Category: English

For three years, I was bullied and ostracized because I refused to do the school bully’s homework. 　　Scars layered upon scars on my wrists. The doctor said I had severe self-harm tendencies. 　　My parents were heartbroken, losing sleep, vowing they’d sell everything they owned to get me better. 　　But then, the bully’s mom burst into our home with a group of people, pointing her finger in my face and accusing me of seducing her son. 　　My usually timid parents turned pale with fright, not daring to utter a single word in my defense. 　　I hid behind them, trembling, begging Mom to close the door. 　　Instead, Mom suddenly snapped, grabbing a teacup from the table and smashing it against my forehead: 　　”Flies don’t buzz around unblemished eggs. Why are you the only one out of thousands of students who always causes problems?” 　　”We can’t afford to provoke them, but can’t we at least avoid them? Why do you have to stir up trouble with people like that!” 　　”Just die, go die and we’ll all be at peace, everyone will be free!” 　　Those words, like a bolt of lightning, shattered the last defense in my heart. 　　I looked at Mom. 　　Her eyes held no tenderness, only the frantic desire to shake off a burden. 　　Then I looked at Dad. 　　He was hiding in the corner, smoking, not even daring to look me in the eye. 　　I suddenly laughed. 　　”Fine,” 　　I whispered. 　　”Since you all want your ‘reputation,’ then I’ll pay with my life.” 　　I turned and ran towards the balcony. 　　It was the fastest I had run in seventeen years. 1 　　The moment my body became airborne, I felt no fear. 　　Instead, there was a long-lost sense of lightness. 　　Finally, no more writing Chad’s homework. 　　Finally, no more enduring the mocking stares of my classmates. 　　Finally, no more seeing my parents’ timid, afraid-to-make-waves expressions. 　　As I plummeted, time seemed to stretch endlessly. 　　On the balcony, Mom still held her hand out, pointing at me, her expression shifting from anger to stunned disbelief. 　　Dad’s cigarette fell to the ground, his mouth agape. 　　Mrs. Davidson’s cold sneer froze on her face. 　　But I didn’t look back. 　　”Thud—” 　　A dull, heavy impact. 　　Followed by the sound of bones shattering. 　　The intense pain lasted only a second, then came boundless darkness and void. 　　I thought that was the end. 　　But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating in mid-air. 　　My body lay twisted on the concrete, blood spreading rapidly outwards like a morbidly beautiful bloom. 　　The wound on my forehead was still there, and with the severe trauma from the fall, my face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. 　　Screams erupted around me. 　　”Ah! Someone’s dead!” 　　”The Millers’ daughter jumped!” 　　A crowd quickly gathered, some pulling out phones to take pictures, others covering their eyes, unable to watch. 　　I hovered above my body, watching the scene with cold detachment. 　　Rushed footsteps echoed from upstairs. 　　Mrs. Davidson and her people rushed down. Seeing the gruesome sight on the ground, she visibly flinched. 　　But quickly, she covered her nose, recoiling several steps with an expression of disgust, pulling her bodyguards behind her. 　　”How unlucky! If you’re going to die, couldn’t you do it somewhere else? Why in front of me?” 　　She even kicked one of my shoes that had flown off. 　　”I always said that girl had a weak constitution, such a drama queen. It’s truly an eyesore.” 　　I wanted to rush over and tear her mouth apart. 　　But my hand passed through her body, only stirring up a chilling gust of wind. 　　Mrs. Davidson shivered, cursed under her breath, and left with her group. 　　”Come on, let’s go, quickly, don’t get tainted by this bad luck. She jumped herself, it has nothing to do with us. Don’t even think about getting money from us!” 　　Just then, Mom and Dad stumbled down the stairs. 　　I thought they would rush to my side, weeping. 　　I thought they would regret the words they had just spoken. 　　But I was wrong. 　　Mom rushed out of the building entrance, saw the shocking red puddle on the ground, and her first reaction wasn’t to scream or to run over and embrace me. 　　Instead, she clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around in terror. 　　She was looking at the neighbors. 　　She was looking at the crowds pointing fingers. 　　Dad’s legs were so weak he couldn’t stand, collapsing to his knees about six feet away from me. 　　His hands trembled as he tried to reach for a cigarette in his pocket, but he couldn’t find one. 　　”How… how are we supposed to show our faces after this…?” 　　Dad murmured to himself. 　　Not because he was heartbroken for me, but because he felt “humiliated.” 　　”Michael, call an ambulance!” shouted Mr. Henderson, our neighbor. 　　Dad finally reacted, fumbling for his phone, pressing several times before finally dialing 91

　　”Hello… my daughter… she fell from the building…” 　　The ambulance arrived quickly. 　　The paramedic flipped my eyelids, checked for a pulse, and shook her head. 　　”Pupils dilated, neck broken, died instantly.” 　　A white sheet was draped over my face. 　　The moment the sheet covered me, I saw Mom roll her eyes back and pass out. 　　Not from overwhelming grief. 　　It was because of Mrs. Davidson’s parting shout of “Don’t even think about getting money from us,” and the neighbors’ murmurs of “How could that child be so foolish?” 　　She had ‘fainted’ from the shock of the gossip. 2 　　The police arrived shortly after, cordoning off the area. 　　A young officer walked over to inquire about the situation. 　　”Are you a family member of the deceased? Why did your child jump? Was there anything unusual before this?” 　　Dad squatted on the ground, hands clasped over his head, dirt clinging between his fingers. 　　He didn’t dare look the officer in the eye, stammering: 　　”No… nothing unusual.” 　　”Lily… Lily had depression, she was under a lot of academic pressure, we couldn’t manage her…” 　　”It was an accident, she just… she just couldn’t cope…” 　　I floated in mid-air, watching the man who had brought me into this world. 　　To avoid trouble, to avoid being drawn into a “bullying” investigation, for his pathetic “reputation.” 　　He actually pinned the label of “depression” on me himself. 　　Washing Chad’s family’s hands completely clean of any wrongdoing. 　　I opened my mouth wide, letting out a silent scream. 　　Bloody tears streamed down my face. 　　Dad, I’m already dead. 　　Are you still going to use my innocence to buy your so-called “peace”? 　　My body was taken away by the funeral home vehicle. 　　The crime scene tape was removed, and the crowd dispersed. 　　Only a dark red bloodstain remained on the ground, glaring under the setting sun. 　　Mom and Dad returned to our apartment upstairs. 　　Mom had already woken up. She sat on the sofa, her eyes staring blankly, mumbling repeatedly: 　　”It’s over now, the whole neighborhood knows…” 　　”Everyone will be gossiping about us when we step outside from now on…” 　　The room was a complete mess. 　　The broken ceramic shards were still on the floor, the very weapon that crushed my last hope. 　　The tea spill hadn’t dried yet, mixed with my blood. 　　Dad lit one cigarette after another, filling the room with smoke. 　　”Knock, knock, knock.” 　　Someone was at the door. 　　Dad flinched, startled, the cigarette burning his hand. 　　”Who… who is it?” 　　”Michael, it’s me, Mrs. Jenkins from downstairs.” 　　A curious voice came from outside. 　　Dad didn’t dare open the door, shouting through it: “Mrs. Jenkins, the house is a mess, it’s not convenient.” 　　”Oh, we just wanted to see what happened. What a foolish thing Lily did…” 　　”Did I hear it was because of an early romance? With a rich kid?” 　　”I knew it, she looked innocent, but she was probably a troublemaker…” 　　Even through the door, I could hear the malicious glee in their voices. 　　Mom jumped up from the sofa like a cat with its tail stepped on. 　　”No! No early romance! My Lily was just under too much study pressure!” 　　She screamed at the door, her voice shrill and slightly distorted. 　　The voices outside quieted, turning into hushed whispers, then the sound of footsteps fading away. 　　Mom gasped for breath, turning around to face the living room. 　　Her gaze fell on the bloodstain on the floor. 　　It was from when the teacup smashed my head. 　　”Quick, clean this up.” 　　Mom frantically grabbed a mop and rags, knelt on the floor, and scrubbed at the bloodstain with all her might. 　　As if cleaning the blood could erase everything that had just happened. 　　As if leaving no trace meant no one would know she had personally smashed her daughter’s head. 　　”Sarah, don’t clean it…” Dad said, his voice hoarse. 　　”What do you mean, don’t clean it? What will the neighbors think if they come in tomorrow!” 　　Mom cried as she scrubbed, her tears falling onto the floor, mixing with my blood. 　　”This damn girl, even in death she can’t make things easy for us…” 　　”She just had to make a scene at home, just had to make a scene in front of Mrs. Davidson…” 　　”Now look, everyone’s laughing at us, are you happy now!” 　　I floated on top of the wardrobe, watching her coldly. 　　Even at this moment, she was blaming me. 　　Blaming me for being disobedient, blaming me for embarrassing her. 　　Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. 　　This time, it was the police. 3 　　They were two uniformed officers, here to take further statements and collect evidence. 　　Mom and Dad immediately stopped arguing, their faces adopting that timid, deferential expression I hated most. 　　”Officers, please come in, have a seat,” Dad said, bowing slightly. 　　The officers stepped inside, looking around. 　　Their eyes immediately landed on the broken ceramic shards and the bloodstain that hadn’t been completely wiped away. 　　”What happened here?” one officer asked, pointing at the floor. “Was there an argument?” 　　My heart leaped to my throat. 　　Tell them! 　　Tell them Mrs. Davidson broke in with her people! Tell them she attacked me! Tell them you forced me! 　　If you just tell them, the police will investigate, and Chad won’t get away with it! 　　But Mom spoke first. 　　”No… no argument.” 　　”My hand slipped, and I accidentally broke the cup.” 　　”Lily… she accidentally stepped on a shard and cut her foot.” 　　The officer frowned: “Cut her foot? The medical examiner’s preliminary report indicates a blunt force trauma to the deceased’s forehead.” 　　Mom’s face instantly turned ashen. 　　Dad quickly interjected, speaking rapidly: 　　”She… she was agitated and hit her head herself! She ran into the corner of the table!” 　　”Officers, it really was an accident. Lily had always been sick, we even took her to see doctors…” 　　To cover up the lie, Dad even pulled out a bottle of his own sleeping pills from a drawer. 　　”See, these are the pills she used to take.” 　　The officer took the pill bottle, glanced at it, and looked suspiciously at the sweating couple. 　　But because it was a suicide, and the family insisted there was no dispute, actively trying to smooth things over. 　　The officers eventually just sighed, making a few brief notes. 　　”Since the family has no objections, please proceed with the funeral arrangements as soon as possible.” 　　The police left. 　　The moment the door closed, Dad seemed to deflate, losing all his strength and collapsing onto the floor. 　　He pulled something from his pocket. 　　It was my phone. 　　The screen was completely shattered, the casing bent. 　　It was one of my belongings the police had found downstairs and given to him. 　　Dad tried to turn it on. 　　The screen flickered a few times, let out a screeching electrical sound, then went completely dark. 　　Dad let out a long sigh of relief. 　　He actually sighed with relief! 　　He stood up, walked to the trash can, and unhesitatingly threw the phone inside. 　　”It’s better if it’s broken,” 　　he mumbled under his breath. 　　”So no one finds anything scandalous inside. If the police find any evidence of a secret relationship, how are we supposed to show our faces?” 　　He piled rotten vegetable leaves on top of the phone, then tied the trash bag shut. 　　My heart, along with that trash bag, died completely. 　　Even before the seven-day mourning period was complete, the house no longer felt like a place where someone had died. 　　Mom became like someone with OCD, frantically cleaning the house. 　　She packed all my clothes, books, and stuffed animals into large black plastic bags. 　　She wanted to erase all traces of me from the house. 　　As if by not seeing my things, life could return to the “normal” that pleased her. 　　”Let’s just throw all this out, keeping it just brings bad luck,” 　　Mom muttered to herself as she tidied up. 　　She picked up my backpack, the one I hadn’t been able to part with even in my last moments. 　　The zipper wasn’t fully closed. 　　”Clatter.” 　　A notebook fell out. 　　The cover was covered in large red X’s drawn with a marker, and in the middle, two menacing words: “BITCH.” 　　Mom froze. 　　Her hand hung in mid-air, her gaze fixed on those two words. 　　It was my math notebook. 　　She picked it up with trembling hands and opened the first page. 　　The once neat homework was now marred by charred holes from cigarette burns. 　　On every page, next to every problem, disgusting insults were scribbled. 　　”Why are you acting so holier-than-thou?” 　　”It’s an honor to do Chad’s homework.” 　　”Meet me at the field tonight. Don’t come, and I’ll make you regret it.” 　　A crumpled piece of paper fell from a hidden pocket. 　　It was Chad’s handwriting. 　　Just one short line, but vicious enough to make one’s blood run cold: 　　”Lily Miller, your dad’s a coward, your mom’s a snob, and you, a piece of trash from a trash family, aren’t even fit to tie my shoes. Come to my room tonight, or I’ll post your naked pictures online.” 　　Mom’s hands began to shake violently. 　　That note was like a resounding slap across her face. 　　She recognized Chad’s handwriting. 　　She remembered that day when Mrs. Davidson pointed at me, calling me a “seductress.” 　　She remembered that day when I knelt, begging her: “Mom, I really didn’t, he forced me.” 　　Memories flooded back like a tide. 　　That day, to appease Mrs. Davidson, she slapped me across the face and told me to shut up. 　　That day, she raised the teacup and told me to die. 　　”Ugh…” 　　Mom clutched the notebook, a wounded animal-like whimper escaping her throat. 　　She suddenly collapsed to her knees, staring intently at the phrase, “your mom’s a snob.” 　　”No… it’s not like that…” 　　Dad came in from the balcony, alerted by the sound. 　　”What’s wrong? Why are you crying and making a scene just for cleaning up?” 　　He walked over impatiently and immediately saw the note. 　　Dad’s face instantly went ashen, and the cigarette in his hand dropped to the floor, burning a black mark.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “411304”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 In my third year as a divorce attorney, Oliver forced his way into my office. On the CCTV screen overhead, the news was broadcasting his latest scandal: the city’s newest billionaire had just fled his own high-society wedding. Across the black mahogany desk, he sat with his head in his hands, looking utterly miserable. The wedding band on his left ring finger caught the light, gleaming mockingly. Oliver tapped the wood. His voice, deep and gravelly, broke the silence. “I need a divorce settlement. And a deed of gift.” “The divorce is for my fiancée, the woman I was supposed to marry today. Her name is Gemma.” “The deed of gift… I want to transfer every single asset I own to a woman named Abigail.” Abigail is me. But he didn’t recognize me. We had been broken up for three years, and for three years, he had turned the city upside down looking for me. Subconsciously, I adjusted my face mask and pulled the brim of my cap lower. I reached out and flipped the little sign on my desk to face him: No Consultations Without Appointment. Oliver froze. He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. In that single second, a visible tremor ran through his entire body. “Abby?” he gasped, rising from his chair. This was a man who prided himself on absolute restraint, yet now he was completely unraveling. Before I could even breathe a word, the spark in his eyes died. He sank back into his seat, his shoulders slumping as he muttered to himself, “No. No, it’s not her. I’m sorry… I lost my head. I mistook you for someone else.” “You couldn’t be her.” “She was with me since we were teenagers. If she were still in this city, she wouldn’t have hidden from me for three whole years…” I remained silent. My hand, resting on the computer mouse, was shaking so violently I had to grip it tight. Oliver. That name defined my youth. He was the author of every romantic memory I possessed. Once, I truly believed he would be the man I’d grow old with. Even after our split, I used to panic, thinking that if we ever crossed paths again, I would be the one to break down. Yet here I was, surprisingly calm, while he was the one falling apart. I tapped the sign on my desk again, then pointed to the notice on the door: Private Practice. No walk-ins. Without a word, he pulled a gold-embossed checkbook from his breast pocket. He signed a blank check and slid it across the desk toward me. “Name your price. Just do this for me.” “You saw the news. I walked out on my own wedding. My fiancée is looking for me, and I need this marriage dissolved immediately.” Glancing at the chaotic live broadcast playing on the silent screen above, I kept my voice low and raspy, asking, “Why did you run?” Oliver stared into space, lost in some distant memory. It took him a long time to speak. “Because I’m willing to give up everything to win back someone I lost. Someone I might never get back.” His expression softened into a profound, aching sorrow. But whatever warmth was left in my chest froze over. Instead, my mind flashed back to a year before I left. It was his birthday. I had lovingly baked a cake, bought a gift, and rushed home to surprise him. When I opened the bedroom door, I found him pinning Gemma to our bed, the young college student we had been financially sponsoring. When he saw the devastating hurt in my eyes, he didn’t even flinch. He just let out a soft, mocking laugh. “To be honest, Abby, after seven years, you’re pretty boring in bed.” “Gemma knows what she’s doing. You should take notes. Learn how to please a man.” “Don’t look at me like that. If you can’t handle it, you’re free to leave.” “But I give you three days. You’ll be back begging for my forgiveness within three days.” What Oliver never understood was that once I make up my mind to walk away, I never, ever look back. So, I didn’t just stay away for three days. I vanished for three years. I shook my head and slid the blank check back across the polished wood. “Take a right when you walk out. The firm next door handles standard divorces. They’re much better suited for you.” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “I did my research. You have the highest success rate in the city, and you get things done quietly.” “I’m offering you a fortune. Why are you turning me down?” Offering you a fortune. How incredibly familiar. Years ago, before he was a billionaire, he was just a boy from a poor working-class family near the docks. I remembered him kneeling before me in a faded, threadbare shirt, holding a cheap ring. “Abby, I love you. Please say yes.” “I promise I’ll marry you twice in this lifetime.” “Once as the broke boy standing here, and a second time when I make my fortune and can give you the world.” I hadn’t been swayed by his promises of wealth. Back then, I wasn’t the city’s most formidable lawyer. I was just a girl visiting my family’s old hometown. But I had never seen a man with eyes so bright, or with a love that burned so fiercely just for me. So I nodded, and we built a life together. But in the second year after he struck gold and became a billionaire, he slept with the student we took in. The next morning, he casually told me, “That grand wedding I promised you? I’m going to have it with Gemma instead.” “She’s throwing a tantrum, and it’s just easier this way.” “Of course, we won’t sign any legal papers. It’s just a show. You’re still my legal wife.” He spoke of throwing a wedding for his mistress as if he were simply planning a casual dinner with a friend. He didn’t care about my tear-stained face or my shattered heart. “Don’t give me that look,” he had said, sighing. “A wedding is just a display of wealth, right? I’ve already given you more money than you could ever spend!” But Oliver never understood. I never cared about his money. Pushing the memories aside, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I pulled a notepad and wrote: For the past three years, you have planned a wedding with Miss Gemma every single year, and every single year you have abandoned her at the altar. You are too much drama. It’s bad for my firm’s reputation. Please leave. Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he read the note. He stared at me intently, as if trying to pierce through my disguise. I didn’t blink. I met his gaze dead-on. Before he could say another word, a frantic voice cried out from the doorway. “Oliver!” A woman in a wrinkled, expensive wedding gown burst in. It was Gemma. She had shed the shy, awkward look of the broke student we had once sponsored. Now, she carried herself with a sharp, calculated glamour. Seeing Oliver, she burst into tears of frustration. “You promised me we’d finish the ceremony this time! Why did you run away again?” Oliver sat there, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Gemma, how many times do I have to tell you?” “These weddings were only meant to draw Abby out. I wanted her to see them and come back.” Gemma looked like she was about to lose her mind. “You’re still obsessed with her? You told me you loved me!” “We’ve had three weddings now, and she never showed up!” “She doesn’t care who you marry anymore! Why can’t you just let her go and build a life with me?” Oliver fell silent, murmuring almost to himself, “She cares. She’s just stubborn. She’s trying to punish me.” I felt a cold wave of amusement. Back when he was convinced I’d come crawling back in three days, he wasn’t this melancholic. He had been smug, self-assured, waiting to see how long I could last without his money. He was certain that because I had loved him since I was eighteen, I would never truly leave. Even when Gemma deliberately smashed my late grandmother’s heirloom bracelet and accused me of framing her, all to force me to come to his office, he didn’t bother asking for my side of the story. Like a judge handing down a sentence, he had simply looked down at me and said, “Abby, if you’re going to stay, you need to learn to get along with Gemma. I won’t have drama in my home. Both of you are important to me.” I swallowed the bitter taste of the memory. Gemma’s eyes darted to the plaque on my desk, her face twisting in horror when she realized what kind of lawyer I was. “What are you doing here, Oliver?” Oliver glanced at her, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m divorcing you.” “And I’m transferring all my assets to Abby.” “Are you insane?!” Gemma shrieked. She grabbed his lapels, shaking him. “What about me, Oliver? I’ve been with you since I was eighteen!” Oliver said softly, “So was she.” There was no warmth in my chest, only the memory of the night I had practically begged him on my knees, crying, pleading with him to remember our seven years together and just come back to me. He had seemed moved then, promising to cut ties with Gemma. Yet the very next day, I walked in on them again. I had screamed at him, asking how he could be so cheap, so utterly shameless. He had simply leaned back against our headboard, with Gemma smirking beside him, lit a cigarette, and said, “You want to talk about cheap? You were in my bed when you were eighteen, Abby. Let’s not pretend you’re a saint.” That was the moment my heart truly died. I had thought giving myself to him in our youth was a sacred act of love. To him, it just made me cheap. I cleared my throat, keeping my voice low and raspy. “If you two want to scream at each other, do it outside. My office is closing.” Gemma looked up, her eyes finally locking onto my face. Suddenly, she froze. Her face turned pale, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Abby?!” “No… no, that’s impossible. You just have similar eyes. It can’t be you.” “She would never stay in this city. She wouldn’t dare face him!” I kept my gaze cool and detached. She was right about one thing. I would never, ever go back to him. The day I caught them together for the second time was supposed to be the day of our “second wedding.” He had plastered it across every paper in the city. He was going to remarry his wife in a lavish ceremony to thank her for her years of devotion. The venue was the rooftop of the city’s most exclusive skyscraper. Helicopters buzzed overhead, and reporters lined the red carpet, waiting for the billionaire to sweep his wife off her feet. I stood there in the custom gown he had personally designed and hand-stitched for me, enduring the envious stares of the crowd, waiting for my husband. But Oliver didn’t show. An hour passed. Then two. The envious looks turned to whispers, and then to mockery. “What do you think the billionaire is doing? Did he realize she’s getting too old for him?” “I heard he’s got a gorgeous young thing at home. Why buy the old model when the new one’s so much fun?” “Look at her standing there all by herself. How embarrassing.” The grander the setup had been, the deeper the humiliation. I remembered standing there, my knuckles white as I gripped the silk of my dress, listening to the cruel laughter. Even my father had called me, furious, demanding I leave before I embarrassed the family any further. I fled back to our apartment. When I pushed the door open, he was in bed with Gemma. He didn’t even look up as he said, “Oh, right. The wedding. I forgot. We’ll do it another time.” Later, Gemma had whispered to me with a smug smile, “All I had to do was take off my clothes, and he forgot all about his suit. You can’t really blame me, sister.” “Could you… please take off your mask?” Oliver’s hesitant voice pulled me back to the present. I looked at him coldly, making no move to comply. Gemma stepped between us, crying hysterically. “Oliver, Abby is gone! She abandoned you! Why won’t you look at me?” “Do you think throwing me aside at the altar every year will make her forgive you for leaving her stranded? You’re dreaming!” Her words seemed to strike a nerve. A deep, ugly shadow crossed Oliver’s face. Without a word, he stood up and struck Gemma hard across the face. She fell to the floor, clutching her cheek in utter disbelief, but he didn’t even look at her. He turned back to me, his voice eerily calm. “Now, as I was saying. I want to hire you to draw up a deed of gift for a woman named Abigail.” I sighed, adjusting my papers. “A deed of gift requires the recipient’s signature to be legally binding. If you can’t even find her, this document is useless.” “Please leave, Mr. Oliver.” Gemma scrambled up from the floor, grabbing his leg. “Oliver, please! Beat me if you want, but don’t give her everything!” “I’m pregnant with your child! Our baby needs that money!” “She doesn’t want you anyway! She’s probably married to someone else by now!” Her words made me pause, and my hand instinctively drifted to the diamond band on my left ring finger. A soft warmth bloomed in my chest as I thought of the man waiting for me at home, the man whose smile always made me feel safe. She was right. I had married someone else, and he was a thousand times the man Oliver could ever hope to be. But Oliver couldn’t accept that. He slammed his hand on my desk, his face contorted with rage. “Shut up! I’ll leave enough for the kid.” “But Abby spent ten years of her life with me. Everyone in this city knows she was my woman. No one else would dare touch her!” “I have to take care of her. I need to give her a reason to come back to me.” “Once she sees that I’m willing to hand over every single dime I own, she’ll come home. I know she will.” He spoke with such absolute certainty. Yet he had no idea that the woman he was talking about was sitting right in front of him, listening to his grand delusions without a single flicker of emotion. Gemma stared at him, her expression shifting from fear to a dark, unstable rage. Suddenly, she snapped. “Her, her, her! That’s all you care about!” “I told you she’s never coming back! You’re losing your mind looking for her, seeing her face in every stranger!” “Open your eyes, Oliver! Look at who’s sitting right in front of you!” Before I could react, Gemma lunged across the desk, her manicured fingers clawing at my face, ripping the mask away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456143”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I sat at the long mahogany dining table, the rhythmic thud of a headboard and muffled moans drifting down from the second floor. It was my husband, Garrett, breaking in his eighteenth secretary. Today was our fourth wedding anniversary. It was also the fourth year since the True Love System bound itself to us. Four years ago, the moment we signed our marriage papers, the System descended. Every act of genuine love between us was rewarded. That was, until the day I found out I was pregnant. The System handed out its ultimate gift, a technological breakthrough that skyrocketed Garrett into the ranks of the world’s most elite billionaires overnight. But even a man certified by a magical entity could have a change of heart. Garrett took the seat next to me, his collar slightly wrinkled, a faint smattering of red marks on his neck. He ladled a bowl of steaming chicken soup and set it before me. “Sorry for the wait, honey. I specifically asked the housekeeper to simmer this for you today.” I nodded, my face an unreadable mask, and picked up the silver spoon. The next second, a long forgotten, cold mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. The Severance Protocol has been triggered.] I froze, the spoon hovering in midair. I glanced at Garrett. He was casually checking his phone, completely oblivious. It was certain. He had not heard the prompt. Footsteps padded down the grand staircase. The eighteenth secretary was a familiar face. Garrett immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for her with practiced, intimate grace. “Sylvia, this is Laura. She was the recipient of our university’s scholarship program last year.” His voice actually carried a hint of pleasant surprise. “When she brought it up during the interview, I couldn’t help but marvel at how small the world is.” “Garrett,” I interrupted his order for another place setting, my fingernails digging into my palms. “You promised. They are never allowed at our dining table.” The very first reward we ever got from the System was a lavish anniversary dinner. Garrett waved his hand dismissively. “Laura is different. I plan to mentor her personally.” “Mentor her how? Between the sheets?” The young girl’s face drained of color. She shrank back, her trembling fingers gripping the hem of Garrett’s expensive blazer. “There is no need to be so vulgar,” Garrett said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “I initiated it. She is young. You cannot blame her.” He patted her arm to soothe her. Suddenly, Laura looked up. Her voice was thin, but her words were crystal clear. “Sylvia, I am truly grateful for the financial aid you provided me back in college. But Garrett and I are truly in love. Doesn’t it exhaust you, clinging to a title when the heart is gone?” She had changed. The timid college girl I met a year ago had grown bold, her eyes gleaming with naked ambition. Garrett’s face darkened instantly. “Laura, know your place. She will always be my wife.” But his tone softened just as quickly as he looked down at her. “That doesn’t stop us from being in love. Just be a good girl and do as you are told.” A dry, bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Laura, he said the exact same lines to the seventeen women before you. Tell me, which number of true love do you think you are?” The pregnancy reward the System gave us back then was a technological blueprint decades ahead of its time, along with massive startup capital. When I was eight months pregnant, Garrett was overseas attending his company’s IPO gala. His aunt and uncle suddenly barged into our home, demanding fifty million dollars in alimony. They claimed that without them taking in an orphaned Garrett years ago, he would be nothing. During the heated argument, his cousin shoved me down the stairs. The whole family blocked the front door, demanding the money before they would call an ambulance. As a pool of crimson soaked the hardwood floor, I dialed Garrett’s number over and over. I got nothing but endless voicemail. Three hours later, the celebratory fireworks of his IPO lit up the foreign sky. And the fully formed baby boy inside me stopped breathing forever. When Garrett finally rushed back to the country, he handled his relatives, but began avoiding me. While I was confined to my bed in mourning, I smelled a foreign, sweet perfume on his dress shirt for the first time. I found a glaring, chestnut blonde strand of hair on his collar. I smashed every vase and mirror in the room. He simply stood amidst the shattered glass, his voice devoid of emotion. “It was just a one night stand. Don’t work yourself up. You will always be my wife.” I prayed countless times for the True Love System to appear again, to strip away everything it had given us. If we went back to being poor but in love, maybe Garrett would come back to me. But nothing happened. The mechanical voice I once viewed as a divine miracle remained dead. From then on, whoever caught his eye became his new personal assistant. When he got bored, he swapped them out. The entire corporate empire knew, but no one dared breathe a word. I drafted divorce papers. He tore them to shreds right in front of my face. The very next day, armed guards patrolled the estate, and housekeepers were stationed in my room, impossible to shake off. Propelled by the System, he sat comfortably at the absolute pinnacle of the business world. There was nothing he could not control. Garrett put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Stop throwing a tantrum. There is an auction next month featuring that vintage emerald set you have been eyeing. Consider it… compensation for number eighteen.” I ate my cold rice in silence. Those so called gifts were already gathering dust in the storage room. They made my skin crawl. He stood up, taking Laura’s hand to leave. He paused at the door, as if suddenly remembering something. “I am taking Laura to see the Northern Lights next week. The kid has been begging me for ages. Be good and stay home. I will bring you a souvenir.” Next week was the anniversary of my mother’s death. “Next Wednesday is my mother’s memorial. You…” “What does a memorial matter?” he cut me off, irritation lacing his voice. “We go every single year. Is her ghost going to haunt me if I miss one?” He pulled Laura closer, his tone turning frigid. “Mope all you want on your own, just don’t ruin our mood.” During our senior year of high school, my mother fell terminally ill. He knelt by her hospital bed, swearing on his life that he would cherish me forever. When she passed, he drained his entire savings from six years of part time jobs to give her a proper funeral. Every year since, he would kneel at her gravestone, recounting how well he was taking care of me, telling her to rest in peace. Now, he could not remember our anniversary. He did not care about my mother’s memorial. But he remembered his little secretary wanted to see the Northern Lights. The heavy oak doors slammed shut. At that exact moment, the icy mechanical voice rang out again. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received 99,999,999 dollars in highest denomination currency.] [The funds have been transferred to your encrypted offshore account. The Severance Protocol will be with you every step of the way.] The System had descended once more, pulling me from the wreckage. 2 After sweeping the fallen autumn leaves from my mother’s grave, I arranged the fresh white chrysanthemums. My fingertips brushed against the carved letters of her name. That stone was once the only warmth in my isolated world. I never knew my father or any other relatives. It was just me and her. That was, until I met Garrett in high school. He was like a wild, untamed fire, forcefully illuminating the bitter, barren landscape of my youth. We used to huddle together in a freezing rental apartment during winter nights, promising to be each other’s irreplaceable source of warmth. But Mom, he changed. That fire now burned me until I bled. “Ma’am, it is a call from Mr. Garrett.” The bodyguard’s stiff voice pulled me back to reality. I took the phone. On the other end, Garrett’s voice sounded unusually panicked. “Sylvia, the puppy Laura adopted is doing really badly. You need to come take a look.” A wave of pure absurdity pierced my heart like a needle. Years ago, when he rushed back and saw me hollowed out, having just lost our child, he had not sounded this frantic. He was only anxious about whether the System would revoke his wealth. I should have known. I should have realized it long ago. “Go to hell,” I heard my own dry, raspy voice say. Minutes later, I was essentially escorted by force into the black SUV. The car pulled up to the tiny starter home we had rented right after college. Back then, after receiving a massive cash reward from the System, we bought this place full of memories. We renovated it together, turning it into our dream nest. I pushed the door open. The interior was violently different from my memory, like a beautiful dream heavily vandalized. The spot on the mantelpiece that once held our framed couple photos was replaced by Laura’s graduation portrait. The velvet sofa I had spent weeks picking out was draped with a sickeningly sweet pink blanket. The air was suffocating, thick with a cheap, sugary perfume that completely eradicated the clean scent of sunlight and laundry detergent that used to live here. Laura initiated a video call from Garrett’s phone. “Sylvia, how is Peanut doing?” She lowered her eyes, putting on a masterful display of distress. “When Garrett and I found him last week, he was so weak. He refuses to eat. Could you please take him back to the main estate and nurse him?” I walked further in. The room we had painstakingly designated as the nursery had been gutted and turned into a dog’s playroom. In the corner, a frail puppy curled up in a designer dog bed. Tied around its neck was a glaring red string. Dangling from the red string was a tiny, blessed gold locket. It was the very same locket Garrett had walked miles up a treacherous mountain path to pray for, back when I was pregnant. We used to press our hands to my barely showing stomach, calling the baby Noah, praying for him to have a lifetime of peace and safety. “Where did you get that red string?” My voice trembled, freezing the air in the room. My heart hammered heavily against my ribs, every beat radiating a dull, sickening ache. “You mean the one on Peanut’s neck?” Laura blinked innocently through the screen. “Garrett put it on him. He said it brings good luck and protection.” He forgot. He did not just forget the locket. He forgot Noah. He forgot how we knelt side by side on the temple floor, heads bowed in absolute devotion. He forgot the tears and laughter embedded in the name Noah. He forgot how awkwardly, yet blissfully, we debated the paint colors for the nursery. Even the very last memento of my dead child had been casually tossed to his mistress’s pet. “I know this used to be your house, Sylvia.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with hidden triumph. “All the junk you two used to own is locked in the master bedroom. We even did it on that old bed of yours…” “But just the once. Garrett said it felt a bit gross being in there.” I walked over and pushed open the master bedroom door. Every single photo album, every souvenir, every piece of our shared history was piled haphazardly in the corner. Like trash waiting for the dumpster. I dragged them all out into the center of the backyard. Box after box, memory after memory, along with that red string and the tiny gold locket. My lighter sparked, spitting out a blue flame. The fire eagerly licked at the edges of our polaroids, consuming our awkward teenage smiles, swallowing the gold locket into the inferno. It was time to end this. Along with the unborn child, and all the years of pathetic, self deceiving fantasies. As the flames roared higher, Garrett’s furious roar erupted from the phone’s speaker. “Sylvia! What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Put it out!” His voice cracked, shrill and laced with absolute terror. “How could you… how could you burn it all!” I stared into the dancing, crackling flames, feeling like a spectator watching a play that had nothing to do with me. “It is trash nobody wants. Better to burn it clean.” “Laura!” 3 He immediately turned his crosshairs on her, his voice warped with panic. “What the hell did you say to her?!” “I… I didn’t! She just asked about the red string… and about me moving in…” The bonfire crackled and popped in front of me, perfectly masking Garrett’s out of control screaming and Laura’s pathetic sobbing. I stood right beside the blistering heat, yet a terrifying, ice cold silence soaked through my bones. The space where my heart used to be had been hollowed out long ago, scooped away by his endless betrayals. Now, even the leftover ashes were being swept away by this fire. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received a fleet of five legally registered top tier luxury vehicles across the continent.] I was not alone. I had the System. With every ounce of shattered hope and every act of rebellion, I received massive rewards tied to an overseas haven. From unlimited funds to supercars, the System was meticulously paving a flawless escape route for me. … When the two of them walked through the villa doors later that evening, looking utterly drained, my mind was composed of nothing but icy calculations. “Sylvia, I picked this out for you.” Laura had morphed back into her timid persona, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. “I misspoke earlier. I made you angry enough to burn your own things.” Garrett stepped forward, reaching out to embrace me. I sidestepped, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly in the air. “Noah is… gone. You can’t drown in the past forever,” Garrett said softly. “If that locket could bring some peace to the puppy, isn’t it worth it?” “Worth it?” I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “You do not get to say Noah’s name. It makes me sick coming from your mouth.” [Ding. You have received a sprawling vineyard estate in Tuscany.] Garrett rubbed his cheek. A terrifying smile stretched across his face, followed by words even more ruthless than his betrayal. “Fine. The playground and nursery you designed for Noah in the backyard? Tear them down. Staring at dead memories is bad for your health. Laura studied design in college. Let her use the space for practice.” Seeing the corner of Laura’s mouth twitch upwards behind him, an idea flashed in my mind. I snatched a sharp paring knife from the fruit bowl and pressed the steel firmly against my own collarbone, forcing tears to well up in my eyes. “You want to erase the very last trace of Noah to make room for your new baby? Are you trying to make room for a new Mrs. Garrett, too?” I saw the sudden, hungry spark in Laura’s eyes. She understood exactly what I was doing. The final jackpot, my ultimate ticket out of this hellhole, relied on one thing: a child. “Tear it down,” I pressed the blade harder, “and I will bleed out right here!” “Sylvia! Don’t do anything stupid!” Garrett panicked, lunging forward to wrestle the knife away, wrapping his arms tightly around my trembling body. “We won’t touch it! We won’t! You are the only woman who will ever bear my children!” [Ding. You have received full estate resources, including a historical castle, a full butler and maid staff, and private chauffeurs.] “I’m sending you on a vacation to clear your head. Too much has happened,” he murmured, cupping my face, his eyes swimming in a sickening mix of terror and fake devotion. “Go overseas. Go to Europe… see the places we talked about when you were carrying Noah.” The very next day, I boarded a first class flight across the Atlantic. For half a month, under the guise of grieving, I inspected the vineyard estate the System had gifted me. It was a breathtaking property bathed in Mediterranean sunlight, overflowing with blooming roses. It was perfect. In the past, every single reward from the True Love System went straight to Garrett. Cash, real estate, cars, they all bore his name. I used to complain, asking why a system based on our love only rewarded him. It turned out, my gifts were just severely delayed. When I finally returned to the city, Laura opened the front door. Just as I predicted, the backyard was unrecognizable. The sandbox and jungle gym I sketched out for Noah were gone, replaced by a tacky infinity pool and an outdoor bar. Laura wore a secretive, arrogant smirk. “See that, Sylvia? The memories you threatened to die for? I wiped them out with a few whispers.” She stepped closer. “Once I get pregnant, you are going to hand over the title of Mrs. Garrett quietly.” Hearing heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway behind her, I didn’t hesitate. I raised my hand and struck her hard across the cheek. The girl stumbled back with a gasp, collapsing onto the marble floor. 4 “Sylvia! What the hell is wrong with you?” Garrett rushed over, shielding her on the floor, roaring at me. “I authorized the demolition! If you are pissed, take it out on me!” I scoffed coldly, turning on my heel and walking upstairs. [Ding. You have received an elite architectural design studio overseas, complete with a full executive team.] “You are staying in this house! You are not going anywhere!” he screamed from the bottom of the stairs. Everything I needed was almost in place. My movements were completely restricted to the villa. I spent my days researching the design studio the System had given me. Their portfolio aligned perfectly with my own creative vision. When Garrett walked into the bedroom and saw the architectural drafts spread across my desk, a deep frown etched into his face. “Are you short on cash? Why are you playing around with blueprints again?” I casually covered the name of my new overseas studio with a notebook, not bothering to look up. “You grounded me. I needed a hobby.” “You are coming with me to the charity gala tomorrow.” He slammed the door shut on his way out. On the surface, I was still the trophy wife required for his public theater. But when the chauffeur opened my car door the next evening, I saw Laura standing there, draped in an evening gown that rivaled my own. She instinctively reached to link her arm through Garrett’s, but he hissed in a low voice, “In public, you are just my assistant!” Yet, his tone immediately softened back into a caress. “Be a good girl. I will buy you whatever you want tonight.” Laura’s face fell into a pout, and she trailed behind us obediently. I observed the entire charade with dead eyes, like a theater critic watching a terrible play. Given Garrett’s current billionaire status, our seats were dead center in the front row. Laura and I flanked him on either side. When the vintage emerald set he had promised me was rolled onto the stage, Laura leaned in, tugging gently on his sleeve. “Garrett, that would look so cute on Peanut.” Garrett turned, offering her a disgustingly tender smile, and nodded. He forgot again. Half the socialites in this room knew I had been coveting that exact emerald set for years. When the white gloved usher brought the velvet box over, he bypassed me completely, handing it directly to Laura. A ripple of thinly veiled gasps and murmurs spread through the surrounding elite crowd. Since he had decided to strip away my last shred of dignity in public, I was done playing along. I stood up, violently flipping the low glass table in front of us. The deafening crash of shattered crystal and porcelain echoed through the dead silent ballroom. Without a single glance backward, I walked through the shocked crowd, heading straight for the terrace. [Ding. You have received a forged, legally ironclad identity in your new country.] The gala was being held at a historic mansion perched on the cliffs of the Riviera. I walked toward the stone balustrade, letting the salty sea breeze whip through my hair. A few moments later, the clack of heels announced Laura’s arrival. “Sylvia, why make a scene and humiliate Garrett like that?” “You ruined the mood for the entire room. Garrett had to cover the entire night’s auction tabs just to save face.” “Being this hysterical is only going to make him hate you more.” She closed the distance between us, pulling a folded piece of paper from her clutch. Her ambition was fully bared now. “Besides, I am carrying his child. Your days sitting on that throne are over.” I took the medical report from her hands. I scanned the lines. It was a confirmed positive pregnancy test. [Ding. Please prepare yourself, Host.] The final reward was about to drop. In the distance, Garrett burst through the terrace doors, his eyes wildly searching the darkness. The second his gaze locked onto me, I gave him the brightest, most radiant smile I could muster. Then, clutching that pregnancy report to my chest, I leaned backward and let gravity pull me off the cliff. The wind screamed in my ears as I plummeted. The very last thing I saw was Garrett’s face warping into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. I saw him sprint toward the edge, diving forward, his hands grasping at empty air. He watched me vanish. Not fall into the crashing waves, but literally vanish. Like a digital image being deleted, I faded out of existence inch by inch right before his eyes. He even saw the lingering, victorious curve of my smile before I dissolved completely. But all anyone else heard was Laura’s piercing shriek. “Help! Call the Coast Guard! She fell into the ocean!” The security footage showed a clear, uninterrupted fall straight into the raging black water, followed by a massive splash. Everyone told him it was a hallucination. A trick of the mind brought on by extreme trauma.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456144”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was born with a curse, a twisted form of pain empathy. Any injury my identical twin sister suffered would register in my own body, magnified ten times over. Growing up, my sister Giselle became a notorious street punk. Street fights and brawls were a daily routine for her. She ran wild because she knew a fundamental truth: I was the one who felt the pain, not her. Our parents turned a blind eye to her behavior. Instead, they blamed me for being weak, claiming my fragility dragged her down and kept her from living her life to the fullest. To force me to hand over my early admission scholarship to her, she stood right in front of me and dragged a blade across her own arm, over and over. As I thrashed on the floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth from the agonizing pain, my family watched with cold indifference. My father didn’t even flinch. He simply lit a cigarette and muttered, “Stop faking it. Sign the waiver and hand the scholarship over to your sister.” Later, in a desperate bid to scam a wealthy driver, Giselle threw herself in front of a speeding sports car. The devastating impact registered in my chest, and my heart stopped instantly. But at the exact moment my breath left my body, my sister, the girl who had never felt pain in her life, screamed in absolute agony. Her name was Giselle, my identical twin sister. My name was Julia. From the moment we were born, fate had played a cruel joke on us. Any physical damage Giselle sustained would ripple into my body, multiplied by ten, while she remained blissfully numb, unable to feel a single ounce of pain. Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently. The sheer intensity of the agony reduced my voice to a ragged, wheezing rattle. Through my blurred vision, I could see Giselle lounging on the sofa, casually twirling a sharp utility knife between her fingers. A careless smirk played on her lips as the cold steel bit into her pale forearm once again. A soft slicing sound filled the quiet room as her flesh parted. “Aaaagh!” The scream didn’t come from her. It came from me. In that instant, it felt as if a power drill were boring directly into my bone marrow, tearing my very soul to shreds. I began to foam at the mouth, my limbs jerking uncontrollably as my fingernails scraped bloody gouges into the wooden floor. “Julia, that’s enough out of you.” My father, Belmont, sat in the adjacent armchair, tapping the ash from his cigarette with a look of pure annoyance. A stray flake of glowing ash drifted downward, landing squarely on the back of my hand. Sizzle. Another red blister bloomed on my skin. The pain was so sharp my eyes felt as if they would pop out of their sockets. I forced my mouth open, trying to beg for help. Dad, please. Save me. But no words came. Only a pathetic stream of tears and saliva smeared across my face. My mother, Amy, was busy peeling an apple for Giselle. She didn’t even bother to glance in my direction. “Giselle, sweetheart, you shouldn’t hurt yourself over something so minor.” Giselle pouted, looking up like a spoiled child. “But she won’t hand over her scholarship spot! Mom, I don’t want to take the college entrance exams. It’s too exhausting.” “Since she’s the younger sister, isn’t it her duty to bear my pain and help with my academic stress?” A cruel glint flashed in her eyes. She pressed the blade deeper, dragging it down until it nearly scraped her bone. “Aaaagh!” My heart contracted violently, as if a giant hand had reached into my chest and squeezed it to a pulp. The pain went far beyond the limits of human endurance. My body stiffened into a straight line before crashing back down onto the floor. My vision went dark. The sounds in the room began to fade, sounding distant and hollow. Amy nudged my head with the toe of her slipper, her expression dripping with disgust. “Stop acting. You’ve been pulling this stunt since you were a kid. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” “Look at you, looking like a dead dog. You don’t have a single ounce of your sister’s courage.” “Giselle is bleeding all over the place and hasn’t made a sound. You don’t even have a scratch on you, yet you’re squealing like a pig at slaughter.” Yes, that was my life. Because I was always the one screaming in agony, they saw me as a dramatic, fragile weakling. Meanwhile, Giselle, who couldn’t feel a thing, was praised for being brave, tough, and a survivor whenever she got into street fights. They forgot that I was the one carrying the scars on my soul. My father exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the grey haze. “Stop playing dead. Sign the waiver.” “Once you sign, your sister can go get bandaged up, and you can stop your little screaming show.” I tried to lift my hand, tried to show them that I was slipping away. My heart was fluttering wildly, completely out of rhythm. Then, one final, massive wave of pain surged through my nervous system. Snap. The final thread holding me together broke. My eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the chandelier on the ceiling as my pupils slowly dilated. My body remained frozen in a twisted shape, completely still. Seeing that I had stopped moving, Giselle walked over with an annoyed sigh. She wiped her bloody arm against my cheek, trying to force a pen into my stiff fingers. “Hey, stop faking it. Sign the paper so I can go to the clinic. It’ll save you some pain too.” The pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the floor. My arm fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. I was gone. My spirit hovered in the air, watching this absurd theater play out below. I was dead. Dead in the middle of my eighteenth summer, while my family watched with cold, uncaring eyes. 2 Giselle, frustrated that I wouldn’t hold the pen, kicked me hard in the ribs. “Mom! Look at Julia! She’s still throwing a tantrum!” Amy walked over and looked down at me. My glassy, unblinking eyes stared right back at her. She frowned, showing no panic, only irritation. “This girl has such a nasty temper. To think she’d try to threaten us by faking a fainting spell.” “Just ignore her. Starve her for a couple of meals, and she’ll crawl back.” My father, Belmont, was even more direct. He hauled my limp body off the floor and tossed me onto my bed. Then, he picked up the pen from the floor, forged my signature on the waiver, and handed the document to Giselle. “There. The spot is yours.” “Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!” Giselle squealed, jumping up and down, completely ignoring the blood dripping from her arm. She lazily slapped a small bandage over the deep cut. The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn’t care. It didn’t hurt. “To celebrate our sweetheart getting into university, let’s order a feast tonight!” Amy declared, ordering the most expensive seafood delivery available. Half an hour later, the food arrived, featuring a massive spread of caviar, king crab legs, and expensive oysters. The dining table sat right in the living room, less than ten feet away from my body. I hovered above the table, watching them gorge themselves. The briny smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the subtle, sweet scent of decay starting to drift from my bedroom. Giselle ate greedily, grease coating her lips. She peeled a sharp crab leg and carelessly tossed the shell backward. Clack. The sharp shell landed right on my face, catching on my eyelashes. It was a grotesque, mocking sight. “Hey, Julia, stop faking,” Giselle called out. “Get up and clean this mess. Don’t think you can skip chores just by hiding in bed.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Amy fed Giselle a piece of crab meat. “Don’t waste your breath on that miserable girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite.” “My Giselle is the one with real drive. You know how to be ruthless to get what you want. You’ll go far in life once you start college.” Belmont, his face red from the beer, pointed his glass at my room. “We spoiled her too much. All that pain empathy nonsense is just a mental illness to get attention.” “Look at Giselle. She bleeds without a single whimper. That’s the mark of someone destined for greatness.” They laughed and joked, painting a beautiful picture of Giselle’s bright future. Not once did any of them walk over to check if I was still breathing. If they had simply bent down, they might have realized my heart had stopped. But they didn’t. They truly believed I was playing a game of silent protest. By the end of the meal, Giselle let out a loud burp. She glanced toward my room, suddenly feeling annoyed. “Mom, her lying there is creeping me out. She’s just staring into space. It’s bad luck.” Amy stood up, grabbed an old tablecloth from a drawer, and walked over to my bed. She tossed it over my head like she was covering a pile of trash. “Out of sight, out of mind. Let her sleep on the floor tonight. No blankets for her. Let’s see how long she can keep up this act.” A single piece of fabric covered my dead face. And with it, the last shred of what this family called love was smothered. My soul trembled in the air. Not from the chill of the room, but from the utter, bone-deep coldness of their hearts. 3 The night grew deep. The air conditioning was set to a freezing sixty degrees, which only accelerated my rigor mortis. Before heading to bed, Giselle walked past me. On a whim, she stomped hard on my stomach through the tablecloth. “Make sure you scrub the floor tomorrow. It’s covered in my blood, and it’s disgusting.” It was a heavy blow, but I felt nothing. Instead, my stiff, frozen body bruised her foot. She muttered under her breath, “Hard as a rock. Even her attitude is stubborn.” The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the draped figure on the floor. Giselle woke up refreshed. Seeing me still lying in the exact same spot, she strode over and yanked the tablecloth off my face. My skin had turned a sickly purple, and the white foam around my mouth had dried into a crust. Giselle blinked, then burst into a loud laugh. “Julia, you really went all out to scare me.” “Who did you put on this dead girl makeup for? You should have gone to drama school instead.” She genuinely believed it was cosmetics. She nudged my stiff arm with the toe of her shoe. “Alright, get up. I’m heading to school. Don’t forget to wash my sneakers.” She tossed the cloth back over my face and hummed a tune as she walked out the door. I floated right behind her. At school, Giselle was on top of the world. She strutted around the classroom, waving the forged scholarship documents in everyone’s faces. “Some people can study all they want, but the prize still goes to me.” A few classmates who couldn’t stand her sneered. “Stealing from your own twin sister. How pathetic.” Giselle’s face darkened, and she lunged forward, slapping the girl across the face. A sharp crack echoed through the room. The girl was stunned for a second, then fought back, digging her nails deep into Giselle’s arm. In the past, I would have been rolling on the classroom floor in agony. The pain would have transferred to me instantly. But today, I was dead. Giselle looked down at the nails sinking into her flesh, a strange, ecstatic thrill washing over her face. She felt absolutely nothing. “Is that the best you can do?” she laughed, grabbing the girl by the hair and slamming her head hard against a desk. The sheer brutality of her attack terrified the classroom. Because she was immune to pain, she had no fear. “I am invincible!” she laughed maniacally, beating the girl black and blue. The teacher rushed in, and the parents were called. Amy arrived at the principal’s office. Instead of apologizing, she pointed a finger at the bruised girl. “Your daughter started it! My girl was only defending herself!” “My daughter is gifted. She’s strong. She doesn’t cry like some weak little princess over a tiny scratch.” The teacher pointed at the security footage. “Ma’am, your daughter’s attack was incredibly vicious.” “That’s called bravery! Strength!” Amy boasted, her chest swelling. “Unlike her useless sister, who has the backbone of a jellyfish.” Mentioning me reminded Amy that she still needed my signature to finalize some school paperwork. She pulled out her phone and dialed my number. The call went through, but the phone was vibrating on our living room coffee table. Nobody answered. “That miserable brat is still throwing a fit,” Amy muttered, hanging up with a curse. “Just wait till I get home. I’ll teach her a lesson.” Watching from the side, I found the entire scene laughable. They defended the abuser while dragging down the dead victim. They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion. 4 That evening, Giselle and Amy returned home, with my spirit trailing behind them. My body still lay in the corner of the living room, draped under the old tablecloth. It had been over twenty-four hours. A faint, sweet odor was beginning to escape from the fabric, but the heavy smell of the pungent cabbage stew they cooked for dinner masked it completely. Giselle sent a picture of a limited edition designer handbag to the family group chat. “Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into university.” Belmont looked at the price tag, which was nearly four thousand dollars. He frowned. “We just paid the administrative fees for your admission. Money is a bit tight right now.” Giselle immediately threw a tantrum, stomping her feet and slamming doors. “I don’t care! I want it! All the other scholarship students have nice things!” Amy tried to soothe her. “Sweetheart, can we wait a few weeks?” Giselle’s eyes darted around before a wicked idea popped into her head. “Mom, I heard those rich street racers have been tearing up the boulevard lately.” “Since I don’t feel pain anyway, why don’t I stage an accident?” She gestured excitedly. “We find a spot with no traffic cameras, and I’ll throw myself in front of one of their luxury cars.” “Those rich kids are terrified of getting in trouble. They’ll pay anything to settle it quietly. A few thousand dollars would be pocket change to them!” My soul shuddered. Were these human beings, or were they monsters? She spoke of a dangerous, illegal scam as casually as ordering takeout. Even worse was our parents’ reaction. Belmont stroked his chin, considering the idea. “It’s not impossible. But you have to pick the right spot. We don’t want you getting permanently crippled.” Amy looked worried. “What if you get a nasty scar? A girl shouldn’t have ugly scars on her body.” Giselle cast a careless glance toward the covered lump in the corner. “Who cares?” “If my skin gets ruined, we’ll just make Julia give me a skin graft.” “She’s a useless waste of space anyway. Her skin is perfectly fine. It would be a waste not to use it.” “And if my kidneys get damaged, we’ll just take hers.” “I’m the older sister. It’s her duty to sacrifice for me.” Belmont nodded slowly, blowing a ring of smoke. “True. We’ve kept her fed all these years. It’s about time she made herself useful.” Amy smiled, her worries vanishing. “Alright, it’s a plan then. Just make sure to protect your face.” They huddled together, eagerly discussing the details of the scam. They had completely forgotten that the “living organ donor” they were talking about was currently a rotting corpse. Once the plan was finalized, Giselle was in high spirits. She walked over to the corner and kicked the covered figure on the floor. “Hey, did you hear that?” “Get ready to donate your skin when the time comes.” “Don’t go playing dead on me, you hear?” Naturally, there was no reply. The body made a dull, heavy thud as her shoe struck the stiff flesh. Giselle scoffed. “Lazy pig. She’s sleeping like a log.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door to execute her scheme. Watching her leave, my soul felt a strange, intoxicating sense of anticipation. Giselle chose a secluded intersection. There were no street cameras here, and it was a popular strip for the local wealthy drag racers. She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a hungry predator. I floated above her in the night air, quietly waiting for the climax. The distant, roaring scream of a high-performance engine pierced the night. A crimson sports car sped down the asphalt like a bolt of lightning. Giselle’s eyes gleamed with greed. She took a deep breath, calculating the distance and speed. All she needed was a light graze, a dramatic roll onto the asphalt, and a massive payout would be hers. After all, Julia would be the one feeling the pain. Even if her bones snapped, Julia would bear the agony. She was used to it. For eighteen years, she had exploited this connection. From childhood vaccinations to broken bones, she had never shed a single tear, because every ounce of agony was instantly transferred to her fragile little sister. The headlights blinded her. Giselle lunged directly into the street! Screeech! The desperate scream of burning rubber tore through the night as the driver slammed on the brakes, leaving thick black streaks on the road. But the car was moving too fast. Smash! A horrific thud echoed. Giselle was thrown into the air like a ragdoll, spinning twice before slamming hard onto the unforgiving asphalt.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456145”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I went to bring my dad a Father’s Day gift, only to discover he was hiding a child in his office. I told my mom about it as soon as I got home. Mom looked at me, only half believing it. “How old is this child?” she asked. I thought about it seriously. “Probably about the same age as Dad.” Mom burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. “Your father couldn’t possibly have a child that old!” But Dad definitely called her baby. I heard him. He had said, “Aww, look at you! My baby ate every single bite from her baby bowl today. What a good girl!” And then, “What kind of cake do you want, baby? I will go buy it for you as soon as I finish working, okay?” Dad only ever called me baby, and I was the only one who used a baby bowl. So, that person had to be Dad’s other daughter. But Mom didn’t believe me. The next day, though, Mom saw the child Dad was hiding in his office for herself. A daughter who was clearly the same age as Dad, yet sat on the floor playing with plastic toys. Mom took me to Dad’s office to deliver the Father’s Day gift we couldn’t give him the day before. When the office door opened, Dad was cradling a weeping woman in his arms. She was about his age, but just like me, she was sitting on the carpet playing with plastic blocks. Even the way she sobbed was just like me. I looked up at Mom and whispered, “See? That is the child Dad is hiding.” But this time, Mom didn’t laugh or tell me I was making things up. Instead, her entire body began to tremble, as if she were facing her worst nightmare. “When did Miss Violet get back?” Mom asked, her voice cracking. Dad ignored Mom, waiting until the woman in his arms stopped crying. Then, he looked up with a cold glare. “A year ago.” “Do you have any idea what she went through this past year?” “She ended up like this because of you! No, because of both of us. We are both killers!” I didn’t understand what Dad meant, but I could see the blazing fury in his eyes. Terrified, I stood on tip toe and held out the Father’s Day gift I had been clutching. It was a photo album Mom and I had made together, filled with pictures of the three of us. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice as quiet as a mouse. Dad took it, but he just tossed it onto the edge of his desk without looking. He turned back to Mom. “Violet came back to the country last year. When she found out we were married and had a child, she lost her mind trying to find me. She got into a terrible car accident on the way. Ever since, her mind has been stuck at the age of an eight year old. She only has brief moments of clarity.” Mom took a step back, looking as if she had been struck. She shook her head, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned as white as her face. “When she went abroad, she had already broken up with you,” Mom whispered. “You only started pursuing me after the breakup, and we married two years later.” With a loud slam, Dad brought his fist down on the desk. The album slid off the edge, falling softly to the carpet, unnoticed by anyone. He gritted his teeth. “That was because I had no idea she still loved me! If I knew she only left because she was forced to, and that she still had feelings for me, do you think I ever would have married you?” Dad stopped himself, but the damage was done. Tears flowed down Mom’s pale cheeks. I had never seen Dad look so red with rage, or Mom look so utterly broken. Terrified, I burst into tears. It was all my fault. If I hadn’t mistaken that woman for a child, they wouldn’t be fighting like this. I finally understood that this child was actually a sick adult. That was why she acted like a little girl. Mom pulled me into her arms, gently rubbing my back to soothe me. After a long, heavy silence, Dad seemed to realize he had been too aggressive. He lowered his voice, but his words were resolute. “I cannot leave Violet behind. I am going to take care of her for the rest of her life.” Before he could finish, the woman suddenly giggled. She stood up and wandered toward us, stepping right on my photo album. Her dirty shoe left a dark footprint right over our family portrait. I wanted to run over and pick it up, but Mom suddenly stood straight. She looked at Violet’s beautiful dress, then down at her own faded, wrinkled clothes. I noticed that even though Violet was sick, she wore a gorgeous designer dress, and her hair was styled perfectly. She looked just like a princess in a castle. She pointed at Mom and laughed. “I remember you! You are the housekeeper’s daughter! Why are you just standing there like a statue? Come play house with me!” Mom did not argue. She did not say a word. She just lowered her head and meekly picked up the plastic blocks from the floor. Dad knelt beside Violet, his eyes filled with warmth. “Wow, look at you! You built such a beautiful little house!” He watched her play, his face glowing with affection. But he did not see Mom standing beside them, looking so small, lost, and completely covered in silent tears. Violet played for a bit, then suddenly snapped, “You stupid little maid! Put that block over here!” Mom froze, her hand hovering in the air. When Mom didn’t move, Violet began to scream and thrash around. Dad glared at Mom, gesturing for her to obey. But Mom slowly set the toy down on the desk. “Did you hear what she just called me?” she whispered. Then, she grabbed my hand, turning to leave. I knew Grandma used to be a housekeeper. When Mom was little, she had to live under the employer’s roof. She had to endure all kinds of bullying in silence. Whenever Mom talked about those memories, she would smile. But back then, Dad’s eyes would always turn red with sympathy. I used to tease him for being a crybaby. But now, Dad seemed to have forgotten all of it. His angry voice boomed behind us. “But you are a housekeeper’s daughter! Besides, the people who bullied you were Violet’s parents, not Violet herself! Why are you taking it out on her? She ended up like this because of you anyway!” I only half understood his words, but they made a cold shiver run down my spine. Mom didn’t stop. She held my hand tightly, almost lifting me off my feet as we hurried out of the office. When we got home, Mom began to clean like a woman possessed. She scrubbed the floors until they practically reflected the light. The redness in her eyes slowly faded, and as soon as she finished cleaning, she rushed into the kitchen to prepare dinner. It was as if she knew that if she stopped moving for even a second, her tears would spill over. I watched her move like a robot. A dull ache settled in my chest, but I was too scared to say a word. Mom cooked a massive feast, but Dad didn’t come home. She told me to eat first while she sat silently at the table. When the food grew cold, she warmed it up. She warmed it up again and again until the sauces dried up, but Dad never showed. The next morning, Dad finally walked through the door. Mom heated up the leftovers and set them on the table. “Eat,” she said simply. Dad frowned, looking exhausted. “Violet was hysterical all night. I am going to take a nap.” Usually, Mom would have rushed to make the bed for him. But today, she stood her ground. “Eat.” Dad assumed she was just being difficult. He turned to walk away. With a loud smash, a plate shattered right at his feet. Mom had thrown it. Dad sighed. “I was angry yesterday and said some terrible things. Don’t take them to heart. You know Violet is sick. Why are you acting so petty?” Dad was apologizing, just like he always did when he forgot to do the dishes, forgot their anniversary, or bailed on my school events. Every time he softened his voice and admitted he was wrong, Mom would forgive him. I thought she would do the same this time. But Mom remained completely silent. The silence was broken by Dad’s ringing phone. His face turned incredibly grim as he listened. He grabbed his coat and rushed toward the door. “Violet is crying because I am not there. I have to go.” He abandoned his heartbroken wife and terrified child, running out without looking back. Mom watched him leave, a bitter, hollow smile appearing on her face. That afternoon, when Dad returned, Violet was with him. “Since you already know about Violet, I decided to bring her here,” Dad said. “This way, you can help take care of her. After all, you share the responsibility for her condition.” I watched Dad run around the house. He seemed like a completely different person. He made her bed, cleaned her room, and rushed into the kitchen to cook her favorite ribs. I used to think Mom was the only one who did those things, while Dad’s only job was to work, make money, and play with me. Seeing him care for Violet so gently, I realized he knew how to do everything. He just didn’t want to do them for Mom. Mom saw all of this, too, but she didn’t cry anymore. Over the next few days, they coexisted in silence. Mom spent most of her time staring at a document on her computer, researching something intensely. One day, Violet started crying hysterically because she had wet her pants. I stared at her, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, her crying stopped. She looked down at the toy in her hand, her face turning bright red, and ran into the bathroom, locking the door. I realized she was lucid. Dad had said she had moments of clarity. Overwhelmed with shame, she refused to come out. When Dad came home and found out, he practically dragged Mom out of bed. “Violet wet herself! How could you let this happen? She is lucid right now! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for an adult?” He was so busy screaming at Mom and worrying about Violet that he didn’t even notice Mom was burning with a high fever, her body shaking. “I know you hate her parents, but you can not take it out on her!” He turned and knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Violet, sweetie, it is not your fault. It was her negligence. Come out, and I will make her apologize to you, okay?” With a click, the door opened. Dad rushed in, gently cleaning her up and tossing her soiled clothes into the trash without a hint of disgust. I remembered when I wet my pants as a toddler, Dad wouldn’t even touch me. Once Violet was clean, she still couldn’t smile. She hid behind Dad, keeping her head low. “I am so embarrassed. How did I end up like this?” She wept softly, and Dad’s face was filled with absolute devotion. He comforted her while glaring at Mom. “Apologize to Violet right now! If you hadn’t been so careless, she wouldn’t be this upset!” I shivered and secretly held Mom’s hand. Even though her skin was burning hot, her fingers were icy cold. Mom looked at Dad, her voice weak. “I am sorry.” Mom, who had always seemed so strong, now looked as fragile as a piece of paper. I tugged at her hand, wanting to take her back to her room to rest. But Dad was not done. “Is that all you have to say? Violet has lost her dignity!” Mom’s pale lips parted. “What do you want me to do?” Dad sneered. “I want you to lose your dignity in front of her, too!” Gathering all my strength, I tried to push Dad away. “Mom is sick! Why are you bullying her?” Dad didn’t budge. He looked down at me with cold eyes. “Did your mother teach you to say that?” Before I could deny it, Violet spoke up. “Gavin, I found something in the bathroom earlier.” She held out a small plastic stick with two bright red lines. “I am pregnant.” Mom froze, stumbling backward as if struck by lightning. Dad, on the other hand, lit up with joy. He scooped Violet into his arms. “Really? You are having my baby?” Looking at their opposite reactions, I couldn’t tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Mom’s voice trembled. “When… when did this happen?” Violet smiled. “I was lucid quite a few times this past year. We talked about old times, and we just couldn’t help ourselves. It was only natural.” Mom stood frozen, but I felt as if something had shattered right beside my ear. Violet stroked her belly. “You have no right to complain. Gavin and I were together first. You are just the intruder.” She reached out to pat my head. “You are going to have a little brother soon. Mine and your father’s…” With sudden strength, Mom lunged forward and shoved Violet away. She could barely stand, yet she shielded me behind her body. “Do not say those disgusting things to my daughter!” Violet stumbled back, looking at Dad with big, tearful eyes. A loud smack echoed through the room. Dad had slapped Mom across the face. It felt like my entire world collapsed in that moment. Tears poured down my face, but I was too terrified to make a sound. I tried to help Mom up, but then I saw bright red blood pooling beneath her. The force of Dad’s slap had sent Mom crashing into the sharp corner of the dining table, striking her lower back. It was an old injury from when they used to go ice skating together. Back then, when Mom had to get stitches, Dad had knelt by her hospital bed, crying. I will never let you get hurt again. From now on, any pain meant for you will go to me instead. He had protected her ever since, never letting her suffer a scratch. But today, he was the one who hurt her. Grimacing in pain, Mom whispered, “If you had married Violet back then, would you have treated her the way you treat me?” Dad didn’t answer. He was too busy fussing over Violet, checking to see if she was hurt. But Mom seemed to find her answer in his silence. Using the last of her strength, she leaned close and whispered a few words in my ear before passing out. I screamed her name, but she didn’t move. I ran to Dad, begging for help, but he scoffed, convinced Mom was just acting, and led Violet out of the room. In the end, I had to call our neighbor, who helped get Mom to the hospital. I stayed home, waiting for her to get better. But as I thought about the secret she had whispered to me before she lost consciousness, I knew she was never coming back. And Dad’s easy life was about to end.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456130”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After Echo’s husband died, she came crawling back to Thomas. “Toby’s fever won’t go down,” she sobbed, clutching at his sleeve. “He keeps crying out for his daddy. Can you please just pretend to be his father for a few more days? You and Travis are identical twins. No one else can do this!” Thomas instinctively looked at me, his eyes searching mine for a reaction. I merely gave him a cool, detached look. “Go,” I said, my voice empty of emotion. “Don’t let the boy’s fever get any worse.” He froze for a fraction of a second, surprised by my indifference, before grabbing his coat and rushing out the door. He had no idea. He was actually supposed to become a real father. But only days ago, Echo’s son had pushed me into the swimming pool. Thomas hadn’t even glanced at my medical report. He had been too busy defending the boy, his voice dripping with excuses. “Toby thought I was Travis. He actually believed you were the home-wrecker trying to tear his mommy and daddy apart.” So he never found out. I had miscarried. The moment the words left Echo’s mouth, Thomas’s tone turned freezing cold. “If he has a fever, why didn’t you take him straight to the emergency room?” Echo froze at our front door. Loose strands of hair clung messily to her damp cheeks, giving her a look of fragile, pathetic helplessness. “I called a private doctor,” she whimpered, “but Toby won’t let anyone near him. He just cries for his daddy. Ever since Travis died in that car crash, you’ve been the one playing his father. Now that you’re not there, he’s miserable.” She tapped her phone screen, bringing up a video. A little boy, flushed and semi-conscious with fever, was sobbing weakly. “Daddy, I want my daddy…” With every whimpering cry from the screen, Thomas’s brow furrowed deeper. Echo tugged at the corner of his jacket, her eyes red and pleading. “I know you’re married now, but please, just this once, help me again. You and Travis are identical twins. There is literally no one else who can play the part!” Thomas glanced at his watch and instinctively turned to me. “Laurie, I…” “I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I interrupted, my voice unnaturally calm. “They need you right now. Go on, don’t delay and make the boy’s illness worse.” For a rare moment, Thomas’s face went entirely blank. He stared at me, his gaze heavy with an unreadable mix of emotions. After a long silence, he offered a quiet, raspy explanation. “I’ve come to see Toby as practically my own son. I can’t just ignore him.” He wrapped his arms around me in a brief, soothing embrace. “Get some rest, Laurie. I’ll be back soon.” With that, he grabbed his coat and hurried out into the night with Echo. Once the door clicked shut, I picked up the envelope that had arrived earlier that evening. Inside was a draft of the divorce papers, sent by my lawyer friend. I stared down at the crisp white sheets. My hand slowly drifted to my flat stomach, and a bitter warmth flooded my eyes. Thomas didn’t know. He had a child. A real one. Except, before the baby could even see the light of day, it had been killed. Killed by his deceased brother’s son, the boy he loved like a son, in a tragic, deliberate accident. Thomas didn’t return that night. I was used to it, so I fell asleep early. When I woke up the next morning, my phone buzzed with a message from him. Laurie, Toby’s fever broke. There’s a family activity at his preschool this afternoon, and they require both parents to be there… I didn’t bother reading the rest of his lengthy paragraphs. After showering, I walked downstairs to find a lavish, nutritious breakfast spread across the dining table. Our housekeeper, Martha, beamed at me. “Mr. Thomas said you’ve been feeling weak ever since you fell into the pool. He personally instructed me to make sure you get enough nutrients to recover.” I gave a faint nod. While sipping my warm porridge, I opened social media. Echo’s feed had just updated. My sweet boy. Even though your biological daddy is gone, Mommy is still so blessed. You have another, even better, handsomer daddy to watch you grow up year after year. The attached video showed a family basketball game at the preschool. Thomas was wearing a jersey printed with “Toby’s Dad.” Tall and athletic, he wove through the opposing players like a gust of wind. And on his ring finger, he wore a wedding band that perfectly matched the one on Echo’s hand. I stared at the screen, a dry, bitter laugh escaping my throat. How incredibly thoughtful of him. He really covered every detail. Thomas sank a gorgeous three-point shot to seal the win. “You’re amazing, honey!” Echo’s voice squealed behind the camera, the lens shaking with her excitement as she waved at him. Thomas bent down, scooped Toby up, and hoisted him high onto his shoulders, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. “Was Daddy good?” The little boy clung to his neck, his eyes filled with pure adoration. “The best! You’re the best, Daddy!” For a split second, I was dragged back to a sunny afternoon during our senior year of college. A handsome boy had leaped into the air, releasing a perfect shot right into the net. Amidst the roaring cheers of the crowd, he had looked across the court, straight at me. His lips had moved without making a sound, secretly mouthing the words: Was I good? Staring at the glowing screen of my phone, the memory was so vivid that the word slipped past my lips in a fragile whisper. “Yes, you were…” Then a hot tear splashed onto my bare arm. I snapped back to reality, quickly wiping the moisture from my eyes. And then, I took another spoonful of the warm porridge, swallowing it along with my own salty tears. Echo’s family was whole again. Mine, however, had shattered into dust. Thomas and Travis had been twins, but they were so distant they might as well have been strangers. Because of this, I knew next to nothing about my brother-in-law’s private life. The day of Travis’s funeral was the very first time I met Echo and her five-year-old son, Toby. The face etched onto the cold tombstone was identical to my husband’s. My eyes burned with a sudden, overwhelming grief. Amid the soft, mourning whimpers of the crowd, Toby suddenly broke free from Echo’s grip. He toddled over on his little legs and wrapped his small arms tightly around Thomas’s leg, asking in a sweet, innocent voice, “Daddy, why is everyone crying?” Thomas closed his eyes in agony, his hand trembling slightly as he stroked Toby’s hair. Thomas wasn’t the boy’s father. But everyone standing around the grave remained dead silent. No one had the heart to shatter the child’s illusion. Neither did I. Looking at the tiny, fatherless boy, my heart swelled with nothing but pity. I had no idea back then that a single moment of sympathy, a silent agreement to let this gentle lie play out, would completely ruin my life. After the funeral, Thomas and Echo started seeing each other constantly. Echo had lied to Toby, claiming his daddy was away on a long business trip overseas. But as the months dragged on, the lie became impossible to sustain. So, she turned to Thomas. She begged him to step in as Travis, to accompany the boy just for a little while. “You and Travis are identical twins,” she had pleaded. “No one else can be Toby’s father.” I had a delicate constitution and had struggled to conceive. After three years of marriage, Thomas and I still didn’t have any children. Faced with his grieving nephew, Thomas had hesitated for only a brief moment before agreeing to this inappropriate arrangement. From that point on, our quiet nights were shattered. Every single night, Toby’s voice calls would ring through the phone like clockwork. His tiny, high-pitched voice would drift out of the receiver. “Daddy, I miss you so much. I can’t sleep.” “Daddy, when are you coming home?” One night, after we were woken up yet again, Thomas rubbed his tired eyes and leaned over to kiss my forehead. “I’ll go quiet him down. Go back to sleep, honey.” As soon as the bedroom door clicked shut, I slipped out of bed. I stood by the door, pressing my ear against the wood, listening in silence. “Yeah, Daddy loves you too,” Thomas muttered. “Daddy, you can’t just say you love me! You have to say it to Mommy too!” The hallway outside suddenly fell into a dead silence. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Just when I thought the call was about to end, a deep, quiet voice drifted through the gap. “Echo, I love you.” My mind went completely blank. Those words felt like a physical blow, striking my chest and shattering my heart to pieces. I didn’t know when their call finally ended. All I knew was the physical sensation of the mattress dipping behind me as a cold body slid back under the covers, wrapping his arms around me out of pure habit. I pulled away, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Do you love her?” Thomas froze, then let out a helpless, soft chuckle. “I was just playing along for the kid. I couldn’t blow my cover in the middle of a call.” He pulled me closer. “Are you jealous?” That night, he showered me with sweet, apologetic kisses, whispering promises in my ear. “Laurie, I love you. Only you.” But the heavy, suffocating knot in my chest refused to dissolve. In a moment of petty retaliation, I secretly put Thomas’s phone on silent. That was the night Toby went missing. Echo showed up at our house, furious. She slapped Thomas across the face with a resounding crack. “Why didn’t you answer his calls! He thought you abandoned him and ran out to look for you!” Thomas’s eyes darkened as he cast a subtle, quiet glance in my direction. The red mark blooming on his cheek made his expression look incredibly cold. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll find him.” Thankfully, Toby was found sleeping soundly on a park bench, completely unharmed. When we got back to the house, Thomas shed his jacket and rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaustion dripping from his voice. “Did you touch my phone?” I kept my composure and nodded. He quietly lit a cigarette, his eyes cold and distant. “If something had actually happened to Toby tonight, could you have lived with the guilt?” I threw the question right back at him. “And what about you? Are you really just trying to be a good uncle to your brother’s son?” Or was he planning to take care of the widow as well, keeping her warm in his bed? The cigarette caught between Thomas’s fingers paused in mid-air. “I’m Toby’s father right now, Laurie. That’s my responsibility.” My vision began to blur. I forced a smile and let the tears roll down my cheeks. “Right. Of course.” A cold war settled over our marriage. Thomas noticed my withdrawal and tried everything to win me back. Despite his packed schedule, he would find time to cook for me. Expensive jewelry began arriving at the house in various velvet boxes. But the knot in my heart remained. The delicious meals tasted like ash, and the diamonds sat untouched in their boxes. Thomas never truly understood the root of my silence. He continued to meet with Echo and Toby, treating their calls as perfectly normal obligations. I simply chose to ignore it all. One evening, Thomas was working late in his home office. His assistant had sent over some urgent documents, asking me to get them signed. When I pushed the door open, I found him on a video call with Toby. I masked my expression, laid the folder on his desk, and turned to leave. Suddenly, Toby’s voice piped up from the phone. “Daddy, the lady next to you looks really familiar. Who is she?” Thomas’s brow twitched, and his fingers froze against the mahogany desk. The room plunged into a suffocating silence. I was the one who broke the tension. “I’m his assistant,” I said, leaning slightly toward the screen with a polite smile. “I work for your daddy.” The moment the words left my mouth, the fountain pen in Thomas’s hand slipped, clattering loudly against the floor. I bent down to pick it up, placing it neatly beside the document. My voice remained perfectly flat. “Please sign here, Mr. Thomas.” His face was a mask of cold fury, but he signed the papers with hasty, messy strokes. I took the folder and turned to walk out. Behind me, the sweet, childish voice continued over the speaker. “Daddy, your assistant is really pretty. But Mommy loves you so much, you can’t cheat on her, okay? Otherwise, Toby won’t love you anymore.” This time, I waited, but there was no response from the man behind me. On Toby’s birthday, Echo brought him to our house for the very first time. Excited to see his “daddy,” Toby clutched Thomas’s arm, his eyes wide and bright. “Daddy, I love this house! Can Mommy and I move in here to live with you?” Echo stood nearby, her eyes gleaming with quiet anticipation, though she pretended to scold him. “Be good, Toby. We’d only get in the way of your daddy’s work.” Thomas instinctively looked at me. I was sitting on the sofa, working on my laptop, and didn’t even bother to look up. After a long pause, his cold voice cut through the room. “No. I prefer peace and quiet.” Toby’s face fell, and he let out a disappointed murmur. Then, his little finger pointed directly at me. “But today is supposed to be Mommy and Daddy celebrating my birthday. Why is the assistant lady here? She’s an outsider!” I froze for a second, then calmly closed my laptop and stood up. “Then I won’t disrupt your family reunion.” As I reached the entryway, a hand clamped tightly around my wrist. Thomas stared at me, his eyes dark and heavy, but his words were directed at the two people standing behind him. “You both have crossed the line.” Echo turned pale. She quickly knelt down and scooped Toby into her arms. “Sweetie, the assistant lady has to work here. She can’t leave.” Toby puckered his lips, huge tears rolling down his cheeks. “But Mommy, you said she’s a home-wrecker who wants to tear us apart! I don’t want her to steal my daddy away!” He threw a tantrum, crying at the top of his lungs, and Echo’s eyes welled with tears too. It was a pathetic, dramatic scene, making me look like the villain who was breaking up a happy home. “Enough!” Thomas’s voice was like ice as he glared at them. “Take him to the guest room. Don’t come out until he stops crying.” Once the guest room door slammed shut, blocking out the noise, Thomas pulled me into a fierce embrace. He held me so tightly it felt as though he wanted to fuse my bones with his. “Laurie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t handle this well,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple in a desperate, pleading gesture. “Please, don’t freeze me out anymore. If you’re unhappy, I’ll send them away tomorrow morning.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Make them leave now.” “What?” “I want them out of my house right now.” Thomas’s arms loosened around me. After a brief silence, he whispered, “Okay.” Echo bit her lip so hard it nearly bled, her red-rimmed eyes filled with humiliation as she hastily packed her bags. Even though she tried to hide it, I saw what was inside her suitcase. Tucked into the mesh compartment were several sets of revealing lace lingerie. They had never intended to leave. Did Thomas know? Probably. But he had silently allowed it. A wave of suffocation washed over me, and I walked out of the villa alone. The cool night breeze swept across my face, but it couldn’t clear the heavy knot in my chest. “Hey, assistant lady, do you like my daddy?” The childish voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I spun around. Toby had slipped out of the house unnoticed and was standing a few feet away. After a moment of silence, I answered quietly, “No, I don’t.” “Liar!” Toby’s bright, glassy eyes filled with angry tears. I looked at him, noticing for the first time how much his eyes resembled Thomas’s, while his jawline and mouth were a carbon copy of Echo’s. To any outsider, they looked like a perfect family. “Daddy yelled at me because of you, and now he’s kicking us out!” he sobbed. “Mommy said being a home-wrecker is bad. Give my daddy back to us!” I had no desire to argue with a five-year-old, so I turned to walk back inside. “You can’t leave! You haven’t promised me!” Toby lunged forward, grabbing my sweater with surprising force. Caught off balance, I stumbled backward, pulling him down with me into the empty swimming pool beside the path. Because Toby was visiting, Thomas had ordered the pool to be mostly drained two days ago to prevent accidents. Without the water to cushion the fall, I slammed hard against the cold, concrete floor of the pool. A blinding wave of pain turned my vision pitch black. A pool of dark crimson began to bloom against the shallow puddle of water at the bottom. Toby, coughing from a mouthful of water, began to scream in sheer terror. “Mommy! Daddy! Help me! I’m bleeding!” “Toby!” A loud splash echoed through the night. Two figures leapt into the pool without a single second of hesitation. I stared up at them, my eyes stinging. I couldn’t tell if it was the chlorinated water or my own tears blinding me. Toby was Echo’s son, so of course she jumped in for him. But I was Thomas’s wife. Why had he run to Toby first too? When I finally opened my eyes, everything was a blinding, sterile white. “You’re awake,” a nurse murmured, gently removing the IV drip from my arm. Her voice was full of pity. “I’m so sorry about the baby. Some things just aren’t meant to be. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Just focus on recovering. You’ll have another chance in the future.” Baby? The memory hit me like a physical blow. The blooming red water, the sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen. A deafening ring filled my ears. I clutched the cold metal of the bed rails, my voice shaking. “Where… where is my husband?” The nurse blinked, a flicker of disgust passing over her face. “No one has been here since that couple dropped you off last night,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand people sometimes. You just suffered a miscarriage, yet your husband is nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, that other couple’s son only got a minor scratch on his arm, and they’ve been hovering over him all night…” The rest of her words faded into static. Because the man she thought was part of “that other couple” was my husband. Once the nurse left, I forced myself out of bed. Clinging to the cold hospital walls, I dragged my weak, aching body down the corridor until I reached Toby’s room. Peering through the narrow glass pane of the door, I saw a scene so grotesque it felt like a sick joke. Thomas was sitting by the bedside, holding a picture book, reading to Toby in a soft, soothing voice. Echo rested her chin on her hand, a look of serene happiness on her face. “Toby really looks like Travis,” she murmured softly. Then, her eyes shifted to Thomas. “Thomas, you and Travis were identical. If you hadn’t broken up with me back then, if you had been the one sleeping next to me that night… our child would have looked exactly like Toby.” The words hit me like a physical blow. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and the world began to tilt. They had broken up? Thomas and Echo used to be together? “Thomas,” Echo whispered, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “You’ve been mad at me for so long. Haven’t you punished me enough?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456146”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 To boost Joey’s live stream, my brothers locked me in a commercial freezer. “Three hours,” Marcus promised. “We’ll watch the temp. You’ll be fine.” Owen smiled. “If anything goes wrong, we’ll shut it down.” Desperate to belong, I agreed. But the stream didn’t end. As viewership soared, they extended it, and the temperature kept dropping. Through the window, Joey watched the numbers climb, eyes bright with greed. I tried the emergency release. It was jammed. I pounded the steel, begging for help. Marcus frowned. “It’s barely freezing. Stop the drama.” Owen nodded. “Joey’s finally happy. Don’t ruin it.” Finn waved casually. “Hang tight. We’ll let you out at a hundred thousand followers.” They didn’t understand. I wasn’t chilly. I was freezing to death. And that sweater they gave me? Not rated for extreme cold at all. The cold crept up my limbs, wrapping around my chest like iron bands. My teeth chattered so violently I could barely speak, and my legs threatened to give out. My voice was nothing but a raspy whisper. “Please, guys, I am not lying,” I sobbed, clutching my phone with trembling fingers. “I am so cold. My head is spinning, and I can not feel my hands. Please just let me out. I will do whatever you want, I promise. Just let me out.” Marcus’s face darkened through the small hatch. “Iris! Enough. I have been patient with you, but this is ridiculous. Do you think I am stupid? The thermostat says it is perfectly safe. You have really improved your acting skills, I will give you that.” “I am not…” I tried to speak, but my fingers went completely numb, and the phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the icy floor. I clawed at the heavy door, desperately pounding my fists against it. “Send someone in to check the temperature! If I am lying, I will take whatever punishment you want. Please, Marcus, I am begging you!” For a split second, Marcus’s cold expression wavered. Owen seemed uneasy as he watched my desperate clawing. “Marcus, do you think she is telling the truth? Maybe we should just let her out for a minute.” Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Joey slid over, her lower lip trembling. “Why does Iris always have to make things up? The monitor clearly shows it is a comfortable sixty degrees in there. Does she hate me that much? Does she really want to ruin my big day?” She squeezed out a few tears, looking small and fragile. Instantly, Finn stepped forward, pulling Joey into a protective embrace. “I knew it! She is faking it. Iris, you are pathetic. How could you lie about something like this just to steal Joey’s spotlight?” He glared at the window. “It is just a few hours in a chilly room. Why do you have to act like a martyr? Joey is so sweet, and you can not even do this one small thing for her. You are just bitter and jealous!” Marcus’s gaze turned completely icy. Owen sighed, giving me a disappointed look. “Iris, I know this is hard, but just bear with it. Think of it as a quiet break. I promise I will let you out in three hours. Be good.” “I am not lying! I am really not!” I screamed, biting my tongue in my desperation. “Stop throwing a tantrum,” Owen said gently but firmly. “We will get you out soon.” A sharp click echoed as they slammed the small metal viewing hatch shut, cutting off the last sliver of light and my final shred of hope. I gritted my teeth and curled into a tight ball in the corner, trying to press myself against the wall for warmth, but the surface was covered in a thick layer of frost. The cold seeped directly into my bones. High up in the corner, the security camera blinked, streaming my slow demise to thousands of strangers. With trembling hands, I picked up my phone and opened the live stream. The viewer count had reached ten thousand, and the chat was flying by. Whoa, is she actually in a real freezer? Her face looks awful. Isn’t this dangerous? She looks like a literal corpse. Streamer, be careful. Damn, I thought other channels used green screens, but this girl is actually doing it. Dedication! “Make sure to hit that follow button, guys! Of course it is real. I would never lie to my favorite followers!” Joey’s sweet, high pitched voice echoed through the stream app. The chat went wild. Aww, she is so cute. Definitely dropping a follow! I struggled to keep my eyes open, watching the colorful gift animations flash across my screen. My mind was growing foggy. I had to do something, or I was going to die here. I looked up at the digital thermometer on the inner wall. It read negative twenty degrees. And I was wearing nothing but a cheap, thin cotton shirt I bought from a street vendor for a few dollars. It offered absolutely no protection. With shaking fingers, I dialed Owen. “Owen, please,” I sobbed. “I am freezing. Tell them to turn the temperature up. Please.” “Iris, just hold on a little longer…” Owen started, but his voice was suddenly cut off as the phone was snatched away. “Iris, why do you keep lying?” Joey’s voice came through the receiver, dripping with fake innocence. “Why do you hate me so much? The remote over here says it is sixty degrees. Why are you trying to trick Owen?” “I am not… the thermostat is broken! If you don’t believe me, just come inside and feel it…” “Iris, that is enough!” Finn’s harsh voice cut in, booming through the speaker. “Joey is just trying to build her brand and have some fun. Why do you have to be so toxic? You are making it sound like we are abusing you.” “Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing. You are putting on a show to get sympathy from the viewers. Well, it is not going to work!” The line went dead with a harsh beep. When I tried to call back, the call would not go through. They had blocked my number. The icy chill invaded my chest, slowing my heartbeat. The digital numbers on the wall kept dropping. Desperate, I turned to the only link I had left to the outside world: the live chat. I typed a message: Please help me. I am locked in a real walk in freezer. The thermostat is broken and I am freezing to death. The chat went wild. Wait, is she actually trapped? This isn’t just an act? I knew she looked off. Her lips are literally blue. Streamer, let her out! Yeah, this is getting weird. Don’t let someone actually die for views. A spark of hope flared in my chest, but Joey quickly crushed it. “Don’t worry, everyone! It is all part of the act. We would never actually lock her in a real freezer. If it were real, I would be more worried than anyone!” The skepticism in the chat quickly faded. Panicking, I tried to type another warning, only to find a red notification flashing across my screen: You have been muted by the host. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself to the camera, waving my arms and screaming for help, but Joey spoke before the viewers could question it. “Don’t worry, guys! This is just our special effects makeup demonstration. Stay tuned, because she is going to show you what severe frostbite looks like soon!” The chat calmed down immediately. Oh, wow, her acting is incredible! This channel is so high effort. Definitely worth a subscribe. This looks way more realistic than other streams! Outside the heavy door, Owen stared at the screen. He watched my pale, trembling form sway and collapse onto the floor, and a seed of doubt began to grow in his mind. “Do you think the thermostat could actually be malfunctioning?” Owen muttered, stepping toward the heavy door handle. “She looks really bad. Maybe we should just let her out now.” Joey quickly grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with desperation. “No, Owen, please! I am so close to ten thousand followers! Just a little longer, please. Once I hit my goal, we will let her out.” “Besides, we checked the room beforehand. The remote says it is a comfortable sixty degrees. She has to be faking it just to make you guys feel guilty and hate me.” She looked up at him with teary eyes, the picture of vulnerability. Finn stepped between Owen and the door. “Joey is right, Owen. Joey would never let anyone actually get hurt. Iris is just playing her usual games. Have you forgotten how she pushed Joey down the stairs and threatened her? If we don’t teach her a lesson now, she will keep tormenting Joey.” Owen’s face hardened. “She pushed you?” Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Iris has gone too far this time. She deserves to spend the night in there to think about what she has done.” “But what if she gets sick?” Joey sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “You are too soft, Joey,” Finn said, patting her shoulder. “That is why she thinks she can walk all over you. Come on, let us go get some dinner and leave her to cool off.” Finn led Joey away, and Marcus followed. Owen hesitated, casting one last look at the massive steel door, but eventually, he turned and walked away too. In the virtual world, thousands cheered for my masterpiece of a performance, dropping virtual gifts and clapping for my dedication. Inside the dark chamber, I finally gave out. My knees buckled, and I crashed face first onto the frozen floor. The biting cold rushed into my body from every angle. I could not feel the impact. I could not feel the pain. There was only a heavy, crushing numbness spreading through my chest. Marcus, Owen, Finn… I was not lying to you. I am really dying. My eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness claimed me. I do not know how much time passed before a strange weightlessness washed over me. Slowly, my soul drifted upward, leaving my frozen shell behind. I floated in the air, watching the tragic farce unfold below. The stream was still active. The comments kept rolling in. Damn, she has been lying there for four hours. Talk about commitment to the role! The fake fog effect is so realistic. With acting like this, she should go to Hollywood. She would be famous instantly! A profound, hollow sadness filled my spirit. I drifted through the thick metal door, floating toward the brightly lit dining room of the mansion. The dining table was filled with food. Joey sat at the center, smiling warmly. Marcus was carefully peeling shrimp for her, placing them on her plate. Owen was busy scooping her favorite side dishes, while Finn brought out a fresh plate of sweet and sour ribs. “Joey, I made these just for you. Your favorite. Try some.” “Thank you, guys!” Joey giggled, her cheeks full of food. “Slow down, sweetie,” Marcus said softly, wiping a speck of sauce from her chin with a napkin. Watching them, a dull ache throbbed in my chest. The warmth, the love, the sense of family that I had spent my entire life craving, the things I had practically died trying to earn, were handed to Joey so effortlessly. Had I been wrong from the very beginning? Maybe I should have never let them find me. Maybe I should have never come back, trying so desperately to earn a place in their hearts. If I hadn’t, I would still be alive. “By the way, Iris must be hungry by now,” Owen muttered, looking at the leftover food. “Maybe I should bring her a plate.” Owen, if only you knew that I am already a corpse in that freezing room. Before Owen could pick up a plate, Joey stopped him. “I already asked the housekeeper to take some food to her earlier. She is fine, Owen.” Owen paused. Finn frowned in annoyance. “If she already ate, she won’t want any more. Besides, I only made a small batch of these ribs. If you give them away, what is Joey going to eat?” “It is okay, Finn,” Joey said sweetly. “No way. My little sister needs to eat well. You are already too thin.” Tears slipped silently down my ghostly cheeks. I was already dead, so why did my heart still hurt so much? For the rest of the evening, my name was never mentioned again. They finished their dinner and headed upstairs. “Should we really leave Iris in there all night?” Owen asked, hesitating near the stairs. Marcus scowled. “Leave her. She needs to reflect on her actions. Besides, she has plenty of warm clothes, and the temperature isn’t that low. She will survive a night of discomfort.” “Exactly, Owen,” Finn agreed. “She targeted Joey. She needs to learn that her actions have consequences. We can not let her bully Joey just because she shares our blood.” Joey sniffled, hanging her head. “Please don’t fight because of me. Finn is right. I am not your real sister anyway. It is only natural that you would care about her more. I shouldn’t be here. I will just pack my things and leave.” She wiped her nose and ran toward the front door, but Finn quickly caught her. “Joey, stop. You are our sister, and you always will be. We only brought Iris back because we felt obligated to. Owen, tell her!” A flash of conflict crossed Owen’s face, but it quickly faded. “Finn is right, Joey. You will always be our only little sister. Now, stop crying and go get some sleep.” After they took turns comforting her, Joey finally returned to her bedroom, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips when they weren’t looking. The next morning, a blood curdling scream shattered the peace of the mansion. A worker hired to clean the storage units ran into the main hall, gasping for air. “Help! Someone is dead! There is a frozen body in the walk in freezer!” Marcus, who was walking down the stairs, froze. Owen and Finn, right behind him, stared in shock. Joey stepped out of her room, her face pale but her voice sharp. “A dead body? You are probably just another actor Iris hired to pull another one of her pathetic stunts!” As if snapping out of a trance, Finn sneered. “Exactly. The temperature in there was barely cool. How could anyone freeze to death? Did Iris tell you to say this to get our attention? Tell her she is not fooling anyone.” Marcus crossed his arms, his expression hardening. “Go tell Iris that if she wants our attention, she needs to find a better way than this tasteless prank.” Owen adjusted his glasses. “There is a manual release valve inside that freezer. Anyone could open it from the inside at any time. Your story makes no sense.” “What are you people talking about?” the worker yelled, his hands shaking. “I don’t know any Iris! I am just a cleaning guy! Why would I lie to you? The temperature in that freezer was minus thirty degrees all night! The body is stiff as a board! And the manual release valve is completely broken. It was sabotaged from the outside! If you don’t believe me, go look for yourselves!” But his words didn’t bring fear, only deep annoyance. “That is impossible,” Marcus snapped. “I checked it myself! It was working perfectly!” Finn ran a hand through his hair, his temper flaring. “I am going to see what kind of game she is playing this time. She is in so much trouble.” They marched to the freezer. Finn kicked the heavy door open. “Iris! Get out here! Do you think this is funny? You hired a guy to lie to us just because we locked you in for one night? If you keep acting like this, don’t bother coming back!” Marcus sighed. “Iris, stop this. Come out.” “Yes, Iris, please come out,” Joey whimpered behind them. “It is all my fault. I will leave, just please stop fighting with the boys.” My ghost hovered nearby, watching them. A bitter pang hit me. Even now, they would rather believe I was a manipulative liar than accept that I was gone. With no response from inside, Finn stormed into the freezing chamber. “Iris! Stop playing dead! Do you really think hiding in here is going to solve anything?” His eyes swept across the dark, frosty room, finally landing on my slumped figure right in front of the camera. He marched over, grabbing my shoulder roughly. “Iris, you…” But the moment his bare hand touched my skin, he froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456131”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My own daughter locked me outside on our seventeenth floor balcony ledge. We had been trying to cut down on household expenses. That was why I was out there in the freezing cold, risking my neck to clean the exterior windows myself. I was almost finished when I asked my daughter to hand me a dry rag. She stomped over, her face twisted in annoyance. “Why do you always need so much help? Who cleans windows without bringing a rag in the first place?” I swallowed my frustration and spoke to her gently. “Dad just forgot it inside. It is right there on the coffee table. Just pass it through the gap, please.” But her next move nearly stopped my heart. She grabbed the window handle and slammed it shut, locking it from the inside. Panic flooded my chest instantly. I yelled through the glass, begging her to open it, but she just looked at me with pure disgust. “You can just stay out there. Uncle Tyler is coming over soon, and you always just get in the way when he is here!” Tyler was supposed to be my best friend. My brother from another mother. Why would I be getting in the way in my own home? Before my brain could even process the thought, a vicious gust of icy wind slammed into my back. My body swayed violently. My center of gravity vanished. Pure survival instinct took over. I threw my arms out, plastering my palms flat against the freezing metal window frame. I didn’t even dare to exhale. Half of my boots were hanging off the edge of the concrete ledge. Seventeen stories up. If my fingers slipped even a fraction of an inch, I would be nothing but a splatter on the pavement below. “Lily! Sweetheart!” My voice was shaking so hard I barely recognized it. “Open the window! Daddy is begging you! This isn’t a joke, I could fall and die!” Lily acted like she could not even hear me. She just looked down, tapped her screen, and loaded up her mobile game. “Nobody is joking with you. All you do is nag me about my screen time anyway. You are so annoying! Uncle Tyler never yells at me about my games. You can just chill out there for a while!” Without another word, she spun on her heel, walked back into the living room, and yanked the heavy curtains shut. A second later, I heard the heavy thud of the sliding glass balcony door locking into place. All sound from the inside was completely cut off. I was spreadeagled against the window frame, completely paralyzed by gravity. The winter wind howled against my spine, sinking its teeth into my jacket. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The curtains were not pulled completely tight. Through a narrow gap, I could see Lily curled up comfortably on the plush sofa. Her thumbs were flying across her phone screen, a giddy little smile playing on her lips. Looking at her, a sickening wave of grief washed over me. This was the daughter I had busted my back to raise. Just because I restricted her video games, she locked me on a freezing ledge seventeen stories in the air. She didn’t care if I lived or died. She even compared me to Tyler. Of course Tyler didn’t discipline her. He wasn’t her father. He got to be the fun uncle with zero responsibilities. While my mind spun, the front door swung open. Judging by the time, it had to be my mother in law, Helen. I was just about to risk freeing one hand to bang on the glass when I saw two more figures walk in behind her. My wife, Rachel, and my best friend, Tyler. The moment Rachel walked in, she looked at Lily. “Did your dad go out for groceries?” Lily didn’t even look up from her game. Her tone was completely casual, laced with an easy lie. “Yeah, he left. He said he was going to the big market and wouldn’t be back for an hour.” Rachel nodded, supporting her swollen belly as she sank onto the edge of the sofa. “When Tyler gets settled, let him heat up some of that rich bone broth for you. You need your strength,” Helen fussed, taking Rachel’s coat. Tyler sat down right next to Rachel, his eyes locked on her pregnant belly with a look of absolute adoration. “It might be her second pregnancy, but we still have to treat her like a queen.” When Rachel first got pregnant this time, I had practically begged her not to keep it. Her health was incredibly fragile. Having Lily had nearly killed her. Going through another high risk pregnancy was like playing Russian roulette with her life. I didn’t want to lose my wife over a second child. But Rachel was adamant. She claimed it was a miracle and insisted on going through with it. Eventually, Tyler stepped in. He said he was worried I would not be able to handle the stress of caring for a high risk pregnant woman alone. He started coming over every single day. He cooked, he cleaned, he catered to her every whim. I never had an issue with it. He was my best friend. I trusted him with my life. But staring through that narrow gap in the curtains, the blindfold was finally ripped off my eyes. The way my wife and my mother in law looked at him. The gentle touches. The soft smiles. They treated him with far more intimacy than they ever showed me. 2 But I didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on their twisted dynamic. My fingers were going numb. I slammed my fist against the glass. The muffled thud echoed into the apartment. Helen frowned, standing up and looking toward the balcony. “What was that noise?” A surge of wild hope flared in my chest. I hit the glass three more times. But Lily suddenly jumped up from the sofa and grabbed her grandmother’s arm. “Nana, don’t go look! It’s almost Christmas. It is definitely just those bad kids downstairs setting off loud fireworks again. They have been doing it all morning.” Helen nodded immediately, her suspicion evaporating. “Kids these days have no manners. Just making a racket and giving people migraines.” The blood in my veins turned to absolute ice. My own flesh and blood. My daughter. She actively covered for my absence and lied to keep them from finding me. Staring at her through the glass, I felt completely sick to my stomach. Tyler reached out and rested his hand gently on Rachel’s swollen abdomen. It was a deeply intimate gesture. “This kid is kicking hard. Gonna be a real fighter.” Rachel nudged him playfully, a dark blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah. Honestly, we are so lucky to have you around taking care of us. When the baby is born, I am definitely making you the godfather.” Tyler reached up and pinched Rachel’s cheek. His voice was thick with implication. “Why settle for godfather? It is only a matter of time anyway.” “Besides, Cole is completely useless in that department. You need someone strong. Someone who actually knows how to make a woman happy.” “When the time is right, we will make our move.” Those words plunged into my chest like a jagged knife. When Rachel and I were first married, I was young, reckless, and completely uneducated about her medical history. I accidentally caused a severe internal hemorrhage during intimacy. It was the greatest regret of my life. Ever since then, no matter how desperate I was, I would take freezing cold showers and suppress every urge just to ensure I never hurt her again. I treated her like glass. I never in a million years thought my restraint would become the reason she found me disgusting. Fat, wet flakes of snow began to fall from the gray sky, landing on my shoulders. But the snow was nothing compared to the absolute winter inside my heart. Lily finished her round of gaming. She tossed her phone aside, ran over to Tyler, and grabbed his hand. “Uncle Tyler, you are the best. You are a million times better than my dad. When are you going to be my real dad?” Tyler’s face flushed with fake modesty. He put on a show of looking embarrassed. “Lily, don’t say things like that. Your mom and I aren’t… we aren’t like that.” Rachel stroked her belly, her eyes darting over to Tyler with a look of pure, hungry longing. Helen sat in the armchair, watching the three of them with a warm, approving smile. Looking at them, you would think they were the perfect, happy family. Witnessing this sickening domestic bliss, the tears finally spilled over my freezing eyelashes. I tried to tell myself Lily was just a kid. She didn’t understand the gravity of what she was doing. I ground my teeth together and began hammering on the glass with both fists. Helen finally snapped. The relentless noise was grating on her nerves. She stood up, her face flushed with anger, and marched toward the balcony. “Who do these little brats think they are?! Setting off fireworks right against our windows! I am going to give them a piece of my mind!” Lily’s face went pale. She tried to grab her grandmother, but she was too late. Helen yanked the sliding door open and tore the curtains back. Our eyes locked. Time completely froze. Helen’s jaw dropped open in absolute shock. Rachel and Tyler snapped their heads toward the balcony. When they saw me plastered against the exterior wall, shivering violently, their faces went blank. “What the hell are you doing out there?” Helen shrieked, finding her voice. “Lily said you went to the market!” Lily’s eyes darted nervously. Then, a manipulative little spark lit up her face. It was the exact expression she made right before she spun a massive lie. “I locked him out there! And he deserves it for talking trash about Uncle Tyler!” Lily pointed a dramatic finger at me, doubling down on her sick fantasy. 3 “Mom, he was acting totally crazy! He said he hated that you guys were nice to Uncle Tyler. He called him a cheap gigolo who only comes around for free food!” “I was so mad I locked him out to teach him a lesson!” My eyes went wide. The blood rushed so hard to my frozen ears I thought they would explode. When had I ever said a single word like that? Tyler immediately clutched his chest, taking a theatrical step backward like he had been physically struck. “Cole… how could you say those things about me? I thought we were brothers. I have broken my back helping your family, and this is how you insult me?” Rachel’s face darkened into a scowl. The look she gave me was filled with pure venom. “Cole! I cannot believe I ever married someone so pathetic!” “If Tyler hadn’t stepped up during this pregnancy, I would be entirely miserable right now!” “You don’t have an ounce of gratitude in your body. How dare you insult him like that?” “Lily did the right thing! You need to stay out there and seriously reflect on your toxic behavior!” Helen immediately moved to stand next to Tyler, glaring at me like I was a convicted criminal trespassing on her property. “I never said that!” I screamed over the howling wind, my voice cracking with desperation. “Lily is lying! I swear to God I never said a word against him! Please, just open the window! My hands are going numb, I am going to fall!” Rachel looked at my trembling body. A flicker of genuine hesitation crossed her face. She reached for the handle. But then, her face suddenly contorted. She clutched her stomach and let out a piercing wail. “Oh God! My stomach. It hurts so bad. The baby…” The entire room went into an instant panic. Tyler and Helen rushed to her sides, holding her up. “Rachel, honey, look at me! Don’t panic! We are taking you to the ER right now!” Tyler shouted, playing the hero flawlessly. Helen and Lily hovered around her in tears. The three of them guided Rachel frantically toward the front door. Not a single one of them looked back at the balcony. Right as Tyler reached the threshold, he paused. He turned his head and shot me a look of pure, absolute malice. “Enjoy the weather, Cole.” The front door slammed shut. I was left clinging to the exterior wall, the last of my adrenaline draining away. I was completely abandoned. Left to die on a ledge seventeen stories in the air. But I refused to die here. I hadn’t lived enough yet to let them win. The primal instinct to survive sparked a fire in my freezing blood. I looked over at the neighbor’s balcony. It was a completely insane idea. The concrete ledge connecting our apartments was barely the width of a human hand. It was slick with fresh snow. One wrong shift in weight, one slip of a frozen boot, and I would plummet to the concrete below. But staying here was a guaranteed death sentence. Wait for Rachel and Tyler to come back? They only cared about each other. They probably hoped I would fall so they wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. It was climb or die. I sucked in a lungful of freezing air. I peeled one hand off the window frame and pressed it flat against the icy brick wall. I began to shuffle. Inch by terrifying inch. My boots sliding dangerously on the snowy concrete. I kept my eyes locked onto the neighbor’s balcony rail. I refused to look down. I have no idea how long it took. Time lost all meaning. Finally, my frozen fingers wrapped around the metal railing of the neighbor’s balcony. I dragged myself over the rail and collapsed onto their deck. I used the last ounce of my strength to bang weakly on their sliding glass door. The living room lights flicked on. A second later, the curtains were thrown back. The elderly couple inside jumped in terror when they saw a half frozen man sprawled on their balcony. They scrambled to unlock the door and hauled me inside. The moment I hit their carpet, my body gave out completely. I lay there gasping for air, unable to form a single word. The neighbor rushed to get me a mug of boiling water. I forced it down my raw throat. The heat spreading through my chest was the only proof I was still alive. It took me twenty minutes to stop shaking enough to speak. I gave them a heavily edited version of the truth. I left Lily out of it entirely. I just said the wind had blown the window shut while I was cleaning, locking me out by accident. I thanked them profusely, borrowed a jacket, and walked back to my own apartment. Right as I unlocked my front door, I heard the elevator ding down the hall. 4 They were back. Tyler was practically carrying Rachel down the hall. Lily was trailing right behind them, holding Tyler’s coat. Rachel’s color had returned. She was leaning heavily against Tyler’s shoulder, whispering something that made him chuckle. They stepped into the apartment and froze. Rachel frowned. She didn’t even bother to ask how I survived or how I got back inside. She just waved her hand dismissively. Tyler was the one who broke the silence. “Oh, you got back in? Perfect. Go start dinner. Rachel just got back from the hospital and she is exhausted. She needs that bone broth.” His tone was completely flat. He was speaking to me like I was the hired help. Lily peeked around Tyler’s leg. I saw the flash of guilt in her eyes before she muttered under her breath. “How did he even get back in? Why didn’t he just fall and die.” That was it. The final thread holding my sanity together snapped. I closed the distance between us in three strides, raised my hand, and slapped Lily hard across the face. The crack echoed through the apartment. Lily grabbed her cheek, staring at me in absolute shock. “You locked your own father outside on a freezing ledge, and then you lied to cover it up! Today is the day I finally teach you some basic human decency!” Before I could say another word, Tyler shoved his way between us, spreading his arms wide to shield Lily. “Cole! What the hell is wrong with you?! Even if a kid makes a mistake, you do not put your hands on her!” “She is just a little girl! How can you be so violently abusive?” “Yeah! He is a monster!” Lily shrieked, hiding behind Tyler’s back and glaring at me with pure hatred. “You are a terrible man! I don’t want you to be my dad anymore! Get out of my house! Get out!” Rachel rushed forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tyler, forming a human barricade to protect the child. Looking at them, they looked exactly like a family. “Cole, have you completely lost your mind?!” Rachel screamed. “You are abusing a child now? You are entirely unfit to be a father!” She paused, taking a deep breath, and looked over at Tyler. “Starting tomorrow, Tyler is moving in with us.” “That way, he can keep an eye on my health, and he can be here to protect Lily from your violent outbursts.” I stood perfectly still, my brain struggling to process the absolute audacity of her statement. “We only have three bedrooms. If Tyler moves in, where exactly is he going to sleep?” Rachel didn’t even hesitate. “He needs to monitor my pregnancy. He will sleep on a floor mattress in the master bedroom with me.” “You can take the couch in the living room.” Tyler waved his hands, putting on a sickening display of fake humility. His eyes, however, were dancing with arrogant triumph. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. I am just a guest. I cannot kick a husband out of his own bedroom.” “You are not a guest, Uncle Tyler!” Lily grabbed his sleeve, dragging him toward the hallway. “You have to stay! Stay tonight! I want you to read me my bedtime stories!” Tyler looked down at Lily, then shot me a long, mocking look. “Alright, sweetie. Uncle Tyler will stay. I will read you stories all night long.” He turned back to me, looking the picture of polite distress. “Cole, you see how much the kid needs me. I really can’t say no.” “Then stay.” I forced the words past the massive lump in my throat, cutting off his pathetic performance. The moment I agreed, all three of them broke into matching smiles of relief. Those smiles were blindingly painful. I let out a dark, silent laugh in my head. I kept the second half of my thought to myself. If he is moving in, then I am moving out. Helen immediately hurried into the master bedroom to set up fresh sheets for Tyler. Lily clung to him like a barnacle, dragging him into her room for her stories. I didn’t spare them a second glance. I turned around, walked into the guest room that I was now supposed to vacate, and quietly packed a duffel bag. My plan was simple. Wait until the house was dead silent, and vanish into the night. If they loved Tyler so much, I would let them have him. I would disappear. Let Lily see what life was really like without me paying the bills. Around midnight, I slung the bag over my shoulder and headed for the front door. I checked my wallet and realized my marriage certificate was still in the nightstand in the master bedroom. I hesitated, but decided I needed to take it. I assumed they would both be fast asleep by now. I crept down the hallway. I reached out to turn the brass handle of the master bedroom door. But the muffled conversation leaking through the wooden panel made my blood run entirely cold.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456147”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 For his eighth birthday, I asked my son, Oliver, what he wanted. He shook his head and asked for three blank wish cards instead. “Just in case I ever make you mad, Mom. I can use them to get your forgiveness.” The gesture melted my heart, and I laughed, pulling him into a warm hug. But as it turned out, not a single one of those cards was ever used on me. The first card demanded I quit my job. “Brooke has an Ivy League degree,” he said. “She should be the vice president of Dad’s company, not you.” The second card asked for a smart sibling. “You’re too dumb, Mom. If Dad had a baby with Brooke, that kid would actually be smart.” The final card was the blow that shattered me completely. He wanted a new mother. “I want Brooke to be my mom. Can you just divorce Dad already?” I froze, the words knocking the wind right out of my lungs. I couldn’t speak. Seeing my silence, Oliver’s smug grin vanished, replaced by an impatient scowl. “You promised! You said you’d grant whatever I wished for! I need you to sign those papers so Brooke can come to my parent-teacher conference next week!” He puffed his chest out, waiting for the familiar flash of hurt to cross my face. He had relished seeing me break during the first two wishes. “You can’t break your promise. If you do, I’ll never talk to you again.” “Fine.” I cut off his bratty rant, my voice flat and hollow. “If that’s your third wish, I accept.” For a split second, a flicker of panic crossed Oliver’s face. But the feeling evaporated the moment the front door clicked open. Kai walked in, flanked by Brooke. She was wearing a sharp, tailored pantsuit, looking radiant and painfully young. “Fiona, I hope you don’t mind. I just came back with Kai to grab some files,” Brooke said, her lips curving into a smirk that didn’t reach her calculating eyes. Oliver’s eyes lit up. He bolted past me and threw his arms around her waist. “Brooke! Mom agreed to let you be my new mom! Can I call you Mom from now on?” A triumphant gleam flashed in Brooke’s eyes. I looked past her, locking eyes with my husband. “That’s right, Kai. I want a divorce.” Kai’s face darkened instantly. “Stop this nonsense, Fiona! What kind of sick game are you playing with our son? I’ve told you a thousand times, Brooke is my VP, my right hand. Why are you dragging her into your insecurities? If you’re mad at me, deal with me, don’t use our kid as a weapon.” Brooke’s eyes welled with tears, her lower lip trembling like a wounded animal. “Fiona, I only wanted to do my job. Kai and I are strictly professional. If my presence here causes this much trouble, I’ll submit my resignation tonight.” She let a single, perfect tear slip down her cheek. Before I could even open my mouth, Oliver charged at me like a small battering ram. Caught off guard, I stumbled backward, my lower back slamming hard against the sharp edge of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my spine, leaving me breathless and doubled over. Oliver stood defiantly in front of Brooke, shielding her with his tiny arms. “Don’t you dare bully Brooke! You’re a monster!” Kai reached down, patting Oliver’s head with pride. “Good boy, protecting her like a real man.” Then, he turned his icy gaze back to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Brooke is the backbone of my company. She isn’t someone an unemployed housewife like you can slander.” “Dad, Brooke, I’m starving,” Oliver whined, tugging at Brooke’s hand with an ease that told me this wasn’t the first time they’d played happy family. “Let’s go out for dinner. I’m so sick of her cooking.” Brooke gave him a sweet, maternal smile. “Kai, let’s take Oliver out. I actually managed to secure a reservation at that Michelin-star place downtown.” She paused, looking at me with mock sympathy. “Though, they strictly enforce their guest limit, so Fiona might not be able to join us. Should we pick somewhere else?” “No, we’ll go there,” Kai decided coldly. He grabbed his coat, giving me one last look of utter disgust. “Stay home, Fiona. Reflect on your attitude and learn to watch your mouth. Stop acting like a crazy woman.” The heavy oak door slammed shut, leaving the house in a suffocating silence. Through the glass panels, Oliver’s excited cheers and Brooke’s melodic giggles drifted back to me before fading away. I dragged myself onto the sofa, curled up in a ball, and closed my eyes, exhausted to my core. I wasn’t being hysterical. I genuinely wanted out. And as for my son, he could stay with them. I called my lawyer, laying out the terms of the separation. “Fiona, if you want full custody, we’ll have to make significant compromises on the division of assets,” the lawyer warned gently. “I don’t want custody,” I interrupted, without a shred of hesitation. I may have stepped down from my active role at the firm, but I still held forty percent of the company’s shares. Why should I sacrifice my hard-earned wealth to raise a son who despised me? After hanging up, I opened my social media. The top post on my feed was from Oliver’s iPad. The caption read, “My real family!” It was a selfie of Kai, Brooke, and Oliver. In the photo, Kai, usually so stern and unyielding, was smiling warmly, letting Brooke lean her head against his shoulder. I stared at it, a quiet ache blooming behind my eyes. I went to swipe away, only to find the exact same photo posted right below it, shared by Kai. He used his account almost exclusively for business networking, never personal updates. Yet here he was, posting a family portrait with no caption, letting the silence speak volumes. The comments section was already a frenzy of congratulations. Kai’s relatives were quick to chime in. “Bro, when are you bringing your gorgeous new girl home? Mom and Dad are dying to meet her!” “Son, this is the kind of woman who belongs in our family. You two should have another baby while you’re still young! A big family is a blessed family!” Kai’s parents had always resented me for only having one child. Once Kai’s business took off, their demands for a second heir became relentless. But I had stood my ground, remembering how I had almost died on the operating table giving birth to Oliver. The pregnancy itself had been a fragile miracle. Right when we found out, Kai’s startup hit a massive financial crisis, threatening to bankrupt us. I had dragged my pregnant body to endless corporate dinners, swallowing down nausea to secure the contracts that saved us. The very day our first multi-million dollar funding arrived, I was rushed to the ER with severe complications. I spent the rest of my pregnancy on strict bedrest, receiving painful daily injections to keep Oliver alive. Back then, Kai wept by my bedside, swearing he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me. Because Oliver was born premature and spent weeks in the incubator, I vowed to dedicate all my maternal love to him alone. No matter how much my in-laws sneered or tried to poison his mind against me, I refused to put my life on the line again. As the company flourished, Kai appointed me as the vice president. “Fiona, we wouldn’t have any of this without you. You’re the real boss,” he used to say. Yet, our son grew up believing I was nothing but a parasite. A month ago, Oliver had proudly slammed his first wish card onto my lap. I had smiled, thinking he wanted a new Lego set. Written in his messy, childish scrawl was: Mom must quit her job. I chuckled, kissing his forehead. “What’s this about, sweetie? Do you feel like Mom works too much? I’m sorry, I’ll make more time for us to play.” But he frowned, shaking his head. “You just sit around the house anyway. Why are you holding onto the VP title? Brooke went to a top school. She should have your office.” The smile died on my face. “Oliver, who is Brooke?” “She’s Dad’s assistant! She’s so pretty, and she always gives me candy when I visit,” he said, swinging his legs. “Dad’s company doesn’t need dead weight, Mom. You should do the right thing and step down so you don’t embarrass him.” His words chilled me to the bone. An eight-year-old didn’t use terms like “dead weight” or “embarrassing” on his own. Someone was feeding him these lines. The next day, I looked into Brooke. She was a fresh graduate from an elite university, hired as Kai’s personal assistant six months prior. Whenever I had brunch with other executive wives, I would leave Oliver in Kai’s office. This woman had been slowly dripping poison into my son’s ear. I went straight to Kai’s office to confront her. “Brooke, what exactly have you been telling my son?” She immediately looked like a kicked puppy. “Nothing, Fiona. I was just babysitting him.” “Save the helpless act,” I sneered. The next second, she shrieked, dramatically falling backward onto the carpet just as the door burst open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Kai roared, shoving me aside to pull her up. Brooke whimpered, wiping non-existent tears. “It’s fine, Kai. Fiona just reminded me that I’m just an assistant and that I’m a bad influence on Oliver. I’ll stay away from him from now on.” Kai’s fists clenched. “Apologize to her, Fiona.” I stared at him, unable to recognize the man I had built a life with. “I didn’t even touch her. You honestly believe her over me?” “Brooke has no reason to lie,” Kai hissed. “And she’s overqualified as an assistant anyway. Since you barely show up to the office anymore, she’ll be taking over your position as Vice President.” “You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped. Kai let out a cold laugh. “It’s my company. I decide who works here.” The sound of keys rattling in the lock brought me back to the present. The three of them walked in, laughing and chatting, looking for all the world like a perfect family. The moment they saw me, the laughter died. They exchanged glances and then let out a collective, mocking chuckle, like they shared a private joke I would never understand. “Kai, we should head back to the office. The new project files need a final review,” Brooke suggested softly. Kai nodded instantly. “Can I come too?” Oliver whined. “No, buddy. It’s past your bedtime,” Kai said, looking at me. “Fiona, put him to bed.” Brooke pinched Oliver’s cheek playfully. “I’ll play with you tomorrow, okay?” Oliver pouted but agreed. As he walked past me, he glared. “If you weren’t here, they would have taken me with them.” I said nothing. I was leaving anyway. In the middle of the night, Kai climbed into bed, smelling of cheap, sweet perfume. “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” his voice was unusually soft. “You didn’t wait up for me tonight.” He was used to me staying up until 2 AM to make sure he had warm tea after his late-night meetings. “You went too far today, Fiona. Bringing up divorce in front of Oliver? Imagine how uncomfortable that made Brooke. Don’t let it happen again.” “I was serious,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Oliver used his third wish card. He wants Brooke to be his mom, and he wants us to get a divorce.” Kai laughed, annoyed. “Are you seriously taking a kid’s game to heart?” But wasn’t he the one who had taken the cards seriously before? Two weeks ago, Oliver had practically thrown the second wish card at my face. I want a smart sibling. I had sighed, trying to explain that he would always be our only child. “I don’t want you to have one!” Oliver had sneered. “You’re too dumb, Mom. If my sibling has your genes, they’ll be a failure. Dad is a genius, and Brooke is smart. They should be the ones having a baby together.” For the first time in his life, I snapped and yelled at him. When Kai came home, Oliver threw himself into his arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom screamed at me!” Kai frowned at me. “Why can’t you talk to him calmly?” Trembling with rage, I repeated what Oliver had said. Kai laughed it off. “He’s a kid, Fiona. Why are you taking him so seriously?” “I mean it!” Oliver sniffled, pulling out a report card with a failing grade. I was stunned. Oliver wasn’t a prodigy, but he had always gotten straight A’s. “It must be Mom’s fault,” he whispered, his eyelashes fluttering nervously. I knew that tell: he was lying. But Kai bought it. “Fiona, how are you even helping him with his homework? He’s only in the second grade and he’s failing?” Three days ago, an anonymous number sent me a photo. It was Kai, standing beside Brooke in the waiting room of an OB-GYN clinic. That was the moment the last ember of warmth in my heart died. When I handed him the printed divorce papers, he tore them to shreds without looking. “You won’t do it. You grew up without a family, Fiona. You’d never break ours apart. Brooke is brilliant, and Oliver loves her. Stop this childish jealousy before you ruin her reputation.” I stared at the torn papers on the floor. He was wrong. Oliver’s first two wishes had been granted. It was time for the third. The next afternoon, I went to pick Oliver up from school. His teacher looked at me with an awkward, apologetic expression. “Mrs. Pendelton, Oliver was already picked up. He told us she was his new mother.” When I got home, the living room was filled with laughter. Brooke was helping Oliver build a Lego tower, while Kai sat nearby, watching them with a gentle smile. Brooke smiled warmly as I walked in. “Fiona, you’re back. Oliver wanted me to pick him up today, and I forgot to text you. You don’t mind, do you?” “Brooke is my real mom now,” Oliver announced loudly. “She should be the one picking me up. She’s moving in with us!” Kai coughed, clearing his throat. “Brooke offered to tutor Oliver. Besides, she’s a young woman living alone, and her apartment complex isn’t safe. I thought it made sense for her to stay in our guest room.” They all watched me, braced for an explosion. But I only smiled, walked past them, and went straight to my room. Over the next few days, Brooke acted like the lady of the house, taking Oliver out to theme parks and restaurants. I enjoyed the peace, spending my time drafting the custody and asset paperwork. Then, I saw a video Brooke posted on social media. The camera was shaking, showing Oliver struggling into a poorly fitted wetsuit with the vast, dark ocean behind him. My heart leaped into my throat. He was only eight, and she had taken him deep-sea diving! Panic overriding everything, I drove straight to the marina. I rented a speedboat and raced out to their coordinates. When I arrived, only Brooke was climbing back onto the deck of their boat. “Where is Oliver?” I screamed, my voice cracking. Brooke jumped, her eyes darting around guiltily. “He… he should be up by now. I don’t know where he went…” My knees buckled. “Call search and rescue! Now!” Ten minutes later, Oliver was dragged out of the water, unconscious and deathly pale. I rushed him to the hospital, refusing to leave his side until the doctor assured me he was out of danger. For a brief second, my resolve to give up custody wavered. How could I leave my child with a monster like Brooke? Slap! The force of Kai’s hand knocked my head to the side. “How could you be so careless!” he roared, his face contorted in rage. “You almost got him killed!” My ears rang as I forced myself to stand up. “Kai, your precious VP took him into the open ocean!” “Stop lying! You’ve been terrified of deep water ever since Oliver fell into the lake as a toddler. You would never go near the sea, let alone take him there!” Kai’s face flickered with a sudden, uneasy realization. “Fiona, I…” Just then, Oliver groaned, his eyes fluttering open. I ignored Kai and rushed to the bedside. “Oliver, does anything hurt? Tell Mom.” Oliver looked at me, and his eyelashes began to flutter rapidly. A wave of dread washed over me. “Dad,” Oliver whimpered, “Mom made me go into the water. The ocean was so scary…” I stared at my own son in sheer disbelief. He quickly averted his eyes, burying his face in his pillow. Brooke burst into tears right on cue. “Fiona, I was the one who jumped in to drag him out! How could you accuse me of such a horrible thing?” “I can’t believe I married someone like you,” Kai said, his eyes filled with absolute disgust. “To get rid of Brooke, you’d risk our son’s life? You are a sick, twisted woman.” His words no longer hurt. My heart was entirely dead. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and tossed them onto his lap. “Sign them.” Kai hesitated, but Brooke whimpered, “Fiona, I know my presence is the issue here. I’ll resign. Kai, thank you for everything. Please don’t let her use Oliver’s life to control you anymore.” That was all it took. Kai grabbed a pen and signed his name in sharp, aggressive strokes. “Are you happy now? You thought you could use this divorce to threaten me, but I’m done playing your games.” I took the signed papers and walked out without looking back. The day Oliver was discharged, I blocked Kai’s number, packed my bags, and boarded a flight to a quiet, misty town on the Oregon coast. For ten years, my life had revolved around that house. It was time to start living for myself.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456132”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 At twelve, my mother found a fatal flaw in a jet’s hydraulics and refused takeoff clearance. Richard Blackwood, Vanguard Aviation’s billionaire owner, screamed in her face, accusing her of drama and threatening to replace her. She gripped the manifest, knuckles white, and stood her ground. By morning, she was framed for stealing aviation parts and blacklisted before noon. Disgraced and broke, she jumped from our apartment roof. Years later, fueled by spite and student loans, I fought my way into the National Aviation Academy. Graduating as the FAA’s most ruthless airworthiness inspector, I now held Vanguard’s ten-billion-dollar fleet expansion on my desk. Test data was perfect, the board ready to sign. Only my pen was missing. I opened the dossier. Under software supplier, the parent company was Vanguard Tech. CEO: Richard Blackwood. I closed the file, picked up my pen, and wrote my verdict: Approval denied. Fleet grounded indefinitely. The atmosphere in the conference room was suffocating. The entire inspection board was present. A row of Vanguard Aviation executives sat in the gallery, barely hiding the smug anticipation on their faces. This certificate meant their massive ten billion dollar investment was finally hitting the global market. All the preliminary data was perfect. Every single sub category had the bright red stamp of approval. It all came down to this final hurdle. The lead inspector’s signature. Every eye in the room was locked onto me. I flipped to the second to last page of the thick binder and let my eyes linger on the text. Vanguard Tech. Legal Representative: Richard Blackwood. My fingers tightened around the barrel of my pen. When I was twelve, my mother, Eleanor, was a senior quality control engineer at Vanguard Aviation. She was meticulous. She obsessed over every single valve and wire. One night, she noticed an abnormal pressure fluctuation in the hydraulic system. After running the math three times, she concluded it was a catastrophic risk. She locked the system and refused to sign the release manifest. She truly believed she was saving lives. But all Richard Blackwood saw was a delayed departure. He only saw the massive penalty fees for a missed schedule. He only saw a disposable quality control worker daring to stand in the way of his cash flow. “Stop using safety as an excuse to be dramatic! If you won’t fly it, pack your bags and get the hell out!” That was what he screamed at her. My mother held her ground. She kept the manifest and refused to back down. The next day, there was no safety investigation. Instead, a termination notice arrived, accusing her of embezzling high grade titanium parts. An eight year veteran of the industry, completely blacklisted overnight. I still remember that final evening. She washed my school uniform, hung it up to dry by the window, and stood there staring up at the sky for a very long time. “Sloane, I didn’t do anything wrong.” That was the last thing she ever said to me before she stepped off the roof. Over the years, Richard’s airline empire grew into a global powerhouse. And I took out crippling loans to get through the academy. Four years of undergrad. Three years of graduate school. Two years of brutal certification exams. I bled to climb into this exact chair. I had been waiting for this exact day. I closed the file. I pressed my pen to the paper and wrote my decision. “Approval denied. Fleet grounded indefinitely.” “Inspector Sloane! What is the meaning of this?” Arthur, the head of the review board, slammed his hands on the table and stood up. “The flight data is perfect. The entire board voted to approve. On what grounds are you vetoing this?” Marcus, the Vice President of Vanguard Aviation, shot up from the gallery. “Sloane, do you have any idea what you are doing? Do you know how much interest this company bleeds every single day this ten billion dollar project sits on the tarmac? Can you afford that kind of liability?” I calmly opened my folder and pulled out the inquiry sheet I had prepared hours ago. “The flight control software source code validation report is missing three critical parameter logs. Furthermore, Vanguard Tech’s vendor certification expired last month and has not been renewed.” I looked directly at Marcus. “According to Agency Regulation Part 21, incomplete documentation mandates an automatic denial. As the lead inspector, I have absolute veto power. This is entirely lawful and compliant.” Arthur’s face turned purple. “These are… these are clerical trivialities! It is just a matter of filing a late addendum! You are grounding the entire fleet over a paperwork delay?” “Incomplete is incomplete. There are no trivialities when it comes to aviation safety.” I pushed my chair back and stood up. “If you have an objection, file for an administrative review. Until that review concludes, the aircraft remains grounded.” I turned and walked out of the room without a single backward glance. Behind the heavy oak doors, I could hear the muffled sounds of men cursing my name. 2 The next morning, I received an urgent summons to the Agency’s VIP reception lounge. I pushed the door open. Richard Blackwood was sitting comfortably on the leather sofa. Director Mitchell, the head of our entire division, was sitting right next to him, playing the gracious host. Seeing me enter, Richard stood up and adjusted his expensive suit. “Inspector Sloane. I have heard incredible things about you.” He wore a practiced, media ready smile. But when he reached out to shake my hand, his fingers barely grazed mine before pulling away quickly. Like he was touching something filthy. “Mr. Blackwood,” I said, keeping my voice perfectly flat. “Inspector Sloane is young, brilliant, and the absolute backbone of this agency,” Mitchell chimed in, laughing nervously. Richard kept smiling, but his eyes were scanning me top to bottom, calculating my worth. He didn’t recognize me. How could he? When I was twelve, I threw myself onto the marble floor of the Vanguard Aviation lobby and wrapped my arms around his legs. I begged him to retract the firing. I begged him to clear my mother’s name. He didn’t even bother to look down at me. “Security. Drag this trash out into the street.” He was a god in his own mind. Why would he ever remember the face of an ant he crushed under his heel? Richard sat back down and pulled a thick, pristine envelope from his breast pocket. “Inspector Sloane, I understand you relied heavily on student loans to finance your impressive education. I also hear you are currently living in cramped public housing?” His tone was dripping with manufactured sympathy. “Vanguard Aviation recently established a young talent foundation. We specifically sponsor brilliant young professionals who come from… difficult backgrounds.” He slid the envelope across the glass table. I could clearly see the check inside. “Five million dollars. Consider it a private grant from Vanguard to support the future of aviation.” He leaned forward, dropping the corporate speak. “Look, we all know this inspection is just a formality. The missing files are basically typos. We will patch them up next week. There is no need to be so rigid. You sign that paper today, and this money goes straight into your personal account. No one will ever know.” He didn’t even care that the Director of the Agency was sitting two feet away. I reached out and pushed the envelope right back across the glass. “Mr. Blackwood. The documentation is incomplete. I cannot sign.” Richard’s smile twitched. “Sloane, listen to me. You are barely in your thirties, and you are already a lead inspector. The sky is the limit for you.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have already spoken with the upper management. If you just play ball on this one project, Vanguard will personally endorse your promotion to department chief.” He tapped the envelope. “You had a rough start in life. You swallowed a lot of glass to get to this chair. Do not throw your entire future away over a minor bureaucratic technicality.” The corners of his mouth curled up just a fraction. It was a look of absolute, arrogant pity. He was silently telling me: People like you are incredibly lucky just to be allowed in the building. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. “Mr. Blackwood, I appreciate the generous offer. But until those files are submitted in full, my pen stays in my pocket.” Richard’s smile vanished. The polite, wealthy gentleman routine evaporated instantly. His eyes turned dead, cold, and full of raw contempt. It was the exact same look I saw when I was on my knees in his lobby twenty years ago. “Sloane. When I throw you a bone, you take it.” He stood up, towering over the coffee table. “You really think a low level paper pusher can hold my empire hostage?” “I have survived storms that would drown you in a second. If you refuse to sign that certificate today, I will personally guarantee you never work in this industry again.” He buttoned his suit jacket. “You just wait.” I looked right back into his dead eyes. No anger. No fear. Not a single flinch. I had been waiting for this day for nearly two decades. You want me to wait? Richard Blackwood, I am the one who has been waiting for you. 3 At three o’clock that afternoon, I was summoned to Director Mitchell’s private office. Marcus, Vanguard’s Vice President, was already sitting on the sofa. Twenty years ago, Marcus was the Director of Maintenance. He was the man who wrote “Reviewed, hold for now” on my mother’s critical safety warning. Mitchell stood by the window, staring out at the runway, completely silent. Marcus glared at me. “Inspector Sloane. Have you bothered to run the math on the daily interest for a ten billion dollar loan?” “You are not hurting Mr. Blackwood. You are holding a knife to the throats of twenty thousand Vanguard employees who need this launch to feed their families.” “If this company goes under, can you carry that kind of blood on your hands?” I didn’t blink. “Marcus, the paperwork is missing. When it is complete, I will sign. It is that simple.” “Sloane, you are young,” Marcus sneered, the threat bleeding through his teeth. “Think very carefully about your career trajectory. It would be a real tragedy if you were permanently stripped of your inspection credentials.” “I suggest you wise up. Mr. Blackwood’s patience is entirely gone.” He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked toward the door. As he passed me, he patted me hard on the shoulder. A physical reminder to know my place. Once the door clicked shut, it was just me and Mitchell. “Sloane.” He sighed, sounding like a disappointed father. “The agency recognizes your technical brilliance. Truly.” “But in this line of work, you cannot just look at the code. You have to look at the big picture.” “The mayor’s office is heavily invested in this Vanguard project.” He paused, letting the political weight sink in. “Can we not show a little flexibility on these minor procedural hiccups?” “Just draft a conditional approval letter. Let them promise to submit the code later. As long as the optics are fine, there is no need to enforce the letter of the law so brutally.” “You have a long career ahead of you. Being this stubborn… it does not end well for anyone.” Every word he spoke was legally safe. But every single syllable was an order to surrender. My voice was like ice. “If it is missing one single page, I will not sign.” “Tell them to submit the code.” Mitchell looked at me, his face hardening. “Think about this, Sloane.” I turned and walked out. The very next morning, a mass agency memo hit every inbox. “To optimize our review mechanisms and expedite critical airworthiness projects, the administration has restructured the oversight committee. Inspector Sloane is hereby removed from the position of Lead Inspector. All final approvals will be handled directly by the executive review board.” I was boxed up and banished to the basement archives. At ten in the morning, I carried a cardboard box into the dusty archive room. A few clerks watched me, whispering behind their hands. No one stepped up to defend me. Committing career suicide by crossing Vanguard Aviation was not contagious. Down the hallway, Mitchell walked toward me. As we passed each other, he didn’t even stop walking. He just muttered under his breath. “Think it through, Sloane.” I knew exactly what he meant. Grovel now, and you might get your desk back. I adjusted my grip on my cardboard box and kept walking. That afternoon, Brenda from Human Resources came down to the basement to “check” on me. “Sloane, what exactly is your endgame here?” “The entire board approved the Vanguard project. You were the only one playing hero.” “Now look at you. Stripped of your title, rotting down here with the mold.” “Do you regret it yet?” I looked up from the stack of old boxes. “It isn’t over yet.” Brenda froze. She walked to the door, turned around, and looked at me like I belonged in a psych ward. Once she was gone, I opened my laptop and pulled up the encrypted review logs. She was right. It wasn’t over. The trap was just beginning to close. That evening, an old college friend sent me a link. “Sloane, what the hell is going on?” I clicked the link. It was a massive investigative article by a prominent aviation blogger. Headline: “The Strictest Inspector or the Most Corrupt? A Deep Dive into Sloane’s Dictatorship at the Aviation Agency.” “The test flights were flawless. The entire board voted yes. Only Inspector Sloane vetoed the project. Are we looking at a blatant shakedown for bribes?” “According to anonymous insiders, Sloane frequently hints that airlines need to provide ‘supplemental materials.’ What exactly she wants them to supplement is anyone’s guess.” The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. “How is this corrupt witch still employed?” “Investigate her bank accounts immediately!” “Holding a ten billion dollar project hostage all by herself? If you think she isn’t fishing for a payout, you are delusional.” There were dozens of hit pieces multiplying by the hour. Another headline screamed: “Delaying the Billion Dollar Launch: Heroic Standards or Petty Revenge?” This one dug into my personal life. It listed my student loans, my single parent household, the fact that my mother died young and in disgrace. The implication was dripping from every paragraph. A desperate, poor girl climbs into a seat of massive power. Put ten billion dollars in front of her, and of course she is going to hold her hand out for a cut. I clenched my jaw and turned off my phone. 4 One week later. The heavy metal door of the archive room creaked open. A junior admin assistant stood there, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Sloane, the airworthiness certificate was officially signed by the executive board.” “Vanguard rented out the entire Continental Hotel. They are doing a global live broadcast of the maiden flight at two o’clock. Mr. Blackwood is personally boarding the plane for the test run.” I turned the page of the dusty manifest in my hands. “Got it.” At one thirty in the afternoon, I drove to the tarmac. The Agency had mandated that all review personnel be present for the historic launch. The tarmac was a sea of people. Vanguard executives, city politicians, Wall Street investors, and dozens of media cameras were all aimed at the massive, gleaming silver jet. Richard Blackwood stood at the center of the press podium, soaking in the glory. “Today marks a historic turning point for Vanguard Aviation!” “This aircraft represents the absolute pinnacle of global aviation technology. It has passed the most rigorous safety inspections on earth. In a few moments, I will personally board this flight to prove that Vanguard stands behind its quality!” The crowd erupted into deafening applause. I stood at the very back of the crowd, my face entirely blank. Richard walked up the boarding stairs, turning at the top to give a victorious wave to the cameras. Then he stepped inside the cabin. The entire tarmac held its collective breath, waiting for the roar of the engines. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds. Through the cockpit glass, a row of green indicators blinked once. And then, every single warning light flashed a blinding, violent red. System Diagnostic: FAILED. Hydraulic Valves: SAFETY LOCK ENGAGED. Engine Ignition: DISABLED. The global live feed kept rolling. The ten billion dollar marvel of engineering sat dead on the runway, completely unresponsive. Panic rippled through the media pit. Through the window, Richard’s face came into view. The arrogant smile was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated panic as he stared at the sea of red warning screens. The crowd broke into chaotic murmurs. Ten agonizing minutes later, Richard walked out of the cabin. His face was a mask of pure, murderous rage. He marched down the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator. They locked right onto me. I knew that exact look. It was the look he gave my mother twenty years ago. The day he screamed in her face while she clung to that safety report. The very next day, she became a thief and a pariah. And now, he was aiming that exact same weapon at me. Right on cue, Richard stormed through the crowd, heading straight for me. The cameras pivoted instantly, tracking his every move. He stopped two feet away from me. “Sloane.” “Just because I refused to pay your extortion fee, you think you can sabotage a commercial airliner?” “You are destroying the livelihoods of thousands of innocent people!” In one breath, he crucified me. He told the entire world I had tampered with the plane because he wouldn’t pay my bribe. The journalists started whispering frantically. “Did she hack the plane?” “Can an inspector even lock down the flight systems?” “That is actual terrorism…” Director Mitchell materialized at my side, playing the devastated leader perfectly. “Sloane, if what Mr. Blackwood is saying is true, do you have any idea what you have done?” “Thousands of jobs. Ten billion dollars. Can you survive the consequences of this?” He sounded like a man pleading with a criminal to surrender. Every word was designed to pile the guilt squarely on my shoulders. The camera crews surged forward, shoving microphones in my face. “Inspector Sloane! Did you tamper with the flight control system?” “How do you justify holding a ten billion dollar project hostage?” I could only imagine the live chat on the broadcast feed. “This chick is psychotic! Lock her up!” “Even if she didn’t hack it, abusing her power like this is disgusting.” “Investigate her bank accounts! She is a menace!” “She ruined thousands of lives just to throw a tantrum!” Richard looked at me with deep, theatrical sorrow. “Inspector Sloane. What could you possibly say to defend yourself now?” He had dragged me into the town square to be executed. He wanted me to be the villain. The criminal. Just like he made my mother the thief. I looked at the blinding flashes of the cameras. I looked at the angry faces of the crowd. I looked at Richard’s towering, arrogant stance. And then, I smiled. The entire crowd went dead silent. I took one deliberate step forward. “Mr. Blackwood.” “Do you want to know exactly why I am doing this?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the silence like a scalpel. “Twenty years ago, a quality control engineer named Eleanor discovered a fatal anomaly in the hydraulic systems. She refused to sign the release manifest.” “The very next day, she was framed for stealing titanium parts and permanently blacklisted from the aviation industry.” “She was my mother.” “I was thirteen years old when the shame drove her off the roof of a building.” Richard’s pupils dilated in raw shock. I stared him down. “You used your power to frame my mother and push her to her death.” “And today, you thought you could use the exact same playbook to dump your toxic waste onto me.” “But this time, you won’t win.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “456148”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel