Category: English

My daughter, Ashley, came home for her first Christmas after graduating from a prestigious university, driving a luxury car and making a grand return. She handed out gifts to everyone in the family. “Grandma Susan, Grandpa George, this is an ornate gold-plated good luck charm. May it bless you with health and a long life.” “Dad, here’s that Rolex Submariner you always talked about. Now you’ll make a statement when you go out!” “Brittany, you always take such good care of yourself. This limited-edition skincare set will be perfect for you.” Watching everyone cheer with excitement, I nervously rubbed my grease-stained hands, my heart full of hope. After all, I’d given up my executive position to focus on her education, and for over ten years, I hadn’t even bought myself a new outfit. Finally, Ashley smiled and walked over to me, handing me a black plastic bag: “Mom, this gift is special, I picked it just for you. It’s perfect, you’ll definitely love it.” I opened the bag excitedly, but my smile instantly froze when I saw what was inside.

A toilet brush, toilet cleaner, steel wool, rubber gloves… All cleaning supplies. “Mom, I carefully picked out these brands. Their stain removal power is super strong.” “They’ll last you for years, and it’ll make cleaning the house so much easier.” “Mom, why aren’t you saying anything? This is imported toilet cleaner, one bottle is like three ordinary ones.” Ashley, seeing me frozen in place, let her smile fade a little, a hint of impatience in her voice. “I even made a special trip to Sam’s Club for these. Didn’t you always complain about your back hurting when you scrubbed the toilet? With this, you just soak it, and it’s clean. It saves time and effort. I’m doing my duty as a good daughter.” I clutched the bottle of blue liquid, my gaze sweeping across the living room. George and Susan held their heavy gold-plated charms, grinning from ear to ear. My husband, David, wore that emerald-green Rolex, excitedly adjusting it under the light. Brittany was dabbing thousands of dollars worth of premium skincare onto her face. The room was filled with laughter, But not for me. Only I, the “housemaid” who had quit her job to support her daughter for over ten years and served the entire family, received a pile of cleaning tools. “Ashley,” my voice was dry, “Is this… your Christmas gift for Mom?” Ashley pouted, popped a cherry into her mouth, and said nonchalantly: “Yeah. Mom, don’t be ungrateful. These things might look cheap, but they add up to a few hundred dollars.” “Besides, Grandma and Grandpa are old and need to take care of their health, Dad needs to save face, and Brittany needs her beauty routine. What about you?” “You just spend all day in the kitchen and bathroom, so anything else would be wasted on you.” Wasted on me? So, in my daughter’s eyes, I was only fit to deal with toilets and grease. “Exactly, Kate,” Brittany interjected snidely, looking into a mirror. “Ashley is just being practical. If she gave you a skincare set, you don’t exactly primp yourself, so it’d just be a waste. A fancy watch? Would you wear that to haggle at the farmer’s market? How tacky!” David frowned and chimed in, “Yeah, it’s the holidays, and the kid made a heartfelt gesture. You should be praising her, not pulling a long face and being dramatic.” “It’s not easy for Ashley, fresh out of college and already thinking of buying things for the family. Instead of praising her, you’re making a scene.” Susan carefully tucked her gold-plated charm into her pocket, squinting at me. “Who tends to this entire family’s every need? Every single thing? Ashley feels bad you work so hard, so she bought you useful tools. How can you be so narrow-minded, Kate?” I stood there, my ears ringing. I looked at these people, whom I had poured my heart and soul into serving for half my life. I woke up at five every morning to cook nutritious meals for the whole family, and at eleven at night, I was still hand-washing their silk clothes. The year Ashley was a senior in high school, I broke my leg in the snow while delivering hot soup to her. Even with a cast on, I still washed her school uniform. When David’s startup failed, I sold my pre-marital condo to bail him out. For three years, when George was bedridden after his stroke, I was the one who fed him, changed him, bathed him, and turned him, never getting a good night’s sleep. Now, they sat here, looking glamorous, enjoying my daughter’s “thoughtful gesture,” and then collectively trampling on my dignity. “Mom, hurry up and put them away,” Ashley urged impatiently. “We still need to make Christmas dinner later. You can try that powerful degreaser, I hear it works wonders. It’ll save you from reeking of cooking oil and grossing everyone out.” “Hahahahahaha…” Brittany burst into laughter, and George and Susan joined in. Reeking of cooking oil… grossing everyone out. I looked down at my hands, rough and cracked from years of constant labor. I took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.” “Since Ashley specially picked them, and they’re so strong, I definitely should try them out.”

I picked up the black plastic bag and strode towards the dining table. On the table was the Slow-roasted Prime Rib I had been preparing since yesterday, slow-roasted for a full twenty hours. “Hey, Kate, what are you doing? Dinner hasn’t started yet, why are you putting trash on the table?” Brittany shrieked. I ignored her, deftly unscrewing the cap of the imported toilet cleaner. With a flick of my wrist. “Splash!” The entire bottle of toilet cleaner poured out. The blue liquid instantly mixed into the rich brown gravy, bubbling eerily and emitting a nauseating smell. The room fell into a dead silence. Ashley’s eyes widened. “Mom! What are you doing? Are you crazy!” I didn’t stop. I grabbed the powerful degreaser and aimed the spray nozzle at the beautifully plated Atlantic lobster. “Hiss—hiss—” White foam covered the lobster shell. “Ah! My lobster! Three hundred dollars!” Ashley shrieked, shoving me away. “Mom! Are you sick?! I paid for all this! Do you know how expensive it is? Can you afford to pay me back?!” I stumbled back, my waist hitting the corner of the table with a searing pain. But I laughed out loud. Then I grabbed the brand-new toilet brush and plunged it into the Slow-roasted Prime Rib, now mixed with toilet cleaner, stirring vigorously. Gravy splashed. The liquid splattered onto Ashley’s new designer wool sweater. “Ah—! That’s disgusting! My clothes! Mom! You did that on purpose!” Ashley jumped back, dodging me. I held up the dripping toilet brush, pointing at the ruined Christmas dinner. My voice was calm. “Ashley was right, this cleaning power is truly strong.” “Don’t you all think I’m dirty? That I reek of cooking oil? That I’m only fit to scrub toilets?” “Then you all can taste what a toilet brush tastes like.” “This is your wonderful daughter, your wonderful granddaughter’s thoughtful gesture, specially chosen, worth hundreds of dollars!” “Eat it!” “Anyone who doesn’t eat it is disrespecting Ashley and throwing away her heartfelt gift!” David finally reacted, his face flushed purple with rage. He lunged at me, raising his hand. “Katherine!” “You’ve gone too far!” The slap didn’t land. Because I was still holding the bottle of powerful degreaser, aimed right at his eyes. David froze, his hand stopping mid-air. “You wouldn’t dare spray me, would you?” “Katherine, I think you’ve had enough of the good life! What’s wrong with you, going crazy on Christmas? Do you know how much this table of food cost? You couldn’t pay it back even if I sold you!” I sneered, “How much?” “Is it worth my ten years of youth? Is it worth my ten years of being a slave? Is it worth all the housekeeper fees and caregiver fees I saved the Johnson family?” Susan slapped her thigh, wailing, “You were just doing your duty!” “What wife doesn’t do housework? Are you so special? Ashley buys you a gift and you’re still picky, you ruin everything, you destroy the whole family’s Christmas dinner! You’re a total spendthrift! Such a curse! How did our Johnson family ever marry a jinx like you?!” Ashley stood by, her eyes red with anger, tears streaming down her face. She turned and threw herself into David’s arms, crying heartbreakingly: “Dad… I really just wanted to make Mom’s life easier… I don’t know why Mom hates me so much… Did I do something wrong… Dad… I’m so sad…” Look. This is the daughter I raised. She was the one who humiliated me with a pile of cleaning tools, but now she looks like she’s suffered the greatest injustice.

David tenderly patted his daughter’s back, pointing a finger at my nose. “Look what you’ve done to her! Ashley has never cried like this in her life! Katherine, you have to apologize to Ashley today!” Brittany chimed in, making a snide comment: “David, I think Kate’s just going through menopause, she’s completely unhinged, she can’t stand to see us happy, can’t stand to see Ashley succeed.” “Ashley is so accomplished, and she even bought her a gift, but instead, she goes and ruins the whole family’s Christmas dinner. This is only tolerated in our home, any other family would have thrown her out.” “Get out!!!” I suddenly smashed the toilet brush to the ground and ripped off the greasy apron I’d worn for ten years. “Since I’m a curse, since I’m unreasonable, since I’m only fit to scrub toilets.” “Then I’m not serving this family anymore.” “Aren’t you all rich? Don’t you have gold-plated charms, Rolexes, and premium skincare?” “Then you all can manage it yourselves!” With that, I turned and walked towards the bedroom. Behind me, Ashley’s tearful voice cried out, “Mom! You’re such a disappointment!” “You ruined my thoughtful gesture, and you ruined this family! You’re simply… simply not a good mother!” My steps faltered, and a sharp pain twisted in my chest. But I didn’t look back. I walked into the bedroom and pulled open the closet. It was full of David’s designer suits and shirts. My clothes? Oh, I forgot. My worn-out clothes were stuffed into a woven bag in the corner, not even deemed worthy of the closet. I turned to look at those shabby clothes, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea. I don’t want them. I only took my ID, bank cards, and the senior accountant certificate locked in a drawer. Looking at that certificate, my eyes welled up with tears. Once upon a time, I was the CFO of a well-known multinational company, with a brilliant future ahead of me. For this family, for Ashley to study in peace, I locked it away in the dark, for ten years. I never imagined that ten years of sacrifice would lead to this end. I composed myself. When I walked out of the bedroom, the living room was still a mess. Ashley was holding her phone, taking pictures of the chaos. Seeing me, she immediately put away her phone and put on a heartbroken expression. “Mom, are you really leaving? It’s Christmas, where are you going? Just apologize to me and Dad and the others, and clean up this mess, and we won’t blame you.” “Don’t make a scene, you have nothing without this family. You’re so old, and you don’t have a job, where can you go?” I looked coldly at the daughter I once considered my life. “Ashley, since you bought so many cleaning tools, use them well.” “The grease on the floor, the leftover food on the table, and this entire Johnson family’s rotten hearts.” “You can slowly clean it yourselves.” With that, I pulled open the front door. A cold wind, carrying snowflakes, blew into my face, Completely shutting the suffocating “home” behind me. Christmas Eve streets were empty. I pulled my five-year-old worn-out winter coat tighter and found a hotel. Once in the room, I collapsed onto the bed, and my phone suddenly began vibrating frantically. I checked it, and my blood pressure instantly spiked. Ashley had posted on Ins, and it had quickly become a local trending topic. The photo showed the ruined Christmas dinner. The caption: “Came home for Christmas intending to surprise my mom, but she hated the gifts, flipped the table, and ran away. My heart is so tired, why does my love only bring such pain?” Below it was a string of likes and comments from netizens. “Hugs to the OP! How could a mother be like this! So ungrateful!” “My jaw dropped after seeing the screenshots! This table of food looks so expensive, and she just flipped it? She must have psychological issues!” “My heart goes out to the OP, dealing with this on Christmas. It’s better to leave, this kind of toxic family isn’t worth staying in.” “Is the OP’s mom going through menopause? I suggest she sees a therapist.” Looking at these blatant lies, my hands were trembling with anger. They not only humiliated me at home, but they wanted to ruin my reputation online too. I took a deep breath. Luckily…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408528”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Give that account to her? Why? Just because she’s your favored one?” I pushed open Director Jenkins’s office door. Director Jenkins slammed her hand on the table. “Chloe Miller, watch your tone. I decide who gets what. Let’s keep things civil, for everyone’s sake. Otherwise, I have plenty of ways to make your life difficult.” “But I’ve been working on this for half a year, and it’s almost signed,” I stared at her. “Company resources, does it matter who handles it?” She leaned back, her posture relaxing slightly. “Think bigger picture. It’s all for the good of the company.” I looked at her self-satisfied expression and nodded. Then I suddenly smiled. “You’re right. I really should… think things through for the company.” As I walked out of the office, the smile vanished from my face. Back at my desk, a gasp came from beside me. “Oh, how can I accept this?” Brittany Hayes, wearing an ill-fitting short skirt, walked to the center of the office area, clutching a folder. She deliberately raised her voice. “Chloe, I heard you transferred that huge account you’ve been working on for half a year to me?” “That’s tens of millions in revenue!” “Thanks for all the groundwork you laid, Chloe. I’ll truly cherish it.” “I won’t let your efforts go to waste.” Her eyes glinted with provocation, and the corners of her mouth turned up. The sound of keyboards stopped. A few colleagues looked over, then quickly averted their gaze. I organized the documents on my desk, not even lifting my head. “No need to thank me. After all, Mr. Wang said new hires need a little ‘encouragement’.” “Whether you can hold onto that account is entirely up to your abilities.” Brittany’s smile froze. Mr. Robert Wang, the General Manager, walked out of his office. “Everyone, please stop what you’re doing. We’re having a short meeting.” Mr. Wang scanned the room, his gaze resting on me. “I have an announcement to make.” “Considering our year-end sprint, and to optimize resource allocation and cultivate new talent…” “Chloe Miller has proactively proposed transferring the TianSheng Group project she was managing to Brittany Hayes.” “Everyone should learn from Chloe. This is the kind of broader perspective we expect from our veteran employees!” “Come on, let’s give her a round of applause!” Sparse applause broke out. I clapped twice in cooperation. After the meeting, Brittany placed an iced latte on my desk. “Chloe, here’s an iced latte.” “Godfather asked me to come and get the TianSheng Group documents from you.” “Especially Ms. Carter’s preferences, her pet peeves, and all the previous negotiation details.” She held out her hand. I watched the dripping iced latte stain the documents. “They’re all on the shared drive. Download them yourself.” “Oh, Chloe, the shared drive only has official documents.” “I need your private notes.” She lowered her voice. “Godfather said if this deal falls through, you’ll be the only one to blame.” “You don’t want Godfather to think you’re holding out on us, do you?” I scoffed. I created a folder, packed the prepared materials, and sent them. “Sent.” “Read carefully. Don’t mess up something as simple as what kind of tea Ms. Carter drinks.” Brittany left with her laptop. Just before closing time, Director Jenkins called me into the pantry. She closed the door, her face turning grim. “Chloe, I know you’re upset.” “If this deal goes through, you’ll still get your share of the bonus.” “But if you dare to pull any stunts behind our backs or trip Brittany up…” “I’ll make sure you can’t work in this industry ever again!” Her manicured finger pointed at me. I bowed slightly. “Director Jenkins, you’re overthinking. How could I dare?” “I still have my mortgage to pay; work is important.” “Don’t worry, I’ll fully cooperate with Brittany.” Director Jenkins snorted and waved her hand. “Alright, get out. Just be smart about it.” Walking out of the company building, a cold wind blew. I pulled out my phone and opened the chat for “Mommy Dearest.” “Mom, I have something to tell you!” She replied instantly. “My sweet daughter, what’s wrong?” I typed out a line, put away my phone, and smiled.

Over the next few days, the office was quite noisy. Brittany frowned as she looked through the documents. The usually quiet WhatsApp group was stirred up daily by her @ mentions. “@Chloe Miller, what does ‘exclusive agreement’ mean in this clause?” “Ms. Carter’s legal team is asking if it can be removed. How do I respond?” “@Chloe Miller, how is the floating percentage in this quote calculated?” “The system keeps giving an error!” “@Chloe Miller, help! Ms. Carter’s secretary asked about Plan B from the previous proposal. I can’t find it anywhere!” I watched the screen, deliberately waiting for Mr. Wang to prompt me in the group before slowly replying. “Exclusive agreements are standard practice. Be firm with their legal team.” “The floating percentage is based on that formula; plug in the numbers yourself.” “Plan B is in the archived folder. Check there.” Brittany followed my advice and dealt with the client, but she was met with refusal. That afternoon, the office atmosphere was tense. Brittany slammed her mouse, her eyes red, and stormed into Mr. Wang’s office. Less than five minutes later, Mr. Wang’s voice pierced through the glass door. “Chloe Miller! Get in here!” I walked in, carrying my thermos. Mr. Wang slammed his hand on the desk. “Chloe, are you trying to get yourself fired?” “Brittany says she called Ms. Carter over a dozen times, and no one picked up.” “Did you give her fake contact info?!” “Are you intentionally trying to sabotage this deal?!” Brittany sat nearby, pointing at me and accusing. “Godfather, she’s doing this on purpose!” “She must have badmouthed me to Ms. Carter, otherwise why would Ms. Carter ignore me!” “Chloe, you can’t jeopardize the company’s interests like this!” I blinked. “Mr. Wang, you’re wronging me.” “The contact information is right there in the business card holder. How could I possibly give fake details?” “Maybe Ms. Carter has been busy these past few days and hasn’t had time to check her phone.” “Bullshit!” Mr. Wang slammed the folder on the floor. “Too busy to even pick up Brittany’s calls?” “Right now, in front of me, call Ms. Carter! If you can’t get through, you’re packing your bags and leaving immediately!” I pulled out my phone. “Alright, I’ll try.” I dialed the number and put it on speakerphone. It rang twice, then connected. A cold, indifferent female voice came through. “Hello?” Brittany froze, and Mr. Wang stiffened. I cleared my throat, my tone gentle. “Hello, Ms. Carter, this is Chloe.” “I apologize for disturbing you, but our manager, Brittany, said she couldn’t reach you.” “We’re worried about delaying the signing process, so I just wanted to ask…” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a cold snort. “Manager Brittany? Which Manager Brittany? I don’t know her.” “She keeps sending me all sorts of ridiculous emojis; I’ve blocked her.” “Chloe, how many times have I told you? I only discuss my projects with you.” “Sending just anyone to bother me, does your company not want to do business anymore?” Brittany’s face instantly flushed red, and she lowered her head. Mr. Wang’s face alternated between green and pale. I quickly responded. “Ms. Carter, please don’t be angry. New hires are still learning the ropes; we’ll reinforce their training.” “As for the signing…” “Alright, out of consideration for you, I’ll let it go.” “We’ll discuss the specifics later.” The call ended. The office was silent. I put away my phone and looked at Mr. Wang. “Mr. Wang, see? The phone number wasn’t the problem, was it?” “Perhaps Brittany was a bit too enthusiastic, and Ms. Carter doesn’t like that style.” Mr. Wang glared at Brittany. “Useless! Can’t even figure out a client’s preferences! Now go reflect on what you did wrong!” He then looked at me. “Since you can reach her, you’ll continue to assist with communications.” “But Brittany will still sign the contract; that’s non-negotiable.” I nodded in agreement. “Yes, you’re right.” After this incident, Brittany became smug again. She posted a group photo on Ins, Photoshopping me out and replacing me with herself. “All those late nights pulling off a multi-million dollar deal were totally worth it!” Many people liked it below her post.

At the company, she started ordering me around. “Chloe, please print this contract. It needs to be double-sided and in color.” “Chloe, please book the meeting room for tomorrow. I need the largest one, set up with flowers and fruit.” “Chloe, go buy me a coffee, the hand-ground one from the corner café.” I accepted all her requests without complaint. Brittany leaned back in her chair, her eyes full of triumph. The day before the signing, the sales department was in chaos. Mr. Wang threw a document in front of me. “Chloe Miller, this is the script for tomorrow’s signing ceremony.” “You need to write it today, down to the minute.” “Who stands where, who says what. Don’t leave until it’s done.” I flipped through the document. “Mr. Wang, shouldn’t Manager Brittany be preparing this?” “After all, she’s the one in charge.” Mr. Wang shot me a sidelong glance. “Brittany needs to memorize the contract clauses; she doesn’t have time for this.” “I’m telling you to write it. This is your chance to participate in a major project.” Brittany sat nearby, painting her nails. “That’s right, Chloe. Just help me out a bit.” “If I make a fool of myself tomorrow, it’ll be the company’s embarrassment.” I took the document. “Alright, I’ll get it ready now.” At noon, Mr. Wang called me to the end of the hallway. Amidst the lingering smoke, her gaze was inscrutable. “Chloe Miller, for tomorrow’s signing ceremony… you won’t be coming in.” I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Wang, I wrote the script, and I maintained the client relationship.” “Now you’re not even letting me into the venue?” Mr. Wang flicked off ash from his cigarette. “Chloe, you need to understand the situation.” “Brittany has more charisma than you, and she presents herself better.” “If you’re standing there, you’ll only draw attention away from Brittany.” “What if your attire offends Ms. Carter?” “Your job is to be at the door and handle logistics.” “After the signing, I’ll let you attend the celebration dinner.” I looked at her, and suddenly smiled. “Mr. Wang, are you sure you don’t need me to control the situation on-site?” “Given Ms. Carter’s temper, if there’s any unexpected change…” “Shut up!” Mr. Wang cut me off. “What unexpected change could there be? Just don’t be an eyesore.” “Have a broader perspective, understand?” I nodded. “Alright, broader perspective it is. I’ll wait by the door.” Back at my desk, Brittany was trying on clothes. It was a white lace gown with a train. “Chloe, doesn’t it look good? This is my power suit!” She twirled around. I glanced at it. “Gorgeous. You look just like a bridesmaid.” Brittany’s face darkened. “What do you know, you bumpkin!” Colleagues from other departments passed by, whispering to each other. Mr. Wang heard the commotion and cursed a few times in the WhatsApp group. I ignored the distractions and sent a message to my mom. “Mom, remember to wear that black suit tomorrow. The more serious, the better.” Just before closing, I went to get water. A cup of coffee was splashed in my face. I dodged, but my sleeve still got stained with brown. “Oops!” Brittany held the empty cup, a smirk on her face. “My hand slipped, it slipped. So sorry, Chloe.” “But you don’t have to see clients tomorrow anyway.” “It’s fine if your clothes get dirty; you should probably get some new outfits anyway.” I pulled out tissues to wipe the stain. Brittany took a step back. “What are you looking at? I already apologized.” I tossed the tissues into the trash. “It’s alright.” I smiled. “Out with the old, in with the new.” “I hope your power suit holds up tomorrow.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408525”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 After our third reconciliation, Garrison became unusually generous. He replaced my wardrobe with custom designer pieces, set my monthly allowance at twenty thousand dollars, and opened a flower shop in my name. He said he wanted me to have a career of my own. I accepted everything with a polite smile, a stark contrast to our past fights. He put an arm around me, clearly pleased. This is how it should be, he said. Let us focus on building a good life together. Three days before, I had seen his messages to his first love, Summer. The shop was registered under her name so it would count as her asset in the divorce. The expensive clothes and large allowance were meant to inflate my lifestyle. In court, I would look greedy and materialistic when demanding alimony. Six months at most, he wrote. Wait for me. I closed his phone and got to work. I ran the flower shop well, deposited every cent of the allowance into a hidden account, and never wore the designer clothes. Their tags stayed intact. Six months later, when Garrison finally asked for a divorce, I handed him a far more detailed agreement. He froze in shock. I smiled calmly. You spent six months planning this, Garrison. Did you really think I did not spend six months preparing too? … “Are you trying to threaten me with this?” Garrison threw the thick stack of divorce papers onto the marble coffee table, a patronizing smile playing on his lips. “The signature is lovely,” he said, picking up his cup of hot tea and gently blowing on the leaves. “But there’s a limit to how long you can throw a tantrum.” I sat across from him, watching him slowly sip his tea. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I replied, pushing the papers back toward him. “The terms are perfectly clear. The flower shop remains mine, the properties under your name stay yours, and our liquid assets will be split proportionally.” Garrison set his cup down, the porcelain clinking sharply against the glass table. He leaned back into the sofa, resting his hands on his knees. “Naomi, do you honestly believe that saving twenty thousand dollars a month for half a year makes you independent?” “I’ve spent the last six months pampering you, buying you designer clothes, and giving you a flower shop so you could play the successful business owner.” “Do you seriously think you can survive out there without my support?” I looked at his arrogant posture, choosing to remain silent. Three months ago, in this very office, he had wrapped his arm around my shoulder in front of his wealthy friends, boasting that the shop was a gift to help me find my own passion. Suddenly, his phone on the table began to vibrate. The name Summer flashed across the screen. Garrison glanced at me, making no effort to hide the call as he pressed answer. “Garrison, the bridal boutique just called to confirm,” Summer’s sweet, delicate voice echoed through the quiet office. “When are you coming over?” Garrison’s voice softened instantly, filled with a tenderness he had never shown me. “Hey, sweetheart. I have a minor issue to handle here. I’ll pick you up shortly to try on that reception dress you liked.” “Is she throwing another tantrum?” Summer sighed on the other end. “Don’t be too hard on her. Since you two are parting ways anyway, at least let her keep some dignity.” “Don’t worry, I know how to handle it.” Garrison hung up and turned his cold gaze back to me. “You heard that? Summer is still trying to protect your feelings.” He reached into his leather briefcase, pulling out a document and sliding it across the table. “Since you insist on counting every penny, let’s look at the math.” I looked down at the paper. It was a loan agreement. “The flower shop’s legal representative is you,” Garrison said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Last month, the shop took out a loan of five million dollars from one of my construction subsidiaries, supposedly for renovations and inventory.” “It’s not a massive sum, just five million.” He tapped his finger against the signature line at the bottom. “Black and white. Your personal signature and seal are right there.” I stared at the familiar signature stamp. It was a custom-made piece he had gifted me on the shop’s grand opening, telling me it would symbolize my independent career. It didn’t symbolize independence. It was a trap designed to drown me in debt. “And?” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “So, if you sign this clean-break agreement,” Garrison said, sliding his version of the divorce papers back to me, “I will personally clear this five-million-dollar debt for you. You can keep the monthly allowance as your severance package.” He adjusted his cuffs and stood up, looking down at me. “But if you insist on taking this to court, that five million will remain your personal liability. You won’t get a single dime from me, and you’ll spend the rest of your life working to pay off that debt.” He stood tall, entirely confident that I would break down, cry, and beg for his mercy just as I had done so many times before. I took a slow sip of my cold tea. “Garrison, your planning over the last six months was truly brilliant.” I opened my bag and pulled out a thick manila envelope, sliding a set of stamped documents onto the table, placing them right where his loan agreement sat. They were official audit reports from the tax bureau, accompanied by a copy of a criminal case filing from the financial fraud division. “The flower shop did indeed process a transaction of five million dollars,” I said, locking my eyes onto his. “But the recipient account belongs to the shell company you’ve been using to launder your personal assets.” Garrison’s eyes locked onto the red official stamps on the documents. The smug confidence on his face slowly, painfully began to fracture. 2 Garrison stared at the documents, the silence in the office turning heavy and suffocating. He didn’t scream, and he didn’t throw a fit. But the vein on his temple throbbed violently. “Where did you get these?” his voice dropped, laced with a freezing edge. “That doesn’t matter,” I said, leaning back comfortably. “What matters is that the tax authorities have already accepted the case. All those hidden accounts you kept in the dark are now exposed to the light.” Garrison suddenly let out a sharp laugh. He grabbed the photocopies, ripping them to shreds right in front of me, scattering the white pieces across the dark carpet. “Naomi, do you honestly believe some forged documents can put me behind bars?” He took a slow step toward me, leaning over the table to bring his face inches from mine. “For the past six months, you’ve eaten my food, worn the clothes I bought, and even the rent for this shop was paid out of my pocket.” “And you used my money to investigate me?” His voice was steady, but the naked malice in his eyes was no longer concealed. “Exactly,” I replied, holding his gaze. “Didn’t you say you wanted me to have a career? I’ve learned a lot, including how to run an audit.” Garrison straightened up, scanning the room. On the walls hung expensive paintings he had gifted me, and in the corner sat a rare, prized white orchid I had tended to for months. He walked over to the wooden plant stand, idly stroking the delicate leaves of the orchid. “This orchid was quite expensive, wasn’t it?” he asked. “You had it imported. It cost sixty thousand dollars,” I answered calmly. Garrison nodded. Then, with a sudden, violent sweep of his arm, he knocked the heavy ceramic pot off the stand. The sound of shattering clay echoed through the room. Soil and the rare, delicate roots of the orchid scattered across the floor. He stepped over the debris, walked to the wall, ripped down the expensive painting, and tossed it into the trash can. “I gave you all of this, and I can take it all back in an instant.” He turned around to face me. “Do you really think a little leverage is enough to negotiate with me?” “Naomi, you are incredibly naive. The game of high finance is not something a housewife who spent three years doing laundry can understand.” He walked back, his fingers gripping my chin tightly. “Yes, I set you up so Summer could take your place. I have no problem admitting that.” He showed no trace of remorse. “What else is a useless woman like you good for, if not to be a stepping stone?” “I offered you money and a graceful exit. If you had just taken the fall quietly, we could have parted ways like adults. Why must you make this so ugly?” Forced to look up at him, I stared at the face I had loved for five years. I used to think he was a gentleman. Now, he simply made my skin crawl. “Do you really think you’ve won?” I asked softly. Garrison released his grip, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers. “Tomorrow morning, my lawyers will take legal control of this shop. As for your so-called evidence…” He tossed the handkerchief onto the desk. “Feel free to try your luck. Let’s see if the authorities believe a heavily indebted business owner, or my elite legal team.” He adjusted his tie and turned toward the door. “Pack your things tonight and get out of my house.” As his hand touched the doorknob, he paused. “And don’t even think about taking those designer clothes with you. You didn’t even dare to remove the tags. You’re cheap to the bone, Naomi. A servant girl in a silk dress is still a servant.” The door slammed shut behind him. I stared at the ruins of my shop. I didn’t cry. Instead, I reached under a large piece of the shattered ceramic pot and retrieved a tiny, black voice recorder. I pressed the button to save the file. Garrison, the audit files were only the beginning. Tomorrow morning, you are going to receive a much larger surprise. 3 The next morning. I woke up on the thin mattress of a cheap motel, my phone buzzing with a dozen text notifications. Every single one was a notice that my credit cards had been deactivated. Moments later, the flower shop’s main supplier called. “Naomi, I am incredibly sorry, but Garrison’s representatives called us. We can no longer supply flowers to your shop.” “Please don’t make this difficult for us. We’re just trying to run a business.” “I understand,” I replied calmly, and hung up. Garrison’s methods were always so predictable. Cut off my finances, ruin my business, and leave me with nothing. He truly believed this would force me to crawl back, begging for his forgiveness. I opened social media, and the very first post on my feed was an update from Summer. The location tag was the sales office of the city’s most luxurious waterfront penthouse development. The photo showed a property purchase contract, with a man’s hand resting on the corner, a classic Cartier wedding band visible on his ring finger. I knew that hand all too well. The caption read: Finally, a home of our own. Thank you for always choosing me, my love. I zoomed in on the image. Under the guarantor section of the purchase contract, the business license number of my flower shop was clearly written. No wonder he was so desperate to force me out yesterday. He needed to use my business as leverage to pay the multi-million-dollar down payment on his mistress’s dream home. I leaned against the headboard, staring at the photo. I remembered how he had looked every time he transferred that twenty-thousand-dollar allowance to my account over the last six months, his expression full of condescending charity. “Spend it. Don’t be stingy with your wardrobe. The wife of Garrison needs to look presentable.” He had counted every penny when it came to me, terrified I would take a single dollar of his assets in a divorce. Yet, he threw millions at Summer without a second thought. I felt no pain, only a deep sense of irony. I exited the app, opened a contact with no name saved, and sent a quick text. “Is the joint lawsuit filed?” The reply came instantly. “Submitted to the court. Every minority shareholder signed off on it. The financial crimes division has also received the complete asset flow chart.” “Where is Garrison right now?” “At the penthouse sales office, preparing to make the payment.” I put my phone down, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtains. Garrison, you truly believed you were outsmarting a simple housewife. You had no idea that the wealthy women I hosted at my shop over the last six months were the wives of your company’s minority shareholders. And you had no idea that I used that twenty-thousand-dollar monthly allowance to hire the best private investigators to map out every single one of your hidden accounts. My phone vibrated again. It was a video file from the same unsaved number. In the video, Garrison was sitting in the VIP lounge of the sales office. Summer was leaning against his shoulder, looking over the floor plans. Garrison handed a sleek black card to the sales manager. The manager took it respectfully and swiped it through the terminal. The machine let out a series of sharp, error beeps. The manager blinked, trying again. Another failure. “Mr. Garrison… your card appears to have been frozen,” the manager said awkwardly, handing it back. The smile on Garrison’s face vanished. He stood up abruptly, pulling out his phone to make a call. But before he could dial, the glass doors of the VIP lounge were pushed open. Several federal agents in windbreakers walked in. “Garrison? You are under investigation for embezzlement and money laundering. All accounts under your name have been frozen by federal order.” “Please come with us.” The video cut off. Staring at the screen, I watched the look of sheer, helpless disbelief on Garrison’s face. I tossed the phone onto the bed and went to get ready. At the exact moment he tried to buy his mistress a luxury penthouse, his empire collapsed. 4 By the time Garrison was released on bail, it was already late afternoon. I was standing outside the ruins of my flower shop, sorting through the remaining inventory. Yes, ruins. Two hours prior, a bulldozer had driven onto the commercial street. The driver claimed he was acting on orders from Garrison’s estate management company. The lease had supposedly expired, and the premises had to be cleared immediately. I hadn’t stopped them. I had only secured the physical ledgers. A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Garrison stepped out, his suit wrinkled, dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes. The elegant composure he usually wore was entirely gone. He marched over to me, his voice low and dangerous. “You did this?” he asked, pointing a finger at the pile of brick and splintered wood. “You’re the one who ran the fake accounts, Garrison. How is that my fault?” I replied, dusting off my hands. Garrison took a deep breath, loosening his tie. “Naomi, you really are something else. Banding together with those old shareholders to ruin me?” He stared at me as if looking at a monster. “Do you have any idea what a frozen account and a broken supply chain mean for me?” “Bankruptcy. Or prison,” I supplied calmly. That was the breaking point. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a crushing grip, dragging me toward the dark alley behind the shop. “What are you doing? Let go of me!” I struggled, but his grip was like iron, and I couldn’t break free. At the end of the alley lay the heavy metal door of the cold storage unit we used to preserve imported flowers. Because of the demolition, the power to the block had been cut, but the thick insulation kept the interior freezing. Garrison shoved me inside. I stumbled, falling hard onto the icy concrete floor, a sharp pain shooting through my knees. “You like auditing accounts so much? You like acting so pure and righteous?” Garrison stood in the doorway, looking down at me in the dim light. His voice had returned to that terrifyingly polite, cruel tone. “The moment you sign the papers to drop the lawsuit, and the moment you change your statement to the fraud division, I’ll let you out.” “Garrison, you’re insane! This is kidnapping!” I yelled, pulling myself up by the cold wall. “Go ahead and sue me,” he sneered. “Let’s see if any lawyer in this city dares to take your case.” He slammed the heavy insulated door shut. The lock clicked into place from the outside. I was plunged into absolute, freezing darkness. The biting cold wrapped around me instantly. I pulled out my phone. No service. The temperature in the unit was well below freezing, and I was only wearing a light trench coat. Even worse, the sudden physical struggle and the freezing air began to constrict my chest. My throat felt tight, and my breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps. My asthma was flaring up. I threw my weight against the heavy iron door, pounding on it with all my strength. “Garrison… open the door…” “My inhaler… it’s in my bag… outside…” Garrison’s voice came through the thick metal, muffled and completely uncaring. “Stop acting, Naomi. You’ve used that trick a thousand times.” “Do you really think throwing a tantrum will make me soft?” “Even if you die in there, I don’t care.” His voice was dripping with arrogance and absolute certainty. I slid down the cold iron door, collapsing onto the frozen floor. Breathing became an agonizing struggle, each gasp feeling like I was inhaling crushed glass. The freezing air crept up my fingers, numbing my joints. I tried to reach into my pockets, but my hands were stiff, covered in a thin layer of frost, completely devoid of sensation. In the silent, freezing dark, my grip on consciousness slipped away, and I finally closed my eyes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452538”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Pre-holiday rush, I prepped for a trip when Supervisor Victoria told me to cancel my flight—we’d drive her car instead. She said it’d save the department budget and give her time to mentor me, a “golden opportunity” others would beg for. I believed her, spent six grueling hours as her unpaid chauffeur. At a highway rest stop, before I could breathe, she kicked a grimy mop at my feet. “Restroom stall’s filthy—go mop it,” she sniffed. “No custodian around, and I’m not stepping in dirty water. Young people lack initiative! I brought you here to groom you for promotion—can’t handle this, how will you lead?” I almost laughed. The company would’ve reimbursed my one-hour flight; instead, I drove, saved her gas, and now I’m her restroom janitor? She tapped her foot, urging me to hurry for the client. Swallowing disgust, I grabbed the mop—then snapped a clear photo of the mess, opened Slack, and tagged the CEO: “@Chairman Harrison. Victoria says I can’t attend the client meeting unless I mop this rest stop restroom.” My phone began to vibrate violently within three seconds of hitting send. Outside the stall door, Victoria was still lecturing me, her high heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. “Brooke, what is taking you so long?” “Clients despise tardiness. Do I really have to teach you the absolute basics of business etiquette?” On my screen, notifications were cascading down. Chairman Harrison had instantly replied to my message with a single, ominous question mark. The massive company Slack channel, usually filled with hundreds of sycophantic “understands” and “received” messages, was dead silent. I locked my phone and slid it into my pocket, leaving the black, greasy mop untouched in the corner. I turned on the faucet and slowly, deliberately washed my hands. “Brooke! Are you deaf? Did you hear me?” Receiving no response, Victoria began to pound on the heavy wooden door, making it rattle on its hinges. “Do you want to lose your job? Believe me, I can have you packed and gone by tomorrow morning!” I pulled two paper towels from the dispenser, carefully drying my fingers. Then, I threw the door open. Victoria’s hand was still raised to strike the door again, almost hitting my nose. She pointed a manicured finger at the wet spots on the floor, her voice rising to a shriek. “Are you deaf? I told you to mop the floor!” “I’ve spent the last six hours teaching you the ropes. Is a little manual labor really beneath you?” “I’m not mopping the floor, Victoria.” I tossed the crumpled paper towels into the trash, my voice entirely flat. “I was hired as a legal assistant, not a janitor.” Victoria gasped, taking a step back before crossing her arms with a cold sneer. “Well, look at you, growing a spine. Legal assistant? Let me remind you, you’re still on probation. Don’t think for a second that this company can’t function without you. I could post your job today and have a hundred hungry graduates begging for it by dinner.” She pointed dramatically toward the highway exit. “If you don’t want to do the work, fine. Get your things and get out of my car. I don’t carry freeloaders.” “Are you absolutely sure you want me to leave, Victoria?” I fished my phone out of my pocket, unlocked the screen, and held it up right in front of her face. “Maybe you should check Slack first.” Victoria frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion as she reached for her own phone. In an instant, the flush of anger on her face drained away, leaving her skin a sickly, pale white. On the screen, right below the CEO’s question mark, was a fifteen-second voice note from Chairman Harrison. “What… what did you do?” She stared at me, her voice cracking as she lunged forward, trying to grab my phone out of my hand. “You lunatic! How dare you post that in the main channel?” “Delete it! Delete it right now!” I stepped back easily, letting her swipe at empty air. “It’s been past the two-minute mark, Victoria. I can’t delete it.” My voice remained perfectly level. “Besides, Mr. Harrison just messaged me privately. He told me to wait right here at the rest stop. He’s currently visiting a nearby subsidiary, and he’s sending his personal driver to pick me up.” 2 Victoria’s hand remained frozen in the air, her eyes wide with sudden terror. The bravado vanished, replaced by a desperate, pleading tone. “Brooke… how could you be so sensitive?” “I was only joking with you. I wanted to see how you handle high-pressure situations.” “Did you honestly think I’d make you clean a public restroom?” “Come on, just message Mr. Harrison back. Tell him it was a mistake, or… tell him we were playing truth or dare and you lost!” “That wasn’t funny, Victoria.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, bypassed her completely, and walked toward the exit without sparing her another glance. “By the way, you still owe me the fifteen hundred dollars for my canceled plane ticket.” “That’s company money, after all. Right?” Behind me, I could hear Victoria stamping her high heels in frustration, muttering a string of hushed, venomous curses under her breath. “Unbelievable… that little brat!” Two hours later, I was sitting comfortably on a plush leather sofa in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt. The Chairman’s personal assistant handed me a cup of hot tea, his manner incredibly polite. “Miss Brooke, Mr. Harrison is currently upstairs. He wants you to rest here for a bit. The dinner with the client tonight will proceed as planned.” Audrey, the secretary, added, “Mr. Harrison also wanted me to tell you that this company does not tolerate its employees being mistreated.” Suddenly, the heavy revolving doors of the lobby spun violently. Victoria burst into the room, panting heavily. Her hair was a wild mess, her makeup was smeared, and she was clutching the heavy gift bags intended for the client. The moment she spotted me sipping my tea, the fury in her eyes flared up. She marched over, stopping inches from my face. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Brooke?” She hissed the words, her teeth clenched so tightly her jaw trembled. “Running to the CEO to whine like a child! Do you honestly think Mr. Harrison is going to take your side?” “I’ve been with this firm for eight years. You think a little nobody like you can bring me down?” I slowly set my teacup back on the glass table, looking up at her. “I simply stated the facts. If you consider that backstabbing, then what do you call what you did to me?” “You don’t know a damn thing!” Victoria glared at me, checking her surroundings. Seeing that the CEO was nowhere in sight, her voice rose another octave. “When your superior gives you an order, you follow it! Having you mop that floor was a lesson in humility, a way to build character!” “What did you think you’d gain by dragging the Chairman into this?” “The satisfaction of not having to clean toilets,” I replied smoothly. Victoria’s chest heaved with rage, her finger practically touching the tip of my nose. “Fine! Just great! Let’s see how you handle yourself when Mr. Harrison gets down here. Without me to guide you, you won’t last five minutes in that meeting!” Just then, a quiet chime echoed from the elevator bank. The doors slid open, and Chairman Harrison stepped out. He wore a sharp, tailored charcoal suit, his posture straight and commanding, flanked by several senior executives. The venom on Victoria’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a subservient, almost sorrowful smile. “Mr. Harrison! I didn’t expect you to come down yourself!” She rushed forward, bowing so low she was practically folded in half as she presented the gift bags. “The traffic on the highway was dreadful, which is why we arrived so late. I apologize sincerely.” Mr. Harrison stopped in his tracks. His gaze bypassed her completely, landing on me. He gave me a brief, reassuring nod before turning his attention back to Victoria. “Is everyone here?” His voice was calm, completely unreadable. Victoria nodded eagerly. “Yes, everyone is here. Brooke arrived safely as well.” “The poor girl had a little temper tantrum on the road and insisted on taking her own transport. I was worried sick about her the entire way…” As she spoke, she shot a warning glare at me from the corner of her eye, silently demanding that I play along. I stood up, completely ignoring her unspoken threat, and walked over to the Chairman. “Good evening, Mr. Harrison,” I said warmly. I didn’t say a single word about a “temper tantrum.” Mr. Harrison studied my expression for a second before turning back to Victoria. “A temper tantrum?” “Victoria, why don’t you tell me exactly what she was throwing a tantrum about?” Victoria blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. She scrambled for a recovery, offering a sheepish laugh. “Oh, you know how delicate the younger generation can be.” “I was simply offering some constructive criticism regarding her attention to detail, and she took it personally. I only have her best interests at heart. I want to see her grow…” “Is that so?” Mr. Harrison cut her off, his tone flat. “Was it for her own good, or was it to clean a toilet for you?” The lobby fell into an instant, freezing silence. The accompanying executives suddenly found their phones incredibly fascinating, staring down to avoid the tension. The smile on Victoria’s face shattered. She stood there, her mouth hanging open, unable to utter a single syllable. “Mr. Harrison… that was… because…” “Enough. Let’s eat first.” Mr. Harrison raised a hand, cutting off her stammering explanations as he led the way toward the restaurant. “The client is waiting, and we aren’t going to make a scene in public. We will handle this after dinner.” Victoria remained frozen in place, her face shifting between a furious red and a ghostly white. The paper handles of the gift bags in her hands were nearly shredded from her grip. She turned her head and threw a look of pure, unadulterated hatred at me. You’re going to pay for this, her eyes screamed. I held my head high, smoothed down my blazer, and followed the Chairman. 3 The dinner was held in the Grand Hyatt’s exclusive private dining room. Our client, Mr. Jenkins, raised his glass toward Victoria. “Victoria, you really are a powerhouse. Your stamina, your presentation… I’m incredibly impressed.” Victoria let out a soft, melodious laugh, raising her glass in return. “You’re far too kind, Mr. Jenkins.” “For a project as important as this one, I drove through the night instead of taking a flight just to ensure everything was perfect.” She cast a fleeting glance at Mr. Harrison, clearly fishing for approval. Mr. Harrison set his silverware down, looking at her. “Oh? You drove all night?” “That sounds exhausting. Though, if I remember correctly, the finance department approved two plane tickets for this trip.” Victoria’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. “Mr. Harrison, with the end-of-year crunch, department budgets are tight. I wanted to save company funds wherever possible.” “Besides, the long drive gave me the perfect opportunity to mentor Brooke here. It was a win-win.” She turned her gaze to me, her eyes flashing with a silent warning. “Isn’t that right, Brooke?” “I shared some of my most valuable industry secrets with you on the road.” My hand, which was currently peeling a shrimp, stopped. Mentoring me? The only “instruction” I had received during the entire six-hour drive was how to hold a dirty mop at a rest stop. I set the shrimp down, pulled a wet wipe from the dispenser, and thoroughly cleaned my fingers. Then, I looked up, meeting her gaze head-on. “Victoria was indeed incredibly dedicated on the road,” I said, my voice sweet and even. “After all, sleeping in the passenger seat for six hours while making sure I kept my eyes on the road couldn’t have been easy for her.” The dining room went dead silent. Mr. Jenkins’ glass remained suspended in midair, his eyes darting between us, suddenly highly amused. The polite mask on Victoria’s face began to crack. She let out a strained, dry laugh. “Brooke, that is no way to speak to your manager.” “I was… resting my eyes while mentally reviewing the proposal!” “Ah, of course.” I nodded understandingly. I reached into my bag, pulled out a neat folder of printed receipts, and placed them on the lazy Susan, spinning it slowly until it stopped right in front of Mr. Harrison. “Since we’re on the subject of budgets, and since Mr. Harrison is here, I’d like to bring this up.” “Victoria instructed me to cancel my plane ticket, promising she would reimburse me immediately. It’s been twenty-four hours, and I have yet to see those funds.” “Furthermore, I paid for all the highway tolls and gas out of pocket during the drive.” “If Victoria was trying to save the department’s budget, surely these expenses should be processed through the company’s official accounts, right?” “Oh, and here is the screenshot of the flight cancellation.” I pointed to the top document in the folder. “According to the confirmation email, the fifteen-hundred-dollar refund went directly back to Victoria’s personal bank account.” “Did that slip your mind, Victoria?” Mr. Harrison picked up the papers, skimming through them as his face grew dark. Victoria slammed her hands on the table, standing up abruptly. “Brooke! What is the meaning of this?” “Bringing up petty personal expenses in front of a client? Do you honestly think I’d steal your money? I’ve simply been too busy to transfer it!” “Too busy?” I stared her down. “And what about the custodian fees we saved the company when you forced me to clean the rest stop bathroom? Does that count toward the department’s end-of-year savings too?” “You—!” Victoria pointed a trembling finger at me, her mouth twisting as she prepared to scream. “Victoria!” Thud! Mr. Harrison slammed the documents onto the table, causing the crystal glassware to rattle violently. “Is this your idea of saving the department’s budget? Is this how you mentor our new hires?” Mr. Harrison’s voice wasn’t loud, but every syllable carried the weight of a hammer. “Treating our expense policies like a game, and using your subordinates as personal maids and drivers! You’ve grown far too comfortable in your position, Victoria!” Victoria began to tremble, any trace of alcohol instantly draining from her system. “Mr. Harrison, please, that’s not… let me explain…” She waved her hands in a panic, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “Explain what? Explain why the ticket refund went straight into your personal account?” “Or explain why you forced an associate to clean a public restroom because you found it dirty?” “We have a client present, so I will afford you some dignity.” Mr. Harrison pointed toward the exit. “Now, transfer the money to Brooke immediately. Every single cent. Then, get out of my sight and reflect on your actions.” Victoria’s face turned a deathly pale. She looked at Mr. Jenkins, pleading for help. But Mr. Jenkins was suddenly very interested in his plate, ignoring her completely. Under Mr. Harrison’s icy glare, Victoria’s hands shook violently as she pulled out her phone. Chime. My phone lit up with a notification of a bank transfer. After completing the transaction, Victoria glared at me with a look so venomous I thought she might lung at me. She snatched her purse off the chair and fled the room, leaving a trail of heavy perfume behind her. 4 Once Victoria left, the suffocating tension in the room dissipated. Mr. Harrison raised his glass toward Mr. Jenkins, offering a sincere apology. “I must apologize for that display, Mr. Jenkins. It seems I have been too lenient with my staff.” Mr. Jenkins laughed, waving it off. “Not at all, Mr. Harrison. A great leader knows when to cut out the rot. That is the hallmark of a truly professional firm.” He turned his gaze toward me, his eyes filled with genuine appreciation. “Young Brooke here handled herself with incredible grace. Rational, poised, and firm. She’s got a bright future ahead of her.” I quickly stood up, raising my glass. “Thank you, Mr. Jenkins. That means a lot to me.” For the first time on this trip, I was able to enjoy my dinner. After the dinner concluded, Mr. Harrison called me over to the side. “Brooke, you’ve had a difficult couple of days,” Mr. Harrison said, his tone incredibly warm. “The board has had suspicions about Victoria’s conduct for a while, but we never had concrete proof.” “You did the right thing. In this industry, when faced with such behavior, you must bring the evidence to light.” I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I believe we go to work to create value, not to compromise our dignity.” Mr. Harrison smiled, patting my shoulder. “Well said.” “For the remainder of this trip, you will assist Audrey. Shadow her and learn as much as you can.” “As for Victoria, there will be an official investigation waiting for her when we return.” Back in my hotel room, the exhaustion of the trip finally washed over me. I took a hot shower, feeling the tension drain from my muscles. Suddenly, my phone screen flashed, and a series of sharp, aggressive notification sounds echoed through the room. I unlocked it. Every single message was from Victoria. You think you’re so smart, Brooke! You really think you’ve won? Don’t think for a second that Harrison can protect you forever. As long as I am still at this company, I will make your life a living hell! Just you wait! Then, a sixty-second voice note popped up, the icon blinking mockingly. I didn’t bother listening to it. I held down her contact info, hit block, and deleted her from my phone entirely. The next morning, I walked down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. The moment I sat down, I noticed several colleagues from other departments huddling together, whispering and casting frequent sidelong glances in my direction. “Is that her? The one who publicly humiliated her manager at dinner last night?” “Unbelievable. She actually managed to drive Victoria out. You really can’t mess with these new hires.” “I heard Victoria say she was just lazy and tried to submit fraudulent expenses, and when Victoria called her out on it, she turned the tables…” My grip on my spoon tightened, my knuckles turning white. Even though Victoria wasn’t here, the lies she had spun were already spreading like wildfire through the traveling team. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing myself to relax my hands. I ignored the whispers and focused on my breakfast. Trying to explain myself would only make me look defensive. In the corporate world, rumors always travel faster than the truth. To truly clear my name, words alone wouldn’t cut it. After breakfast, I joined Audrey to prepare for the day’s negotiations. Audrey was an incredibly efficient professional. She showed no bias toward me, remaining completely focused on the work. During a brief break in the meeting, she kept her eyes on her tablet as she spoke. “Brooke, keep your focus on the task at hand.” “In this office, if you let rumors get to you, they become weapons. If you ignore them, they’re nothing but white noise.” “Results are the only language the corporate world truly respects. Let your work do the talking.” I nodded firmly. “Thank you, Audrey. I understand.” Over the next few days, I threw myself entirely into the work. I organized case files, drafted detailed meeting minutes, and analyzed client data, working with twice the effort I usually put in. Victoria seemed to have vanished entirely, never showing her face for the rest of the trip. On the first Monday back at the main office, the atmosphere was incredibly tense. The moment I stepped onto our floor, the chatter among my colleagues died down instantly. Dozens of eyes turned to look at me, their expressions a mix of pity, amusement, and cold avoidance. I walked straight to my desk. The door to Victoria’s private office was shut tight. I had heard she had been suspended for a week, and today was her first day back. I sat down and booted up my computer, preparing to start the day. Suddenly, my desk phone rang. I picked up the receiver. “Brooke, please step into the main conference room immediately.” It was the HR Director’s voice, cold and entirely devoid of emotion.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452539”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Ever since I was little, my parents drilled one lesson into me. Girls must be independent. As they aged, they said it was time for me to shoulder the family burdens. When I pointed at my older brother Austin and asked why he should not learn to be independent too, things changed. Not long after, Austin suffered a terrible fall. He was bedridden from that day on, supposedly paralyzed from the waist down. To keep our family afloat, I worked grueling part-time jobs while caring for him. No matter how hard I worked, we lived like ghosts on the margins of society. We ate wilted greens from grocery store bins and wore coarse, discarded clothing. Desperate for a way out, I signed up for experimental medical trials. The cash was quick, but the cost was my life. I contracted a rare, aggressive skin cancer that covered my body in painful sores. As the end drew near, I left every cent of that blood money for my brother. I did not even keep enough to buy a peaceful end. In the dark, I pulled a heavy plastic bag over my head and suffocated myself on my creaking cot. Death did not bring the quiet slip into nothingness I expected. My spirit lingered. I watched my supposedly paralyzed brother play a high-stakes basketball game. When the buzzer sounded, my parents rushed onto the court to embrace him, handing him the deed to the city’s most expensive luxury estate. It turned out my entire life of suffering had been a meticulously staged play. I was the only actor who did not know the script. Now that I am truly gone, why are they drowning in regret? … I was preparing for my second round of clinical trials when the nurse, syringe in hand, noticed the massive, weeping lesions spreading across my arm. She gasped, her hand trembling so hard the needle clattered to the linoleum floor. Within minutes, they dragged me into an examination room for a battery of tests. Before I could even ask what was wrong with my skin, two burly security guards lifted me up and threw me out into the alley behind the clinic. The nurse tossed a manila envelope containing my meager payment and the medical report onto my chest. “You have advanced skin cancer and you still showed up for experimental trials? How desperate for cash are you? You signed a waiver, so even if you died on our table, it wouldn’t be our problem. Take your money and get lost, and don’t you dare think about suing us!” Those words struck me like a physical blow, leaving me frozen on the cold pavement. Ever since I started the trials, my skin had been incredibly itchy, shedding dry flakes constantly. Every time my mother painstakingly swept up the skin flakes around my cot, I felt a deep wave of guilt for making her chores harder. I had no idea those flakes were the first signs of my body rotting from the inside out. Trembling, I pulled the diagnosis sheet from the envelope. My eyes strained against the stark, clinical terms, desperately hoping I had misread the diagnosis. Right then, my cheap phone began to buzz. My mother’s gentle, weary voice came through the receiver. “Daisy, sweetheart, your father and I are going to pull an extra shift to get some extra cash. We won’t make it home for lunch. Make sure you cook something nice for your brother.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing a quiet, shaky assent before dragging my leaden feet back to our run-down neighborhood. The moment I stepped inside, I hid the medical report under the thin mattress of my wooden cot. But when I turned and saw Austin lying in his bed, my eyes welled with hot, uncontrollable tears. Austin looked up at me, his expression softening with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Daisy. I’m just a burden to you. Honestly, it’s fine if I skip lunch today. You don’t have to tire yourself out.” I walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at him for a long time before I could find my voice. “Austin, if I’m ever gone, how will you survive?” He reached out and gently patted my head, his tone affectionately dismissive. “What are you talking about? Even if death comes knocking, I’d go in your place. You aren’t going anywhere. You have to stay strong, Daisy. We’re going to get through this soon.” But I wasn’t going to get through this. I forced myself to stand, wiped my tears, and went to the kitchen. In a rare moment of extravagance, I used the last of our household money to buy a few fresh eggs to soft-boil for him. Just as I set the plate on our rickety table, our parents dragged themselves through the front door, looking thoroughly exhausted. My father reached into his frayed canvas bag and pulled out a handful of bruised, discarded vegetable leaves. He took a long gulp of tap water, his eyes shining with forced cheer. “Your mother was fast today! She managed to grab these greens before the supermarket threw them in the incinerator. They’re much fresher than usual.” I stared at them, their voices sounding as if they were drifting from underwater. My mother reached into her pocket and placed a sweet, glazed raspberry pastry into my hand. “Happy birthday, my sweet girl. We can’t afford a real cake, but you still deserve something sweet today.” The pastry felt incredibly heavy in my palm. The horrifying words from the medical report kept flashing in my mind, making it impossible to smile. Yet, the rich, buttery scent of the pastry brought a brief moment of clarity. I gently placed it on Austin’s bedside table. “Give it to Austin. I don’t really like sweet things anyway.” Austin pushed my hand back. “You’re the birthday girl, Daisy. You eat it. Just let me have a tiny bite of the frosting so I can share your luck.” He dipped a finger into the glaze and licked it clean. A pastry like this cost more than our entire food budget for two weeks. There was no way I could swallow it. My parents sat down at the table, quietly chewing on stale, hardened crusts of bread. They refused to touch the eggs I had prepared for Austin. Looking at their mismatched, oversized clothes, my heart ached with a profound, crushing sorrow. The terror of my diagnosis was slowly swallowed by a deep, hollow despair. I wanted so badly to throw myself into my mother’s arms and tell her how sick I was, to beg for comfort. But the words died in my throat. If my death meant one less mouth to feed, if it meant they could finally stop starving, then I would gladly welcome the end. 2 I could never understand why, despite how hard we all worked, we remained trapped in absolute poverty. When I was a child, my parents had moved us to a neglected trailer park on the very edge of the city to save on rent. The children there all came from struggling families. For many of them, survival was the only goal. They were resilient, sharp, and fiercely determined. Instead of being discouraged by the grim surroundings, my mother had grabbed my hand, her eyes bright with a strange excitement. “In an environment like this, my daughter will learn what it takes to survive and thrive.” I had turned to look at Austin, my young eyes wide with innocence. “I want Austin to be strong and independent just like me.” But shortly after, Austin fell, and his legs supposedly gave out forever. The guilt of that memory had haunted me for years. I used to sit by his bedside, slapping my own face until my cheeks were bruised, convinced that my childish words had cursed him to a life in a wheelchair. To make up for it, I worked myself to the bone while trying to finish school. As a student, I could only get the lowest-paying, most physically demanding odd jobs. I spent summers standing on scorching asphalt in ninety-degree heat, handing out flyers. When thirst threatened to overwhelm me, I couldn’t bring myself to spend two dollars on a bottle of water. Instead, I drank the dregs left behind in discarded plastic bottles, collecting the empty containers to sell to the recycling center. Once, a group of local vagrants cornered me in an alley, furious that I was taking their bottles. They shoved garbage into my mouth, warning me to stay off their turf before beating me until my ribs cracked. Spitting blood and covered in bruises, I had desperately wanted to buy a cheap bottle of painkillers. But I resisted the urge, locking my pennies away in a jar for Austin’s medical fund. Whenever I was in pain, I simply gathered ash from our wood stove and rubbed it over my cuts to stop the bleeding. When my parents found out, my father gave me a firm pat on the back. “Our girl has incredible grit. You have the making of a true survivor, Daisy.” They didn’t know the searing, agonizing pain of rubbing raw ash into open wounds. I never cried out. Asking my mother for a simple hug felt like an indulgence I couldn’t afford, because every minute wasted was a penny lost. I stared at the sweet raspberry pastry on the table, a dark, final decision solidifying in my chest. My mother walked into the small room and sat beside me, gently stroking my hair. Her voice carried a soft, apologetic tone. “Daisy, someone recommended a specialist in the city. We’ve managed to scrape together a bit of savings, and we want to take Austin there. Maybe, just maybe, they can make him walk again.” It was a completely normal departure, but it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. They had traveled for his treatments before, but I knew this would be the last time I would ever see them. Suppressing my grief, I scrambled to my feet, reached under my mattress, and pulled out the crumpled envelope of cash from the clinic, shoving it into my mother’s hands. Seeing her stunned expression, I forced a watery smile. “It was Valentine’s Day last week. A lot of wealthy couples got into arguments and threw away expensive gifts. I got lucky and scavenged them to sell.” My mother pulled me into a warm, rare embrace. “Take care of yourself while we’re gone, sweetheart. We’ll be back before you know it.” I stood by the cracked window, watching their figures grow smaller until they vanished down the dusty road. Only then did the realization hit me: I had been so desperate to save my brother that I hadn’t kept a single dollar to buy a painless way out for myself. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. Through the haze, my eyes fell on the plastic bag wrapping the raspberry pastry. I took one last bite of the sweet, rich dough, letting the flavor coat my tongue. Having my mother’s final embrace was enough. I could depart in peace. I pulled the empty plastic bag over my head and gathered it tightly around my neck. The lingering scent of sugar filled my lungs, making my hands hesitate. My instincts screamed for air, but I forced my fingers to hold the plastic tight. Our family couldn’t afford another sick person. Without me, they could focus every resource on curing Austin. I clenched my teeth and pulled the plastic tighter, shutting my eyes as the faint light of the room dissolved into absolute, suffocating darkness. 3 When I opened my eyes again, I felt weightless, floating near the ceiling. It took me a long moment to process the sight of my own stiff, pale body lying on the cot below. I was dead. I drifted down to look at myself. My face was a terrible shade of blue, and my emaciated frame looked even more wretched in death. But even as a spirit, my only thought was of Austin. As my desperation to find him intensified, the world blurred, and I suddenly found myself hovering over a pristine, sunlit basketball court. Before I could wonder why my soul had drifted here, I spotted my parents sitting in the front row of the VIP stands, laughing and cheering. The clothes they wore were tailored and luxurious, made of fabrics our family couldn’t have afforded even if we had worked for three lifetimes. I floated down to them, a jarring sense of unfamiliarity washing over me. My mother’s lips were painted a vibrant, expensive crimson, and her hair was styled in elegant, glossy waves, looking every bit like a high-society matriarch. Confused, I followed their gaze to the court. There, running with fluid, athletic grace, was Austin. He was dribbling the ball with ease, his legs strong and perfectly healthy. He was wearing a limited-edition jersey that cost more than a year of our slum rent. The confusion in my chest hardened into a heavy, suffocating knot. Suddenly, the referee blew the final whistle. My parents leaped to their feet, rushing onto the court to throw their arms around Austin, their faces glowing with pride. “Austin, sweetie, our efforts weren’t in vain! All those years of traveling the world with you were worth it!” But Austin was supposed to be paralyzed. How could he have traveled the world? Even in my confusion, a part of me was overjoyed to see him whole. “Austin! You can walk? How did you get better?” I screamed, but my voice vanished into the air. They couldn’t hear me. Austin hugged our mother tight. “Mom, I swear I almost lost my mind pretending to be bedridden for so long. Thank God for those monthly ‘doctor visits’ in the city, or I would have forgotten how to run.” My father patted his shoulder, his eyes soft with affection. “You’ve worked hard, son. Today, your mother and I have a reward for you.” With a flourish, my father pulled out a leather binder containing the keys and deed to a sprawling estate in Crestview, the most prestigious neighborhood in the city. I recognized the name instantly. I had once walked past those gates on my way to a cleaning job, staring at the manicured lawns. Back then, my mother had told me, “We won’t be poor forever, Daisy. If you work hard enough, you’ll be able to afford a place like this one day.” But they already had the means. They didn’t need to work hard at all. Austin seemed to remember something, his smile faltering slightly as he looked at our parents. “Mom, Dad… when Daisy came home yesterday, her eyes were completely bloodshot. Do you think something happened to her?” My mother’s expression instantly tightened, and she grabbed his arm. “You didn’t break character, did you? Our plan is almost complete. We can’t let her find out now.” Austin shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve kept up the act this long, I won’t ruin it now. I just feel like Daisy is keeping something from us.” My mother patted his hand, telling him not to overthink it, promising they would check on me once the wedding preparations were settled. Swallowing a bitter torrent of spectral tears, I followed them as they drove to a massive, gated villa. The estate was ablaze with lights, with caterers and servers moving in polished harmony. The long tables groaned under the weight of fine champagne and roasted meats. Today was Austin’s engagement party, and half the city’s elite had been invited. Standing in the grand foyer, my mother whispered to my father, “Daisy has been acting a bit strange lately. She used to be so full of energy. And she gave me so much cash before we left, do you think she got it illegally?” My father wrapped an arm around her waist, offering a reassuring smile. “Unlikely. We raised her to be independent and strong. Her moral compass is solid.” He took a sip of his drink. “Besides, Austin’s career is set, and Daisy is about to graduate. Once the wedding is over next week, we’ll bring her here and reveal the truth. She’s going to inherit her own branch of the firm. She’ll be overjoyed.” Standing in the shadow of the grand staircase, my spirit wept. I won’t be overjoyed, Dad. I’m never going to wake up. 4 The engagement party was a dazzling success, and the wedding was set for exactly one week later. After the last of the wealthy guests departed, my parents stood in the quiet parlor, looking slightly anxious as they stared at their phones. “We’ll be completely tied up with wedding prep this week,” my mother said. “We won’t have time to go back to the old house. Let’s call Daisy and make sure she’s doing alright.” She dialed my number, but the line simply rang and rang. I floated beside her, screaming that I was right there, reaching out to touch her arm, but my fingers passed through her like mist. Looking at them now, memories began to unravel. I remembered the faint scent of expensive, imported cologne on my father’s jacket when he returned to our drafty shack. He had laughed it off, saying he had merely brushed past some wealthy clients. I remembered the crisp, high-resolution photos my mother occasionally showed me, far too sharp to have come from the cheap, cracked phone she claimed to own. And Austin’s legs… despite years of supposed paralysis, his muscles had never wasted away. Our entire life had been a cruel, elaborate stage, and I was the only one who had truly bled for the performance. A wave of profound sorrow pressed against my chest, but as I looked at their happy, untroubled faces, a strange sense of relief washed over me. At least they were safe. At least they weren’t starving. After a long time, I drifted up the grand staircase. At the end of the long hallway was a bedroom door with my name beautifully engraved on a brass plaque. I stepped through the door. The room was breathtaking, decorated exactly like the sketches I used to draw in the margins of my school notebooks. On the nightstand sat a framed photograph of the four of us, laughing. My academic awards and certificates from childhood were neatly framed along the walls. Suddenly, a sleek, beautiful pedigree cat padded into the room, meowing softly. It was the exact breed I had always dreamed of owning. They had remembered every single wish I had ever whispered into the dark. They had built a perfect fairy-tale kingdom for me, but I could only stand on the outside, a ghost in the corridor. Below, the sound of footsteps and voices broke the silence. Several stylists entered the hallway, carrying racks of designer gowns and custom tuxedos. My parents and Austin stood before the array of high fashion. “Our outfits are finalized,” my father announced. “Now, let’s choose Daisy’s dress. This will be our first real gift to her.” I looked at the price tags hanging from the silk sleeves, numbers representing more money than I had ever dreamed of earning. Now, a dozen of them hung waiting for me. Austin reached out and touched a sky-blue chiffon gown with a sweeping train. “This one would look beautiful on her. It’ll complement her fair skin.” My father shook his head, pointing instead to a delicate, ivory lace gown. “No, Daisy would love this one. When she was little, she used to freeze in front of the toy store window, staring at the dolls in their lace dresses. She always wanted one.” Austin studied the racks for a moment longer before pulling out a soft, rose-pink silk dress. “You both forget. Pink was always her favorite. She wanted everything to be pink.” His voice grew quiet. “But light colors get dirty too easily, and she always chose dark, drab clothes just to save us the cost of laundry soap. Her classmates used to call her a plain Jane because of it.” My parents’ eyes shone with a brief, painful guilt. They exchanged a look and agreed to go with Austin’s choice. The week flew by, and the morning of the wedding arrived. In their frantic preparations, they hadn’t found time to call me again. But as the cars lined up, my mother instructed their private driver to head to our old neighborhood. “Drive to the old house first,” she whispered with a smile. “Don’t tell her who sent you. Just bring her straight to the venue. We want to give her the surprise of her life.” The driver nodded, starting the engine of the sleek black town car, heading toward the slums to fetch the secret heiress of the family fortune. But hours passed, and my mother’s anxious glances toward the entrance yielded nothing. Suddenly, the heavy glass doors of the venue were pushed open, and the driver rushed into the lobby, his face pale and slick with sweat. “Ma’am… there’s something wrong. The old house is surrounded by emergency vehicles. The neighbors… they say the young lady is dead.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452523”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On Valentine’s Day, I happened to run into a live street interview for a popular online reality show. The topic of the day was romance stories, and my random prompt was “First Love.” After a brief pause, I regained my composure and looked at the camera, my expression entirely calm. “I’ve almost forgotten him,” I said. “After all, the grass on his grave is probably six feet high by now.” The very next second, the massive screen next to the camera feed cut to the celebrity guests sitting in the observation studio. Staring back at me was the very man I had just so warmly blessed with a premature death. He was my ex-husband, and we had been divorced for seven years. He didn’t seem to care about the curse I had just uttered. He simply stared at the screen, his eyes rimmed with red. “Anna,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s been a long time.” I nodded politely, showing none of the embarrassment one might expect after getting caught trash-talking someone behind their back. Given how disastrously our marriage had ended, my comment was actually quite mild. The live chat on the screen began to scroll at lightning speed. What’s going on? Christopher, the superstar, knows this random girl? Oh, come on, look at the way he called her name. There’s definitely history there, and he’s clearly not over her. Can we please block these trolls? Christopher and Hailey are the industry’s ultimate power couple. Who is this nobody trying to clout-chase? Seeing the words “power couple” made me smile bitterly. Maybe they really were a match made in heaven. Because of that, Christopher’s love had belonged to me first, and for that, I had to be punished. My career, my love, my family, even half of my own life, I had lost almost everything to pay for that love. Christopher quickly realized he had lost his composure. He cleared his throat and offered a hurried explanation to the hosts. “We were high school classmates.” The host looked apologetic, turning to me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know your first love had…” My initial answer had been a lie to get out of the interview, but Christopher’s sudden appearance made me freeze. I didn’t want to run anymore. “It’s fine,” I comforted the host, keeping my voice steady. “Go ahead and ask your next question.” Encouraged by my calm gaze, the host took a deep breath. “How did you and your first love meet?” Christopher stiffened. His shoulders tensed, and he sat up straight, his eyes locked onto me through the monitor. He always pursed his lips like that when he was nervous. After all these years, some habits never changed. Our first meeting was anything but romantic. I had just come home from high school. The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I caught a boy shoving the leftover dinner rolls my grandmother had made for me into his mouth. He didn’t even try to run. He just stood there against the wall, chin held high like a soldier facing execution. “Guess it’s my bad luck getting caught,” he muttered. “Scream, hit me, do whatever you want.” I stared at him for a few seconds. Then, I reached into my bag and pressed my entire week’s lunch money into his dirty palm. “Don’t steal food anymore,” I said softly. “It’s bad for you.” His face flushed a deep crimson, the heat spreading all the way to his ears. “I owe you one,” he stammered, gripping the crumpled bills. “I’ll pay you back. I promise.” Then, he turned and fled. The “later” Christopher promised came much faster than I expected. A few weeks later, some older boys at school cornered me and snatched my hearing aid. My parents had died in a car crash years ago, and the accident had left me completely deaf in my left ear. The ringleader dragged me by my hair, sneering insults like “freak” and “deaf girl” into my good ear. That was when Christopher appeared out of nowhere. He fought them like a feral dog, throwing himself into the fray with no regard for his own safety. The older boys had metal pipes, but he had nothing but his bare fists, and he spent half the fight shielding me from their blows. Later, as I tended to his wounds, the sight of his torn skin made me burst into tears. But he just smiled, casual as could be, looking at me with absolute warmth. “You know, your tears hitting my skin… it actually hurts more than their pipes,” he teased. I tried to choke back my sobs, wiping my eyes. “You saved me. We’re even now. Just promise me you won’t fight anymore.” For someone who fought so brutally, the hand he used to wipe away my tears was incredibly gentle. “That’s not up to you to decide,” he whispered. “We’ve got a long time ahead of us. I’m going to take my sweet time paying you back.” The live chat went wild. Oh my god, childhood sweethearts are the best trope ever! How could such a sweet guy pass away so young? If I were her, I’d never be able to love anyone else for the rest of my life. For the rest of my life. I stared at the screen, momentarily lost in thought. We were so young back then, and the boy I met was so breathtakingly brilliant. Our textbooks never taught us about the impermanence of the world, or how easily a human heart could rot. I had found love, and I truly believed it would last forever. The host sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Love at first sight. He must have fallen for you right then and there.” Unlike the host’s excitement, my response was entirely flat. “Yes. And I slowly fell for him, too. Back then, he was the absolute protector of my universe.” I smiled faintly. “But later, he hurt me worse than everyone else combined. If I count the years, I think I’ve spent much longer hating him than I ever spent loving him.” In the studio, Christopher’s posture shattered. He flinched so violently that he knocked over the small table beside his chair. 2 Neither Christopher nor I had parents, so as we grew closer, my grandmother became his family, too. His grades were terrible, but Grandma saw his talent for music. During our senior year of high school, she used her meager savings to sign him up for classical vocal training. Christopher stared at the expensive receipt for a long time. Suddenly, he fell to his knees and bowed his head to the floor before Grandma. “Grandma, I’ll work harder than anyone,” he swore, his voice thick with tears. “I won’t let you down. And I won’t let Anna down.” Christopher kept his word. He passed his auditions and got into a top-tier music conservatory. We moved to the same city for college, just as we had planned. On our first day of university, the breeze was gentle and the sky was a perfect, clear blue. The future we had promised each other was finally within reach, and everything felt full of hope. But life has a way of tearing down beautiful things. The insurance payout from my parents’ accident had already been drained by our tuition and living expenses. Grandma, who had worked herself to the bone to support us, suddenly collapsed. Lying in her hospital bed, she wept silently. She wasn’t crying because of the agonizing pain of her illness, but because the tuition money we had saved for the next semester had to be spent on her medical bills. I didn’t tell Christopher any of this. He had started his musical training late, and the conservatory was packed with prodigies. He spent day and night practicing in the studios, barely having time to sleep, let alone worry about money. So, I skipped every class I could. I ran myself ragged working multiple part-time jobs to pay for Grandma’s treatments and our daily expenses. Under the weight of it all, I was sleeping barely four hours a night, yet the tuition deadline was fast approaching, and my bank account was still nearly empty. That was when an agency offered me a high-paying job as a waitress at an exclusive, private members-only lounge. They promised I could make enough money in just three days. Despite the bad feeling in my gut, I looked at my bank balance and took the job. I was assigned to a VIP room. The guests were heavily intoxicated, and as I bent down to clear the table, one of them slid his hand up my thigh. Panicking, I reacted on instinct and slapped him across the face. The guest flew into a rage and summoned the manager. The manager bowed, apologized profusely, and dragged me out into the hallway. The moment the door closed, the manager slapped me back, twice as hard. “What, a little touch is going to kill you?” he hissed. “You’re supposed to be a college student, and you don’t even know how the world works!” The promised wages were gone. I sat in a twenty-four-hour convenience store all night, staring blankly at the streetlights. When I finally turned my phone back on, a barrage of missed calls and messages flooded the screen. Most were from Christopher, but some were from classmates. A dark dread settled in my chest. I tapped open a link sent by a classmate. It was a post on our university’s anonymous forum: Is the department sweetheart selling her body for quick cash? Attached was a photo of me standing in the hallway outside the VIP lounge, my cheek bruised, being humiliated by the manager. The comments below were ruthless. No wonder she’s always skipping class. I guess this is what she’s actually doing. Isn’t she deaf in one ear? Rich guys really aren’t picky these days. With a face like that, who cares? I bet she’s got some great skills in bed. Her boyfriend is so handsome, yet he’s getting cheated on by a gold-digger. Sucks to be him. The malice suffocated me. Christopher called again, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I didn’t have the courage to face his questions, his suspicion, or his disappointment. But he found me anyway. He ran to the convenience store, threw his arms around me, and held me tightly against his chest. “I believe you,” he whispered over and over. He gently touched the faint red mark on my cheek, his eyes filled with pure anguish. “Does it hurt?” The dam broke. All the exhaustion, humiliation, and terror I had bottled up over the past weeks poured out of me, and I sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. I told him everything. That night, Christopher tracked down the lounge manager in a dark alley with no security cameras and beat him to a pulp. Then, he wrote a detailed post explaining the truth and uploaded it to the school forum. But the post was deleted within five minutes. An ant cannot bring down a mountain. There were powerful people involved, people we couldn’t afford to anger. So, Christopher posted a new thread. It contained only one sentence. I knew her long before the whispers started. He held my hand tightly. The poverty and violence of our youth had never managed to break his spirit, but in that moment, he cried. His warm tears fell onto my hand, burning straight through to my heart. “Anna,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “I will build a world for you where no one will ever dare to hurt you again.” By this point, the host’s eyes were glistening with tears, and the live chat was overflowing with sympathy. Oh my god, this is heartbreaking. Please, let them have a happy ending. Why is fate so cruel to them? 3 “But you said you ended up hating him,” the host said, her voice cracking slightly. “Was it because he left this world and abandoned you?” I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. I hadn’t expected my casual curse about his grave to be taken so literally. “No,” I replied. The wounds that had once torn me apart had long since healed into numb scars. I looked directly into the camera. “He cheated on me.” Christopher’s luck had turned around during our sophomore year when a talent scout discovered him. From then on, his career skyrocketed. By the time he graduated, his agency pressured him to break up with me before signing a long-term contract. He refused, fighting the executives until they finally agreed to let me join his team as his personal manager. The first major award he won was for Best Single. The song was called Anna, named after me. There were no flowers, no diamond rings, and no family members to witness it. In a dusty, empty dressing room backstage, he held up his trophy and asked me to marry him. “Anna, wait for me,” he had pleaded. “Once I secure my place in this industry, I’ll give you the grandest wedding. I want to show my wife off to the entire world.” Christopher did keep that promise. It was just that the wife beside him wasn’t me. By our fifth year in the industry, Christopher was an A-list star. We had parted ways with our old agency and established his own independent studio. During our first round of auditions for new talent, a young girl had stood before Christopher, her eyes shining with admiration. “Christopher, I’ve looked up to you for so long,” she stammered, tears spilling over her lashes. “Ever since I first saw you on TV when I was a teenager, you’ve been my inspiration. When my family turned their backs on me, when I was bullied at school, your music kept me alive. Today, I want to perform your award-winning song, Anna.” Hearing her shaky, unpolished voice, I frowned. It wasn’t because of her obvious infatuation with Christopher, but because using a sob story during a professional audition felt incredibly manipulative. There were dozens of candidates who were far more talented and beautiful than her. In the end, she was rejected. Yet, a month later, Christopher brought her right into my office. “Anna, Hailey might not be the most talented girl out there, but she’s definitely going to work the hardest.” Hailey stood there, looking at me with wide, innocent, and completely sincere eyes. Seeing my hesitation, Christopher stepped up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His hand slid down to rest gently on my belly. “Looking at her just reminds me of how hard we had it when we were young. Let’s help her out. Think of it as a good deed to bring blessings for our baby.” I was only a month pregnant at the time. My heart softened, and I agreed. I took Hailey under my wing personally, giving her the best resources we had. With Christopher actively mentoring her, she quickly stood out among the rookies. But then, I accidentally stumbled upon Hailey’s private, burner account on social media. The best birthday present ever! He said this represents our very first meeting. He actually gave it to me! Attached was a photo of the trophy Christopher had used to propose to me. My hands shook as I reached for the trophy that had sat on my office desk for years. When I picked it up, it felt incredibly light. It was a cheap, plastic replica. That night, I threw the fake trophy and the screenshots of Hailey’s posts onto the desk in front of Christopher. He glanced at them and gave a dismissive laugh. “She’s just a young girl who liked it. I gave it to her to keep her happy.” He reached out to pat my shoulder. “You’re pregnant, Anna. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s not good for the baby.” He tried to hug me, but I shoved him away with all my strength. His face darkened, and he slammed the door as he walked out of the house. Our cold war began that night. He didn’t come home again. My pregnancy symptoms hit me with brutal force. Morning sickness, severe swelling, and bone-deep exhaustion plagued me daily. Every single time I needed someone to hold my hand, he was gone. My monthly prenatal checkups became lonely solo trips. 4 One afternoon, on my way to the clinic, my phone buzzed with a message from Hailey. Anna, Christopher told me about your fight. I’m so sorry for causing trouble between you two, but he really only sees me as a little sister. He’s completely drunk at the studio right now, sobbing and calling out your name. Can you please come and pick him up? I believed her. But when I arrived at the studio and pushed open the door, I saw Hailey draped over Christopher, their bodies moving together in a desperate, tangled rhythm. While I had been agonizing in a cold bed with pregnancy pains, they had been losing themselves in pleasure. My mind went entirely blank. I stood frozen at the doorway, unable to move a single muscle. Christopher was murmuring “baby” into Hailey’s ear. Hailey tilted her head and caught sight of me. A slow, mocking smirk spread across her face. Then, she pouted, her voice dripping with cheap sweet talk. “You’re so bad. Do you always treat girls like this? I bet you were the exact same way with Anna.” Christopher laughed, his voice raspy. “How could I? She’s deaf in one ear. Whispering sweet nothings to her would just be a waste of breath.” The very boy who had once fought so fiercely to protect my dignity had turned his words into a razor-sharp blade, slashing straight through my heart. My disability had become a joke for their bedroom play. Tears poured down my face. Unable to bear it for another second, I screamed and flung my heavy leather bag straight at them. After a fleeting moment of panic, my husband chose to protect his mistress. He shielded Hailey with his body and shoved me back with such force that I crashed onto the hard floor. A sharp, stabbing pain bloomed in my abdomen. Slowly, warm blood began to seep down my thighs. Before I lost consciousness, the last thing I saw was Christopher tenderly wiping away a tiny, barely visible scratch on Hailey’s forehead. When I woke up in the hospital, Christopher was standing over my bed, his face twisted in frustration. “Anna, you’re a grown woman! When are you going to stop acting so hysterical?” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how close we came to losing the baby?” The monitors beside my bed beeped steadily, showing that my vitals were weak but stable. But inside, I knew my heart had stopped beating entirely. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. Christopher froze, then let out a cold, mocking laugh. “A divorce? How? Our finances, the studio, the child, our families… we are tied together for life.” In all the things he listed, there was not a single mention of love. Yet, love was the only reason we had ever walked down the aisle. Christopher bent down, his voice dropping to a whisper that sounded terrifyingly gentle. “We are never breaking up. Not in this lifetime.” The vows we had once spoken so happily had finally become the chains that imprisoned me. In that quiet hospital room, I realized with absolute clarity that the boy I had loved had died a long, long time ago. The studio fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. The host was sobbing so hard her shoulders shook, trying and failing multiple times to raise the microphone to her lips. Meanwhile, the viewership of the live stream had skyrocketed to millions. Oh my god, can these two pieces of trash just burn in hell? The entertainment industry is disgusting. I’m never believing another celebrity romance again. I’m so disappointed in the internet detectives. It’s been twenty minutes and no one has figured out who this bastard is yet? The host choked back a sob. “Are… are you doing okay now?” I forced a dramatic, exaggerated smile, trying to comfort the poor girl who had cried her makeup off. “I got my divorce, and without him, my life is absolutely wonderful.” “If you could say one thing to him right now through our program, what would it be?” I shook my head, ignoring the desperate gaze of the man on the screen. “There’s nothing to say. After all these years, I don’t love him, and I don’t even hate him anymore. When you finally rid yourself of the wrong person, you should only thank God for the escape.” “That’s enough!” A harsh, desperate cry cut me off. Through the live feed, the mask of calm that Christopher had tried so hard to maintain shattered completely. His voice was hoarse, raw with pain. “Everything back then… it was all my fault,” he wept, begging the screen. “But I’m begging you, Anna… please, don’t throw me away.” The live chat exploded.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452540”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was walking down the street when I spotted two of my wife’s childhood friends, guys she hadn’t seen in years. I was about to step forward and say hello when their conversation caught my ear. “I’m so glad Brooke is finally getting her happy ending and marrying again.” “No kidding. Her ex-husband was such a tragic, short-lived guy. Died right after they got married.” I froze in my tracks, completely bewildered. I was standing right there, breathing, perfectly healthy. How on earth was I dead? And what did they mean, marrying again? Brooke and I had been married for five years, and our son was almost three. Who was she marrying? As I listened further, I caught the groom’s name: John. He wasn’t anyone I knew. I quietly noted down the wedding venue and the date before slipping away unnoticed. When the weekend arrived, I drove to the hotel address they had mentioned. The venue was buzzing, packed with elegant guests. I walked up to the guest registry on the groom’s side and tossed a two-hundred-dollar check onto the table. The registry clerk picked up his pen and looked at me. “Under what name, sir?” I bared my teeth in a cold smile. “Just write: the resurrected ex-husband.” The clerk frowned, shooting me an annoyed look. “It’s a wedding day, sir. Why say something so cursed?” I didn’t answer. I turned around and saw a massive, life-sized wedding portrait standing near the entrance. The woman in the stunning white gown was indeed my wife, Brooke. The man standing beside her, holding her waist, was a complete stranger. The portrait looked incredibly expensive, shot in an elite studio. Years ago, I had suggested we go to a high-end studio for our wedding photos. But Brooke had dismissed the idea. “Wedding photos are just a pointless formality, Luke,” she had told me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “There’s no point in wasting money on them. As long as we love each other and build a good life, that’s what matters.” In the end, she had chosen a dingy little local studio down the street, opting for their cheapest package. Looking around the ballroom, I spotted several familiar faces, all of them Brooke’s relatives. I couldn’t believe she had the audacity to pull off something like this, openly committing bigamy right in front of her entire family. Then, my gaze drifted toward the VIP head table, and my blood ran entirely cold. Seated at the head table on the bride’s side were none other than Brooke’s parents, my mother-in-law and father-in-law. Relative after relative walked up to congratulate them, and my in-laws practically beamed with pride, their faces glowing as they laughed. Fragments of their conversation floated over to where I stood. “John is such a wonderful man. He’s going to bring Brooke so much luck. You two are going to be living in luxury from now on!” My mother-in-law grinned so wide her eyes squinted. “Oh, absolutely! Ever since Brooke met him, her life has been getting better by the day. Not like her first husband. That one had no luck, died so young, a total curse to our family. Well, let’s not speak of that deadweight on such a beautiful day…” Her words sliced straight through my chest. All these years, I had treated them with the utmost respect, supporting them financially and emotionally, only to be dismissed as a “curse” and a “deadweight.” If I had really brought them bad luck, they wouldn’t even be sitting here enjoying this luxury. My father-in-law nodded in agreement. “I never approved of Brooke marrying him in the first place!” Who? Me? “Oh, come on,” my mother-in-law whispered back, waving a hand. “The only reason we let him into the family was because of the generous financial gift he gave us. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.” “What good was that money? He was just an easy target, a fool. This new son-in-law is much more to our liking.” So, when I had doubled my financial gift to her family out of sympathy for their struggles, I had actually made myself a laughingstock. To them, I was just a fool to be exploited, and they despised me for it. Meanwhile, John had apparently demanded a massive $88,000 dowry from them, and they were thrilled to pay it. The sheer injustice of it made my head spin. I wanted to march over and tear down their table, but I forced myself to stay calm. This debt would be settled soon enough. I turned and walked out of the banquet hall. Near the entrance, the groom was standing with his groomsmen, straightening his tie and preparing for the ceremony. When John saw me coming out, he offered me a warm, friendly smile. “Hey, you must be one of Brooke’s colleagues!” My mind screamed at me to blurt out the truth, but I swallowed the urge and gave a quiet nod. “Yeah.” One of the groomsmen grabbed John’s wrist, staring enviously at the gleaming watch on his arm. “Man, John, you hit the jackpot. Brooke really splurged on you. That watch has to be worth at least six figures, right?” “She insisted on buying it,” John said, running a finger over the watch face, a proud smile stretching across his lips. “She said a wedding only happens once, so we had to get the absolute best.” It felt like a physical blow to my chest. When Brooke and I married, we had nothing. I had suggested buying a modest pair of diamond bands, just as a symbol of our commitment. But she had laughed it off. “Why waste money on those shiny rocks? We can’t eat them, and you’re not a shallow, materialistic guy, Luke.” Seeing my disappointment, she had hugged me and whispered, “Once my salary goes up, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” As her career took off and her income climbed, she did keep her promise in a way. Every year, when she received her annual bonus, she would buy a small gold bar and hand it to me, telling me it was security for me and our son. But wait. Where did she get the money to buy John a six-figure watch? Every month, she handed her salary over to me, and her annual bonuses were accounted for. As I stood there puzzled, another groomsman let out a sigh of admiration. “I heard your wife’s company is doing incredibly well. She gets over a million dollars in profit-sharing dividends every year. She could buy you ten of those watches and not even feel it.” Profit-sharing dividends? We had been married for six years, and I had absolutely no idea she owned shares in her company. I had seen her monthly pay stubs. Her net monthly salary was $18,000. She handed me $15,000 every month for our family expenses, keeping $3,000 for her personal use. I had never questioned it. And yet, she was secretly pulling in over a million dollars a year in dividends. John suddenly turned his gaze back to me. “Hey, since you work with her, you must have an idea of what she actually pulls in. Come on, give me a ballpark figure, just so she doesn’t hide any secret accounts from me.” It felt like a blunt knife was sawing through my heart. How much did she make? He knew her financial power far better than I did. She was pouring her massive fortune into this man, buying him luxury watches I could only dream of. I was just learning about her million-dollar dividends, and here he was, asking me how much she made. The muscles in my jaw twitched, and I struggled to maintain a calm expression. Sensing my sudden tension, John quickly tried to ease the awkwardness. “Oh, maybe you don’t know the executive payroll details. No worries. I’ve met most of her colleagues before, but you’re a new face. Did you join the company recently?” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “Yeah, I’m fairly new. I don’t really know her exact income details.” One of the groomsmen chuckled, nudging John. “Man, your woman is perfect. Beautiful, wealthy, and madly in love with you. She even quit smoking for you.” John let out a proud laugh. I nearly dropped my phone. Years ago, during her pregnancy, her morning sickness had been terrible, and the smell of smoke made me so nauseous I couldn’t sleep. I had begged her to quit, but she insisted she needed to smoke for networking and work stress. Then, three months ago, she suddenly threw all her cigarettes into the trash. She had told me she was doing it for my health and our son’s, because she felt guilty about making us inhale secondhand smoke. I had been deeply moved. But she hadn’t quit for us. She had quit for him. John gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about them, man. They like to joke around.” With a storm raging in my chest, the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Are you really that sure about her? How do you know she doesn’t have a whole second life somewhere else?” John’s smile faded, and he stared at me, bewildered. “What is that supposed to mean?” The groomsmen bristled immediately. “Hey, man. Just because your own wife cheated on you doesn’t mean you should try to ruin someone else’s wedding.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Actually, you hit the nail right on the head.” John looked at me with a touch of pity and superiority. “My Brooke isn’t like your wife. She would never betray me.” “Is that so? If she’s so loyal and perfect, why isn’t she here yet?” “Oh, some of her old college friends flew in this morning. She went to the airport to pick them up. She’ll be back any minute.” Right on cue, his phone rang. He swiped to answer, a warm smile returning to his face. “Hey, sweetie! Where are you?” The groomsmen fell silent, and her voice drifted clearly through the speaker. “Almost there, honey. I’m just so excited to finally marry you today.” John blushed, laughing softly. “Just focus on driving, okay? Be safe.” The groomsmen immediately began to tease him. “Oh, look at you two! Five years together and you’re still acting like newlyweds.” “Well, we have to make the most of it,” John said defensively. “Since we only get to spend half the year together anyway.” The words struck me like a physical blow, leaving my ears ringing. They had been together for five years. I couldn’t decide if I was incredibly stupid, or if she was just a master of deception. No, she wasn’t a genius. I had simply trusted her too much. I had believed her when she told me that her company required rotating regional assignments for her to get promoted, meaning she had to travel out of state every other month. I had supported her, proud of her career ambitions. I had taken on everything at home, caring for our son, cooking, cleaning, and working my own job, never complaining once. When our son had a high fever in the middle of the night, I had sat alone in the emergency room until dawn, cradling him in my arms. I hadn’t even dared to call her, terrified of disrupting her sleep during her “demanding business trips.” But she wasn’t working. She was playing house with another man. The groomsmen continued to lament their own single status. “Seriously, she’s perfect. Gorgeous, rich, sweet, and she even cooks for you? Life is so unfair!” “Yeah, come on, she has to have at least one flaw! Give us something to make us feel better!” John laughed as they nudged him. “Well, if I had to name one… she’s obsessed with making me healthy soup. She wakes up at the crack of dawn every single morning just to brew it fresh for me.” The guys groaned at his bragging, but the words felt like another knife twisting in my heart. Every morning. In our six years of marriage, Brooke had never made me breakfast once. Not a single time. When she was pregnant and could barely bend over, I was the one waking up early to cook for her. She had always told me she hated cooking and was terrible at it, and I had believed her, assuming she just lacked the skill. It wasn’t a lack of talent. It was a lack of love. I stood there as the cold truth washed over me, freezing me to the bone. The groomsmen insisted John was just showing off and demanded a real flaw. John bit his lip, his expression suddenly turning solemn. “Actually, there is one thing. But you guys have to promise never to bring it up in front of her.” “Brooke was married once before.” “Her ex-husband and her son… they were killed in a terrible car accident two years ago. It completely broke her, and she still gets emotional about it.” The blood rushed to my head, and my knuckles cracked as I clenched my fists. Her lies hadn’t just killed me off. She had killed our son too. Our beautiful, sweet little boy, who had just cuddled with her yesterday, whispering how much he loved his mommy. To clear the way for her new life, she had wiped his very existence from the earth. The sheer, cold-hearted selfishness of it made me tremble. I couldn’t let her get away with this. Not for my sake, and certainly not for Toby’s. I was about to step forward when my phone vibrated in my pocket. The screen showed my mother-in-law’s name. I stepped back into the quiet hallway to take the call. “Luke,” her voice rushed through the receiver, sharp and demanding. “I need you to wire me $88,000 right now. It’s an emergency.” “What kind of emergency requires eighty-eight thousand dollars, Mom?” “I told you before, your father and I are helping plan a wedding for some close family friends. They want to adopt us as godparents, and we need to present them with a traditional blessing gift. Eighty-eight thousand is a lucky number. Just wire it over quickly, we’re waiting on it.” A godparent blessing gift of eighty-eight thousand dollars? It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was the dowry gift they owed John. They were using my hard-earned money to fund my wife’s second wedding. When Brooke and I married, my mother-in-law had given me a measly $1,800 welcoming gift. Now that it was John, the price had skyrocketed. Controlling the rage in my voice, I said, “Is this new godson planning to pay for your funeral expenses, Mom?” Her voice instantly turned icy. “What is wrong with you? Why are you talking about funerals at a time like this? Do you have no manners?” “I’ve never heard of a godparent gift costing eighty-eight thousand dollars,” I replied coldly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to pay a new son-in-law his welcoming dowry.” The line went dead silent. After a long pause, she exploded into a scream. “How dare you speak to me like that! You always play the obedient, respectful son-in-law, but the moment we ask for a little help, you show your true, greedy colors! Let me tell you something, Luke. This is my daughter’s money, and we can spend it however we damn well please! You have no right to lecture me!” “Your daughter makes eighteen thousand a month and hands fifteen of it over to me,” I snapped back, refusing to back down. “We have a mortgage, car payments, and a toddler to raise. And don’t forget, I work too, and my income is just as high as hers.” She let out a harsh scoff. “Fine. You think you’re so smart.” She slammed the phone down, ending the call. I straightened my collar and walked back toward the groom’s suite, only to hear John’s voice drifting out. “Brooke’s mom said they’re skipping the cash dowry and giving me five gold bars instead. I’ve never heard of a wedding gift like that before. Quite a surprise.” My chest tightened. Five gold bars. Those were the exact gold bars Brooke had given me over the years as compensation for my missing wedding ring. The numbers matched perfectly. The groomsmen laughed, but my heart was entirely numb. Let them laugh. The higher they climbed, the harder they would fall. Footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. Brooke was walking toward the ballroom, surrounded by her bridesmaids. Inside, the grand wedding march began to play. Under the gaze of hundreds of guests, John slowly walked down the aisle toward the stage. Brooke stood at the altar, her posture elegant, a beautiful smile playing on her lips as she waited for her new groom. Just as John reached the halfway mark, I stepped onto the stage, snatched the microphone from the podium, and spoke into it, my voice echoing coldly through the speakers. “Brooke, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married today?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452524”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On the third day of our silent treatment, a photo of my boyfriend, Gavin, holding his team’s cute new support player, Piper, hit the trending pages. To damage-control the rumors, Gavin publicly announced that he was single. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I simply rode the wave and let the breakup become official. But later, when I stood on a massive stage and calmly told the interviewer that I was single… Gavin’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. … I had been waiting in the private dining booth for six hours. Gavin’s team had just won the national championship, and he had secured the MVP title. He had texted me, saying he wanted to celebrate with just the two of us. But the moment he reached the door of the restaurant, his phone rang. It was Piper. “Gavin, I burned my hand on the kettle… I’m so scared…” Her voice was thick with tears over the speaker. Panic washed over Gavin’s face, and without even saying goodbye to me, he turned on his heel and rushed out. After that, his phone went dead. I checked the time. It was five minutes to midnight. The table of gourmet food had long since turned cold, the grease on the lamb chops hardening into a thick, unappetizing white layer. I stared at the plate, my appetite completely gone. My hand hovered over the table, my mind drifting back to the trending photos that had kept a lump in my throat all night. It was the championship finals, a night that should have been defined by match statistics. Instead, the top three trending topics were filled with photos of Gavin and Piper. The images were crystal clear, accompanied by viral video clips. The video showed Piper leaping into Gavin’s arms in a burst of excitement, her hands locked around his neck and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Golden confetti rained down on them. Gavin held the trophy in one hand and kept his other arm wrapped securely around her waist, looking victorious and proud. In front of tens of thousands of fans, at the pinnacle of his career… Their interaction looked innocent to the casual observer, but the underlying intimacy was undeniable. Many comments were already romanticizing their bond, while others questioned the nature of their relationship. After all, my secret relationship with Gavin was an open secret in the pro scene. Gavin had promised to explain everything to me tonight. What he failed to realize was that he had already made too many excuses because of Piper. When you hear the same justification repeatedly, it eventually just makes you numb. I picked up my phone, mindlessly scrolling through my feed, only to freeze when I saw Piper’s latest social media update. “Lied to Gavin about hurting my hand, and he actually rushed all the way back! So, are you happy with the surprise party we threw for you, my MVP?” They had thrown him a private victory party. My finger trembled as I zoomed in on the attached photo. Balloons and banners filled the background. Surrounded by their teammates, Gavin stood at the center with his arm around Piper’s shoulders, his laugh loud and carefree. The photographer had captured the perfect moment. Piper was tilting her head, looking up at Gavin with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. I laid my chopsticks down, my stomach turning. Just then, the heavy door of the booth was pushed open, and Gavin rushed in, looking flushed. When he saw the half-eaten, cold dishes on the table, his jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked, his tone laced with a strange hint of grievance. I let out a soft laugh, too exhausted to argue with his absurd question. “If you haven’t eaten, go ahead. I need to get back to the base.” Gavin reached out, grabbing my wrist. “Aren’t you going to stay with me?” “I have scheduled scrims.” Unlike Gavin, my team, Scythe Gaming, hadn’t even qualified for the playoffs. My schedule for the off-season was packed with mandatory training. I had to pull several favors just to get tonight off. If I didn’t return soon, the manager would gladly use it as an excuse to fine me. But my cold tone seemed to prick Gavin’s pride. He let go of my wrist, his face hardening. “Are you seriously letting those online rumors get to you? Do you really think Piper and I have something going on?” I paused, the words of defense dying in my throat. What was I supposed to say? Should I mention how our weekly date night was constantly cut short because he had to help Piper level up her rank? Should I talk about how his phone was always busy, and on the rare occasions he picked up, a girl’s soft giggles always echoed in the background? Or should I remind him of the time an angry anti-fan pushed me into a barrier, bruising my wrist, while he was busy comforting Piper over a lost match, ignoring my messages for three days? The silence stretched between us, heavy and stifling. Gavin lowered his gaze, his voice filled with deep disappointment. “I can’t believe you actually think so little of me.” 2 Gavin was notorious for his hot temper. He regularly laid into his teammates when a match went south, and he had only started showing a bit of restraint after Piper joined the starting roster. When he was angry, he was usually loud, defensive, and sharp-tongued. But right now, he just looked deflated. “She’s a young girl, and it’s not easy for her to survive in this industry,” he said softly. “I’m the team captain. It’s my job to look after my players.” “You know how important a player’s hands are to their career.” “I admit I pay a little more attention to her, but it’s only because she reminds me of how you used to be. Alone, struggling in a strange team. I kept thinking that if I helped her, maybe someone out there would show you the same kindness.” He placed a beautifully wrapped cake box on the table. “If you’re still upset, I can apologize. Is this explanation enough for you?” My heart gave a faint, painful flutter. I stared at the logo on the cake box. It was from my favorite patisserie in the city. Looking at the familiar box, my mind drifted back to our days in the academy. I had been the only female player in the entire program, naturally looked down upon by the coaches and players alike. I was blamed for losses, mocked during practice, and stressed to the point of severe insomnia and loss of appetite. Gavin was with a different club back then and couldn’t protect me directly. But despite his brutal training schedule, he would sneak out of his base at midnight, scale the high wall of my academy, and bring me small cakes, gently coaxing me to eat them bite by bite. In those quiet nights, huddled in his arms, I would let all my armor down and cry, absorbing his warmth to face another day. The lofty dreams I started with had been chipped away by the harsh reality of the pro scene. I had followed Gavin blindly into this chaotic world, only to end up on different teams. There was no one to help me. The pressure of evaluations, the isolation from my teammates—it all accumulated until I felt completely suffocated. I had wanted to scream, to let all the venom out, but when I finally looked at him, all my misery had condensed into a soft whisper. “It’s so hard, Gavin.” Gavin had pressed his forehead against mine, his voice a steady murmur. “Once I secure my place, I’ll have the team buy out your contract. We’ll play together, and we’ll never be apart.” I took a deep breath, pushing the memory away. Forget it, I thought. Maybe I’m just overthinking. I’ll trust him one last time. I stood up to go to the restroom to wash my face. But as I approached the door of the booth on my way back, I heard Gavin’s voice. He was on the phone. A girl’s playful whine filtered through the receiver. “Gavin, aren’t you back yet? I’ve been waiting for my strawberry cake for thirty minutes!” My steps halted, and my body went entirely rigid. By the time I managed to compose myself and push the door open, Gavin was already slipping his phone into his pocket. He looked up at me. “Great, you’re back. I need you to help Piper draft a statement to clear her name. It’s not fair that she’s being dragged online as a homewrecker.” So this was his real motive for bringing the cake tonight. “Why should I do that?” I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. Gavin stared at me. “If you have a problem with me, take it out on me. Don’t ruin a young girl’s career over some jealousy.” “Did I force her to climb onto your shoulders at the arena? If you want to protect her, that’s your business. Keep me out of it.” “Nadia!” Gavin snapped, his temper finally exploding. “Are you really going to make a scene over this?” “I’ve spent the whole night trying to soothe your temper. How much longer are you going to act like a spoiled child?” “Piper is my teammate. You are my girlfriend. Can’t you see the difference? Do you have to throw a tantrum over some harmless jealousy?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Your idea of ‘girlfriend’ is making me wait alone for six hours without a single word?” “And your idea of ‘teammate’ is rushing back the second she whines about waiting thirty minutes for a cake?” Gavin froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “No, Nadia, that’s not—” But I had run out of patience for his excuses. “Gavin, I don’t think I can handle being your girlfriend anymore. Let’s break up.” Gavin’s face went completely cold. “I’m going to give you one chance to take that back. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.” “If there are things you’re unhappy with, I can change. We can both take a step back. You write the statement, I’ll keep my distance from Piper, and we can go back to how we were.” My only response was the loud, solid slam of the heavy wooden door. “Nadia! You’re going to regret this!” Through the thick wood, I could hear the faint, sharp sound of glass shattering against the floor. 3 It was past midnight when I returned to the Scythe Gaming base. As I walked up the stairs to my dorm, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Marcus, our manager, checked his watch. “Curfew was at midnight.” “I took official leave, Marcus,” I said, my voice tight. He ignored me, adjusting his glasses. “Starting tomorrow, your daily training schedule is increased by an hour.” Knowing there was no point in arguing, I reached for my doorknob. But Marcus’s oily voice stopped me. “Also, there’s a dinner with our primary sponsor in a few days. You’re coming with me.” I paused, my fingers tightening on the handle, before slipping into my room and locking the door. When I opened my phone, Gavin and Piper were trending once again. This time, it was because of a simple, public statement Gavin had posted: “I am currently single.” It was a clean, powerful defense that immediately cleared Piper of any homewrecking accusations, but it threw all the mud straight at me. “If Gavin was single, what were all those rumors about him and Nadia? I thought they were practically married.” “Nadia was obviously just clout-chasing. Gavin didn’t care enough to address it before, but now that he has someone he actually wants to protect, he had to set the record straight. Talk about an embarrassing reality check.” “Honestly, I feel bad for Gavin. He let that benchwarmer use his name for years.” “Wishing our favorite bot-lane duo all the best!” Gavin, who had always hated public events, suddenly began appearing at every brand exhibition and promotional stream, always with Piper by his side. And around his wrist, he always wore a different colored hair scrunchie. He was doing everything in his power to build her up. Since I had refused to write the statement, he had taken matters into his own hands. Two years of devotion, erased in a single sentence. But maybe it was for the best. Relationships that had never been allowed to see the light of day were better off dissolving in the shadows. On the night of the sponsor dinner, Marcus looked at my worn Scythe Gaming jersey with clear disgust. “You look ridiculous. Go put on something decent.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, keeping my voice firm. “I’m a pro player. This is my uniform. Why do I need a dress to have dinner?” Marcus sneered but didn’t push it further, leading me into the private dining club with a sour face. Earlier this year, our parent company had appointed a new executive director, Mr. Davenport. During his first inspection of the facility, his eyes had lingered on me a bit too long, and he had been trying to corner me ever since. I had managed to dodge his invitations, but he had recently ordered all the locks on our dorm doors to be replaced with electronic locks that could be bypassed from the master console, claiming it was a “safety measure.” Several times, I had walked into my room after a long training session only to find Mr. Davenport sitting on my bed, offering a sickeningly warm smile. “Tired? You’ve been working so hard. Come sit down and let’s have a chat.” I had used the excuse of needing to call my boyfriend to escape. But Davenport, skeptical, had insisted I call him right then and there. With a racing heart, I had dialed Gavin’s number. It was the only time the call went through, but the voice that answered was Piper’s. “Nadia? Gavin is sleeping right now. Is there something you need?” That single sentence had shattered my safety net. It proved that Gavin was comfortable letting another woman handle his personal phone, and it exposed my lie to the predatory man sitting in my room. I still remembered the slow, knowing smile that had spread across Davenport’s face. “It seems our little Nadia isn’t being entirely honest.” I knew he wouldn’t let me go easily. But when his hand slid onto my thigh under the dining table, my body reacted before my brain could. I bolted upright, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Excuse me. I have to get back to training.” Davenport didn’t get angry. He simply smiled, swirling his wine. “Leaving so soon, Nadia? We were just getting to the good part.” “I have to train,” I repeated, my body trembling as I walked out. His easy compliance only made me more uneasy. 4 Two weeks later, the transfer window opened. Every player on Scythe Gaming signed their contract renewals—except me. I was listed on the transfer market, but the buyout fee Scythe had attached to my name was astronomically high, a price no mid-tier team could ever afford for a support player. I tried contacting several managers myself. They were always impressed with my mechanical skills during tryouts, but the moment they saw the buyout clause, they would shake their heads with regret. One sympathetic coach pulled me aside. “Nadia, your management is intentionally blocking you. You need to resolve whatever personal dispute you have with your owner, or you’re going to be benched indefinitely.” I could only offer a bitter smile. This was a dispute that could never be resolved. Just when I felt like I had hit a dead end, a message from Gavin popped up on my screen. “I can have Vanguard buy out your contract.” Vanguard Gaming was one of the few legacy clubs that could easily afford the fee. Gavin was their star ADC, and the support was his lane partner. His opinion carried immense weight in their roster decisions. Their starting support had just retired due to a chronic wrist injury, and Piper was only a temporary substitute from the academy team. They desperately needed a proven, high-tier support. With Gavin’s approval, my career could be saved. I wrestled with the decision for days. But when Marcus tried to push me into Davenport’s private car after a promotional event, the sheer terror drove me straight to Gavin. When I showed up at his training facility, a smug, victorious grin spread across his face. “Done throwing your little tantrums?” I swallowed my pride and lowered my head. “Yes.” Gavin reached out, patting my head with a gentle, patronizing hand. “I told you I’d bring you to my team to protect you. What were you so scared of, Nadia?” And just like that, we fell into a quiet, tentative reconciliation. He didn’t hide me as strictly as before. During a dinner with some of his childhood friends who weren’t in the esports scene, one of them noticed the colorful band around Gavin’s wrist. “Man, you guys are adorable,” the friend laughed. “Gavin, you’re still wearing your girl’s hair tie?” Gavin froze, his brow furrowing. “It’s just a hair tie. What’s the big deal?” The friend looked surprised. “You don’t know? A guy wearing a girl’s hair tie on his wrist is a universal sign that he’s taken.” Before Gavin could reply, his phone buzzed on the table. He slid the key to answer, and Piper’s playful voice echoed clearly through the quiet room. “Babe, where did my blue hair tie go? Did you happen to—” Gavin slammed the phone face down, cutting the call off instantly. The color drained from his face. He let out a dry, awkward cough, quickly placing some food into my bowl. “Eat. The food is getting cold.” The atmosphere at the table turned suffocatingly awkward. Everyone at that table knew the hair tie around his wrist didn’t belong to me. By the end of the night, his friends had made quick excuses to leave. Gavin sat quietly, twirling the silver band on his finger—a matching ring we had bought when we first started dating, which he had recently started wearing again. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, pointing to the hair tie. “If you had told me, I would have taken it off.” I let out a soft sigh. “If I had said something, you would have just told me I was overthinking things.” Gavin looked like he wanted to argue, but he restrained himself, keeping his voice gentle. “Piper is just careless. She’s always losing her things, and she asked me to keep a spare for her.” Why did she have to leave her spare with Gavin, of all people? But thinking of the transfer contract that was still entirely in his hands, I swallowed my resentment. “I see.” My quiet acceptance seemed to frustrate him. “Aren’t you even going to be a little jealous?” “You explained it, didn’t you?” I replied, placing my chopsticks down. I honestly didn’t understand what he wanted from me anymore. In the past, whenever he gave me an explanation, the conversation was over. I was expected to either swallow my feelings and move on, or deal with his annoyance if I pressed further. In his mind, an explanation was a resolution. If I refused to let it go, I was the one being difficult. But now that I was playing by his rules, he seemed miserable. Ultimately, Gavin left the restaurant in a quiet, dark mood, without saying another word. And after that night, he stopped answering my calls. As the days of the transfer window bled away, a deep, cold dread settled in my chest. Why hadn’t Vanguard sent over the contract? I tried reaching out to Gavin, but my messages went completely unanswered. On the final day of the transfer window, Vanguard Gaming released their official roster for the upcoming season. VGD-Piper was listed at the very top of the starting lineup. The letters burned into my eyes, and my mind went entirely blank. How could he do this to me?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452541”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After three miscarriages, I finally had a baby girl. My husband celebrated by setting off city-wide fireworks. Then, an unknown caller cried, “Mom.” Holding my newborn, I was bewildered. “Wrong number.” The teen on the line pleaded, “Please, I’m your daughter, calling from eighteen years in the future. I know it sounds insane, but you must listen. Dad is cheating on you with Gemma. She caused your miscarriages to clear the way for her own son. When you find out, you’ll fall into depression and jump off a building. Please, leave him now, or you will die.” The line went dead. Staring at my phone, a sharp pain pierced my chest. I looked toward the adjoining suite where my husband and sister had just slipped in, claiming they were planning my anniversary surprise. The moment the call ended, a dull, throbbing pain flared through my lower body, a lingering ache from giving birth. But before I even realized what I was doing, I had already dragged myself out of bed and stood trembling outside their door. Low, intimate sounds drifted through the thin wood. “Careful, James. My sister is right next door.” “Why so shy now? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, babe? You chose this room just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” My mind went entirely blank, a deafening roar filling my ears. My breath caught in my throat, shallow and shaking. Just hours ago, when James saw me screaming in the delivery room, his eyes had brimmed with tears. He had held my hand so tightly, whispering, “Nora, sweetheart, after this baby, no more. I can’t bear to see you in pain.” His tenderness had felt so pure, so incredibly real. But now, his low, satisfied groans were equally real, slicing through my heart like a dull blade. “How is the soup? Sweet enough? Want me to feed you some more?” “What about my sister? She must be thirsty too,” Gemma giggled, her voice dripping with mock concern. “She just went through hell to give you a daughter. Shouldn’t you save some for the big hero?” “Jealous again, you little wildcat?” James chucked, his tone dripping with affection as he comforted her. “Everything I did with those babies was for you. When you told me you didn’t want them, didn’t I get rid of them exactly like you wanted?” Every drop of blood in my veins turned to liquid fire, then to ice. When I lost those three babies, I had wanted to die. I blamed myself constantly, weeping over my supposedly broken body. I had endured countless hormone injections, taking pills until I threw up, my skin mapped with painful bruises from the needles. James had played the doting husband so perfectly. He even got matching tattoos and claimed that we were one flesh, that he felt every ounce of my pain. But he was the executioner all along. I bit my lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I slammed the door open. The two of them were tangled together on the hospital bed. Gemma shrieked, scrambling backward. James’s instinct was to shield her, pulling the blanket over her bare shoulders. He looked up at me, his expression a chaotic mix of surprise, annoyance, and guilt. “Nora, don’t blame Gemma,” he said. He got out of bed, casually pulling on his robe as he walked toward me. “It was my fault. I had too much to drink one night and mistook her for you. Besides, Gemma is different from you. She is wild, uninhibited. I became addicted, and I just can’t quit her. But don’t worry, you will always be my wife.” He used the same soothing tone he always used to calm me down, but the words were pure venom. I shook so hard I could barely stand. Gemma crawled off the bed, kneeling at my feet with a look of utter innocence. “Nora, it’s my fault. I was just worried about James. He was so lonely, and I wanted to help you keep him happy. Please don’t fight because of me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, but her fingers dug painfully into my wrist, gripping me like a vice. Furious, I wrenched my hand away. The moment I did, James shoved me hard. “Nora! Gemma is your sister. How can you be so heartless?” I stumbled back, crashing heavily against the doorframe. The impact sent a sharp jolt through my abdomen, and I felt a sudden, warm rush of postpartum blood soak through my gown. A flash of panic crossed James’s face, and he reached out to steady me, but I violently smacked his hand away. “I’m going to expose you both,” I rasped, choking on the pain. Gemma burst into fresh tears. “It’s all my fault. I’ll leave right now. Nora, please don’t take your anger out on James.” Looking at her run past me, James glared at me, his eyes dark with rage. “Nora, is this what a good sister does? Are you trying to drive her to suicide? Let me warn you, before you open your mouth to anyone, you better think about your daughter.” Without waiting for a response, he chased after Gemma. Not even an hour later, my phone lit up with a text from Gemma. It was a picture of her and James, their fingers tightly intertwined, with a messy hotel bed in the background. James was so worried I’d run away that he promised to exhaust me tonight. You don’t mind, do you, big sister? A crushing weight settled on my chest. I stared at the screen, swallowed down the bitter bile rising in my throat, and redialed the mysterious number. “What happens next?” my voice trembled. “Between me and James? And… you? Are you okay?” “You divorced him,” the girl on the other end paused, her voice cracking. “But on paper, Gemma became my mother. She… she was never kind to me.” I stopped breathing. “That’s impossible. You’re my daughter, Daisy. How could Gemma be your mother?” By now, there was no doubt in my mind. This girl was indeed my daughter. “Mom, think back,” Daisy said urgently. “Right before you gave birth to me, did Dad make you sign any documents?” My heart dropped. Yes, he did. While I was screaming through active contractions, James had suddenly pulled out a set of papers. Nora, honey, we fought so hard for this baby. We need to secure her future. Sign this for her. In my agony, I had trusted him blindly. I signed my name without reading a single word. “That was a divorce agreement,” Daisy said, her voice shaking with quiet anger. “On your anniversary last year, Dad didn’t go on a business trip. He was with Gemma. Things got wild, and she had an accident that resulted in an emergency hysterectomy. She can never have children of her own. To make it up to her, Dad planned to have you get pregnant one last time. Once you gave birth to me, he would use the signed divorce papers to take me away and legally hand me over to Gemma.” The room spun violently. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, my remaining strength instantly evaporating. No wonder. No wonder James had been so unusually affectionate when he returned from his “trip” last year. He had clung to me every night, refusing to let me go. When I playfully asked why he was being so clingy, he had wrapped his arms around me and whispered that he was making up for missing our anniversary. At the time, my heart had soared with love. But it was all a lie. I was nothing but a breeding machine for his mistress. The betrayal cut so deep it felt physical. Choking back my tears, I asked Daisy when I finally discovered the truth in her timeline. She went quiet for a long moment. “When I was five years old.” She explained that when I finally uncovered the affair, I tried to expose them to the public. But James was steps ahead. He painted me as a mentally unstable woman driven mad by multiple miscarriages, even fabricating evidence that I had abused my own baby. In the end, everyone believed him. I was labeled a lunatic, locked away in a psychiatric facility, and left to rot. My skin crawled with dread. “But Mom, we can change it,” Daisy pleaded, her voice cracking with a vulnerability that broke my heart. “It’s not too late. You need to start gathering evidence now. Wait for the right moment, divorce him, and take me with you. Mom… I don’t want to grow up without you.” The raw loneliness in her voice made me weep. I gripped the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks as I looked over at the bassinet. Seeing my tiny, helpless daughter sleeping so peacefully, a fierce resolve took root in my chest. I would not let history repeat itself. Over the next few days, I remained quiet and focused on recovering. When James came to take me home, he noticed I didn’t bring up Gemma. He assumed I had swallowed my pride and accepted the situation. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable, Nora,” he said, adjusting the baby’s blanket with a gentle smile. “Our daughter needs a complete family. No matter what is going on between me and Gemma, we have years of history together. You should trust me.” I forced myself to look away, a dull ache throbbing in my chest. We had been together since college. I used to think our love was unbreakable. When I was drowning in self-doubt and darkness, he had been my guiding light. When my life was threatened by a mugger years ago, he had thrown himself in front of me, taking a blow that nearly killed him. He was the love of my life. I never could have imagined that the man who saved my life would eventually hold the blade that destroyed it. The moment we stepped into our house, Gemma strolled out of our master bedroom wearing one of my silk nightgowns. It was obvious she had made herself entirely at home while I was in the hospital. James quickly stepped in. “Gemma’s lease ended. Since you two are sisters, I figured she could stay here for a few days.” Gemma bit her lip, looking at me with faux-timidity. “Nora, please don’t get the wrong idea. I was just so exhausted last night…” The dark, purplish bruises on her neck were impossible to miss. I looked away, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “I don’t care,” I said coldly, walking past them into my bedroom. In the middle of the night, Daisy’s sharp, panicked crying woke me up. Dragging my aching body down the hall to the nursery, I pushed the door open, only for my blood to run cold at the sight before me. “What the hell are you doing?” I lunged forward, throwing Gemma away from the crib. Daisy’s tiny arms and legs were covered in fresh, red pinch marks. “Calm down,” Gemma sneered, her delicate facade vanishing instantly, replaced by a cruel, venomous grin. “If I wanted this little brat dead, she wouldn’t have survived the delivery room.” I stared at her, horrified. “Why? When our parents finally found me and brought me back, you were so kind to me. Why are you doing this?” Gemma let out a mockery of a laugh. “If I wasn’t nice to you, how else would I get you to trust me? How else could I get you to push our parents away?” She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with pure hatred. “I may be adopted, but before you showed up, I was the only princess in that house. I finally had a life where I was loved and pampered. Why did you have to be found? Why did you have to come back and steal everything from me?” So that was it. All these years, this was how she saw me. “I never wanted to compete with you…” “Stop acting so innocent!” Gemma snapped, her face twisting into a hideous snarl. “Even James was part of the plan. At first, we just wanted to make a fool out of you. James was supposed to play the hero, rescue you from some hired thugs, make you fall madly in love with him, and then dump you. But the idiot actually fell for you. He married you instead!” A violent shudder ran through my body. The mugging… the life-saving rescue… it had all been a staged performance. My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. The pain was so intense I could barely draw breath. Suddenly, Gemma wiped the smirk off her face. She snatched Daisy from the crib and sprinted toward the door, her face twisting into a mask of pure terror. “James, help! Nora has gone crazy! She’s hurting the baby!” James’s heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, his face instantly darkening as he stepped into the light. “That’s a lie!” I screamed, shaking. “She did this!” “Nora, I know you hate me because of James,” Gemma sobbed, clutching Daisy to her chest as if protecting her. “But our baby is innocent! How could you take your anger out on her?” “I didn’t touch her! Gemma was the one pinching her!” “Enough!” James roared, cutting me off. “How can you be so sick, Nora? You’re so desperate to hurt me that you’d abuse your own child?” He didn’t believe a single word I said. Instead, he grabbed my arm, dragging me down to the cold, damp basement and throwing me inside. “Stay down here until you’ve cleared your head,” he snapped, locking the heavy door. He knew about my severe nyctophobia. He knew that staged attack had left me terrified of the dark. He had once held me during a blackout, promising that he would never let the darkness touch me again. “James, please, open the door! You can’t do this to me!” My voice trembled, raw with mounting panic. I could hear his footsteps lingering right outside the door. He hesitated. But then, Gemma’s soft, patronizing voice chimed in. “Nora is acting like a spoiled child. She does something terrible to the baby, and then throws a tantrum. It’s Daisy I feel sorry for…” Hearing her words, James’s hesitation vanished. “You brought this on yourself, Nora.” The sound of shifting fabric and a low grunt came from the other side of the thin wooden door. “James, stop… your wife is right in there,” Gemma whispered, her voice laced with breathless excitement. “That’s what makes it fun. She can’t see us, but she can hear everything…” Before long, the sickening, rhythmic sounds of their passion echoed through the basement door. I curled into a ball on the cold concrete floor, my fingernails digging into my palms until they bled. Every gasp, every groan from the other side of the wood was a physical blow, carving away whatever love I had left for him until there was only a hollow, aching numbness. When the sounds finally faded and they moved upstairs, I pulled out my phone and dialed the future number again. “What about my parents?” I whispered into the dark. “What happened to them in your timeline?” “Shortly after you were put away, they died in a tragic car accident,” Daisy’s voice sounded incredibly small and hollow. “They loved you so much, Mom. But Gemma kept telling them that you hated them, that you blamed them for losing you when you were little. Grandma used to hold your old photos and cry herself to sleep every night, whispering how sorry she was.” A tear slipped down my cheek. They did love me. Thank god. There was still time to fix this. The next morning, James unlocked the basement door. Dehydrated and pale, I dragged myself out. “Stop making a scene, Nora,” he said coldly. “Daisy’s one-month celebration is coming up, and the invitations are already out. You wouldn’t want to miss your own daughter’s party, would you?” So, I played along. I behaved perfectly. When the day of the celebration arrived, my parents were among the first to show up. Watching my mother cradle Daisy, cooing softly as my father smiled beside her, a wave of warmth rushed through me. There was so much I wanted to say to them. Right then, Gemma walked in, dressed in a stunning gown and clinging to James’s arm. “These heels are just too high to walk in, so I had James help me,” she giggled, looking at our parents with her usual bubbly, innocent demeanor. “You don’t mind, do you, Nora?” James stepped away from her, wrapping an arm around my waist instead. “You’ve worked hard today, Nora. Once this is over, we’ll go home and get some rest.” I fought down the sudden urge to vomit, remaining silent. When the ballroom was packed and the champagne was flowing, I quietly slipped away and pressed the button on the control panel. The massive projector screen, which had been displaying sweet photos of Daisy’s first month, suddenly flickered. In an instant, the screen filled with crystal-clear footage of James and Gemma wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering vulgar promises. The entire room fell into a dead, shocked silence, followed by gasps of horror. Gemma’s face drained of all color. My parents froze, staring at the screen in absolute disbelief. James panicked for a split second, but he quickly recovered. He strode onto the stage, shut off the projector, and looked down at me with an expression of deep, tragic resignation. “Nora, please… you’ve had another episode.” A murmur ran through the crowd. But James had prepared for this very moment. He pulled out his iPad and cast a document onto the screen—a psychological report claiming I had been suffering from severe prenatal and postpartum psychosis. Alongside it was a list of heavy anti-depressants under my name. “After her multiple miscarriages, my wife’s mental state became unstable,” James announced to the crowd, his voice filled with fake sympathy. “I apologize to everyone for the disturbance.” Gemma quickly stepped forward, wiping away fake tears. “The doctor said Nora’s depression makes her paranoid. I don’t blame her for fabricating these deep-fake videos to hurt me. I just want my sister to get the professional help she needs.” “This is ridiculous!” my father barked, his face turning red with embarrassment. “If you are sick, Nora, go get treated! Why would you drag your sister into the mud like this?” My mother looked at me with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “Nora, I know you still resent us for what happened in the past, but Gemma has done nothing but try to help you. How could you do something so malicious to her?” “No, that’s not…” I tried to explain, but my voice was drowned out as a glass of red wine was splashed directly into my face. Cold, sticky liquid dripped down my cheeks, ruining my dress. “If she can fake a video like that, who knows what else she’s lying about!” someone in the crowd sneered. “If she really is that crazy, she shouldn’t be allowed around normal people. Lock her up!” The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, hostile eyes glaring at me from every direction. Pretending to protect me from the hostile crowd, James grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the ballroom. The moment we stepped into the quiet alley outside, I gathered every ounce of strength I had and slapped him across the face. “You monster! I am not sick, and you know it!” James touched his bruised cheek, his sympathetic husband facade vanishing instantly into a cold, menacing sneer. “I warned you to think about the consequences, Nora. Since you were so eager to destroy Gemma, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He pulled out his phone and called a private medical transport. “You’re going to a psychiatric facility, Nora. I’ll let you out once you’ve learned to behave.” Gemma suddenly slipped out of the venue, running up to us. “James, let me go with her in the car. I want to talk some sense into her before she does something stupid.” James nodded, trusting her completely. But as soon as the car drove off and reached a secluded, abandoned stretch of road, the driver pulled over. Gemma dragged me out of the backseat, throwing me onto the gravel at the feet of three burly, rough-looking men waiting there. “She’s all yours, boys,” Gemma sneered, tossing a thick envelope of cash to their leader. “Do whatever you want with her. Just keep her breathing long enough to sell her across the border.” She stepped closer, raising her designer stiletto heel and slamming it hard onto my chest. Her heel caught on the heavy silver locket resting against my collarbone. “Nora, with you gone, James and I can finally be together legally.” Despite the searing pain in my ribs, I looked up at her and let out a soft laugh. “Do you really think you’ve won, Gemma?” I gasped, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Why don’t you check your phone?” Gemma froze. She pulled out her phone, and within seconds, every drop of color drained from her face. Back at the venue, James stood in the corridor, exhaling a long breath. My defiance had annoyed him. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just accept my role as a quiet, compliant mother. “Well, this stay in the facility will teach her a lesson. She’ll fall back in line,” he muttered, smoothing down his tuxedo jacket. The celebration was still going on, so he put on his charming smile and pushed open the heavy double doors to the ballroom. But as he stepped inside, he found the room in absolute, suffocating silence. The massive projector screen had flickered back on. It was broadcasting a live feed. The moment James’s eyes adjusted to the screen, his entire body froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452525”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 During our worst arguments, my hearing-impaired husband had a habit of ripping out his hearing aid. He would stand there in absolute silence, leaving me to scream and cry like a hysterical lunatic, entirely ignored. But this time, I froze. I had finally realized that he never treated his childhood sweetheart this way. I remembered a time when he had upset Lydia. In a fit of temper, she had accidentally slapped his hearing aid off, sending it shattering onto the pavement. Instead of getting angry, he had dropped to his knees, frantically searching the ground. “Lydia, please don’t be mad,” he had pleaded, his voice trembling as he groped in the dark. “Please don’t shut me out.” His first instinct wasn’t anger; it was sheer, suffocating anxiety. He was terrified of being locked out of her world. He was desperate to hear her voice, her sighs, her anger. He couldn’t bear to miss a single second of her response. The moment the device was repaired, he had rushed straight back to her, just so she could repeat the harsh words she had yelled at him. Seven years of built-up grief suddenly crashed over me. Looking at Oliver, I finally understood that I had never truly been allowed inside his world. Seeing that I had quieted down, Oliver calmly slid his hearing aid back into place. His expression was completely detached. “Since you’ve calmed down, go make dinner. Cook some sweet and sour ribs. Lydia is coming over later, and they’re her favorite.” My voice was flat when I spoke. “Oliver, let’s get a divorce.” He froze for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over his ear. “What did you say? My hearing aid static was acting up.” “I said,” I began, but the doorbell cut me off. At the same time, his phone chimed with a custom ringtone. He glanced at the screen, a genuine smile instantly softening his features. “Lydia is off her shift. I’m going to pick her up,” he said, turning toward the door. “Don’t forget about dinner. And remember, no green onions. Lydia hates them.” With that, he hurried out. In our seven years of marriage, he had memorized every single one of Lydia’s preferences. For me, he only ever had one excuse: If you don’t tell me what you want, how am I supposed to know? Yet Lydia never had to say a word. A single crease of her brow was enough to send him into hours of anxious worry. I didn’t make the ribs. Instead, I cooked a table full of spicy, heavy dishes that I loved. Both Oliver and Lydia preferred bland, mild food. To accommodate them, I hadn’t eaten a proper, sweat-inducing spicy meal in years. Just as I plated the last dish, the front lock clicked. Oliver walked in, his arm gently guiding Lydia through the doorway. They were carrying several shopping bags. Oliver set them down and handed me a small, elegant box of red bean pastries from the Crescent Bakery. It was a famous, expensive shop. And those pastries were the one sweet I genuinely loved. Whenever Oliver upset me, he would bring a box home, and my anger would immediately dissolve at the sight of it. But this time, I didn’t reach for it. I simply pointed toward the coffee table. “Put it there.” When Oliver saw the bright red, chili-laden dishes on the dining table, his face darkened. “Bridget, did you do this on purpose? Lydia can’t handle spicy food. What is she supposed to eat?” Lydia quickly grabbed his sleeve, her voice soft and sweet. “Oliver, it’s fine. I can manage. Today is Bridget’s special day, after all.” The anger in Oliver’s eyes melted instantly. He looked at her like a protective dog being patted on the head. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, leaning down. Lydia nodded, a sweet smile on her face. They were standing so close. It was only then that I noticed the matching cartoon rabbit stickers pasted onto their identical hearing aids. I remembered our seventh anniversary. I had begged Oliver to use matching cartoon profile pictures with me on social media, wanting some small, public acknowledgment of our marriage. Don’t be so childish, he had said. Yet, the matching rabbits on his hearing aid apparently weren’t childish at all. I lowered my head, blinking back the hot tears stinging my eyes. Across the table, Oliver set a glass of plain water next to his plate. Every time he picked up a piece of food, he would carefully rinse it in the water before placing it gently into Lydia’s bowl. The lump in my throat grew tighter. I bit my lower lip, fighting to keep my composure as I sat across from them. Suddenly, Oliver placed a piece of rinsed beef into my bowl. I stared at it, caught off guard. This was the first time in our marriage he had ever served me. “I can get it myself,” I muttered. He didn’t look up. “Lydia is still recovering from her ear surgery. She can’t have beef right now. She’s eating this spicy food just to make you happy, so you should thank her.” My chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. I had accommodated them for seven years, and not once had anyone thanked me. Why did I have to thank Lydia for tolerating one meal? I slammed my chopsticks onto the table. “If you don’t like it, cook your own damn food.” 2 I had always been mild-tempered, rarely raising my voice, so my sudden outburst shocked them. Lydia scrambled to her feet, looking terrified. In her haste, she choked on a piece of chili, her face turning bright red as she began to cough violently. Oliver reacted as if a bomb had gone off. He slammed his fist on the table and stood up. “Bridget, Lydia came all this way to celebrate your birthday! You made this spicy food specifically to exclude her, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?” A cold, sharp pain pierced my heart. So he did know. He knew today was my birthday. Lydia shook her head frantically, her hands moving in rapid, fluid sign language that I couldn’t understand. Oliver replied to her in the same silent language. I stood there like an intruder, completely shut out of their conversation. Finally, Oliver let out a frustrated growl. “Why should you be the one suffering? Come on, I’m taking you out to eat.” He grabbed Lydia’s hand and marched out of the apartment, slamming the door behind them. The tears I had held back for so long finally spilled over. I sat down alone and began stuffing the spicy food into my mouth, chewing through my sobs. The spice burned my throat until I had to run to the bathroom to throw up, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t understand how the food I used to love so much had turned into pure poison. By the time the plates were empty, my lips were swollen and my eyes were red. I wiped my face and pulled a black bank card from my wallet. It held the savings I had scraped together over the last seven years. Seven years ago, Oliver had a chance to undergo a surgery that could have restored his hearing. But he had jumped in to save me from a group of thugs, and his ear bones were shattered in the fight, permanently destroying any chance of recovery. That guilt had been a phantom ache in my heart for years. I felt like I had ruined his life. To repay him, I spent three months nursing him day and night, eventually marrying him and spending seven years acting as his servant. A dull pain throbbed in my left leg. A year ago, when Lydia had broken his hearing aid, Oliver had wandered into the street without it and was nearly hit by a speeding truck. I had thrown myself in front of the vehicle to push him out of the way, shattering my leg. Even now, I walked with a permanent, slight limp. I had paid my debt. I owed him nothing more. I opened my phone, booked a consultation at a rehabilitation clinic in my hometown, and bought a one-way train ticket for the next morning. Whether Oliver agreed to the divorce or not, I was leaving. As I closed the travel app, my phone rang. It was the Crescent Bakery. Because I loved their pastries, Oliver had signed up for a VIP membership under my phone number. “Hello, is this Mrs. Cross?” the clerk asked politely. “Yes, speaking.” “Your husband ordered our exclusive ‘Four Seasons’ gift set, and it has just arrived. We tried calling his number, but he isn’t answering. Would you be able to pick it up?” “Of course,” I said, my heart fluttering with a tiny, fragile hope. The Four Seasons gift set was incredibly expensive and required booking months in advance. Perhaps, in some hidden corner of his heart, Oliver still cared about me. When I arrived at the bakery, the clerk handed over the beautifully wrapped box. I signed the receipt, my fingers trembling. But as I reached for the handle, the clerk stopped. “Wait, let me double-check. I think the greeting card in the system was addressed to a Ms. Mercer… Let me verify the name.” I froze, the warmth draining from my body. It wasn’t for me. After a few agonizing minutes, the clerk returned with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cross. The name on the order doesn’t match. I can’t let you take this package.” My hands clenched into tight fists. I forced a polite, empty smile onto my face. “Oh, I see. No worries. I’ll have him pick it up himself.” I practically fled the shop, only to run straight into Oliver at the entrance. 3 I stumbled and fell onto the concrete, a sharp pain shooting through my bad leg. Oliver didn’t even look down at me. He muttered a quick, distracted apology to the air and pushed past me into the bakery. “Hi, is my gift set ready? I saw a missed call.” The clerk smiled and handed the elegant box to him. The transaction went smoothly, without a single hitch. As he turned to leave, the clerk called out, “Mr. Cross, would you like to add a small box of red bean pastries today? I noticed you always buy one whenever you pick up a gift for Ms. Mercer.” Oliver paused, then nodded. “Yes, the usual small box is fine.” I sat on the cold pavement, laughing until tears slipped down my face. I had always thought Oliver, who was usually so careless, bought those pastries because he kept my favorite treat close to his heart. It turned out I was nothing more than a afterthought, a cheap buy-one-get-one-free bonus to soothe his guilt while he spoiled Lydia. I watched his hurried figure disappear down the street. I didn’t call after him. I dragged myself to a bench in a nearby park, staring up at the gray sky. There had been a time, very early on, when we were happy. He would fill a basin with warm water to massage my feet after a long shift, and he would surprise me with small gifts. When did it all change? It was when Lydia returned from her studies abroad. They shared a childhood, and they shared a silent world of hearing loss. They had an endless supply of secrets and a language I could never speak. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but think that if Lydia hadn’t left for her treatment years ago, she would have been the one standing beside him at the altar. The sky grew dark. My phone remained silent. I scolded myself for still hoping he would call, for still wishing he would care. Suddenly, the phone vibrated in my palm. The screen flashed with the contact name: Husband. My heart leaped against my ribs, and I answered quickly. “Oliver, I’m—” “Bridget, did you put that trash on the internet?” his voice cut in, cold and accusatory. I went numb. “What trash?” Oliver let out a disgusted sneer. “Stop acting innocent. You make me sick.” I hung up and quickly opened my social media apps. At the very top of the trending list was a headline in bold letters: Lydia Mercer, prominent jewelry designer, exposed as a homewrecker. Clicking on the tag, the first image was a candid photo of Lydia and Oliver dining at a candlelit restaurant, sitting close enough that their lips seemed to touch. The captions were vicious, pointing out that Oliver was married and that they were out celebrating on his wife’s birthday. Lydia’s tearful voice echoed from the background of the call. “Bridget, I know you hate me, but how could you destroy my career? No one else knew about our dinner except the three of us. If it wasn’t you, who else would buy these rumors to ruin me?” My throat felt tight. I couldn’t find the words to defend myself, even though I was entirely innocent. Oliver snatched the phone back. “Don’t worry, Lydia. I’ll handle this.” He hung up. Within minutes, the trending tag about Lydia began to drop rapidly. But my relief was short-lived. My best friend sent me a frantic text: Bridget, why would you post about what happened seven years ago? Didn’t you swear to carry that secret to your grave? My hands began to shake violently. I clicked back to the trending page. When I saw the new headline at the very top of the list, my knees buckled, and I sank to the ground.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “452542”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel