you have the nerve to bring up my brain.” The room went dead quiet. “When my acceptance letter for the pre-med program came in the mail, Chester stole it. He took it to school and showed it off to his friends, claiming it was his. When someone noticed the name ‘Hazel’ on it and called him out, he ripped it to shreds.” Chester’s nervous smile vanished. “And what did you two do when you found out?” I looked at my parents. “You beat me with a belt. You told me it was my fault for leaving the letter on the counter where it would ‘tempt’ him.” My father raised the hickory stick over his head, roaring, “Shut your mouth!” “I wanted to be a doctor! Do you understand what that means? It means I could be in a residency right now, saving lives, instead of bleeding out on an assembly line!” The hickory stick came down, crashing heavily against my back. I locked my knees and braced my core. I didn’t try to dodge. “Hit me,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Beat me all you want. When you’re done, my answer is the exact same. Eighteen thousand dollars. Every single penny. Give it back.” “I’ll give it back when I’m dead in the ground!” my father bellowed, chest heaving. “Fine. Then I’ll dig it out from under your corpse.” My mother let go of my arms and started slapping me wildly. My father swung the stick again and again. Chester stepped in, kicking at my shins. Earl sat in his armchair, sipping his bourbon, watching the show. Madison finally sighed, stepping forward to pull gently on Chester’s sleeve. “Babe, that’s enough, okay? It’s getting late, and we have the appointment with the realtor tomorrow morning.” The world felt muffled, as if I were underwater. My left collarbone felt wrong, shifted out of place. My entire left arm was entirely numb. But my legs worked. I shoved off the sofa, stumbling backward, absorbing the blows until I backed through the doorway into the kitchen. My right hand fumbled against the counter. I bypassed the knife block. I reached for the giant plastic jug of cheap, yellow frying oil my mother bought in bulk. My mother chased me to the threshold but stopped dead in her tracks. I unscrewed the cap with my teeth. I tipped the heavy jug upside down over my own head. A gallon of thick, greasy oil poured over my hair, down my face, soaking into my clothes, pooling on the cheap linoleum floor. The oil dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision. With my free right hand, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cheap plastic lighter. I flicked my thumb. The small flame illuminated the dark kitchen. “Diane. Wayne.” I said their first names. Perfectly steady. “You want to sell me for thirty grand? Let’s see how much Earl pays for a pile of ash.” My father stopped in his tracks, his hands trembling as he lowered the hickory stick. “Hazel… put the lighter down.” “Do it! If you’re so tough, do it!” my mother shrieked, popping her head out from behind my father’s shoulder, her face twisted in terror. “You’ve been throwing tantrums since you were a kid! You don’t have the guts! Do it!” I leaned my back against the stack of dry firewood stacked next to the old wood-burning stove. The lighter was still burning in my grip. The oil from my sleeve smeared against the dry bark of the logs…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414025”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was holding my grandson’s hand, walking him to his morning preschool program, when the past decided to come back for one final, ugly swipe. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. It was my son, Tyler. “Mom, Dad’s been in a massive car wreck,” Tyler said, his voice strained. “The surgeons are saying the injuries are severe. There’s a high chance he’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.” I stopped dead on the sidewalk. My grandson, Leo, tugged at my hand, but I couldn’t move. “And why are you telling me this?” I asked, my voice as cold as the morning air. Tyler hesitated. I could hear him shifting on the other end, the sound of someone looking for an easy way to say something difficult. “His wife… she took the insurance payout and whatever was left in their savings and vanished. I’m thinking about bringing him to my place. But I’d need you to move in and help out. You know, take care of him? Would you do that?” I didn’t even have to think. The word was out of my mouth before he could finish his sentence. “No.” “Mom—” “Absolutely not, Tyler. He cheated. He spent months gaslighting me and trying to have me committed just so he could keep the house and the kids. He hasn’t looked at you or your sister in twenty years, and now you want me to nurse him? Not in this lifetime.” The old fury, the one I’d spent two decades burying under layers of yoga classes and gardening, came roaring back. I remembered the nights I spent crying on the kitchen floor while your father was out with his ‘soulmate.’ “Mom, for God’s sake, how long are you going to hold onto this?” Tyler’s voice turned sharp, impatient. “It’s been twenty years. Can’t you just let it go? He’s our father. For our sake, can’t you just forgive him?” I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. “Forgive him? I’ll forgive him when I’m six feet under.” … “Mom, where is your compassion?” Tyler snapped. “The man is literally tethered to a hospital bed for the rest of his life. What else do you want from him? If Nicole and I don’t step up, what are people going to say? What will our friends think? You have to think about our reputation, too.” My heart gave a painful thud. I gripped Leo’s small hand a little too tight, and he let out a tiny whimper. I loosened my grip immediately. “Fine. Bring him to your house,” I said. “But I’m moving back to my old condo. I won’t be under the same roof as him.” It was the biggest olive branch I could offer. But it wasn’t enough for Tyler. “Mom, what are you talking about? If you’re not there, who’s going to actually do the work? Nicole and I have lives. We have careers. We don’t have time to change catheters and flip him every two hours!” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady for Leo’s sake. “We’ve been divorced for twenty years, Tyler. By what logic is this my responsibility?” “By the logic that he’s our father and he was your husband!” Tyler’s voice was dripping with annoyance now. “He’s hit rock bottom. You’re his ex-wife. Is it really that much to ask for you to show a little mercy?” A coldness settled in my bones. “If you want to play the devoted son, be my guest. But I am not the sacrificial lamb for your conscience.” I hung up before he could respond. Leo looked up at me, sensing the tension. “Grandma, don’t be sad,” he whispered, patting my hand. I forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes, and ushered him into the school. Once he was safely inside, I walked to the local farmer’s market, trying to let the mundane task of picking out tomatoes ground me. But my phone didn’t stay quiet for long. This time, it was my daughter, Nicole. “Mom, I heard you and Tyler got into it. Honestly, you’re getting older—why is your temper still so short?” I felt a surge of hurt. I tried to explain, my voice trembling. “Nicole, your father is paralyzed. Your brother wants me to move in and be his full-time nurse. How can I not be angry?” I expected a shred of empathy, a “that’s crazy, Mom.” Instead, she just sighed. “Tyler’s right about one thing: we can’t just abandon him. It looks terrible. Even if you hate him, it’s been twenty years. You should be over it by now. He’s in a hospital bed; he can’t hurt you anymore. Why can’t you just do this for us?” Before I could get a word in, she kept going. “Tyler and I are working. We can’t be there all day. We aren’t like you—you have your pension and your social security. You have all the time in the world. With the economy the way it is, our mortgages are eating us alive. We can’t afford a private nurse. Mom, you’re literally just sitting around anyway. It makes the most sense.” I was shaking. “I’m ‘just sitting around’?” “Is the grocery shopping ‘nothing’? Is the cleaning and the laundry ‘nothing’? Is picking up your kids every single day so you don’t have to pay for after-care ‘nothing’? I’m at Tyler’s house Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and your house Tuesday and Thursday. Then I have both kids on Sundays so you two can have ‘date nights.’ You call that being idle?” Nicole cut me off, her voice brittle. “Mom, every grandmother does that. Why are you acting like it’s some grand burden?” My eyes stung. “Fine. I’m your mother, so I do it. But I owe your father nothing. I will not nurse him.” “But you owe us!” Nicole’s voice was sharp as a razor. My heart sank. “Nicole, what is that supposed to mean?” “Mom, I know you worked hard to raise us alone. I get it. But honestly? Why didn’t you just put up with his cheating back then? If you had just looked the other way, maybe he wouldn’t have divorced you. We would’ve had a real family. We wouldn’t have grown up struggling while he spent his money on someone else. If we had even a fraction of his estate now, Tyler and I wouldn’t be drowning. You made your choice to leave, and we’re the ones who paid for it.” I leaned against a brick wall, the world spinning. Twenty years ago, Richard hadn’t just cheated. To force me into a ‘no-fault’ divorce where I got nothing, he used to come home and scream until the kids shook. He’d break things right in front of them to show me what he could do to me. They used to have nightmares every single night. After three months of that hell, I broke. I gave him the house. I gave him the savings. I even gave up custody initially because I had no money for a lawyer and no place to take them. I moved away to work three jobs, saving every cent. Two years later, when I came back to visit, I saw them. They were thin, bruised, and terrified of their father’s new wife. They begged me to take them away. I took every penny I had, borrowed from every friend I owned, and paid Richard a two-hundred-thousand-dollar ‘buyout’ just to get my kids back. They knew this. They had been there. I thought they understood why I did what I did. But now, they were telling me I should have just ‘endured’ the abuse so they could have a trust fund. “Mom, this was your path,” Nicole said. “Now you have to take some responsibility. Look, Tyler stayed with Dad at the hospital all night. Go relieve him. I have a conference call. I’ll call you later.” She hung up. I stood in the middle of the bustling market, surrounded by people buying kale and artisanal bread, and realized my life was a joke. I had spent twenty years being a bridge for children who would rather see me burn if it meant they could walk across me. I was done. I didn’t owe Richard anything. And as of this moment, I didn’t owe my children anything either. I went home and started packing. Before I left, I sent a message to the family group chat, tagging Tyler and his wife. I’m moving back to my own property. Make sure you pick up the kids from school this afternoon. I threw my phone into my purse. It started buzzing almost immediately—a frantic rhythm of notifications. I didn’t look. I zipped my suitcase and walked out the door. I was almost to my car when Tyler and Melanie pulled into the driveway, looking panicked. “Mom, wait!” Melanie jumped out, grabbing my arm. “Tyler didn’t mean it like that. Don’t be impulsive.” Tyler stood behind her, looking sheepish. “Mom, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. Just… don’t go.” I didn’t move. “Mom,” Melanie pleaded, “if you won’t do it for Tyler, think about Leo. You’re the only one who can handle him. He needs you.” The mention of my grandson made my heart ache. My resolve flickered. I looked at my son—he looked tired, small. “I won’t leave,” I said slowly, “on one condition. Your father does not come here. I will not live under the same roof as that man. Ever.” Tyler opened his mouth to argue, but Melanie shot him a look that silenced him. She took my suitcase from my hand and nodded vigorously. “Fine, Mom. We won’t bring him here. Let’s just go back inside.” They led me back like a prisoner who had been granted a temporary stay of execution. That day, Melanie was strangely kind. She told me to rest, took the day off work, did the laundry, and handled the kids. Nicole took over at the hospital for Tyler. For the next two weeks, the subject of Richard was never mentioned. Life seemed to settle into a fragile peace. But Nicole stopped calling me. And Tyler? He started looking at me with a cold, distant resentment that chilled me to the bone. I ignored it. I poured all my love into Leo, trying to pretend the walls of the house weren’t closing in. Then came the afternoon I walked home with Leo, opened the front door, and was hit by a smell I hadn’t smelled in decades. Old age. Sickness. And the sharp, biting scent of hospital-grade disinfectant. My heart dropped into my stomach. Richard was lying on a makeshift medical bed in the sunroom, let out a low, wet groan of pain. In the living room sat Tyler, Melanie, Nicole, and her husband, Mark. When they heard the door, they all turned to look at me at once. It was an ambush. I didn’t say a word. I took Leo to his room, gave him his iPad, and told him to stay there. When I walked back out, Tyler was the first to speak. “Mom, you’ve seen how hard it’s been. Nicole and I are exhausted. We couldn’t keep doing the hospital runs. We had to bring him back…” His voice trailed off, weak and defensive. “Then take care of him,” I said, my voice flat. Nicole bristled. “Mom, haven’t you punished us enough with your attitude? I’ve missed so much work this month I’ve lost my bonus. My salary was docked. Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under?” She stood up, her face flushed with anger. “Other mothers would hate to see their kids suffering because of an ex. But you? You’re so heartless you’d watch us drown just to keep your grudge alive. You’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish.” I felt the blood rush to my head. I was shaking so hard I had to grip the back of a chair. Melanie tried to play the peacemaker, rubbing my arm. “Mom, look at it as a charity project. He’s not going to live forever in this state. If you take care of him, you’re helping us, and you’re keeping your reputation intact. It’s a win-win.” I wanted to scream. A win-win? For everyone but me. They got their free nanny and their “dutiful children” badges, and I got to spend my golden years wiping the brow of the man who broke my spirit. Tyler lost his patience. “Mom, he’s here. I’m not moving him again. Whether you like it or not, you’re helping.” I looked him straight in the eye. “And if I don’t?” He blinked, surprised by the steel in my voice. “Mom,” Nicole said, her voice dropping into a calm, terrifyingly cold register. “Don’t forget that one day, you’re going to be the one who needs help. You’re going to rely on Tyler and me to take care of you.” She paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “If you refuse to help with Dad, then don’t expect us to be there for you. We’ll just put you in a state-run nursing home and call it a day.” I looked at her, then at Tyler. He looked away, down at his shoes. He agreed with her. In that moment, something inside me finally snapped. Not with a bang, but with a quiet, hollow pop. These were the children I had sacrificed my youth for. These were the children I had bought back with my life savings. I smiled. It was a sad, crooked thing. “Fine,” I said. “I accept.” I accept the nursing home. I didn’t say the second part out loud. They all exhaled, the tension leaving the room like a physical weight. “Mom, I knew you cared about us,” Nicole said, her tone doing a complete 180. She came over and tucked her arm into mine. “Since you’ll be busy with Dad during the week, you don’t need to come over as much. Just come by on weekends to help with the cleaning and the kids, okay?” Nicole and Mark left, looking satisfied. Tyler yawned. “Mom, keep an eye on him tonight, okay? Melanie and I really need a full night’s sleep.” They went to their bedroom. I walked into the sunroom. Richard was staring at the ceiling, making a series of wet, clicking noises. Then, his eyes met mine. His mouth twitched into a grotesque, lopsided grin. Even after twenty years, I knew that look. It was triumph. See? it said. No matter what I did, I still win. You’re still the one cleaning up my mess. I walked to the side of the bed. I didn’t say a word. I raised my hand and slapped him—hard—across the face. Twice. His eyes widened in genuine terror. “Richard,” I whispered, leaning close to his ear. “The last time you hit me, you cracked my skull. You made me lose control of my bladder. If you think for one second I am going to spend my days nursing you, you’ve lost your mind along with your legs.” I turned around and went to my room. The next morning, while the house was silent and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, I took my bags and walked out. I didn’t look back. I took a taxi to the nearest real estate office. I pulled out my keys and my deed to the condo I had been renting out. “I want to sell this property immediately,” I told the agent. “List it at 20% below market value for a cash buyer.” It was an older unit, but in a prime school district. The agent’s eyes lit up. “Ma’am, sit tight. I’ll have this sold by lunch.” I sat there, sipping a mediocre cup of office tea, while she worked the phones. An hour later, a buyer appeared. We signed the papers. I checked my bank balance. Five hundred thousand from the sale, plus my three hundred thousand in savings. Eight hundred thousand dollars. Plus my pension. My heart finally began to steady. Money was freedom. I drove straight to the best assisted living facility in the city—The Maples. It was beautiful, like a boutique hotel. I toured the grounds, signed up for the premium three-thousand-a-month package, and pre-paid for three years in advance. The intake nurse was efficient and kind. She showed me to a private suite on the top floor, south-facing with incredible light. I moved in that afternoon. I was just tucking a photo of Leo into the corner of the mirror when my phone rang. It was Tyler.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414026”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My first day back in the States, and my first procedure was a standard circumcision on a kid who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. He spent the entire time signing the consent forms while complaining loudly into his phone at his girlfriend. “It’s a minor surgery, babe. Was it really worth walking away from a ten-million-dollar closing just to fly back here?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “The house is already overflowing with the Birkins and the Rolexes you sent. Seriously, stop buying me things!” He slid the clipboard back to me. My eyes instinctively drifted to the emergency contact line. Joyce Blackwood. It was the same name as my girlfriend. I felt a small, ironic smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Small world,” I muttered. “That’s my partner’s name, too.” The kid, whose name was Cooper Wells, looked at me with bright, almost manic eyes. He reached out and shook my hand. “No way. Hey, Doc, let me ask you—are all women named Joyce this obsessed? Like, borderline ‘stage-five clinger’ status?” He chuckled, leaning back. “I’m pretty sure I’m only in this mess because of her. She’s all over me, man. Every single night. It’s exhausting. I tried to sneak away to get this done without the drama, but she found out and insisted on flying back from London just to be here when I wake up.” I opened my mouth to defend my Joyce. I wanted to tell him that my Joyce wasn’t like that. She was poised, professional, and fiercely independent—a high-powered executive who valued her space as much as I valued mine. She was the “ice queen” of the corporate world, a woman of refined restraint. Then, Cooper turned his phone toward me, grinning as he showed off a photo of the woman who was “ruining his life” with her devotion. My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it felt like it hit a wall. Smiling radiantly on the screen, her arms wrapped tightly around this boy’s neck, was the woman I had been building a life with for the last five years. Joyce Blackwood. 1 My Joyce wasn’t clingy. She wasn’t an “obsessive” lover. In fact, in the bedroom, she was always measured, almost detached—as if she were checking a task off a very organized to-do list. But here was Cooper, prattling on, his “complaints” dripping with the smug satisfaction of a man who knew he was adored. “Anyway, Doc, the paperwork is done. We good to go?” I forced my features into a professional mask, though the skin of my face felt tight, like it might crack. “I’ll need your pre-op history and allergy files from your primary care physician before we can finalize the surgical suite.” He tapped his forehead, looking annoyed. “Dammit. I think I left those in the safe at home after our pre-marital physicals. I guess we’ll have to push the date.” I looked up, my vision blurring for a second. I had to swallow hard to keep my voice steady. “You’re married? You look… young.” He gave me a look of pure, boyish innocence. “Yeah. Last November twentieth. My twenty-second birthday.” He laughed, a sound that made my stomach churn. “She was so terrified of losing me. I was still in my senior year of college, and she practically dragged me to City Hall. She was convinced I’d run off if she didn’t put a ring on it. She even bought a townhouse right next to campus while I was finishing my degree just so she could be close. Total stalker vibes, right?” He playfully adjusted his expensive watch, acting like her devotion was a burden. Underneath the desk, my hands were shaking so violently I had to grip my knees. November 20th. That was the day my father died. I remembered it with agonizing clarity. I had called her dozens of times that day, desperate for her voice, needing her to hold me while my world collapsed. All I got was a text six hours later: “Mitch, I’m so sorry. I’m stuck in back-to-back meetings and can’t get away. I’ll make it up to you and your mom as soon as this deal closes. Hang in there.” She wasn’t stuck in a meeting. She was busy saying “I do” to a boy ten years younger than me. “Doc? You okay?” Cooper’s voice snapped me back. He stood up, looking slightly concerned. “Look, I’ll just head home and grab the files. My bad.” I stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. “I’ll go with you.” He blinked, surprised. “Wait, really? Isn’t that… a lot?” “Not at all,” I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. “We have an opening in the schedule this afternoon. Better to get it over with. For your health.” We walked down to the parking garage and got into his car—a customized Mercedes G-Wagon with a plush interior that screamed “new money.” Or rather, “her money.” On the drive, he couldn’t stop talking. He told me about the private islands they’d visited, the Michelin-starred restaurants where they had their first dates, the “naughty” details of their first time together. He spoke with a vibrant, arrogant energy that made me want to scream. I stared out the window, my mind a fractured mosaic of every promise Joyce had ever made me. We pulled up to a gated community on the Gold Coast. The Sterling Heights. It was the most expensive development in the city. Joyce and I had walked past these lots years ago, dreaming. We’d promised each other that one day, when we finally made it, this is where we’d build our home. I didn’t realize she’d already moved in with someone else. When he opened the front door of the villa, I froze. The interior design—the white oak floors, the minimalist slate fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling library—was exactly what Joyce and I had sketched out on napkins in a dive bar three years ago. “Did you design this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I wanted to believe it was a coincidence. A shared aesthetic. He handed me a glass of water, grinning. “Nah. This was all Joyce. She handled the whole build. It’s pretty sick, right? Look at this—she even put a little recessed charging nook next to the toilet because she knows I like to scroll through my phone in there.” I stood in the hallway, my fingernails digging into my palms so hard I thought I might draw blood. That nook was my idea. I had told her about it one winter night while we were eating takeout in our cramped apartment. I had shown her the blueprints I’d saved on my phone, explaining every little detail I wanted for our “forever home.” She hadn’t been listening to build a life with me. She’d been taking notes for him. Cooper led me upstairs to find the paperwork. As we reached the landing, a white toy poodle came skittering down the hall, yapping joyfully. “Hey, buddy!” Cooper knelt down, scooping the dog up. “Missed your daddy, huh?” The dog suddenly squirmed out of his arms and ran straight to me. It began franticly wagging its tail, jumping against my shins, whimpering with a desperate, familiar recognition. I stood there, paralyzed. I knew the texture of that fur. I knew that specific, high-pitched bark. Cooper laughed. “Man, he usually hates strangers. It’s like he knows you or something.” My throat felt like it was full of glass. “What’s his name?” “Oliver. He’s five.” Cooper patted the dog’s head. “Actually, I’ve only had him for two years. Joyce got him from some ‘relative’ who couldn’t keep him anymore. She said she didn’t want me to be lonely when she was traveling for work.” I let out a ragged breath that felt like a sob. Of course the dog knew me. This was my dog. My grandmother had given him to me before she passed. I’d raised him for three years until the day he “disappeared” from our backyard. I’d spent months looking for him, devastated. Joyce had held me while I cried. “Don’t worry, Mitch. I’m here. I’ll never leave you.” She hadn’t lost him. She had stolen him to give to her new plaything. Cooper pushed open the bedroom door and started rummaging through a desk. My gaze fell on a handmade calendar hanging on the wall. Joyce’s handwriting was unmistakable. Every square was filled with a list of chores: Laundry. Vacuuming. Prep Cooper’s lunch. Clean gym sneakers. “What is that?” I asked, my voice trembling. Cooper looked up and smiled. “Oh, that’s her daily to-do list. I’m a bit of a neat freak and I hate having a maid around, so she takes care of the house. She’s actually really dedicated to it.” I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. When we lived together, we had a cleaning service because she “didn’t have time” for housework. I was the one who did the grocery shopping, the one who washed her silk blouses by hand because she was too busy. For him, she was a tradwife. For me, she was a ghost. “Found it!” Cooper pulled out a folder and handed it to me. I flipped through the pages mechanically. Every signature on the “spouse” line was Joyce Blackwood. “Everything look okay, Doc?” I forced myself to breathe. “Fine. I’ll go back to the clinic and get this processed. I’ll call you with the time.” As I turned to leave, Cooper grabbed my arm. “Hey, don’t rush off. Look at the sky—it’s about to pour, and it’s almost dinner time. We’re practically friends now, right? Stay for a drink. Let my wife cook for you. She’s actually an amazing chef.” She can cook? In five years, I’d never seen her boil an egg. Before I could refuse, he’d pulled me onto the leather sofa and dialed her number. “Hey, babe. Where are you? Get your ass home and start dinner.” The voice on the other end was familiar, but the tone was all wrong. It wasn’t the cool, detached voice I knew. It was warm, indulgent, and breathless. “You brat. I’m at the hospital with nine hundred and ninety-nine roses waiting to pick you up, and you just vanished?” Nine hundred and ninety-nine. In five years, the most she’d ever given me was a dozen carnations on my birthday, ordered by her assistant. “Stop wasting money!” Cooper teased. “Just get home. We have a guest, and I want you to show off, Chef Joyce.” She laughed—a bright, genuine sound I hadn’t heard in years. “Yes, sir! I’m on my way. Be there in ten.” I sat on the sofa, staring at my hands. The roses. The hospital pickup. The “Chef” title. The laughter. These were all versions of her I had never been allowed to see. I couldn’t even imagine the Joyce I knew—the one who wore power suits and lived for board meetings—wearing an apron. I started to stand up, wanting to bolt, when a flash of lightning flickered outside. A second later, a massive crack of thunder shook the house. I flinched, instinctively reaching up to cover my ears. But the sound was muffled, distant. I looked around, confused. Cooper walked over, smiling. “Hey, you hate storms too? Don’t sweat it.” He pointed to the walls. “You could set off a bomb outside and you wouldn’t hear a thing in here. Joyce knew I had a phobia of thunder, so when she built the place, she had the whole house outfitted with industrial-grade acoustic insulation and triple-paned soundproof glass. It’s a tomb in here.” I sat back down, feeling like a fool. When I was a kid, I was in a car accident during a summer storm. Ever since, heavy rain and thunder triggered a visceral panic in me. I’d told Joyce about it. I’d sent her texts during storms, telling her how much I hated being alone when it rained. She used to laugh it off. “Oh, Mitch, don’t be a baby. You just want an excuse for me to come over, don’t you? I’m busy at work. Go to sleep. Goodnight.” I’d spent so many nights wrapped in a duvet, sweating and shaking, biting my knuckles so I wouldn’t cry out. She hadn’t thought I was being dramatic. She just didn’t care enough to quiet the world for me. Numbly, I reached for a glass of water on the coffee table. My hand slipped, splashing water over a stack of papers. “Dammit, I’m sorry,” I muttered, grabbing a napkin. “No big deal,” Cooper said, waving it off. “That’s old stuff anyway.” But my hand stopped mid-air. The header of the document caught my eye: OFFICIAL ACCIDENT REPORT. “You were in a car accident?” I asked. The format was hauntingly familiar. Cooper leaned back, nonchalant. “Not me. A cousin of mine. Drunk driving, hit some guy. It was pretty bad, actually. I was going to let the law handle it—I mean, he was wasted—but his family begged me to help. I mentioned it to Joyce, and man, that woman is a magician. I don’t know who she paid or what strings she pulled, but the whole thing just… went away.” He shook his head, almost impressed. “Her ‘problem-solving’ skills are honestly kind of terrifying.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. “Can I… see that?” Cooper shrugged. “Sure. Knock yourself out.” I turned the page to the “Victim” section. My father’s name was written there in cold, black ink. The date. The location. Everything matched. But the report in my hand said “Minor injuries, victim refused treatment.” My father didn’t refuse treatment. He was dragged thirty feet. The driver had panicked and backed over him, crushing his neck. He died in the street, alone. I had spent a year screaming for justice. I’d filed appeals, hired private investigators, and fought every step of the way. But every door had been slammed in my face. My mother had been threatened. Someone had spray-painted “DROP IT” in red on our front door. Joyce had held me while I was hysterical, whispering, “Mitch, let it go. You can’t fight people this powerful. The system is rigged. Please, for your mother’s safety, just stop.” I had knelt at my father’s grave and apologized for being too weak to find his killer. I never imagined the person who buried the truth was the woman sleeping beside me. My face went pale, the blood draining away until I felt faint. Without Cooper noticing, I slid my phone out and recorded his voice as he continued to brag about Joyce’s “connections.” Then, I took a clear photo of the forged report. I sent the files immediately to my family’s old lawyer. I took a deep breath, forcing the rage back down into my marrow. I adjusted my expression and sat back just as the sound of the garage door opening echoed through the house. Joyce walked in, hidden behind a mountain of nine hundred and ninety-nine long-stemmed red roses. She didn’t see me at first. She walked straight to Cooper, tilted her head back, and kissed him with a hunger I had never experienced from her. Cooper pushed her back playfully. “Okay, okay, settle down, you animal. We have company. Go put those down and get to work. I’m starving.” Joyce nodded obediently, her eyes shimmering with a soft, adoring light. He took her hand and led her toward the living room. “Joyce, babe, let me introduce you. This is—” The words died in his throat. The roses slipped from Joyce’s arms, scattering across the hardwood floor like a bloody wound. In the silence that followed, I stood up. My voice was low, steady, and dead. “Hello, Joyce. I didn’t realize you’d gotten married. Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414011”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

They always said the female navigators at the yacht club knew how to throw the wildest parties. I bought out her schedule for the entire year, and we spent our days blurring the lines of reality out in international waters. My business partner, took one look at me lounging with a bikini-clad model and nearly dropped his glass of bourbon. “Are you out of your damn mind? Evelyn’s private jet just touched down!” I took a long pull directly from a bottle of vintage champagne and laughed, the sound harsh against the ocean breeze. “Who gives a damn about that bitch? I dumped her weeks ago.” “Say that again,” my business partner’s voice suddenly went tight, jumping an octave. The entire deck of the yacht fell dead silent. Every single person was staring at a spot just over my shoulder. I turned slowly. Evelyn stood there, the veins in her forehead pulsing, her eyes bloodshot as she gripped a champagne flute so hard the crystal shattered in her bare hand. I just scoffed, pulled the girl closer by the waist, and turned my back on my wife, heading straight for the lower cabin. You see, my wife was a living legend in the medical field. She used to be one of the most brilliant neurosurgeons on the East Coast, but five years ago, she stepped down from the OR and never picked up a scalpel again. Billionaires and politicians had begged her to come out of retirement. She never even blinked. When my own younger sister, Sophie, needed surgery for a spinal tumor, I pleaded with Evelyn to be the lead surgeon. She just shook her head, her expression entirely unreadable. “I have my principles, Chester.” But this time, she broke her golden rule. For a twenty-six-year-old, fresh-out-of-med-school intern, she personally scrubbed in to operate on his mother. The kid had the nerve to post a smiling post-op selfie with her on Instagram: “Beyond grateful to my mentor for stepping in to save the day. Mom is finally out of the woods!” I stared at that post for a long, suffocating time before finally leaving a comment: “Principles. I guess they can be bent depending on who’s asking.” My phone rang almost instantly. Her tone was absolute ice. “Delete that. Don’t make a scene.” “He just started his residency, Chester. His mother was critical. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her die. If you are so small-minded that you can’t understand basic human empathy, then there’s really nothing left for us to talk about.” Fine, I thought. Let’s see who regrets it more when the dust settles. … 1. What Evelyn didn’t know was that on the very day she refused to operate on my sister, I had my lawyers draft the divorce papers. That night, she had come home from a grueling shift, exhausted, mindlessly signing a stack of corporate paperwork I had left on the kitchen island. The final decree of our divorce was slipped quietly into the very back of that stack. And now, the state-mandated waiting period was finally up. I drove my Aston Martin straight to her corporate office. As the CEO and primary financial backer of Vanguard Therapeutics—the biotech firm she ran after stepping back from surgery—I had every right to know what was bleeding my accounts dry. But nothing could have prepared me for what I walked into. She was touring the primary R&D labs, and that kid—that intern—was glued to her side. The real kicker? She stood in front of my entire executive board and announced, clear as a bell: “Effective immediately, Mason will be stepping in as my personal executive assistant. He’ll be point-man on all of Vanguard’s core projects.” Dr. Barnes, the head of R&D, was the first to kiss the ring. “Dr. Mason is a prodigy! He published a tier-one paper last year. Makes us old guys look like dinosaurs.” “Absolutely,” another board member chimed in. “I heard he assisted on three Level-4 surgeries during his rotation. Much better to have real medical blood leading us than some layman who only knows how to push spreadsheets.” “With someone this young and talented, Vanguard is going to hit new heights. Not like certain people who just throw money at the wall but don’t know the first thing about actual science.” The boardroom was a nauseating echo chamber of sycophants, all orbiting Mason. But the most piercing words came from Evelyn herself: “Mason’s grasp of clinical applications is undeniably more refined than businessmen who buy their way into the medical field.” I quietly backed out of the boardroom, the muffled sound of their laughter following me down the hall. If they despise my money that much, I thought, the coldness settling deep in my chest, then I suppose they don’t need it. I had barely sat down behind my own desk when Dr. Barnes came bursting through my door, out of breath. “Mr. Chester, why haven’t you signed off on the R&D grant extension? Today is the absolute deadline.” Barnes pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, his tone dripping with entitlement. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my black coffee. “The project is suspended.” Barnes’s face lost all its color. “You can’t do that! We’re in Phase II of clinical trials! Evelyn explicitly ordered—” I cut him off with a harsh, barking laugh. Weren’t they just mocking my lack of medical pedigree? And now they were here begging for my checkbook? 2. “Are you trying to use my wife to pressure me? Tell Evelyn she isn’t getting another dime.” Barnes lost his temper, slamming his palms on my mahogany desk. “Chester! Are you trying to tank this entire company? That’s a thirty-million-dollar budget allocation! It was locked in last quarter!” “Plans change, Barnes. Just like certain people’s principles.” Barnes stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled. Less than ten minutes later, my cell phone vibrated across the desk. “Chester, what the hell are you doing?” Evelyn’s voice was a whip crack. “This is Vanguard’s flagship project. What gives you the right to pull the plug?” I looked out at the sprawling city skyline, my voice dead calm. “The fact that I own the board. If you remove Mason from the team entirely, I’ll consider reinstating the funds.” “Chester! Are you insane? I did a single surgery for his mother! Are you really going to hold this petty grudge and jeopardize a medical breakthrough over jealousy?” “Jealousy?” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. “When my sister was lying on a gurney, terrified and waiting for the anesthesia to hit… where were your principles then, Evelyn? Where was your Hippocratic Oath?” I could hear her erratic breathing through the receiver. “That was completely different! Mason’s mother had a one-in-a-million vascular anomaly! I was the only specialist on the Eastern seaboard who—” I cut her off, the ice in my veins freezing solid. “Sophie’s tumor was your exact specialty. Evelyn, your moral high ground is incredibly flexible.” She suddenly snapped, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. “Are we really dragging up ancient history? Sophie is alive, isn’t she? So what if she has a little residual nerve damage? Yes, if I had operated, I could have prevented it, but—” A little residual nerve damage. That’s all my sister’s agony meant to her. A passing inconvenience. “Fine,” Evelyn spat. “If you want to freeze the accounts, go ahead. I’ll secure my own VC funding! With my reputation in the medical community—” I hung up. Three years. This oncology R&D project had been a black hole for three goddamn years, swallowing nearly half of my conglomerate’s annual profits. A revolutionary new cancer drug? Please. Mega-pharma giants with billion-dollar infrastructures were failing at this exact hurdle. What made our boutique biotech firm think we could crack the code? But Evelyn had insisted. “This drug will save lives, Chester,” she had told me, standing right here in my office three years ago, her eyes burning with that brilliant, intoxicating fire. “Do you have any idea how many people die every year because…” Of course I knew. My sister was almost one of them. So, even when my board of directors screamed at me to cut our losses, I grit my teeth and poured millions into her dream. Because it was her obsession. Because I loved her, and I thought the money was worth seeing her shine. And now? Now she wanted a twenty-six-year-old intern to lead the project I had bled for? I grabbed my keys. It was time to find the only person who actually deserved to run this lab. My phone was having a seizure in my pocket. Notifications from the Vanguard executive Slack channel were blowing up. [Mr. Chester, if you pull funding, what happens to our data sets?] [Some people just can’t stand seeing real genius at work. Dr. Mason’s protocols are groundbreaking!] [We should have put Mason in charge ages ago. Corporate suits don’t understand the scientific method.] The most pathetic message was from a junior lab tech: [Dr. Evelyn, maybe we should restructure the corporate hierarchy? Let the real medical professionals handle the business side.] I let out a dark chuckle. This entire department had suffered collective amnesia about who actually signed their paychecks, and whose tolerance had kept their sinking ship afloat. My phone rang. It was my CFO. “Chester, we have a massive problem. Vanguard R&D just finalized a purchase order for imported German medical equipment. Twenty-three million dollars. The cargo is already at the port. How are we structuring the payout?” I slammed on the brakes of my car, tires screeching against the asphalt. “Who authorized that?” “Evelyn. She used her executive override. She told the vendors you had already greenlit the capital.” Incredible, I thought. She had the audacity to bypass me entirely. 3. The irony was sickening. I glanced at the group chat, still scrolling rapidly: [Mason is a godsend! He got the German suppliers to expedite the shipping with one phone call!] [While some people freeze our budgets, our Queen Bee gets it done~] [Exactly! Vanguard would be bankrupt if Evelyn wasn’t running the show.] “If our esteemed Queen Bee is so capable of ordering twenty-three million dollars in tech,” I murmured into the phone, my voice lethally soft, “she can pay the invoice herself. Decline the charge.” I hung up and pulled into the VIP parking at Memorial Hospital. The “little residual nerve damage” Evelyn had so casually dismissed meant my sister would never walk again. A brilliant, beautiful girl in the prime of her life, permanently confined to a bed. As the elevator doors chimed open on the private suite floor, a figure scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. “M-Mr. Chester? What are you doing here?” Mason dropped the insulated thermos he was holding. Hot, organic bone broth spilled across the pristine linoleum. He shrank back against the wall, looking like a cornered rabbit. I didn’t even dignify him with a response, attempting to step around the mess, but he suddenly lunged, grabbing the sleeve of my Tom Ford suit. “I know you’re mad that Evelyn operated on my mom, but please don’t take it out on her! She’s recovering, she can’t handle the stress!” His fingers were trembling. Tears were pooling perfectly in his wide eyes, threatening to spill over. Rapid footsteps echoed down the hall. Evelyn rounded the corner and instantly shoved Mason behind her back, shielding him. “Chester! Tracking us down to a hospital ward? Have you completely lost your mind?” “Evelyn, don’t,” Mason whispered, playing the victim flawlessly. “Mr. Chester is probably just here to see his sister.” Evelyn sneered, glancing at the empty visitor log on the nurse’s station iPad. “His sister? No one has visited room 302 in three days. You expect me to believe you suddenly care today?” Mason suddenly bowed deeply at the waist toward me. “I am so sorry. My mother had no idea the surgery would cause issues in your marriage. I’ll process her transfer papers immediately.” Evelyn gripped his shoulders, pulling him upright, her eyes flashing with pure venom as she glared at me. “You’re just intimidated by him. You’re jealous because he’s younger, he’s brilliant, and you realize I don’t need your dirty money to change the world anymore.” I looked at the two of them standing there—the arrogant fallen surgeon and her manipulative parasite—and I just felt profoundly tired. Did she honestly forget how things worked? Did she think those German suppliers expedited that shipment because of Mason’s charm? They did it because of the global supply-chain network I had spent a decade building. Every “independent” dollar her lab spent was siphoned from my empire. I let out a short, hollow laugh. I was done explaining the real world to her. “By the way,” I said casually, adjusting my cufflinks. “Make sure you settle the invoice for those new centrifuges.” Evelyn’s head snapped up, her pupils dilating. “What are you talking about?” “The German import. Twenty-three million dollars. The vendor’s legal team just sent the collection notice.” Mason panicked, his carefully crafted fragile persona cracking as he yanked on Evelyn’s cashmere sleeve. “Evelyn, what are we going to do?” She shook him off, forcing a haughty posture. “Stop panicking. We are married. This is community debt. He’s bluffing—he legally can’t let it default. He’ll pay it.” She looked at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “And even if he throws a tantrum, with my status in the medical community, I can easily negotiate terms with the supplier.” I stared at her unshakable delusion, finding it genuinely comical. “The subpoena should be on your desk right now. I’d hire a good defense attorney if I were you.” I turned on my heel and walked away. Behind me, Evelyn let out a mocking laugh. “Let him sue! He’s just throwing a tantrum. A few sweet words and he’ll come crawling back. Hell, I’ll offer to do two rounds of physical therapy with his sister—he’d probably drop to his knees in gratitude.” … I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse office, looking out over the city lights, while Dalton, my lead counsel, laid out the asset division portfolio. Every piece of real estate, every stock option, every trust fund in her name was meticulously cataloged. But beneath that was a second, much thicker file. A horrifyingly clear paper trail of Evelyn’s financial recklessness. Dalton pushed his glasses up, his voice actually shaking. “Chester… is she out of her mind? Does she realize this isn’t just a marital dispute? She’s openly committed corporate embezzlement.” 4. Twenty-three million in unauthorized hardware acquisitions. Millions more re-routed from shell projects to cover her R&D deficit. Forged executive signatures. Every single line item was a felony waiting to happen. The ultimate irony? The vendors who had kissed the ground she walked on were now aggressively turning on her. With my corporate shield gone, the demand letters were flooding in. Evelyn was now personally liable for the debts, and staring down the barrel of multiple federal fraud charges. The evidence was airtight. She was dead in the water. Over at Vanguard R&D, the multi-million dollar equipment she had so proudly ordered was sitting in the loading dock, wrapped in police tape. Her vanity project was officially a pile of inaccessible scrap metal. And naturally, her loyal team—the ones who had mocked me hours ago—were jumping ship. Resignation letters were pouring into HR. Nobody wanted to be in the blast radius of a federal indictment. “Was it worth it?” Dalton asked quietly, gathering the files. “Burning down a brilliant career for a twenty-something intern?” I froze. I genuinely didn’t know the answer. Looking at my reflection in the dark glass of the window, I remembered the very first time I saw Evelyn. It was at an Ivy League medical debate. She was wearing a simple, slightly wrinkled white button-down, utterly destroying her opponent’s argument. She was so luminous, so impossibly sharp, I couldn’t look away. I found out later that she hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours because she had stayed up all night pulling medical journals to find a loophole for a pediatric heart patient she didn’t even know. That little boy lived. And I fell hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her. When Sophie was diagnosed with the brain tumor, Evelyn was my only hope. Even knowing she had sworn off surgery, I thought—I prayed—she would scrub in for family. But… “Sir?” Dalton’s voice pulled me out of the ghosts of the past. “Dr. Claire called. She said the new protocols are showing massive breakthroughs. She asked if you wanted to…” “Tell her I’ll be by the lab tonight to see it myself.” “Should I notify Evelyn that she’s been officially replaced as the lead researcher?” I flipped open Claire’s preliminary data packet. “No rush. Let her live in her fantasy for a few more hours.” Dalton hesitated, shifting his weight. “And… about the lawsuit, Chester? Do you want us to push for…” “Annihilation,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, yet absolute. “I want her dismantled legally and financially. Leave nothing.” Dalton stared at me, stunned. I suppose he remembered the man who used to write blank checks just to see Evelyn smile. He didn’t recognize the man standing before him now. Evelyn still thought she held the trump card. She thought that piece of paper binding us in marriage meant I would always sweep up her broken glass. “I’ll have the filings expedited,” Dalton said softly. “Oh, and the ‘gift’ you requested has been delivered.” I checked my Rolex. Less than an hour until the final decree landed on her desk. I found myself morbidly curious. What would her face look like when the illusion finally shattered?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “414027”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend Robertson has an annual salary of $500,000. He said once he saved up $200,000, he’d marry me. But I waited from age 25 to 33, and he still hadn’t saved enough. The first year, he said he’d just started working and expenses were high, so he couldn’t save any money. The second year, he said he needed to buy a new car, so he had no money to marry me. All the way to the eighth year, he got completely drunk at a class reunion and asked me to pick him up. At the door, I heard a burst of mocking laughter. “If Elliot wanted to get married, forget $200,000—even if it was two million, Robertson would cough it up, right?” “Obviously! If Elliot hadn’t gone abroad back then, where would Elia even fit in? Forget $200,000—I bet if Robertson just played the victim card, she’d even pay him to marry her!” Robertson’s hoarse voice leaked through the crack in the door. “Stop it. Elia’s been with me for eight years after all. I will marry her eventually.” “It’s just that I’ve already worn her out completely. She’s not worth $200,000. At most, she’s worth one day of my salary—two thousand bucks.” With red-rimmed eyes, I called my mother, a top-tier matchmaker. “Mom, that handsome billionaire you mentioned—I’d like to meet him.”

Someone teased, “Two thousand? Robertson really knows his stuff—that’s exactly what the top girl at a nightclub charges for one night.” This remark triggered a wave of laughter. “If you ask me, even two thousand is overpaying. A woman in her thirties—how could she be worth the same price as a young, pretty girl?” “It’s only because Robertson is kind-hearted that he’s willing to marry her at all.” The mockery inside the door continued. “What’s said tonight, don’t let Elia…” Behind me, I seemed to hear Robertson’s slurred reprimand, but I couldn’t process a single word. I covered my face and hurried away from the bar. When I reached the entrance, an overwhelming wave of nausea surged up. I dry-heaved over a trash can. Yet my mind masochistically replayed those overheard words again and again. I couldn’t believe that the person I’d loved for eight years had only ever seen me as a cheap substitute. The night wind stung my eyes red. I couldn’t remember how I hailed a cab or how I got into it. A distinctive ringtone jolted me awake. I fumbled for my phone. A new message popped up in my pinned chat. “Babe, where are you? I feel terrible. Come pick me up.” Robertson was the picture of a rational elite in public, but in private with me, he’d act all clingy. I used to fall for that act completely. Now I just stared blankly, thinking— It seems Robertson really does love her. Even for me, his first love’s substitute, he’s willing to invest so much effort into performing. I didn’t reply. Instead, I made a phone call. Soon, a familiar voice answered irritably. “Why are you suddenly calling me?” The emotions I’d been suppressing for so long suddenly collapsed in the face of my closest person. “Mom, you were right. Robertson never intended to marry me…” “That guy you wanted to set me up with—I’ll meet him.” Before, when Robertson kept stalling on the wedding money, I hated nothing more than my mom’s nagging about marriage. Now, I desperately craved a new relationship to numb the pain of this one. “You’ve finally come to your senses! Don’t worry—I’m a top matchmaker. This one’s a rare catch. Robertson and all the rest can go to hell.” “But are you sure you’ve let go?” I smiled faintly. “Mom, you know I’m the most stubborn person alive. When I decided on Robertson, I could wait eight years for a promise. But once I’ve made up my mind to leave, I won’t hesitate for a second.” Some walls only need to be hit once. I hung up the phone and wiped away my tears. When I got out of the car, aside from slightly red eyes, there wasn’t a trace of vulnerability on my face.

In the early morning hours, half-asleep, a body carrying the faint scent of tequila wrapped around me. The man mumbled pitifully, “I stood outside in the wind for so long. Why didn’t you come pick me up?” It was as if everything I’d heard last night was just a hallucination, and Robertson and I were still an ordinary, happy couple. Until Robertson buried his head against my neck and murmured vaguely, “Elliot, you’ve finally come back…” I shoved him away awkwardly and fled to the guest bedroom. How pathetic you are, Elia, to be swayed by a little false tenderness. I stared at my reflection in the mirror—my face that resembled Elliot’s—and pinched my palm until it turned red. The next morning, Robertson came out of the kitchen wearing an apron, carrying a plate of heart-shaped fried eggs. When he saw me, the corner of his mouth curved upward. “Elia, come have breakfast!” On the bathroom counter sat a pair of couple’s toothbrushes—blue for me, pink for Robertson—nestled intimately together. I remembered when I handed Robertson the pink toothbrush. He’d scowled but obediently accepted it anyway. Eight years of affection carried too much weight. Little sweet reminders like this were scattered everywhere in this house. I splashed water on my face and collected myself. Sitting down at the table, I slowly stabbed the heart-shaped eggs on my plate into pieces. “Robertson, let’s break up.” The plate and fork collided with a harsh sound. The smile on Robertson’s face vanished instantly. “Elia, that’s not a funny joke.” I looked at him seriously and said it again. Robertson, who’d never frowned even when facing the toughest cases, showed rare emotional leakage. “You’ve been acting strange since yesterday. You didn’t pick me up. You didn’t wait for me to come home.” Robertson’s superior features darkened with anger. His hand, veins bulging, gripped my shoulder tightly. “Elia, what exactly are you trying to pull?” I didn’t want to admit I’d heard what he said yesterday. Those mocking words humiliated me. I shook off Robertson’s hand and went straight to the bedroom to grab the luggage I’d packed the night before. “Robertson, I’ve waited for you for eight years. I don’t want to wait anymore. It’s that simple. Let’s break up.” Robertson’s pitch-black eyes stared at me unblinkingly. He laughed mockingly. “Oh, I get it. You’re upset because I don’t have money?” “You’re practically menopausal, and you’re still playing hard to get? Isn’t it a bit late for that? Too bad—I’m not falling for it.” My heart stabbed with pain. He knew I was most sensitive about my age. I didn’t want to say another word. I shouldered my luggage and headed for the door. “Elia, within a week, you’ll come crawling back to me like a dog begging to get back together.” I closed the door, locking Robertson’s confident voice inside. Downstairs, I casually tossed my key into the trash can. I wasn’t some naive Natasha experiencing love for the first time. Since I’d decided to leave, I wouldn’t give myself the chance to turn back and humiliate myself again. Sitting in the car heading to the law firm, my mom’s message arrived right on time. “You actually know that blind date—Uncle Stephen’s youngest son, Nicholas. He’s a young entrepreneur. Want to set up a time to meet?” “Sure. I’ll go meet him after work.”

When I arrived at the firm, I submitted my prepared resignation letter. My boss looked somewhat surprised. “Elia, you’re very capable. Why resign?” I really liked the atmosphere at this firm, but unfortunately Robertson was a partner. I didn’t want any further entanglement with him. I smiled faintly without directly answering. “Personal reasons. Before the resignation process is complete, please don’t announce my departure.” When I left the office, there were cupcakes I loved on my desk, along with a cup of hot milk. My colleague Natasha teased with a smile, “Attorney Robertson brought them. He said you didn’t eat much breakfast.” Years ago I’d worked too hard and developed stomach problems. Robertson always remembered. Worried that takeout wasn’t clean, he’d personally cook three meals a day whenever he had time. Nutritious and tasty, he’d spoiled my stomach until it became finicky. A commotion pulled me from my memories. “Everyone, quiet down. Let me introduce our new colleague—Elliot. She just returned from abroad, an elite talent officially joining our firm today…” Applause rang out enthusiastically, but I just stared blankly as Elliot intimately linked arms with Robertson, the two of them smiling at each other. “What a handsome couple. They’re so well-matched.” “I heard Attorney Robertson personally requested that Elliot be his assistant.” “You guys don’t know—Elliot is Attorney Robertson’s first love. Attorney Robertson stayed single all these years because of her.” Natasha heard these comments and glanced at me awkwardly. Using his career as an excuse, Robertson had never made our relationship public. Only Natasha in the entire company knew. I handed her my breakfast and said flatly, “Want it?” After receiving a negative answer, I threw the breakfast into the trash. I felt in my pocket—only a half-melted chocolate remained. Robertson had prepared this in case my blood sugar dropped. I casually tossed it away and went downstairs to buy different breakfast. While waiting for the elevator, Robertson pulled me into a deserted area. He snatched the bread from my hand, frowning slightly. “You have stomach problems—you can’t eat things that are hard and cold.” “Stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll go buy you something else.” Before I could say “no need,” Elliot walked over. “Robertson!” Robertson instinctively pushed me away, explaining to Elliot as if to avoid suspicion. “Just an ordinary colleague. Not close…” Watching the two of them walk away, I silently picked up the bread that had fallen on the floor. My long-dormant stomach condition came back with a vengeance. I curled up against the wall, hurting so much tears came out, but this time there was no one to warm my stomach for me. Gently brushing the dust off the wrapper, I ate the entire breakfast mixed with tears, one bite at a time. By the time work ended, Robertson and Elliot still hadn’t returned. Colleagues teased with smiles, “Looks like we’ll have good news from the firm soon.” When I heard these words this morning, my heart still ached. Now, only a numb, dull pain remained. I finished my handover work and said goodbye to Natasha. She looked at me reluctantly. “Elia, don’t be sad. Robertson doesn’t deserve you!” I smiled and sent her a copy of my client list. “Hope you become a top attorney soon!” While waiting for the elevator, Elliot posted an ambiguous update on Twitter. Someone in the firm’s gossip group shared it, and the long-dormant chat instantly exploded. I didn’t look closely because my blind date had already arrived downstairs. I left the group and deleted Robertson’s Twitter. I walked toward the man holding flowers by the coffee shop. “Hello, I’m Elia.”

We were both in our thirties. Nicholas and I were going on this blind date with marriage in mind. Compatible conditions, good conversation, and both sets of parents knew each other well. After one date, just as Nicholas and I were about to make our relationship official, Robertson suddenly called. His voice carried the haze of alcohol and a fragile quality. “Elia, I feel awful. Can you please come get me?” Hearing that long-lost form of address, I momentarily spaced out. Robertson was five years younger than me. When we first met, he was still quite shy. “Elia, how do I revise this document?” “Elia, you’re amazing—you can win such difficult cases!” “Elia, will you be my girlfriend?” Seeing Nicholas’s concerned expression, I snapped back to reality and coldly refused. “No. I’m not available.” Robertson’s voice sounded very weak. “Don’t hang up. I’m at HAPPY bar, locked in a really cold, dark place. My phone’s dying. Only you can save me, Elia…” “Bang—” The sound of something heavy hitting the floor. The call disconnected. “Robertson!” I gripped my phone tightly, but there was no further response. Robertson had severe claustrophobia. Phone dead, no one around. If I really was the only person Robertson could contact, if something really happened to him because of me… I grabbed my bag and apologized to Nicholas. “It’s so late—let me drive you. I have a car. Your friend will be fine.” Nicholas showed no annoyance at being stood up. Instead, he gently comforted me. In the car, I clutched my phone, afraid of missing Robertson’s call for help. There wasn’t much traffic at night. We quickly arrived at HAPPY bar. The moment the car stopped, I anxiously jumped out. I called Robertson countless times. No one answered. My heart sank to the bottom. I was just about to call the police when I heard a familiar voice from a private room. “Robertson, will Elia really come?” “Don’t worry, Elliot. Elia is Robertson’s most obedient dog—guaranteed to come whenever called!” I pushed open the door. The laughter and noise cut off abruptly. When Robertson saw me, he smirked triumphantly. “I knew you couldn’t let me go!” He waved the game card in front of him. “Don’t worry—Elliot just lost at Truth or Dare. I helped her call someone, and I didn’t expect you’d actually be that free.” The worry from making countless unanswered calls, the heels of my feet rubbed raw from running frantically in high heels—all for one sentence: “I didn’t expect you’d actually be that free.” Elliot covered her mouth and giggled. “Sorry, I’ve been in a bad mood lately. Robertson wanted to cheer me up. Don’t take it personally, Elia. You really do have a talent for making people laugh.” She leaned intimately on Robertson’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming on call like that—just like a nanny. If you’re willing, I can pay you market rate.” A wave of knowing laughter rippled through the room. Robertson frowned slightly. “She’s not—” I cut off his words, lifted my head, and smiled at Elliot. “Sure. A nanny’s market rate is $6,000 a month. Eight years comes to $576,000 total. Transfer it to me.” Elliot’s smile froze. Tears squeezed from her eyes. The people who’d been jeering moments ago awkwardly shut their mouths. Robertson pulled Elliot behind him protectively, his face iron-dark. “Why are you making things difficult for Elliot over this little bit of money?” He pulled out his phone and operated it a few times. “Ding—” The money arrived. The notification that my resignation had been approved was also somehow already sitting in my inbox. I laughed mockingly at myself. He’d rather pay out $500,000 to bail Elliot out than spend $200,000 on wedding money for me. “Thank you, Attorney Robertson. I wish you both a happy marriage.” I hadn’t walked far when Robertson chased after me. “Elliot and I are innocent. Stop making a scene. Consider that $500,000 your wedding money. I’ll get our marriage license with you tomorrow, okay?” I dodged his hand and pointed at Nicholas waiting for me at the entrance. “Attorney Robertson, please keep your distance. My boyfriend is right there.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “382826”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After Hearing My First Love Rafael’s Inner Thoughts, I Pulled My Investment When I was walking home with my first love, I suddenly heard his inner thoughts. [Claudia is so annoying, always insisting we leave school together every day.] [If I didn’t need her family’s resources for business, I wouldn’t even bother pretending to care about her.] [It’s pouring rain outside. I wonder if Giuliana brought an umbrella.] I froze mid-step. Giuliana—the beautiful scholarship student who just transferred here. Rafael stood before me with downcast eyes, his jawline tight and aloof. He clearly hadn’t spoken aloud, yet his voice continued to explode in my mind. [I heard Giuliana lives in the poor part of downtown. The roads there aren’t very good either.] [I’m really worried about her. I wish I could walk her home.] [If only I could find an excuse to ditch Claudia…] My footsteps halted. I felt momentarily stunned. Rafael lifted his eyelids, his expression cold and indifferent as he glanced at me. We’d known each other for years. I knew he was naturally distant and reserved, never good with words. I’d long grown accustomed to this way of interacting. But now, I seemed to see clear, unmistakable disgust in his eyes. Suddenly, a timid female voice came from the back door of the classroom. “Rafael, I… my umbrella broke.” I instinctively turned around. Giuliana was standing behind me, though I hadn’t noticed when she’d appeared. She clutched a broken floral umbrella in her hands, one of the ribs hanging down limply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bother you, but I’m afraid my textbooks will get wet…” She trailed off, then quickly glanced up at Rafael. Her eyes were red-rimmed, brimming with grievance and anxiety. She’d just transferred here last week and rarely spoke to other students. Her sudden request for help caught me off guard. After all, Rafael was notorious for hating to be bothered. He spoke and acted without sparing anyone’s feelings. But this time, after a moment’s thought, his low voice suddenly rang out: “Claudia, I can’t go home with you today.” “Since Giuliana lives so far away, I’ll walk her home instead.” Rafael’s expression remained ice-cold as always. If I hadn’t heard those inner thoughts, I might have actually believed this was a purely rational decision. “What about me?” I asked with a touch of mockery. Rafael frowned, then spoke: “Isn’t your driver waiting at the school gate?” “Just make do with her umbrella for now. Your house is close anyway—you won’t get wet for more than a few steps.” With that, he shoved Giuliana’s umbrella into my hands without allowing any refusal.

Seeing my silence, Giuliana’s expression filled with guilt and unease. She twisted the hem of her shirt with her fingers and spoke in a trembling voice: “No, how can Claudia use this broken umbrella…” “I’m sorry for causing you both trouble.” “Never mind, I’ll just run home.” She made as if to leave, but Rafael grabbed her arm. Rafael looked at me in silence, frowning, his thin lips pressed into a cold line. But his inner voice rang out in my mind. [Claudia’s definitely going to throw a tantrum again. I’m so sick of it.] [All her life, she’s just relied on her family’s power, thinking everyone should revolve around her.] [But I really don’t want to indulge her anymore. I like Giuliana—do I have to spell it out?] [Giuliana can’t possibly walk home in the rain…] I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe, as if something in my chest was slowly shattering. Before Rafael could speak, I voluntarily stepped back: “You two go ahead.” Rafael let out a relieved breath and turned to the side, his voice gentle: “Giuliana, give me your backpack.” Giuliana glanced at me hesitantly. Then she nodded obediently and ducked under Rafael’s umbrella. Before long, their silhouettes disappeared into the curtain of rain. I looked down at the ground. Then I tossed Giuliana’s broken umbrella by the back door and walked into the rain. At the school gate, Sargent’s car sat with its lights on. He froze for a moment, then quickly grabbed an umbrella and ran over: “Miss Claudia, why are you alone? Where’s Rafael?” “Let’s go home first.” I leaned back against the seat, my eyes stinging. When I got home, my mother’s face was full of worry. She dried my hair while chattering: “What were you thinking, child! Why are you soaked like this? Where’s Rafael? Doesn’t he walk you home every day?” “Look at you—your lips are completely pale! Your father’s still overseas on that business deal. If he finds out, he’ll fly back overnight…” “Mom.” I interrupted her with downcast eyes, my voice hoarse. “I want to go back to my room and sleep.” Her gaze lingered on my face for a moment. She didn’t press further, instead turning toward the kitchen to tell the housekeeper to prepare dinner for me. I changed my clothes and went upstairs. Behind the closed door, all sounds were shut out. But the scenes from earlier kept replaying uncontrollably in my mind. I thought of the faint smile that curved Rafael’s lips when he faced Giuliana. Then I recalled the way he looked at me—full of perfunctory dismissal and impatience. At this moment, I finally believed with certainty that those inner thoughts I’d heard weren’t hallucinations. So that’s how it was. Beyond using me, Rafael felt nothing but disgust toward me. We’d known each other for years. I’d thought he was naturally aloof, maintaining that cold demeanor with everyone. Only today did I see through it all. He wasn’t incapable of expressing emotion—he just despised me. In the quiet room, my phone suddenly rang. On the screen, the caller was Rafael.

The moment I answered, Rafael’s voice came through with an accusation: “Claudia, did you go home and tell your parents something?” “It rained so hard today. I was just walking Giuliana home. Did you really have to complain to my father about it?” His breathing came through the receiver—rapid and irregular. I rarely saw him lose his composure like this. “Rafael,” my voice was calm, “did you call just to blame me?” “Or do you think that as long as my family doesn’t ask, your father won’t find out what happened today?” Rafael fell silent for a moment. Over the phone, my ability to hear his thoughts seemed to fail, but I could imagine his annoyed expression. After a long pause, he finally spoke coldly: “Couldn’t you just explain things for me?” “In the end, you’re just throwing a tantrum, deliberately…” I took a deep breath and cut him off abruptly: “Rafael, why should I cover for what you did?” The voice on the other end stopped dead. I laughed coldly: “You think your father heard about this from me?” “Rafael, don’t you have any idea how many people your father has stationed around us to keep watch?” “After all, he knows better than anyone how many projects my family has handed over to…” A dull thud suddenly came from the other end of the line. Rafael spoke through gritted teeth: “Are you done yet?!” “What?” I continued. “If I don’t say it, does that mean it doesn’t exist?” All these years, there were things I never mentioned, but that didn’t mean I was unaware. Rafael’s family had many children and was a sprawling clan. Initially, Rafael was just the quietest, most unremarkable one. The Walker family had been established in San Francisco for three generations, and I was their only daughter—the sole heir to Walker Corporation. My parents doted on me and, by extension, looked after Rafael, my childhood companion. Because of this, the Harrington family business, which had teetered on the brink of bankruptcy multiple times, not only paid off its debts but also secured countless resources and projects. With the Walker family’s support, Rafael gradually earned recognition within his own family. The other end of the line went quiet for a long time, as if weighing pros and cons. After a while, Rafael finally spoke in a low voice: “Claudia, I won’t contact you for a while.” “Reflect on yourself properly.” His tone carried an air of fearless indifference. Before I could respond, he hung up. After that phone call, Rafael and I entered a cold war. I knew he was waiting for me to cave first, just like every other argument we’d had before. The cold war lasted three days. On my way back to the classroom, Giuliana came running straight into me. By the time I registered what happened, she was already sitting on the ground, clutching her ankle in pain. Students in the hallway stopped in their tracks, their gazes converging on us. From the crowd, a low male voice suddenly rang out. “Claudia, what are you doing?!” I looked toward the voice and met Rafael’s disgusted stare. Giuliana bit her lower lip, her voice weak: “It’s not Claudia’s fault. I was walking too fast.” [And she’s still making excuses for Claudia even now. Giuliana is just too kind.] [I only ignored Claudia for a few days, and she’s already taking it out on Giuliana. Still as spoiled as ever.] [Once I take over my father’s company, I definitely won’t let Claudia off easy.] Rafael’s face remained impassive, but his inner thoughts exploded like rapid fire in my mind.

I glanced at the students gathered around to watch the drama, my tone calm: “She’s the one who ran into me.” Rafael frowned: “Come on, what’s the point of making excuses?” “Did she sprain her own ankle just to frame you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. I glanced at Giuliana’s aggrieved face and said flatly: “Yeah, because she knew someone would come running over like a dog to defend her without asking any questions.” The hallway fell silent for a moment. Giuliana looked up with grievance, sobbing softly: “Claudia, I know you don’t like me, but how can you insult Rafael like that?” “He was just trying to speak up for me…” Rafael clenched his fists, knuckles white with restraint. “Claudia, do you have to be this unreasonable?” “Looks like these past few days haven’t taught you where you went wrong.” I cut him off abruptly: “If you think I’m being unreasonable, then don’t associate with me anymore.” “I’ll tell my parents when I get home. You’d better prepare yourself mentally.” [There she goes again, using her family’s power to control me whenever she loses her temper.] [Ha, it’s all an act. If I give her the cold shoulder for a few days, she’ll come crawling back like always.] [Once she cools down in a couple days, I’ll make her apologize to Giuliana.] His inner voice laid out all his thoughts crystal clear. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.” After a long pause, Rafael coldly dropped that single sentence. Then he bent down, slipped one arm under Giuliana’s knees, and lifted her into his arms. “Bear with the pain. I’ll take you to the nurse’s office.” He looked down at her, his voice gentle. Giuliana rested against his shoulder, tears still streaking her face. But the corners of her lips curled upward, and the look she gave me carried a hint of provocation. I ignored them and turned toward the classroom. My father finished handling overseas business and returned home that evening. The study door closed. He sat behind the desk and casually tossed a stack of documents onto the table. “Take a look. The Harrington family submitted these.” “That project on the east side of town—Rafael’s father has approached me several times, but I’ve held off on making a decision.” “Claudia, what do you think?” I understood my father’s attitude toward the Harrington family. All these years, Harrington Industries had relied on Walker Corporation’s resources and connections to gradually establish a foothold in the business world. My father had always been straightforward and forthright. He despised the Harrington family’s calculating shrewdness. In the past, I’d been infatuated with Rafael. Out of love for me, my father kept investing in and handing projects to the Harrington family. After all, back then, my father genuinely considered Rafael a future son-in-law. But after hearing about recent events, he’d clearly lost the patience to maintain that relationship. I looked at him calmly: “Dad, I was foolish before, but I’ve figured things out now.” “Our partnership with the Harrington family ends here.” He smiled faintly and pushed the stack of project proposals aside: “Alright, then we’ll do as you say.” “But I want you to remember—you’re my precious daughter, the future heir to this company.” “Claudia, you don’t need to bow your head to anyone.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “382825”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I bought a secondhand laptop online. When I opened it, the wallpaper was a full nude photo of my fiancé, Lachlan. I was stunned. Was this fate bringing something that belonged to him back to me? Just as I was about to call Lachlan to ask what was going on, the seller frantically started calling me: “I made a mistake! I sent you my boyfriend’s laptop by mistake!” “There are really important work files on that computer—don’t touch anything! I’ll send you the correct laptop right away. I’ll cover the shipping!” Listening to the sweet, delicate voice on the other end of the line, my heart instantly sank. When did Lachlan get another girlfriend besides me? After hanging up, I forced myself to calm down, my fingers trembling as I moved the mouse. Apart from that wallpaper, the desktop was suspiciously clean—just one folder labeled “My Treasure.” Lachlan had once created a folder with that exact name for me, filled with photos of us from childhood to now. My heart pounded wildly as an absurd thought exploded in my mind. Was Lachlan cheating on me? The thought only lingered for a second before I crushed it. Because I knew perfectly well that even if every man in the world cheated, Lachlan would be the exception. After all, we were childhood sweethearts who grew up together in the same neighborhood, watched over by everyone. He loved me—loved me enough to remember my period every month and have hot milk ready in advance. Loved me enough that the passwords to his phone, computer, and all his social media accounts were my birthday. Besides, our wedding was only two weeks away. This had to be a misunderstanding. I took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress the inexplicable panic rising in my chest. Double-click. The folder opened. What appeared before my eyes were intimate photos of Lachlan with an unfamiliar girl. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze instantly, like lightning striking me, the shock making every organ in my body ache. I looked through them one by one. Every single photo mocked my self-deception. Lachlan really was cheating. And I had been lost in the joy of soon becoming his bride. How ridiculous. I don’t know how long I sat there in a daze before I finally calmed down. The first thing I did was open my phone and book a flight to Paris in seven days. That was the dream destination I had once given up to be with Lachlan. Now, I was going to pick up my paintbrush again and pursue the artistic dream that had been shelved by love for too long. Next, I packaged all those disgraceful photos from the computer and sent them to my best friend, Zoey. Zoey’s call came through immediately, her voice full of shock and fury: “Harper! That bastard! Just wait—I’m getting people together right now to destroy him!” I interrupted her, my voice terrifyingly calm: “No need. Saturday, at our families’ engagement party, I’ll handle it myself. I need your help with something. I’m going to give Lachlan a big gift.” Just as I finished speaking, Lachlan’s voice suddenly sounded behind me, his tone light and tender: “Harper, guess what I brought you?” He was carrying cream puffs from my favorite shop. When he saw my face, the smile on his face instantly froze. “Harper? What’s wrong? Why are your eyes so red?” He dropped the bags and quickly walked over, reaching out to hug me. I instinctively dodged. I opened my mouth, my voice sounding dry and unlike my own: “Lachlan, you…” Just as I was about to tear away this layer of false warmth, his phone rang abruptly. Lachlan instinctively glanced at the caller ID, and his expression changed instantly. He quickly pressed silent and flipped the phone face-down on the table, his movements so fast it seemed like he was hiding something. “A… telemarketer,” he explained, his tone somewhat unnatural. But I had seen it. The moment the screen lit up, the caller ID showed “Quinn.” Watching him panic while trying to maintain composure, I found it unbearably ironic. I looked up at him and asked softly, “Lachlan, do you love me?” He looked stunned by my question, then laughed and affectionately tapped my nose. “Silly girl, why ask that? If I don’t love you, who would I love?” I stared into his eyes, asking word by word: “What about Tara Quinn? Do you love her too?” Tara Quinn—that was the seller’s name.

The doting smile on Lachlan’s face crumbled inch by inch. He stared at me blankly. After a few seconds, he finally found his voice, tinged with disbelief. “Harper, what are you talking about? Where did you hear that name?” Within just one second, that familiar face had taken on an expression of hurt and helplessness. He reached out to touch my face, his voice low and aggrieved: “Harper, Tara Quinn is a new intern in my department. There was a problem with a project today, and I just helped her out.” The wounded look of being falsely accused was perfectly calibrated. If I hadn’t seen those photos with my own eyes, I would have thought I was being unreasonable. He tried to pull me into his arms, his voice softening even more, as if coaxing a child throwing a tantrum. “Is the wedding stress getting to you?” “Don’t overthink it. After fifteen years together, don’t you trust me?” I looked at his face, so close to mine, yet instinctively pushed him away. This action made the hurt in his eyes deepen. His voice carried a barely perceptible tremor: “Harper, what’s wrong with you? Did someone say something to you?” Just as I was about to pull out that laptop and throw all the sordid evidence in his face, his phone—still face-down on the table—vibrated again. This time it wasn’t a call, but a message. He instinctively reached for it, but I was faster, catching a glimpse of the calendar reminder that popped up on the screen. [Today at 5 PM: Pick up Devotion.] My heart clenched suddenly. Devotion was the name of the first painting I’d ever sold. That year, when I had just started college, my work was hung in the school gallery with no buyers. Finally, a mysterious buyer purchased it. Much later, I learned that buyer was Lachlan. He hung the painting in our future marital home, pointing at my messy signature on it and saying: “For the rest of my life, I’ll marry no one but you.” That painting was the beginning of our love, the unique, devoted love he promised me. Seeing that I’d noticed the reminder, a flash of annoyance crossed Lachlan’s face, which then softened into helpless tenderness. He handed me his phone and opened the note for that reminder. It read: Harper’s wedding ring—inspired by the painting, named with love. He sighed and gently hugged me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. “I wanted to surprise you the day before the wedding, but you discovered it early.” “I found a designer in France and had the compositional elements of Devotion made into a ring. Harper, our rings are one-of-a-kind in the whole world.” His voice carried a smile, warm breath falling on my ear. “Don’t be angry anymore, okay? I admit, that Tara Quinn pestered me with some talk, but I rejected her.” “In my world, besides you, there’s no room for anyone else.” He paused and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going out to pick up the ring. It’s too cold outside—stay home and wait for me. I’ll be back soon to keep you company.” I pulled my hand back, my voice eerily calm: “Go ahead.” As soon as Lachlan left, I grabbed my phone to check the transaction records on the secondhand platform. The seller’s name was Tara Quinn, and the address was a high-end apartment complex in the western part of the city. Once, Lachlan had pointed at a billboard for that place and said to me: “Harper, I bought you a small place there. You can paint there in peace from now on!” I had been so happy then, thinking it was another testament to our love. Now, it had become the cruelest irony. I opened a rideshare app and entered the address. Half an hour later, the car stopped at the entrance to the complex. I immediately spotted Lachlan’s familiar black Range Rover. I didn’t go in, just stood in the shadows across the street. Before long, the building door opened. Lachlan walked out with a petite figure. I recognized her immediately as the girl from the photos—Tara Quinn. Tara clung intimately to his arm, practically hanging on him. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. And Lachlan looked down at her with a hint of indulgent affection at the corner of his mouth—the same way he’d looked at me for the past fifteen years. My hands and feet went ice cold, yet I instinctively raised my phone’s camera and pointed it at them.

My stomach churned violently, worse than when I’d first seen those photos. Tara tilted her face up, seeking a kiss. Lachlan didn’t push her away—he just smiled helplessly and tapped her forehead with his finger. “Stop it. What if someone sees?” Tara shook his arm insistently, her voice coquettish: “So what if they see? Your fiancée loves you so much that even if she found out, she’d just assume I seduced you.” Lachlan’s face hardened, his voice cold with warning: “I told you clearly before we got together—I have my responsibilities and my boundaries. Harper is the person I’m going to marry. That will never change.” Tara pouted and pulled an exquisite velvet box from her purse, holding it out to Lachlan. “Okay, okay, don’t be mad. I promise I won’t make a scene in front of her. Look what I got you!” “Can we call our rings Devotion too?” Lachlan’s expression stiffened for a moment. He looked at Tara, and finally smiled: “You little vixen.” I watched him accept that ring and slide it onto his ring finger. The design of that ring was seventy to eighty percent similar to the wedding ring he’d just described to me—the one supposedly inspired by my painting. The last trace of warmth I’d felt for these fifteen years completely dissipated. I recorded this final scene, put away my phone, turned around, and hailed a cab. Back home, I didn’t turn on the lights. In the darkness, I sat on the sofa, replaying that video over and over. Watching the hesitation that flashed across Lachlan’s face when he put on that ring, followed by his eventual surrender. None of it was an accident. That laptop, that wallpaper—all of it was a trap Tara had carefully designed. Just waiting for me, the legitimate fiancée, to personally uncover my husband’s other face. She’d succeeded. My world, along with those fifteen years of love, shattered completely. After sending this video to Zoey as well, I acted as if nothing had happened, quietly waiting for the day of the engagement party. Lachlan was probably feeling guilty—he became even more attentive and considerate toward me. The more he acted this way, the more disgusted I felt. The night before the engagement party, Lachlan excitedly brought over an exquisite gift box, his face wearing a tender smile. “Harper, come quick! Look at the dress I had custom-made for you. You’ll look absolutely beautiful wearing it at tomorrow’s engagement.” He opened the box like presenting a treasure. Inside was a champagne-colored mermaid gown. The hem was studded with tiny crystals that sparkled gently under the light. Then he knelt on one knee and opened a velvet box. Inside lay a diamond ring with an intricate design. The lines winding around the band were the composition from my painting Devotion. He looked up at me, his eyes brimming with love: “Harper, this is our Devotion. It will be like my love for you—eternal and unchanging.” “After tomorrow, you’ll be my wife. Harper, I’ve waited so long for this day.” His voice carried a barely perceptible nervousness, his fingertips trembling slightly. I looked at myself reflected in his eyes—the girl who had once been full of joy and hope for the future now felt only a barren coldness. I didn’t extend my hand. I just quietly watched him, watched the anticipation in his eyes gradually freeze and finally turn into unease. He asked tentatively, “Harper? Don’t you like it?” I slowly shook my head, my voice flat: “I like it. It’s beautiful.” He visibly relaxed and tried to take my hand to put the ring on me. But I gently moved away, taking the ring box from his hand. Looking at those winding lines, I suddenly smiled. “What if tomorrow… I ran away from the wedding? What would you do?”

“What are you talking about, silly?” Lachlan laughed and ruffled my hair: “If you ran, I’d turn the whole earth upside down to find you and lock you by my side.” I lowered my eyelids, hiding the mockery in my eyes: “Lachlan, if… if I did something to hurt you, would you forgive me?” The smile faded from Lachlan’s face. He cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes, his expression frighteningly serious. “Don’t say things like that.” His thumb caressed my cheek, his voice low: “Harper, between us, there’s no ‘hurting’ and no ‘forgiving.’” “You would never do anything to hurt me, just like I would never betray you.” He said it with such certainty, such apparent sincerity. I almost laughed out loud. Was this certainty based on his trust in me, or his confidence in his own acting skills? I said nothing more, letting him hold me in his arms, feeling that false yet familiar warmth. On the day of the engagement, before leaving, I took out my phone and sent Zoey a final message: “Proceed as planned.” The banquet hall was lively and warm. Both our parents and several close elders were there. Lachlan’s mother held my hand, beaming: “Harper is getting more beautiful every day. Our Lachlan marrying you is a blessing from eight lifetimes of good karma.” I smiled, playing the role of a bride-to-be immersed in happiness. Lachlan sat beside me, considerately serving me food, occasionally whispering sweet nothings in my ear. We looked so intimate that everyone envied us. Halfway through the dinner, Lachlan’s father cleared his throat and stood up, preparing to announce our official wedding date. Just as everyone’s attention focused on him, Lachlan’s phone vibrated. He picked it up, glanced at it, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Then he gave me a reassuring smile and lowered his voice: “Something urgent at the office. I’ll step out to take this call. Be right back.” He got up and hurried out. The moment the private room door closed, I stood up. Under everyone’s bewildered gazes, I walked to the front of the room and connected my phone to the huge screen that had been prepared to show our sweet memories. Zoey’s carefully edited video began to play. The entire room fell deathly silent. I heard Lachlan’s mother gasp, saw the shock drain all color from my parents’ faces. I picked up the microphone, my voice ringing clearly through the room: “I’m sorry, everyone. This engagement party is canceled.” With that, I put down the microphone and, under everyone’s stares, turned and walked out of that suffocating banquet hall. Lachlan was leaning against the window at the end of the corridor, softly coaxing Tara on the phone. “Okay, okay, it’s just a stomachache. As soon as the engagement party ends, I’ll come keep you company. Don’t cry, my baby.” Before he could hang up, a resounding slap landed hard across his face. Lachlan was stunned. He covered his face, looking up in disbelief. The next second, his father pointed at him, trembling with rage: “You disgraceful bastard! Get in there right now and see what you’ve done!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “382545”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Before my wedding to Alpha Liam, he slept with another woman. He explained to me, “She’s the mate the Moon Goddess destined for me. She has an irresistible pull on me. You understand, don’t you?” “Don’t make a fuss. At least you’re the only one I’m willing to Mark.” I smiled and nodded, then turned around and slept with his friend Chase, deliberately letting him find out. But Liam just calmly pushed open the door and sat down beside us, asking mockingly, “How does it feel?” Chase got off me. “Not bad, just a bit awkward.” “Liam, have you never trained her? Her movements are way too stiff.” My carefully planned revenge was nothing but a joke to him. He didn’t care at all. I completely broke down and was sent by Liam to a correctional facility on a deserted island to learn how to become “normal.” He didn’t know that there were no doctors there—only a group of lunatics who took pleasure in tormenting Omegas. A year later, Liam came to pick me up, but by then, I no longer loved him. The facility administrator pushed the door open. “Ellie, Alpha Liam has completed your discharge paperwork. You’re free to go.” I nodded numbly. As I walked out of that gray building, I could still hear the whispers of a few staff members behind me. “Poor thing, driven to this state by her fiancé.” “What’s so pitiful about it? Her fiancé is a top-tier Alpha—handsome and rich. He just has a mistress. She should’ve just turned a blind eye. She really doesn’t know how to appreciate what she has.” A year ago, words like these would have made me hysterical. But now, they couldn’t even make me pause. Outside in the clearing, Liam stood waiting for me beside a helicopter. I walked up to him. He raised his index finger, wanting to touch my face. “You’ve gotten thinner.” I tilted my head slightly, dodging him. His hand froze in midair for a moment before he withdrew it. He pulled open the cabin door. “Get in.” Climbing into the helicopter, the first thing I saw was a piece of exquisitely crafted women’s lingerie on the seat. Liam followed my gaze, froze for a moment when he saw the lingerie, then picked it up and casually stuffed it into his coat pocket. “My assistant is so scatterbrained. Don’t mind it.” I smiled but didn’t reply. That lingerie style was typical of that woman named Serena’s taste. It seemed that before coming to pick me up, they’d done something in this helicopter. But it didn’t matter. I stopped caring long ago. As the helicopter took off, Liam’s fingertips tapped lightly on the armrest a few times before he spoke. “I’ve cut things off with her completely. I threw out all the bedding in the bedroom and replaced it with a new set—the style you like.” “Mm.” I responded lightly. He continued, “I had the maids dust all your things every day. Nothing’s gotten dirty.” “Thank you.” I smiled faintly. Liam turned his head to look at me, something dark and unclear flickering in his eyes. He pulled out a small red velvet box from his pocket. “I had the ring reordered. The diamond’s bigger than before. Want to see if you like it?” I didn’t take the box. Instead, I said, “About the wedding—let’s forget it.” Liam didn’t take my words seriously and just tossed the box into my lap. “Enough with the tantrum. I slept with her, and you slept with my friend. We’re even now.” “Besides, I’ve kept the position of my wife for you all along. You’re a werewolf who can’t even shift, yet you get to become the Luna of Shadow Fang Pack. What more could you possibly be dissatisfied with?” I stared at the small box in my hands, didn’t argue, just smiled bitterly. I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was just going home. It wasn’t as prosperous as this place—just the old territory of a fallen Pack, where my mom and dad were buried. But there was no Liam there. No pain. The helicopter landed on the rooftop helipad. Everything here remained unchanged. I didn’t walk into the bedroom that belonged to me and him. Instead, I dragged my suitcase toward the guest room. Liam blocked my way. “What’s the meaning of this?” “I got used to sleeping alone at the facility.” I turned to glance at the room that once belonged to me and him. “And besides, I don’t want to sleep in that bed anymore.” On the day I discovered he’d slept with that woman, I checked the surveillance footage and found out it wasn’t just once. He’d once promised me he would never accept the mate fate assigned him, that he would only ever love me. Yet after rejecting Serena in front of me, he secretly installed her in the villa. He slept with her almost every month. Even that bed specially customized for me bore traces of them. When I saw that scene, my heart ached so much I couldn’t breathe. Liam stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t overdo it. You always pull this stunt, then end up begging to move back in anyway.” I watched his retreating back, but the heartache I used to feel didn’t come. It seemed the “correction” at the facility really worked. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have my heart beat for him, to have my emotions rise and fall with his. Late at night, accustomed to the hard plank bed at the facility, I couldn’t get used to sleeping on this soft, plush bed anymore. During the year I spent at the facility, Liam didn’t come to see me even once. I would always cry and beg the administrators, threatening to hurt myself to make them let me call him. Once, twice, three times… When the call connected, I would cry and beg him to come see me, or at least say a few words to me. And he would only respond in that icy voice devoid of any emotion: “Ellie, reflect on yourself properly. When the time comes, I’ll naturally come get you.” Gradually, I grew numb and finally stopped wanting to call him.

Feeling thirsty, I got up and went downstairs to get water. But I saw Liam on the balcony, talking on the phone. His voice wasn’t loud, but I could hear clearly. “Mm, tomorrow’s auction—bid on whatever you want, don’t worry about the price. Be good. I’ve been a bit busy lately, so I can’t always be with you.” His tone was doting. That tone used to belong only to me, but not anymore. I stood quietly behind him with my water glass, listening for a while. Finding it uninteresting, I turned to leave. But then I heard, “Ellie? When did you come down?” He’d already hung up the phone. “Just now…” He wanted to explain, but I cut him off. “I was thirsty, just came down for water. Continue what you were doing, don’t mind me.” He walked toward me, reaching out to grab me. But I’d already turned and headed upstairs ahead of him. At the staircase landing, I saw from the corner of my eye that his gaze followed me the entire time. The next day at breakfast, Liam poured me a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. This was his habit. Every time, I would drink the entire glass, and he would watch me with a gentle smile. But this time, I didn’t touch the orange juice. Instead, I poured myself a glass of warm water. His smile froze on his face, but he said nothing. Liam got up, grabbed his coat, and headed out. “I need to go out for a bit.” “Okay,” I replied. He stopped at the door and looked at me. “Nothing you want to ask?” I paused for a moment. Indeed, if this were before, I definitely would have interrogated him thoroughly. Asked him what he was doing, how long he’d be gone, who he was with. I didn’t know when it started—when I became so insecure, so afraid of him leaving me. Fortunately, not anymore. I spoke, my tone flat. “No.” Liam stood there for a few seconds but ultimately said nothing. After he left, I got up and went to my room to pack. Actually, there wasn’t much to bring. The clothes I wore at the facility—I didn’t want to take them. Seeing them would only remind me of those painful memories. I put the photo of me with my mom and dad into my suitcase. And a hardcover notebook—the “reflection journal” I was required to write at the facility. I flipped through it. Each page was only allowed one sentence. [Called him again today. 180th time. He only said to reflect.] [Today’s “correction” really hurt.] [I miss Mom and Dad so much. No one loves me anymore. Now even he’s bullying me.] [It’s my birthday today. No one remembers.] [Haven’t thought about him for three days now. The administrator says I’m almost normal.] I closed the notebook and tossed it into the trash. Liam returned quickly and wanted to take me to a party. I was brought to a makeup room upstairs at the venue to touch up my makeup. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear him talking with friends in the hallway outside. “Liam, how are things with her?” It was Chase’s voice. Liam’s voice was calm. “Fine.” “She seems much more obedient now—just sits there quietly. When she saw me, she didn’t even react. I thought she was going to go crazy again.” Chase continued, “But seriously, hasn’t Serena been getting a bit too showy lately? She bid on a sky-high diamond ring at the auction today without batting an eye. That’s one thing, but she’s been going around telling everyone you gave it to her.”

Liam’s voice came through. “As long as she’s happy.” “Aren’t you afraid Ellie will find out? She finally got back to normal. Don’t let her turn crazy again and start cutting herself with knives and stuff.” Liam replied, “If she finds out, she finds out. She’ll throw a tantrum for a while, then behave. Same routine every time. Doesn’t she get tired of it?” Casual. Matter-of-fact. “Honestly, Ellie’s so much easier on the eyes now that she’s not making a scene. Liam, after bringing her back, did you ‘train’ her?” “Enough.” Liam’s voice turned cold. The hallway fell silent. I sat before the makeup mirror, letting the makeup artist do her work, my heart calm. After finishing my makeup, I went downstairs. Chase approached first, walking up beside me and looking me over with a smirk. “Ellie, you’re looking much better. If you have any ‘needs,’ you can still come find me, you know.” I didn’t respond. He sat down on the armrest of the sofa next to me. “Honestly, I still remember that night last year.” “Looking at you now, you’ve lost so much weight. I wonder if you still feel the same as you did back then.” I remained expressionless. He sneered. “No wonder Liam got tired of you. That cold face, like a wooden plank—no fun at all.” Finally, Liam walked over and looked at me. “Stay with me. You’re my fiancée. Understand?” “What time does this end?” I asked him. He seemed puzzled, as if unsure why I was asking, but answered anyway. “Eleven.” My flight was at midnight. So I nodded, agreeing. Chase’s face showed an amused smile. At the party, Liam took me around to socialize, introducing me to others. Actually, he didn’t need to introduce me. That scandal from years ago had caused such an uproar that everyone remembered I was once a lunatic who slept with her fiancé’s friend. Then I’d gone crazy, cutting myself with a knife, forcing Liam to send his mistress away. Finally, I was sent by Liam himself to the island correctional facility. Those people put on smiling faces for Liam, but when they looked at me, their eyes held something else—like pity. I smiled politely, not caring. “Liam.” Serena’s saccharine voice rang out. She walked naturally to Liam’s side and linked her arm through his. “Thank you.” As she spoke, she deliberately raised her hand to brush back her hair. The enormous, blindingly brilliant diamond ring on her finger drew even more attention. Liam’s expression remained unchanged. He even smiled gently at her. “As long as you like it.” As if I didn’t exist at all. I felt a bit nauseous, so I withdrew the hand that had been linked through Liam’s arm. “I’m going to the restroom.” Liam whispered in my ear, “If you really want to make a scene, wait until we get home. Don’t do it at this kind of event. Understand? Come back quickly.” I hummed in acknowledgment, then went to the restroom and threw up. I vomited until I was dizzy. In my daze, I remembered the times at the facility when the administrators would force my mouth open and make me swallow pills to “calm me down.” Fortunately, I wouldn’t be “disobedient” anymore, and I wouldn’t be force-fed pills again. I walked out of the restroom. Passing by a terrace, I saw Chase smoking. Seeing me, he started talking. Chase blew out a smoke ring. “Are you just putting on a brave front? Jealous again, aren’t you?” “That Serena really is something, deliberately wearing that ring out to show off. She’ll be thrilled if she drives you ‘crazy’ again later.”

I walked straight past him without replying. I returned to Liam’s side. Liam looked down at me, satisfaction in his eyes. He smelled of Serena’s perfume, and there was a trace of her lipstick on his neck. No need to guess what they’d done while I was gone. But none of it mattered anymore. I glanced at my phone. Half an hour until ten o’clock. Liam leaned down and whispered in my ear, “About the wedding—we’ll hold it next month. I’ve looked at a few venues. Tonight when we get back, I’ll have Beta Jordan send you the information so you can choose.” I looked at him. “I already told you—forget about the wedding.” His voice carried a warning. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums. I’ve told you, I’ll only marry you. What more do you want from me? Do you want me to beg you?” He was getting impatient, mistaking my indifference for another tantrum. “I don’t want anything from you,” I said. “I’m just not marrying you anymore.” “Enough.” His voice turned cold. “Do I need to send you back to the island before you’ll wake up? Don’t be ungrateful.” I took a deep breath. “You still think I’m throwing a tantrum, don’t you?” “What else would it be?” He let out a cold laugh. “Isn’t it all because of Serena? Getting mad at me—how many times has this been now?” I wanted to say that I really didn’t care anymore. But before I could speak, Serena walked over again, holding a glass of red wine. She walked quickly. As she approached us, she suddenly exclaimed “Oh my!” and the entire glass of wine spilled precisely onto the front of my light-colored dress. “Oh my God! Ellie, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! Look at me, so clumsy…” She apologized loudly, but her voice held no real sincerity. Instead, she successfully drew everyone’s attention. Liam frowned but first comforted the supposedly startled Serena. Then he looked at me, soaked and frozen in place, his gaze cold, his tone clearly displeased. “What are you standing there for? Don’t embarrass yourself here. Go take care of it yourself.” With that, he put his arm around Serena’s shoulder and turned toward the lounge. Chase’s gaze landed on me like a spotlight, full of amusement and anticipation of a good show. If this were the old me, I would’ve already lost it and started attacking people. But now, I simply said calmly to the nearest server, “Could you take me to the changing room, please?” Chase clapped his hands and approached, looking me up and down. “Damn, Ellie, which facility did you go to that’s so effective? You can endure being treated like this?” “Are you really changed, or are you planning an even bigger counterattack?” “I have to say, this version of you is way more pleasant than when you used to throw tantrums. Liam might actually go for this. Very clever tactics.” I ignored them and simply followed the server outside. Behind me, Chase’s voice rang out. “You’re really just going to change clothes? Not waiting for Liam to come back and coax you?” I didn’t pause or look back. I didn’t go to the changing room. Instead, I went straight to the entrance and said to the doorman, “Could you call me a car, please?” I went back to the villa first to get my already-prepared small suitcase, then headed to the airport. I boarded the plane and put my phone on airplane mode. I slept for what felt like a long time. When I woke up, I’d landed. I turned off airplane mode. Almost instantly, my phone began vibrating violently.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “382546”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After the explosion, I escaped to a border town and opened a flower shop under a new identity. Everyone thought I died in that explosion. For two years, my gravestone has been spotlessly cleaned every single day. Until today, when a customer walked into my flower shop. The person who pushed open the door was an old friend of mine. She stared at me in shock, asking why I hadn’t gone back if I was alive. She also said Kael had been guarding my grave for two years and nearly committed suicide. Kael was my ex-husband, the Alpha heir of the Dubois pack. He had a childhood sweetheart. Her parents died fifteen years ago saving Kael’s mother, Luna Raven, during a Rogue attack. After that, Talia became Kael’s foster sister. After I married Kael, she began targeting me. The first time, she locked me in a burning building. I barely escaped by breaking through a window, my entire body covered in burns. Kael brought in the best specialists, pulled me back from death’s door, and helped heal my skin. The second time, she conspired with several Rogues to ambush me on my way home. I was beaten within an inch of my life. Kael rescued me and captured those Rogues, punishing them severely. She harmed, he rescued. Over and over again. Until the last time. Talia bought a potion from a witch and created a massive explosion. My entire body was blasted, my lungs critically injured. As they lifted me onto a stretcher, I used every ounce of strength to beg Kael to report this to the Wolf Council. He knelt down and gently shook his head. “Alicia, Talia didn’t mean it. Her parents died for my mother.” “For my sake, can you let it go?” In that moment, my heart died completely.

The next day, I woke up in the hospital, and the first thing I did was call Luna Raven. I knew she’d never liked me. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “I agree to divorce Kael.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Luna Raven responded decisively: “Good that you’ve come to your senses. I’ll have someone send over the papers. Just sign them.” Not long after I hung up, a lawyer appeared in my hospital room, mechanically handing me a divorce agreement. Tears blurred my vision as memories of Kael flooded back uncontrollably. In our three years of marriage, he’d been considerate and gentle, taking care of everything. But when it came to anything involving Talia, he never had any boundaries. The first time we met, Talia locked me in a house engulfed in flames. Later, with burns covering my entire body, it took multiple healers to restore my skin. Crying, I begged Kael to hold her accountable, but he just held me and said, “Alicia, Talia was just careless. She’s not a bad person. I’m just glad you’re okay.” From then on, time and again, countless acts of harm were all brushed aside by him. The lawyer took the signed documents with relief. “Alicia, once the divorce is finalized, I’ll deliver it personally.” After he left, I was alone in the hospital room. Before long, the door was pushed open again. Talia walked in holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, smiling brightly. I trembled all over, instinctively shrinking back. “What are you doing here?” She casually tossed the flowers on the floor, her smile radiant yet venomous: “To send you off personally, of course!” “The explosion didn’t kill you, so I’ll have to do it myself.” Then she lunged onto the bed and grabbed my throat in a death grip. I struggled desperately. But having just survived severe burns, I was no match for Talia, who trained regularly. The air in my lungs rapidly depleted, and darkness closed in on my vision. Just as my consciousness was about to fade, the doctor making rounds burst in, screaming: “What are you doing! Stop!” In the chaos, I used my last bit of strength to grab the doctor’s hand. “Call… call the Wolf Council…” Then I blacked out completely. When I woke up again, Kael’s dark face filled my vision. He was suppressing his anger. “Alicia, why did you report this to the Wolf Council? Talia’s been taken away by them!” My heart felt like a sharp blade had been driven through it, the pain suffocating. “She just tried to strangle me to death!” Kael frowned. “I’ve told you before—Talia’s parents sacrificed themselves for my mother. She’s wounded inside but not fundamentally bad. She would never actually want you dead…” “Not actually want me dead?!” I cut him off sharply, three years of fear, grievance, and rage exploding all at once: “She locked me in a fire! She conspired with Rogues to ambush me! She created an explosion that did this to me, and just now she tried to strangle me!” “Which time wasn’t an attempt on my life? If that doctor hadn’t come in, I’d be dead! Don’t you understand?!” Kael sighed and reached out to hold me. I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me! This time I won’t back down. I will make sure she faces legal consequences!” Kael was silent for a moment, then his eyes grew resolute: “Talia and I grew up together. She’s just been spoiled and become willful. I’ll strictly discipline, criticize, and punish her.” “But I will never let her be imprisoned by the Wolf Council and have her life ruined!” Before I could react, his assistant stepped forward and placed a document in front of me. “Sign this, we’ll let bygones be bygones, and things can go back to how they were.” I stared at the glaring words “Settlement Agreement” and felt utterly absurd. “I won’t sign it!” “Talia lost her parents young and has never faced hardship like this. She can’t handle a place like prison.” “Alicia, be good.” “I said I won’t sign!” I practically shouted. The next second, the assistant roughly grabbed my arm and twisted it hard! “Ah!” Searing pain shot through my entire body. He forced my hand to sign the settlement, then pressed my finger into ink and stamped it down quickly! Kael stood nearby, watching quietly. Drenched in sweat, I looked up at this man I’d loved for years, my voice weak: “Kael… you’re doing this to me for her?” He turned to his assistant and instructed: “Call the doctor. Use the best medicine. Get her hand treated and take good care of her.”

Kael didn’t show up for the next few days, only sending a few messages daily. [I’ve been swamped with pack business lately, can’t get away.] [Don’t be mad. When you’re discharged, I’ll take you to the countryside to relax.] [Does your hand still hurt? Take care of yourself.] But right after each text arrived, Talia’s messages would follow. All photos of Kael by her side. Pouring her water, massaging her shoulders, even using that self-defense knife he never let me touch to peel an apple for her. That night, lying in my hospital bed, I suddenly felt an indescribable pain in my body and heart. The pain kept me from sleeping. Sensing something, I called Kael. The phone rang for a long time with no answer. After I hung up, Talia’s message immediately arrived. [Hehe, guess what we’re doing?] Below was a video. Just the thumbnail radiated an intensely intimate atmosphere. My hands trembling, I opened it. In the video, Talia was disheveled, flushed, leaning against the headboard. She suddenly got up and tightly wrapped her arms around Kael’s waist from behind, pressing her heated body against his broad back. “Kael… don’t go… I feel terrible… that wine… was too strong…” “If you leave… something bad will happen to me… please…” Kael’s steps halted abruptly. He looked back at Talia’s hazy eyes. Finally, he gritted his teeth and hung up on my call. He turned and helped Talia back onto the bed. “I can only stay until morning.” The video then plunged into darkness, with only a low growl and Talia’s satisfied soft laughter. I felt frozen to my core, clutching my phone, stubbornly dialing Kael’s number. All night long, over four hundred calls. Kael didn’t answer a single one. Not until the next day, when dawn broke, did I receive a few words: [I was handling an emergency pack situation last night.] I twisted my lips in a sardonic smile. So his “emergency situation” was having sex with another woman. The day I was discharged was my birthday. Kael personally came to pick me up and threw me a birthday party at a restaurant. The banquet hall was exquisitely decorated, and he stayed by my side the entire time. After cutting the cake, he gently fastened a custom-made pure gold necklace around my neck. It drew countless envious looks. But all I felt was that necklace pressing on my chest like a mountain. Midway through, I couldn’t breathe and got up to go to the restroom. Just as I reached the hallway corner, Talia blocked my path. “Well, well, if it isn’t tonight’s happiest woman, Alicia?” She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her face full of mockery. I didn’t want to deal with her and turned to leave, but she quickly stepped forward to block me. “Kael values you so much—throwing you a party, giving you such an expensive necklace. You must be feeling pretty smug, right?” “But last time when you reported me to the Wolf Council, didn’t he force you to sign a settlement and get me out?” “Do you know how much Kael can’t live without me? We’ve been through everything together over the years! And yet you still shamelessly cling to him. Tell me, shouldn’t I hate you?” These words were like poisoned blunt knives, repeatedly torturing my already shattered heart. My face went pale. I just wanted to leave as quickly as possible. But she wouldn’t let it go, suddenly grabbing my hand, her nails digging into my flesh. “You didn’t die last time. Let’s see if your luck holds this time!”

As soon as she finished speaking, two burly werewolves emerged from the shadows in the hallway, grabbed me from both sides, and dragged me without question into an empty room on the top floor! I struggled in terror, but my strength was nothing against them. Talia’s eyes were vicious yet triumphant: “Alicia, since Kael likes you, I’ll destroy you completely! Let’s see if he’ll still want a mate who’s been ruined!” A sleazy-looking man walked toward the bed with a lecherous grin. I fought desperately, drowning in despair. Talia even pulled out her phone, ready to record everything! Just as that disgusting hand was about to touch my clothing, the door was kicked open with a bang! Kael stormed in like an enraged beast, radiating terrifying violence. Seeing me on the bed, restrained and disheveled, his eyes blazed with fury. With one clean shoulder throw, he instantly slammed the man approaching me to the ground. The guy didn’t even have time to scream before passing out. “Alicia!” He rushed over, released my restraints, and held me tightly in his arms. “Don’t be afraid! I’m here! It’s okay now…” The terror of narrowly escaping and overwhelming grievance burst through my defenses. I broke down crying in his arms. He scooped me up, carefully wrapping me in his coat, preparing to leave. As he passed Talia, his steps paused, his eyes cold: “Talia! I’ve tolerated your willful behavior before for your parents’ sake, but you dare use such despicable methods to hurt my wife!” “If anything had happened to Alicia today, I would never forgive you!” Talia was frightened by the undisguised killing intent in his eyes and stepped back, then shrieked as if wounded: “What are you going to do! Send me to prison?” “Fine! Kael, if you want my life, I’ll give it back to you right now!” With that, she unexpectedly pulled out a knife and thrust it toward her own chest! “Talia—!” Kael’s face went deathly pale. Almost instinctively, he dropped me and shot toward Talia like lightning! Caught off guard, I was thrown onto the cold, hard floor. My injuries were aggravated, sending waves of pain through my body. I struggled to get up, only to see Kael frantically carrying a blood-covered Talia and running out the door. I walked to the window and watched Kael rush out of the building carrying Talia, jump into his SUV. The engine roared violently as the vehicle sped away. Not once did he look back at me. I collapsed on the cold floor, watching the direction the car disappeared, my heart filled with nothing but endless desolation. Finally, I steadied myself, slowly stood up, and walked home alone. Kael had also returned. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so hard it felt like he’d crush my bones: “Talia’s bleeding internally. You’re the only nearby match for her blood type!” My vision went dark, blood rushing to my head. “No! Kael, have you lost your mind! Why should I save her?” But he gripped my arm tightly, his eyes pleading: “Alicia! Talia tried to kill herself because of what I said. I can’t let her die! She’s still young! Donating some blood won’t hurt you much. I’ll get the best doctors to help you recover and make it up to you tenfold later, okay?” I resisted hysterically, but in the end, he dragged me into the operating room and pressed me onto the surgical table! “Kael! I hate you!!” Before the anesthesia took effect, my cries became my last conscious memory.

When I woke up again, it was the next day. Kael was keeping watch by the bed. Seeing me open my eyes, he immediately came over: “Alicia, you’re awake?” He pulled out various expensive nutritional supplements, vitamins, and gifts, but I just stared numbly at the ceiling, my eyes vacant. That day, while Kael went out to buy me porridge, the recovered Talia snuck into my room. “Well, well, if it isn’t my lifesaver?” “Alicia, you’re so pathetic—unconscious for so long! Nearly all the blood in your body was transfused to me. Thanks to you, I survived.” I felt nothing but disgust and said hoarsely, “Get out.” She glared at me viciously. “A blood bank acting all high and mighty!” With that, she stormed out angrily. Shortly after, Kael burst into the room, immediately accusing me: “Alicia! Why did you bribe a nurse to poison Talia’s medication?!” I was baffled. “What?” “Talia said! You hate that I forced you to save her, so you bribed a nurse to add poison to her medicine, causing her to have a severe toxic reaction. She just barely survived the emergency room!” His tone was stern, filled with unquestionable accusation. “I didn’t!” Finally unable to take it anymore, I sat up abruptly, tears streaming down my face as I screamed: “Kael! I’ve had enough! Really had enough! You always only believe her! Always favor her! I was nearly killed by her! I’m covered in injuries!” “And you?! Besides forcing me to sign settlements, forcing me to donate blood, forcing me toward death, what have you ever done for me?!” “Your love makes me sick! Absolutely sick!” Kael froze. The door opened, and Talia leaned against the frame, her voice tearful: “Kael, you promised me! You said you’d hand her over to me for three days!” Kael looked at the weak Talia, intense struggle flashing in his eyes, but ultimately he agreed. “These three days, you cannot endanger Alicia’s life. That’s the bottom line!” “Don’t worry, I just want to teach her a lesson. I won’t kill her.” Talia immediately promised. I looked at him in disbelief. Kael was actually voluntarily handing me over to be tortured, just to appease Talia?! “Kael! You dare!!” I tried to get out of bed in terror. Talia waved her hand, and two burly men in work clothes entered, unceremoniously dragging my weakened body from the hospital bed. “Kael! Save me! No! I don’t want to go!” I cried out desperately, reaching toward him. But he just clenched his fists, stood in place, closed his eyes, and remained unmoved. For the next three days, I was held by Talia in a remote abandoned factory. She used every method to torture me. Whipping, sleep deprivation, forcing me to consume vomit—she exhausted every means to humiliate my body and dignity. Not until I was tortured to the brink of death did she stop and have someone dump me like garbage back at the emergency room. I don’t know how long I was unconscious. When I woke up, the doctor breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re finally awake! We almost lost you! You need to notify your family to come.” He returned my phone. As soon as the screen lit up, I saw an encrypted message from Luna Raven: “The divorce is finalized. Leave Kael quickly.” Thinking of Kael’s obsessive personality, I dialed Luna Raven’s private number and pleaded hoarsely, “Please help me forge a death certificate and use an unclaimed female corpse to replace me.” “If I suddenly disappear, Kael will definitely use every resource to search the world for me. Rather than endless entanglement, better to let him think I’m dead—a clean break. Also, I need you to find me a witch. I need to sever the mate bond with Kael.” Raven was silent for a moment, then finally relented. “Follow my people. I’ll handle the rest.” Under Raven’s arrangement, I left through the back door and headed straight to the airport. Meanwhile, Kael stared at his watch. The moment the three days were up, he immediately called Talia, his tone urgent: “Three days are up! Where’s Alicia? I warned you—no fatalities!” Talia’s voice was aggrieved. “You miss her that much? Don’t worry, I sent her back to the hospital.” Kael immediately drove over. Just as he reached the operating room door, the light went out. The doctor removed his mask and shook his head heavily. “Sir, I’m sorry for your loss. The patient was tortured beyond recognition, injuries too severe. We did everything we could.” Then a gurney covered with a white sheet was wheeled out. Boom—! Kael felt a roaring in his ears, his mind instantly blank. He violently pulled back a corner of the white sheet. “No—!!!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “382547”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster