Category: English

Two months after my boyfriend went missing, I suddenly received a transfer of two hundred thousand dollars. That night, Asher Ford called me from an unknown number. “You’re just a fish seller. Two hundred grand is more than enough. Summer, we’re even now.” The next day, Asher Ford’s romance with the rising starlet Natalie James hit the trending searches. While the whole internet celebrated them, I started a livestream. In front of the camera, I held a fish-gutting knife. With one swift motion, I raised it and brought it down. “The first toast to myself—for dating a celebrity and only getting a secret relationship.” “The second toast to myself—for spending money and resources on him, only to have him cut me down the moment he made it big.” “The third toast to myself—for seeing my ex-boyfriend’s new romance trending the day after our brutal breakup.” Asher Ford and his management company called me frantically, cursing non-stop: “Why won’t this livestream shut down?” I laughed coldly. Who said I was only selling one fish?

I wiped the water off my hands and picked up my phone expressionlessly. Asher Ford had removed me from his blacklist and was now bombarding me with messages on SnapChat. [Summer, are you out of your mind? What the hell are you talking about?] [Turn off that livestream right now, do you hear me?] [Are you trying to destroy me and Natalie?!] I didn’t reply. I exited his chat window. I noticed the pinned chats at the top that I hadn’t deleted yet. I had always kept only two people pinned—one was Asher Ford, the other was Natalie James. My chat history with Natalie James was still stuck three months ago: [Don’t worry, Summer! I’ll keep an eye on Asher for you once we’re on set~] I closed my screen and glanced at the comments flooding my livestream, picking one to respond to. “Is there a fourth toast? Yes. The fourth toast is to myself—for putting my best friend in my boyfriend’s production, only to have them announce their relationship. Turns out I was the clown all along.” My words were too pointed to ignore. Combined with today’s trending celebrity news, people in the comments had already started typing out Asher Ford and Natalie James’s names. When I first started the stream, there wasn’t a single viewer. But money talks. Even two hundred thousand dollars could make a splash loud enough to attract a crowd. Random viewers entered the stream, confused. [Random person here—what’s going on? Why does a fish-selling stream have so many people?] [But the fish seller is so pretty! Girl, stop gutting fish and gut me instead!] Soon, someone filled them in. [You’re late, sis. Looks like we’re front row for some major tea.] [I knew this was my weekday blessing. Not sleepy at all now!] Of course, there was also a batch of fans spamming the chat to defend them, insisting I was just clout-chasing off “Asher and Natalie Forever.” I let out a cold laugh and kindly replied, “Dear fan, don’t you know the golden rule of entertainment? Ask for receipts and you’ll get receipts.” Back when we were dating, Asher Ford was a complete nobody—an E-list actor buried six feet under—but he had the self-awareness of an A-lister. He rarely showed his face in photos, probably to prevent exactly this kind of situation. Too bad he underestimated his own fans. They were the type to follow their idols with 18x magnification microscopes, never missing a single clue. Sure enough, the next moment, hashtags like #AsherFordGirlfriend, #AsherFordCheating, and #NatalieJamesHomewrecker exploded onto the trending searches. Fans analyzed the photos and videos I provided frame by frame. I marveled internally while casually throwing money at the post to boost it to the top. The comments in my livestream became polarized. Some praised me for handling it beautifully, saying cheaters deserved to be exposed. Others recognized the farmers market in my stream background was near Asher Ford’s filming location and thought I was a crazy stalker. I simply grabbed the last fish from the tank and gutted it cleanly. The next second, Asher Ford appeared in front of me, fully disguised. He finally couldn’t sit still anymore. Though his mask and hat covered most of his face, I could still read the fury in his eyes. The livestream comments spiked the moment his figure appeared. [Holy shit, is that actually Asher Ford?] [Still defending him, fans? Your idol just showed up in person.] Asher Ford’s face darkened as he pulled me away from my stall. A large hand appeared in front of the camera, forcibly cutting off the stream. In the second before it ended, I smiled at the camera. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

In the hotel suite, Asher Ford’s manager, Kyle, sat vigilantly nearby, glaring at me with undisguised resentment. Yet just six months ago, we’d been drinking together at a roadside barbecue stand. He’d sighed drunkenly, “Real love is rare in the entertainment industry. Bro, I’m rooting for you two.” Back then, Asher Ford’s eyes were full of tenderness and affection. “I’m not looking to be a superstar. As long as I can support Summer, that’s enough. I don’t want her to work so hard.” This summer, one of his shows became a hit. He skyrocketed to fame overnight. After that, we saw each other less and less, until two months ago when contact completely stopped. I never expected our reunion would be under these circumstances. Kyle lit a cigarette and said leisurely, “Summer, I wanted to sign you along with him back then, but you refused. You insisted on keeping your fish stall. So don’t blame us now. People always climb higher.” “You’re not satisfied with two hundred grand? Name your price.” I scoffed. Once upon a time, we were so poor we could only afford one flavor of crawfish. Now that they’d made it big, their tone had certainly changed. Asher Ford hadn’t said a word. He kept his head down, not daring to look at me. I couldn’t tell if it was resentment or a hint of guilt in his heart. Seeing my silence, Kyle thought he had a chance. “But I have conditions. You must publicly apologize to Asher and Natalie, and never contact them again.” I didn’t look at him. I stared straight at Asher Ford. “Where’s Natalie James? Why didn’t she come to see me? Too ashamed?” Asher Ford looked guilty, mumbling, “After your livestream, fans went crazy attacking her. Natalie’s been hurt. She cried all night.” I let out a cold laugh. “So it’s not a publicity stunt? You two are really together?” Asher Ford gave an almost imperceptible nod, his voice dry. “Summer, don’t blame Natalie. It’s me…” “You can’t stop us from living better lives, can you? I can’t stay with a fish seller forever.” I looked at his face. It had only been two months, yet he felt like a complete stranger. Now he kept calling me “fish seller,” but he never thought about how he got to where he is today. I nodded and stood up. “The nerve to do it but not own up to it? I really look down on you both. You want me to shut up? Dream on.” Kyle’s expression changed. He waved his hand, and several security guards in black rushed in. They quickly restrained me, gripping me so hard my face went pale. Asher Ford looked panicked. “Kyle, tell them to go easy…” Kyle was noncommittal. “Summer, since you won’t take the easy way, don’t blame us. Until the scandal dies down, you’re not going anywhere.” With that, he glared at Asher Ford, and the two left directly, locking me completely inside the hotel suite with two security guards stationed at the door. Half an hour later, I rubbed my wrists and opened my phone. Sure enough, my streaming platform and all my social media accounts had been controlled through their connections. I opened Twitter again and saw Asher Ford’s deeply emotional apology letter and essay. At the same time, Skyline Entertainment issued a stern statement. The gist of it was: Asher Ford did briefly date Summer, but they had already broken up. During their relationship, his relationship with Natalie James was purely friendship—no cheating or infidelity occurred. Natalie James immediately followed up with a post: [The innocent will be proven innocent] The attached photo was a weak selfie of her lying in a hospital bed. They both apologized for taking up public resources. My gaze grew colder. Apologizing to the public—but the person who deserved an apology the most still hadn’t heard a single “I’m sorry.” So I said nothing and made a phone call.

On a weekday afternoon, everyone seemed quite free. The controversy continued to ferment. With the entertainment company fanning the flames, many marketing accounts started steering the narrative. [Gotta say, this apology is pretty sincere] [Asher Ford and Natalie James are actors, not idols. What’s wrong with dating? Celebrities have the right to date freely] [Between Natalie James and a fish seller, anyone would know who to choose, right?] Next, someone leaked that I’d taken money. The screenshot of the two-hundred-thousand-dollar transfer was posted. The comments exploded again, everyone cursing me out. [Took the money and still making trouble? The fish seller’s desperate for fame, huh?] [Definitely rival companies stirring things up. Can’t stand our “Asher and Natalie Forever” trending] [LMAO, now that my baby’s famous, every random nobody wants clout] My livestream account was completely suspended. The official reason: False information. Asher Ford and Natalie James struck while the iron was hot, attending an event together. The two gazed sweetly at each other, Asher Ford’s love practically overflowing. [Let’s see who still says our “Asher and Natalie Forever” is fake!] [Asher really loves her so much. Ex-girlfriend, stop clout-chasing] They marketed these two as a couple who’d finally made it through hardship. Naturally, I became the evil witch trying to destroy them. Fans from both sides united like never before, directing all their anger at me. My accounts were doxxed, and old photos where I’d accidentally appeared in the background were dug up. They viciously attacked everything about me. My DMs were filled with toxic insults, and people even photoshopped funeral portraits of me. Asher Ford didn’t say another word. Instead, late that night, Natalie James, who I hadn’t heard from in ages, sent me a message. [Summer, did you ever think you’d have a day like this?] I stared at that message for a long moment. Back when Asher Ford was still running errands at the film studio, sometimes the assistant directors would give him odd jobs, like buying fish from me. Over time, we became familiar faces. Later, on a snowy day, I was cooking fish soup at my stall when I saw Asher Ford licking his lips nearby. Feeling sympathetic, I invited him in to escape the snow. That’s when I learned he hadn’t worked with any production crew for a week and had lost his source of income. I took him in. During the day, he’d still work as an extra. In his spare time, he’d help me gut fish. Love came naturally. As for Natalie James, she was the daughter of the pork seller next to my stall. People around the film studio all had dreams to some degree. Natalie James was no exception. Unfortunately, neither of them had much luck. Ironically, manager Kyle happened to pass by one day and took one look at me, insisting on signing me as a talent. Under the envious gazes of Asher Ford and Natalie James, I calmly refused. Kyle settled for second best and signed Asher Ford instead. On another snowy day, I saw Natalie James with her face red from cold, being scolded and beaten by her parents. I felt sympathy again. I asked Asher Ford to make connections and pulled some other strings, finally getting Natalie James into the industry too. Back then, neither of them was famous yet. They felt bad for me and wouldn’t let me work, competing to gut fish for me. They were quite skilled. Now, I really wanted to ask them about it again, but it seemed pointless. For me, it was a warm memory. For them, it was probably just a humiliating past. I deleted her from my contacts and clicked on another person’s profile. [Send me that invitation.]

Once the heat died down, Kyle finally mercifully let me go. He condescendingly tossed me a card. “There’s another hundred grand here. Asher still values the old times. Don’t let him down.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Of course, if you change your mind and want to enter the industry, you can still contact me. We can negotiate all the terms.” I scoffed, too lazy to deal with him, and left directly. Three days later, I appeared at the SW Gala. This gala was broadcast globally. Countless celebrities fought tooth and nail for an invitation. So when I entered the camera’s view wearing a casual shirt, the comments froze for a moment. [Did I see that right? Was that the fish seller from a few days ago?] [Is security insane? How did they let just anyone in at such a major event?] [FYI, I’m here in person. I saw the fish seller come in with an invitation] [What?? The gala has scalpers now?] “Asher and Natalie Forever,” who’d been holding hands, stiffened when they saw me. Asher Ford quickly walked over, lowering his voice. “Summer, what are you doing here? Are you crazy?” He seemed anxious, trying to shield me from the cameras. “Leave before anyone notices. I’ll take you to the back exit.” Natalie James’s expression changed. Dressed in haute couture and enhanced by exquisite makeup, she’d shed her former innocence. By comparison, I looked rather shabby. She grabbed Asher Ford’s arm. “Do you know what your position is? Do you have to stay entangled with her?” Then she linked arms with Asher Ford, as if claiming ownership, and smiled sweetly at me. “Long time no see, Summer.” “I didn’t expect that after just a few months, your methods would become so sophisticated. You even managed to squeeze into the gala. Is today’s security guard one of your admirers?” She was deliberately provoking. Asher Ford’s expression didn’t look good. More and more people gathered around. Natalie James’s smile grew brighter. She deliberately pinched her nose. “Ugh, what a strong fishy smell. Summer, I’m not trying to criticize you, but couldn’t you at least change clothes before coming?” I shrugged indifferently and looked at her skin, reddened by the wind. I asked very sincerely, “Aren’t you cold?” Natalie James’s face stiffened. Just then, several security guards walked over quickly. They politely asked to see my invitation, then exchanged glances. “Ms. Summer’s invitation is valid.” Everyone’s expressions changed. “Her identity is… screenwriter?” I finally smiled. “I wanted to write a script with a fish seller as the protagonist, so I went to experience that life. I didn’t tell you in advance—sorry about that.” Natalie James’s face turned iron blue. She called Kyle over. Even though she lowered her voice, the argument still reached my ears. “She’s just a third-rate screenwriter. Can’t you handle this? Do you believe I won’t film next month’s dating reality show!” “Asher and Natalie Forever” was currently riding high. Kyle couldn’t bear to let this cash cow go. I don’t know how he worked it out, but two more security guards came over politely to escort me out. The livestream comments were updating rapidly. [What’s happening now? Is the fish seller getting kicked out?] [I really want to see the fish seller cause a scene at the gala. That would be exciting] [Hey, but how do I put this… Natalie James’s fans could paper a wall, but the fish seller with no makeup standing next to her is actually holding her own!] [Support “Asher and Natalie Forever!” Please remove unrelated people, organizers] I looked at the smug Natalie James and the silent Asher Ford. Probing gazes landed on me one after another. I suddenly smiled. “Are you sure you want to remove me?” Natalie James shouted, “Of course. Stop embarrassing yourself, Summer.” Someone playing the neutral party nearby also said I really didn’t fit the gala. I nodded. “Then this gala doesn’t need to happen, does it?” Everyone froze, then burst into laughter. Natalie James laughed so hard she swayed. “Summer, have you lost your mind?” The next second, the gala doors were pushed open. Camera flashes went crazy, and the livestream immediately crashed. [Holy shit! It’s Ethan Knight! Who invited this ancient god out?!] If the domestic entertainment industry could only have one top-tier celebrity, no one would question it—it would definitely be Ethan Knight. His gaze swept across the venue, then he walked straight toward me. Under everyone’s gaze, he stopped in front of me. “Miss, what are you doing here?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “403827”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My son had just turned seven months old when my wife and my brother died together in a lovers’ suicide. They leaped from a high mountain, their bodies never recovered. Just as I was reeling in shock, several lines of text suddenly floated before my eyes. “This Ethan is really pitiful. Sophia and Liam faked their deaths, but he has to raise the baby and take care of both sets of parents all alone. He ended up dying from exhaustion before he even turned thirty-five.” “His son is an ungrateful wretch too. He acknowledged Liam as his father, and didn’t even visit Ethan’s grave on the anniversary of his death. Weeds have grown all over Ethan’s tombstone!” “And he doesn’t know—the child he worked himself to death raising for seven years isn’t even his biological son!” “Sophia is so rich, but Ethan didn’t inherit a single penny. Those two bastards, Sophia’s parents, took everything!” “They even pretended to be paralyzed and made Ethan serve them hand and foot, treating him like he wasn’t even human!” Seeing all this, my tears stopped flowing instantly, like a dam had been shut.

The floating messages continued. “Next up will be Ethan working alone to raise the baby while serving two disabled elderly people. It’s going to be a tragic storyline.” “God, I can’t bear to watch this. After Ethan dies, Sophia and Liam will come back. Sophia’s parents won’t be paralyzed anymore, Ethan’s parents won’t resent him anymore, and the whole big happy family will start their beautiful life of raising the baby and making money.” My mother suddenly shoved me hard. “This is all your fault! If you’d divorced Sophia earlier and let Liam have her, they wouldn’t have died!” My father slapped me across the face. “You’re a walking disaster! Your brother was cursed to death by you!” I stood there stunned, wondering if I was hallucinating from excessive grief. Then more messages appeared. “It’s one thing for the in-laws to blame him, but even his own parents don’t understand. It was clearly Liam and Sophia having an affair, but they were afraid of being criticized by society, so they staged this whole thing. Now Ethan is taking all the blame.” I was shocked for three seconds, but it only took me three minutes to accept this reality. Then I numbly handled the funeral arrangements for Sophia and Liam, and had both of them officially declared dead. The moment I finished these tasks, my mother-in-law called. “Ethan, get over here right now! Something terrible has happened to your father and me!” I quickly hid the death certificates, then rushed to my in-laws’ house. When I entered, I found both my father-in-law and mother-in-law lying in bed. My mother-in-law immediately started crying when she saw me. She shakily handed me two diagnosis certificates. The word “paralyzed” was particularly glaring. “Ethan, your father and I can’t accept the fact that Sophia is gone. We’re so grief-stricken that we’ve lost all bodily function.” “From now on, we’ll have to rely on you to take care of us!” At that moment, more messages flooded my vision. “These two old bastards are healthier than I am, yet they’re pretending to be paralyzed to make Ethan serve them.” “Ethan has to feed them, bathe them, and handle their excrement and urine every day. They curse at him daily, calling him a walking disaster and saying he’s not taking good enough care of them.” “Ethan collapsed from exhaustion several times. The baby had no one to care for him and nearly died.” “It would’ve been better if that ungrateful brat had died. Otherwise, Ethan had to work three jobs to support him and serve these two old bastards, and he ended up dying of overwork while delivering food!” My father-in-law shouted impatiently, “Your mother is talking to you! Did you hear her or not? My daughter died because of you, and now we’re like this—you have to take responsibility!” The messages kept floating. “Ethan, please don’t feel guilty! It’s not your fault! Give the baby to these two old bastards and run!” “Sophia still has a company and two villas under her name. After she faked her death, her parents secretly inherited everything and didn’t give Ethan a single penny!” Seeing all this, I took a deep breath. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll definitely take good care of you!”

My father-in-law demanded, “Go make dinner right now, and when you’re done, clean the whole house! Don’t even think about being lazy and ordering takeout. I don’t eat takeout!” My mother-in-law chimed in, “After dinner, first give us both a sponge bath, then do the housework. Oh, and wash our dirty clothes too.” I looked at them coldly. “The baby seems a bit unwell. I’m going to take him to the hospital for a checkup first.” My father-in-law got agitated. “The kid is seven months old—what could be wrong with him? I think you just don’t want to take care of us!” My mother-in-law added, “Ethan, if you won’t take care of us, I’ll start a livestream and let the internet drown you in criticism!” “Mom, Dad, I won’t abandon you. I’ll come back right after I get the baby checked. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to Sophia’s child, would you?” Without waiting for their agreement, I left immediately. Then I headed straight to the electronics market and bought two hidden cameras. Messages flooded past frantically. “Oh my God, Ethan is waking up! He’s starting to suspect these two old bastards!” “Ethan, hurry home! The property deeds for Sophia’s two villas are hidden inside the big teddy bear at home! If you don’t get them now, those two old bastards will take them!” I rushed home and immediately spotted the human-sized teddy bear in the living room. It was a gift I’d given Sophia when she found out she was pregnant. I quickly unzipped the back of the bear and reached inside, feeling around for a long time until I finally touched two property deeds. After getting the two deeds, my heart pounded wildly. Both villas were in excellent locations with great square footage—worth over twenty million dollars combined! “Ethan cried every day because he couldn’t pay his son’s two-hundred-dollar school fee. He wouldn’t even buy himself a bun to eat and fainted from hunger. But that bitch had this much money and didn’t leave any of it for her husband and child. She deserves to die!” “Sophia and Liam are having a great time at a hot spring resort abroad right now.” I pulled out my phone and called a realtor. “Hello, real estate sales? I want to sell some property!” Right after I listed the two villas with the agency, my mother-in-law called again. “Ethan, it’s getting dark—why aren’t you back yet! Your father and I can’t take care of ourselves. Get back here and serve us.” “Okay, Mom. I’m coming back now.” I returned home with the two hidden cameras. When my in-laws heard me opening the door, they immediately went back to lie in bed. This gave me the perfect opportunity to install the camera in the living room. My father-in-law shouted, “Hurry up and make dinner! Are you trying to starve us to death?” I quickly responded and went to the kitchen to cook. After I finished, I brought the food into the room and struggled to help both of them sit up. My mother-in-law told me to feed her. Just as I brought the spoon to her mouth, she shrieked. “Are you trying to scald me to death?” She flung her hand out and knocked the bowl over, spilling food all over my head and face. The floor was covered in soup. As I cleaned it up, I took the opportunity to install the hidden camera in the bedroom. My father-in-law tapped his fork against the plate. “This dish is too salty, this one has too much oil. Pay attention next time!” “And when we eat, there must be both meat and vegetables—four dishes and a soup. You’re serving us with these two lousy vegetable dishes? Have you no conscience?” My mother-in-law huffed, “Don’t think you’re being wronged. My daughter died because of you. Everything you’re doing now is atonement!” “Hurry up and clean up the dishes, then wash the sheets and clothes. Mop the floor too. There’s still a pile of work to be done!” I obediently replied, “Mom, Dad, I’ll try my best to satisfy you.” After they finished eating, I was cleaning up in the living room. Suddenly I heard my father-in-law shout, “Ethan, get in here! I need to take a dump!”

I dropped the mop and ran in immediately, but it was too late. A foul stench filled the bedroom. “Ethan, can’t you move faster! I’ve already soiled my pants. Clean me up right now!” I suppressed my anger and maintained my patience. “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m trying to take care of both of you while looking after the baby. I got here as fast as I could.” “So you’re blaming me for not being able to hold it in!” He grabbed the cup from the nightstand and threw it hard at me. The cup hit me right in the forehead. Blood instantly streamed down my face. “What are you standing there for? Hurry up and clean this mess! A little cut on your head won’t kill you!” I swallowed my rage and cleaned up the disgusting mess while fighting my nausea. My mother-in-law called from the room, “Wash your father’s pants and sheets by hand! Don’t use the washing machine—it’s unsanitary!” By the time I finally finished cleaning up, the moment my butt touched the sofa, my mother-in-law spoke up. “Ethan, it’s so late—you should head home now. Your father and I need to rest. Come back early tomorrow!” My in-laws’ house had two bedrooms, but they clearly had no intention of letting me stay overnight. I opened the door and left. The messages started floating before my eyes again. “These two old bastards deliberately soiled themselves to disgust Ethan. It’s so late and they still won’t let him stay. They’re just tormenting him!” “There are no buses running at this hour. If Ethan wants to get home, he has to take a cab. But to save money, Ethan chose to walk home carrying the baby. It took him two hours to get there.” “Later Ethan bought a little electric scooter to deliver food and get around, but these two old bastards deliberately punctured the tires.” “Marrying into their family was eight generations of bad luck for Ethan. These two old devils clearly knew Sophia wasn’t dead, yet they deliberately tortured Ethan! They’re not even human! Why don’t they just die!” I sneered coldly. You two old bastards, go ahead and be arrogant. Everything you’re doing now will come back like a boomerang and stab you right in the back! The next morning at four o’clock, my mother-in-law called again. “Ethan, are you here yet? Your father and I are waiting for you to handle our bathroom needs. Hurry up and get here. If we can’t hold it and soil the bed, don’t blame us!” I used my phone to connect to the surveillance cameras at their house. Both of them were wandering around the living room—not looking paralyzed at all. No choice. For now, I still had to play along with their act. I served my in-laws tirelessly for a week. Finally, that afternoon, I received news that buyers had been found for the villas. Taking advantage of the two old bastards’ afternoon nap, I snuck out to meet the buyers. I’d already priced the villas below market value, so the transaction went smoothly. The moment I received the twenty million dollar payment, my anxious heart finally settled. That afternoon, my in-laws called my phone over a dozen times. I just turned it off. When I went back that evening, I brought someone with me. As soon as I entered, I heard the sound of things being smashed. “You worthless man, where did you go? Why did you turn off your phone? Do you know what kind of afternoon your father and I had!” Of course I knew. Those two had a wonderful time—they ordered takeout and watched TV. It was all recorded by the surveillance cameras. “Mom, Dad, this is the live-in caregiver I found for you. From now on, Mrs. Miller will take care of you full-time.”

My father-in-law immediately threw a fit. “No way! How can an outsider take care of us properly! We don’t want a stranger. We want you to take care of us!” My mother-in-law cried, “Ethan, my daughter died because of you, and now you don’t want to take care of us old folks! You have no conscience! How did our Anderson family end up with a curse like you!” “Mom, Dad, these past few days taking care of you have made my heart feel really uncomfortable, and the baby caught a cold. If you insist that I take care of you, I’ll have no choice but to send the baby away and let someone else care for him.” My father-in-law wouldn’t give in. “Nonsense! Back in our day, which man didn’t have to take care of kids and elderly parents at the same time? I never saw their kids have problems! I think you just don’t want to take care of us and you’re making excuses!” “That’s right! You’re absolutely right, honey. The kid is seven months old—a little illness won’t matter!” “Mom, Dad, no matter what you say, this child is what Sophia left behind, and he’s my life. I have to protect him.” With that, I turned and walked away, not looking back no matter how much they called after me. That night, the full-time caregiver I hired called me. “Mr. Morgan, your in-laws are forcing me to leave. They said if I don’t go, they’ll bite their tongues and kill themselves.” “Don’t worry, they’re not willing to die. Just do your job well. If they give you trouble, please bear with them. I’ll pay you triple the salary.” These two old bastards were determined to drive away the caregiver because with her there, they’d have to keep pretending to be paralyzed. If I was taking care of them, after I left at night, they could still get up and move around. Well, now they could just lie there. I went and got a paternity test done. Sure enough, the child wasn’t mine. I sent him to an orphanage. After that, I rushed to the company under Sophia’s name and called a board meeting in my capacity as Sophia’s husband. “Distinguished shareholders, I am Ethan Morgan, Sophia’s legal husband. I will inherit all of her shares. I majored in finance at Princeton. I believe we can all work together pleasantly in the future.” Sophia’s right-hand woman immediately objected. “As far as I know, Ms. Anderson still has parents. How can you inherit all of her equity!” I pulled out my in-laws’ paralysis certificates. “My father-in-law and mother-in-law have lost full capacity for civil conduct. If we hand the company over to them, how can it continue operating?” “Besides, I’m a top graduate from Princeton, while my in-laws only have middle school educations. It’s very clear who should inherit the company.” The confidante still objected. “What do you mean they’ve lost capacity? That’s just your one-sided claim!” I directly projected the surveillance footage from home onto the screen. In the video, I was tirelessly serving two disabled elderly people, dutifully and responsibly. The confidante’s face turned green. In the end, I gained the support of more than half the shareholders and obtained all of Sophia’s shares. Then I went to every bank to check if there were any other bank cards under her name. Wherever I found one, I directly presented the death certificate and marriage certificate, transferred all the money in her cards to my account, then canceled her cards. After completing this whole process, my account had grown by another thirty million dollars. Thinking about the expression on Sophia’s face when she tried to use her cards abroad and discovered they’d all been canceled made me laugh out loud.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “403828”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 The day I was supposed to take the bench as Chief Judge, I got myself arrested for a DUI on purpose. Sitting behind bars for three days, I perfectly missed the murder trial of my wife’s childhood sweetheart. Everyone who knew me shook their heads. They pitied me for throwing my brilliant career straight into the gutter. But sitting on that freezing iron cot, all I felt was absolute relief. In my past life, my wife forced me to use my authority to acquit her bastard of a childhood friend. I refused and sentenced the scumbag to death according to the law. My wife hated my guts for it. After the divorce, she pulled every string she had, whipping up a frenzy online and framing me for abusing my power for personal revenge. Overnight, I went from a rising star in the justice system to a rat crossing the street. Countless ignorant netizens doxed me. Death threats stuffed my mailbox. The abuse bled into my real life, suffocating me until my mental defenses completely shattered. I was driven to a dead end and jumped off a building. I opened my eyes, sucking in a lungful of rust-scented air. I had actually returned to the day before the trial. “Is that him? The high and mighty Chief Judge? A drunk driver?” “Breaking the law he’s sworn to uphold. Throw the book at him!” “Scum like him doesn’t deserve the robe. Sickening.” Accusations and curses washed over me like a tidal wave. I looked at the furious faces behind the police tape, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. If I hadn’t been pushed to the absolute brink, who would willingly smash the career they spent a decade building? In my last life, my principles got me killed. This time, I had run the chessboard through my mind a thousand times. This was the only way out of a dead end. It would be a lie to say my heart didn’t ache for what I was losing. Before I could process the heavy emotions, two uniformed officers slapped cold handcuffs onto my wrists with a sharp click. One of them roughly shoved my shoulder, preparing to force me into the back of the cruiser. Right at that moment, a middle-aged woman in a red coat broke through the crowd like a madwoman. She pointed a trembling finger right at my nose and screamed. “You heartless animal! My son was killed by a drunk driver like you!” “You’re a judge and you dare to drink and drive? Why don’t you rot in hell with my boy!” Her voice cracked and tore. Driven to the edge of grief, she lunged forward, her nails aiming straight for my face. Looking at her twisted, tear-stained features, my vision blurred for a second. A few years ago, I was the one who presided over her son’s tragic hit-and-run case. What a cruel joke of fate. The wheel turned, and now I was the one wearing the handcuffs. Seeing her claws about to reach my eyes, the younger cop quickly stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, please step back. You need to calm down.” “Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down!” Her shrieks pierced my eardrums. “Why does a piece of trash like him get to wear that robe? What gives him the right to sit up high and decide who lives and dies!” The crowd immediately echoed her anger. People shouted that someone so filthy had no right to judge others. The cops were overwhelmed by the boiling outrage. They finally managed to pull the despairing mother aside. Taking advantage of the gap, the other officer shoved me hard into the police car. The heavy door slammed shut with a thud. The chaos outside was instantly muted. The young cop climbed into the driver’s seat. He glanced at the angry mob outside, still shaken, then glared at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes were full of frustrated disappointment. He shook his head in disgust. “What the hell were you thinking? A Chief Judge, holding the biggest case of the year, and you go out and drive drunk? Is your brain rotted?” “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you did this on purpose to dodge the trial.” A sharp ache hit my chest. I had bled for this profession for ten years. Every bone in my body carried a deep reverence for the law. Who would actually throw that away? But I had no choice. I had to burn it all down to survive. Seeing me sitting there like a mute statue, the cop wisely shut his mouth. I leaned back against the leather seat and closed my eyes, but my mind ran wild, dragging me back to my previous life. My wife was Meredith. The man who caused the fatal crash was her childhood best friend, Blake. That night, the rain poured down in sheets. Visibility was zero. Blake was dead drunk. He slammed the gas pedal, ran a red light, and hit a pregnant woman, sending her flying across the intersection. Her husband was standing only a few feet away, forced to watch his beloved wife smash onto the asphalt like a broken doll. Bright crimson blood mixed with the rain, pooling rapidly under the pale streetlights. She died on impact. The eight-month-old baby, fully formed and ready to see the world, died right along with her. The tragedy detonated across the internet. Public fury boiled over, and every lawyer in the city was placing bets on how long Blake would rot in a cell. Fate played a sick joke, and the gavel was placed in my hands. The second the news broke, Meredith called me. She felt zero sympathy for the dead. She simply demanded I use my authority to get Blake off the hook. Those were two innocent lives. And Blake didn’t show a single ounce of remorse in court. He even smirked at the grieving husband. My bottom line as a judge made me reject Meredith’s insane demands without a second thought. Taking all the brutal evidence into account, I brought the gavel down and sentenced Blake to death. The day of the verdict, Meredith was eerily quiet. But that very night, she packed her bags and left. The next morning, a cold divorce agreement was slapped onto my desk. I was completely stunned. She looked at me like I was garbage. A venomous sneer curled her lips as she told me I didn’t deserve to be her husband. “Blake and I grew up together, and you actually dared to sentence him to death. You’re a cold-blooded monster!” “I asked you for one tiny favor and you pushed back. What’s next? Are you going to throw me in a cell too!” Her beautiful eyes were swimming with raw, unfiltered hatred. I almost laughed at her twisted logic. If I didn’t sentence him to death, how could I face the public? How could I face those two murdered souls? She refused to listen to a single word of my defense. She just spun on her heels and slammed the door behind her. I tried to salvage things, but she was a block of solid ice. Exhausted to my core, I signed the papers. I thought the nightmare was over and we would just go our separate ways. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The day after the divorce, a massive smear campaign buried me alive. Hordes of internet trolls came out of nowhere, spinning a narrative that I was jealous of Blake and Meredith’s relationship, claiming I handed down the death penalty out of pure spite. The killing blow was an audio clip leaked online. In it, my voice used the most vulgar words imaginable to curse Blake, threatening to kill him sooner or later. It was a masterful AI deepfake. Meredith was a top-tier visual and audio designer. She had plenty of connections with people who could fabricate reality perfectly. I tried to clear my name. A few rational voices actually took my side. But that afternoon, my trusted assistant posted a massive essay online. He tearfully accused me of abusing my power and accepting massive bribes. When my own right-hand man threw me to the wolves, the narrative completely spiraled out of control. Not a single person believed my innocence anymore. I naively thought the internet’s memory was short. I thought time would wash it away. But the hatred escalated into real-world violence. Bricks smashed through my windows at midnight. Dead rats were left on my windshield. The death threats seeped into every corner of my existence. My sanity finally snapped. On a quiet, early morning, I stepped off the edge of a thirty-story building. The agony of my bones shattering and my organs tearing from the sheer force of the impact was still burned into my soul. Opening my eyes again, only ice remained in my veins. Since God gave me a second chance, I would never let anyone use me as a stepping stone again. Three days later, I finally walked out of the precinct doors. The desk officer handed me my belongings in a clear plastic bag. I nodded in thanks. The second I turned on my phone, it vibrated like a cornered hornet. Over a hundred unread messages flooded the screen. I skimmed through them. Most were from Meredith. Every single word reeked of arrogant rage. “Where the hell are you playing dead? Text me back!” “You have three hours, or I’m dragging you to sign divorce papers!” “You think you’re so tough now? Ignoring my calls and my texts?” Because I hadn’t replied, her final messages softened just a fraction. “Today is Blake’s trial. You better remember what I said and make sure he walks free.” Seeing that last line, I couldn’t hold back a cold laugh. I had spent three peaceful days behind bars, and she was out here writing a whole script for my life. I ignored her garbage texts. Glancing at my Rolex, I saw the time was just about right. I hailed a cab and headed straight for the courthouse. Green lights all the way. Half an hour later, the cab pulled up across the street from the towering courthouse. I looked out the window. Blake’s crime was so brutal that the court had barred public entry to the trial. But that didn’t stop the outrage. The plaza in front of the building was packed tight with angry protesters, and reporters had their cameras lined up like a firing squad. My eyes scanned the chaotic crowd and locked onto two very familiar figures. Meredith and my son, Toby. They were standing on their tiptoes, craning their necks toward the heavy doors, panic written all over their faces. This was getting interesting. I pushed the car door open, a mocking smile playing on my lips. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stood on the sidewalk, quietly admiring their little performance. A few minutes passed. Maybe she felt my unapologetic stare, because Meredith suddenly whipped her head around. Our eyes clashed in the air. The moment she recognized my face, Meredith looked like someone had hit pause on a remote control. Pure, unfiltered shock flashed across her perfect face. She let go of Toby’s hand and practically sprinted across the pavement toward me in her heels. “What are you doing here?” A subtle tremor of panic laced her voice. Her eyes darted between the closed courthouse doors and my calm expression. Her throat tightened. “At this time, you should be sitting in…” She forced the rest of the sentence back down her throat. I looked down at her, my voice dead flat. “Where should I be?” She bit her lower lip hard, her face draining of color. The mockery on my face deepened. I dragged out the syllables, asking her the exact same question again. Her mask completely shattered. Her voice grew sharp and erratic. “You should be on the bench! Why are you sneaking around out here? Did you abandon your post again!” Her volume was loud, laced with a preemptive, defensive fury. A few curious heads were already turning our way. I didn’t care if anyone recognized me as the disgraced Chief Judge who got busted for drunk driving three days ago. Meeting Meredith’s furious, panicked gaze, I let out a slow, clear laugh. “What trial?” “Three days ago, I was locked up for a DUI. I just walked out of the precinct ten minutes ago.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450042”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I woke up inside an angsty, toxic romance novel. Worse, I was the tragic female lead destined to suffer. But the moment I opened my eyes, I realized I had gained a bizarre power: I could modify any number in the text of this story. With a mental flick of my wrist, I decided to play God. The manipulative mistress in the original story bragged about weighing ninety pounds with the appetite of a tiny bird. I changed her weight to three hundred pounds, making her so massive she broke her chair and sent the male lead’s jaw dropping to the floor. In the original plot, she pushed me from a seventh-floor balcony, causing me to miscarry and shattering every bone in my body. I changed the number to the first floor. I fell, brushed the dirt off my jeans, and walked right back inside. While I lay dying in the original script, she and my husband took off for a ten-day tropical island getaway. I added some zeros, turning their quick vacation into a ten-year survival nightmare. By the time they returned, I had manipulated the numbers in my bank account to become the wealthiest tycoon on the East Coast. As for them? They had spent a decade playing a real-life version of Castaway, reduced to shivering, dirt-caked cave people. It all started when I opened my eyes to find myself trapped in this cliché nightmare. The mistress was named Tiffany, and my husband was Gavin. Tiffany was the newly hired secretary at Gavin’s corporate headquarters, a master manipulator who knew exactly how to play the victim. I, Vivian, had spent years building a life with Gavin. We were childhood sweethearts. I supported him through his grueling startup years, cooking his meals and keeping his home, only to become a boring, neglected ornament in his eyes once he made his fortune. He began cheating on me, letting his toxic mistress torment me until I lost my baby, ended up paralyzed in a hospital bed, and was finally dragged off to an asylum. After endless torment, the original Vivian became a vegetative shell. Only then did Gavin realize his mistakes and begin his pathetic, desperate chase to win her back. But I was here now, and I had no intention of playing the victim. When the system notified me that I could edit the story’s numbers, I grinned. I did not need to be greedy. A few strategically placed digits would do just fine. Sitting at the dining table, I watched Tiffany pick at her food. Knowing what was about to happen, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. In this scene, Tiffany had come to our house to provoke me. She pretended to be drunk, draping herself over Gavin. He brought her home to stay in our guest room, but in the middle of the night, she wailed that she was starving. Gavin ordered me to get out of bed and cook a three-course meal for her. The original Vivian complied, only for Tiffany to take one bite and sneer. “Gavin, I have the stomach of a bird, I barely weigh ninety pounds. I am completely full after one bite. I really envy Vivian. You can tell she has a wonderful appetite just by looking at her figure.” Then she pushed the plate away with a look of disgust. “Gavin, now that I am full, the smell of this grease makes me want to throw up.” Gavin immediately ordered me to throw all the food in the trash and scrub the kitchen so Tiffany would not have to smell it. As I slaved away, he watched me with cold disdain. “Vivian, you should learn some self-discipline from Tiffany. Look at your body, you have completely let yourself go.” The original Vivian wept silently in the kitchen. She only gained weight because she had been taking heavy hormone injections for years, desperately trying to get pregnant because Gavin said he wanted a family. Now, facing the exact same scene, I pulled up the system panel. I targeted the number ninety in Tiffany’s dialogue and changed it to three hundred. The effect was instantaneous. Tiffany’s silk blouse buttons violently popped off. One button shot through the air and landed with a splash directly in the soup bowl. Her body expanded so rapidly that the delicate wooden dining chair splintered beneath her. She crashed onto the hardwood floor with a heavy, flesh-shaking thud. Gavin stared at her newly acquired rolls of fat, his eyes wide with horror and disgust. I rested my chin on my hand, looking her up and down. “Well, sweetheart, you do not look like you have the stomach of a bird to me.” Tiffany tried to stomp her foot in anger, but her massive weight sent a violent shudder through the entire dining room floor. Gavin, like most superficial men, was entirely driven by looks. The disgust in his eyes was impossible to hide. “Tiffany, help Vivian clean up the table. Walking around will be good for your weight loss.” He was bound by the novel’s plot to cheat, but his eyes betrayed his sheer confusion. He could not understand why on earth he was falling for a loud, overbearing, three-hundred-pound woman. Later that night, the original plot dictated that Gavin would sneak into the guest room for some intense, skin-to-skin intimacy. I did not care about the betrayal, but I refused to listen to their noisy antics keeping me awake. So, I pulled up the system and changed their seven inches of intimacy to zero. Gavin spent the entire night huffing and puffing, completely blocked by Tiffany’s massive, three-hundred-pound stomach. 2 Despite their lack of physical success, the novel’s plot still forced a pregnancy onto Tiffany. Gavin moved her into our home permanently and demanded that I serve her three meals a day. In the original timeline, Vivian worked day and night, cooking gourmet meals to cater to Tiffany’s endless demands. Tiffany treated her like a servant, throwing tantrums and flipping the dining table whenever a dish was not to her liking. But I was not the submissive wife. I did not feel like cooking at all. I opened the system panel and changed the phrase “three meals a day” to “one meal every three days.” When Gavin opened his mouth to give his daily order, his voice sounded strained as the plot rewrite took hold. “Vivian, you will prepare one meal every three days to serve Tiffany.” I smiled brightly. “As you wish, darling.” Tiffany’s nightmare began. Waiting seventy-two hours for a single meal left her absolutely ravenous. Every time I placed a plate in front of her, she devoured it like a feral animal, practically licking the porcelain clean. She was too busy starving to complain about the quality, let alone flip any tables. Once, she looked at the bowl of plain instant noodles I set down and let out a soft groan of disgust. I immediately grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it over, sending the noodles splashing across the floor. “Let me help you with that, Tiffany. I just realized I made this meal two hours too early. We still have time to wait before your three-day mark.” Tiffany shrieked in anger. But half an hour later, I found her on her knees, weeping as she scooped the stray noodles off the floor to eat them. From that day on, she treated my cooking with absolute reverence. She looked at every plate as if it were a sacred offering, terrified I would flip the table again. Ten months later, Tiffany gave birth to a baby boy. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant as well. In the original story, this pregnancy was the result of seven long years of medical treatments. Vivian cherished the baby, believing it would mend her broken marriage. But Tiffany saw the child as a threat to her position and decided to get rid of it. She began slipping high doses of toxic herbal extracts into my daily soups, causing me to suffer severe cramps and bleeding. When I was rushed to the hospital, she secretly swapped my pregnancy-safe medication with useless vitamins. After my third emergency room visit, Gavin slapped me across the face. “Stop putting on a show, Vivian. Do you really think this pregnancy makes you special? You think you can use a baby to tie me down? Tiffany has already given me a son. I only keep you around out of pity. If you try to use this baby for attention one more time, I will personally drag you to an abortion clinic.” That slap shattered the last of Vivian’s hope. She decided to survive just long enough to have her baby and leave him. But she never got the chance. Tiffany cornered her on the seventh-floor balcony and pushed her over the railing. Now, I stood on that same balcony, looking down at the ground. I felt a phantom ache in my bones, but I remained calm. I opened the panel and changed the number seven to one. As Tiffany crept up behind me, I turned, gave her a cheerful wave, and jumped over the railing myself. Amid her panicked screams, I landed softly in the manicured bushes of the first-floor garden. I crawled out, brushed the dirt off my knees, and walked back to the front door to ring the bell. 3 Because Tiffany had already poisoned my system with so many toxins, the minor fall was still enough to end the fragile pregnancy. But my bones were perfectly intact. As I lay in my hospital bed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Best of all, Gavin and Tiffany had completely vanished from my sight since the incident. Just as I was enjoying the peace, my phone buzzed. It was Gavin. My finger slipped, and I accidentally answered the call. “Vivian, I am sorry,” Gavin’s voice sounded tight. “Tiffany has been feeling depressed lately and needs a change of scenery. I am taking her to a private island resort. I won’t be able to look after you for a while.” I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to be heartbroken. “For how long, Gavin?” As I spoke, I opened the system panel and edited the text. Gavin’s voice faltered on the other end, sounding dazed and confused. “For… ten… years.” He cleared his throat, sounding utterly bewildered by his own words. “I am sorry, Vivian. I do not know why I said ten years. My original plan was just a quick trip to clear our heads, but…” I cut him off before he could recover. “Enjoy your decade, darling. Do not worry about a thing. I will take care of the company while you are away.” I hung up immediately, ready to enjoy my ten years of freedom. In the original timeline, Gavin left for his vacation without even paying my hospital bills. Meanwhile, Tiffany filled her social media with posts boasting about his generosity. She had shared photos of her bank account showing a five-hundred-thousand-dollar balance, alongside Gavin’s thirty-million-dollar account. Her posts featured designer bags scattered across a luxury hotel bed. Meanwhile, my own account had held a pathetic fifty dollars, a random handout Gavin had tossed to me weeks prior. Because I could not pay the hospital fees, I was discharged early. I had walked through a freezing rainstorm all night, clutching my aching stomach. That was the night the original Vivian finally lost her mind, sinking into a permanent state of paranoia until Gavin returned and committed her to an asylum. Now, I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Tiffany’s old boastful post. I changed her five hundred thousand dollars to five dollars. Then I turned Gavin’s thirty million dollars into three dollars. They were stuck on a remote island for the next ten years. I smiled, feeling like a benevolent savior. Adversity builds character, after all. I was simply giving them a wonderful opportunity to test the strength of their true love. Next, I opened my own banking app, stared at my fifty-dollar balance, and began typing zeros behind it until my thumb grew sore. I decided to take a nap and add some more tomorrow. In the original story, Vivian had called Gavin dozens of times a day during his absence until he finally blocked her number. I, on the other hand, was far too busy adding digits to my bank account to care about where he was. On the sixth day of his trip, Gavin called me. His tone was uncharacteristically polite, almost nervous. “Vivian, how have you been?” I was in the middle of typing another row of zeros and answered distractedly. “I am doing great.” Gavin hesitated, his voice tight with embarrassment. “Vivian, could you wire me some money? Or perhaps you could authorize an early release of my monthly salary of one million dollars? I was certain I brought enough funds, but for some reason, all my cards are being declined.” My eyes lit up at the mention of corporate authorization. “Gavin, you still have nine years, eleven months, and twenty-three days left on your island vacation. The company cannot run without a leader. Transfer all administrative rights to me, and I will handle your salary.” Gavin snapped, telling me I did not have the brains for business, but he quickly shut his mouth. He knew that if he abandoned the company for ten years without a trusted proxy, there would be nothing left when he returned. He had no choice but to sign the digital transfer forms. The moment the corporate power of attorney cleared, I did two things. First, I blocked Gavin’s number. Second, I adjusted his monthly corporate salary from one million dollars to one cent. For a husband who was entirely absent, a penny a month was more than generous. Ten years flew by. By constantly manipulating the numbers of my investments, I transformed myself into the most powerful financial tycoon on the East Coast. I was no longer the weeping housewife. I was a brilliant corporate force, running a massive business empire. Over the decade, handsome bachelors and elite suitors constantly sought my attention, and my life was filled with excitement. I had completely forgotten about Gavin and Tiffany. One afternoon, during a ribbon-cutting ceremony for my new shipping port, a loud gasp rippled through the crowd. “Look out there!” Everyone turned their eyes toward the ocean. A battered, makeshift raft was tossing and turning in the rough harbor waves. Two figures clung to the wooden logs. It was impossible to tell their gender at first. They were covered in layers of dirt, dressed only in woven leaves, with matted hair that dragged along the deck. I squinted at the two wild figures paddling desperately toward the dock. They looked strangely familiar. My jaw tightened as recognition set in. It was Gavin and Tiffany. I had been so absorbed in my multi-billion-dollar acquisitions that I had completely lost track of the timeline. Ten years had actually passed. Before I could process it, a massive wave flipped their fragile raft, dumping them both into the shallow, murky water near the shore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450058”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the biting, howling wind, a sixteen-year-old lone soldier stared at the steaming cup of chicken noodle soup I had just made. Hugging his arms, he shivered at my door and swallowed hard. “I won’t betray my platoon. This has to be an enemy trap.” I pushed open the supermarket door and shouted, “Hey kid, I’ll trade you five hot beef hand pies for a pack of those frozen field rations. Do we have a deal?” 1. After a lot of coaxing, the young soldier finally stepped inside. Under the warm blast of the heater, the heavy winter uniform that had been frozen solid in the snow began to thaw, the fabric turning damp and heavy. Afraid he would catch a chill in wet clothes, I quickly ordered the System to front me a modern, heavily insulated Gore-Tex parka from the back inventory. The System grumbled in dissatisfaction, “I thought we were going to open a supermarket in a high-tech galaxy. Bonding with you is going to bankrupt me.” I didn’t have time to entertain its complaints. I handed the jacket to the soldier. “I’ve been researching the durability of old fabrics lately. Could you do me a favor and trade the coat you’re wearing for this one?” I pointed to the steaming cup of soup next to me. “This soup is your payment.” Though his eyes were still full of caution, his stomach let out a loud, rumbling growl. I tossed him a clean towel. “Change into this. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come grab the old coat.” 2. I hid in the back room, my hands trembling with sheer excitement. This was actually happening. I had truly traveled seventy years back in time, and I was actually looking at my great-uncle. Last night, while I was asleep in bed, a buzzing electronic voice echoed in my ears: “Beep. System detects this individual meets the criteria for time-space traversal.” “Beep. Gender: Female. Name: Daisy Miller. Age: 26.” “Are you willing to inherit the Universal Supermarket? You may choose to open this supermarket at any time, in any location.” “Our goal is: For the gold coins. Please designate the time and location for this deployment.” I thought of the stories my grandfather used to tell me when I was little. He talked about his older brother who went off to fight in the brutal winter war at sixteen, only to vanish into the freezing mountains without a trace. Whenever my grandfather mentioned his older brother, tears would stream down his weathered face. Without a second thought, I said, “Bind. Open it seventy years ago, right next to my great-uncle Arthur Miller’s platoon.” The System wailed, “I’m doomed! I’m going to lose everything on this run!” 3. Five minutes later, a voice called out from the storefront, “I’m changed, ma’am. You can come out now.” I walked out to see my great-uncle wearing the brand-new, modern winter parka. He looked so awkward in it, unsure of where to put his hands. I waved my hand and tossed his old, ragged coat to the System. Weeping virtual tears, the System listed it on the Universal Supermarket network: “One heavily worn winter field jacket. Starting price: 1 gold coin.” I looked at my great-uncle, thoroughly satisfied with his warm new look, and picked up the bowl of chicken noodle soup. I was about to heat it up for him. He stared at me nervously, terrified I was going back on my word. “The soup got cold,” I explained. “I’m going to heat it up for you. Eating cold food will give you a stomachache.” He snatched it right out of my hands, not even bothering with a fork. In one massive gulp, he drained the broth, then sucked down the noodles in three massive bites. My heart ached. It was obvious he had been starving for days. Knowing he wouldn’t be full, I had preemptively soaked four extra blocks of noodles in the broth. When he finished, he licked his lips, unable to help himself. “No need to heat it, it was still warm. That was incredible. I bet even our Captain has never tasted soup that good.” He hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What you said earlier… trading a pack of frozen field rations for five big hot beef pies. Was that real, or were you just tricking me?” I nodded earnestly. “It’s real. However much you have, I’ll trade for it.” He lowered his head, avoiding my eyes. He dug into his torn canvas rucksack for a long time before pulling out a block of frozen, rock-hard C-rations that barely weighed half a pound. The rations were completely frozen by the snow. He looked hesitant, unable to speak. I knew my great-uncle felt like he was ripping me off, but he desperately wanted to trade for the pies to save his freezing comrades. I snatched the block from his hands and weighed it in my palm. “Looks like about a pound to me. I’ll take a little loss today and give you fifty hot beef pies.” In my head, I quietly yelled, System, bring out the giant meat pies! The System: “…” I grabbed a massive, heavy-duty hiking backpack from a store shelf and stuffed all fifty steaming beef pies inside. I helped my great-uncle strap the backpack onto his shoulders. “Money and goods exchanged, we’re all clear. Come find me next time you want to do business. No matter where you are, just walk 400 yards south and yell ‘Daisy Miller’.” My great-uncle looked at me with deep curiosity. “Are you an angel? Or a forest spirit? Did God send you to save us?” I shook my head. “Neither. If you don’t leave now, you won’t be able to catch up to your platoon.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at me for a long moment. “You’re a good lady. I’ll remember you.” Just as he stepped out the door, he turned back and shouted, “My last name is Miller too! I’m Arthur Miller. We took advantage of your kindness today, but if I get the chance, we will repay you!” My nose stung. I nodded. Not only do I know your last name is Miller… I know you are the ultimate pride of our entire family. 4. After my great-uncle left, I tossed the frozen block of rations to the System. “System, we need to wholesale a massive batch of food and medical supplies.” The System sneered. “Does wholesale not cost money? You still owe me two gold coins for that parka you fronted.” I scratched my head and smiled apologetically. “Don’t you guys have a ‘Beginner’s Starter Pack’? Doesn’t every System have one?” System: “I’ve lost four packs of noodles, fifty meat pies, and a high-end parka in a single morning, and you’re asking me for a starter pack?” “Wait a minute!” Suddenly, both the System and I heard an electronic chime: “‘One heavily worn winter field jacket’ has been purchased. Transaction amount: 10,000 gold coins.” ??? I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “System… did you glitch out?” After repeatedly confirming there was no bug, the System skeptically listed the frozen block of rations: “‘One block of snow-soaked field rations (possibly edible?)’, Starting price: 1 gold coin.” The very next second, the mechanical voice chimed again: “‘One block of snow-soaked field rations (possibly edible?)’ has been purchased. Transaction amount: 10,000 gold coins.” The System let out an ear-piercing shriek. “Wholesale food and medicine! We MUST wholesale! I’m going to trade for every single ragged coat and frozen ration those soldiers have!” It muttered feverishly, “We’re rich… we’re so rich!” I was completely bewildered. Who had so much money and nowhere to spend it? Ten thousand gold coins for a torn jacket and a block of hardtack? Now that we were making money, the System’s attitude toward me pulled a complete 180. It used to call me “Host,” but now it affectionately called me “Boss Daisy.” I stayed in the supermarket for a few days, growing more anxious by the hour. My great-uncle had been gone for a while. Why wasn’t he coming back to find me? The temporal location I bound to was anchored to my great-uncle’s physical coordinates, so I had the System scout out his small platoon. The entire unit had about two hundred people. The vast majority were heavily wounded, moving at a grueling, crawling pace through the snow. My great-uncle’s mission back then was specifically to protect this convoy of wounded soldiers. 5. In the blinding blizzard, Arthur Miller pulled his last half-ration from his canvas bag. That girl named Daisy had given him an incredibly high-quality backpack. He couldn’t bear to use it himself, so he gave it to Nurse Clara Hayes. Nurse Clara was an eighteen-year-old medic carrying the unit’s rapidly depleting medical supplies. When Arthur returned, he noticed her medical bag had been shredded by tree branches, so he offered the trade. That day, when he pulled fifty steaming hot pies out in the freezing snow, Captain James Sterling’s eyes almost popped out of his skull. The Captain dragged him aside and demanded to know what happened. Arthur told him everything, word for word. Captain Sterling’s expression was grim. “What if this is an enemy trick? We don’t know if these pies are poisoned. We cannot drop our guard for a single second!” Arthur thought of Daisy’s kind, gentle face. The moment he met her, he felt an inexplicable, deep sense of family. But he couldn’t disobey his Captain. The two of them stared at the bag of glorious, white, steaming beef pies in a tense deadlock. After a while, Sterling looked out at the starving, dying men clinging to their last breath. He sighed, randomly grabbed a pie, and took a massive bite. Arthur’s eyes widened in horror. “Captain!” Sterling steeled his resolve, chewing the pie aggressively and swallowing hard. “If I’m not dead in an hour, distribute the pies to the men outside.” “If I die, Corporal Danny Evans takes command. The convoy does not stop moving.” It was a premium, hot, flaky crust. The inside was packed with rich, savory ground beef and gravy. The taste exploded in his mouth. Just one pie made him feel halfway full. For Arthur, that hour felt like an eternity. Finally, Captain Sterling let out a long, deep breath. “Take ten pies. Dig up some clean snow, boil it, and make a rich beef stew for everyone. Give the rest of the pies to Nurse Clara for safekeeping. No one eats a crumb without permission!” “Also, I just ate a whole pie. Don’t count me in for rations for the next two days.” Arthur quickly chimed in. “I ate a huge bowl of noodle soup at that girl’s place. I won’t eat for the next two days either.” Sterling patted his shoulder. “Why are you comparing yourself to me? I’m an old man with meat on my bones. You’re a growing kid. You need to eat!” Fifty meat pies sounded like a lot, but there were over two hundred starving mouths in the platoon. Yet, that warm, rich beef stew gave every single person the hope they needed to keep walking.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450075”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To marry into the Manhattan elite, I fabricated my entire existence. I scrubbed away the stench of being a degenerate gambler’s son and molded myself into an Oxford-educated prodigy. But even liars have real hearts. I shed my old skin for one reason alone. I wanted the right to stand beside Victoria Sinclair. I finally breached the gates of high society. I touched the untouchable upper crust. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I became elegant and refined enough, I could stay by her side forever. That was until the always-composed Victoria Sinclair threw a physical fit over a high-school dropout who worked at a hostess club, nearly coming to blows with a major business partner. She bled millions in lost contracts and didn’t even blink. To clean up her mess, I arranged a peace-making dinner with that partner. By pure chance, I heard a familiar voice drifting from the adjacent private dining room. “Victoria, your Mr. Perfect is probably busy wiping your ass right now, isn’t he? Tsk, what a devoted little housewife. Watching him try so hard to play the elite corporate shark just to smooth things over for you almost brings a tear to my eye.” “If you weren’t trying to dodge your family’s arranged marriage, there is no way you would have married a fraud like him.” “He’s a street rat who crawled out of a trailer park. Did he really think putting on a bespoke suit and dropping a few French phrases would actually change his bloodline?” A soft chuckle escaped Victoria’s lips. It was dripping with mockery. She knew. She knew I was faking it this whole time. And she had been faking it, too. 1 Standing outside that mahogany door, my chest felt like it had been hollowed out with a shotgun blast. “I heard his deadbeat dad just got out of prison. Want to make a bet? I give it three months before his old man comes knocking for cash. When that happens, our dear Kyle’s painstakingly crafted elite persona is going to shatter into a million pieces.” “I give it one month.” The voice belonged to Carter, Victoria’s childhood friend. “The whole Oxford backstory was a nice touch, but you just can’t hide that deep-rooted poverty. Have you seen the way he cuts his steak? He grips the knife like he’s murdering a personal enemy, terrified his etiquette isn’t textbook perfect. It is absolutely hilarious.” Victoria let out a low laugh. Her tone was completely indifferent. “I bet on a year. His ego is massive. To protect his little lie, he will probably figure out a way to exile his father back to the rust belt. He won’t let him show his face anytime soon.” She paused, letting out a soft sigh. “When my mother tried to force me to marry that braindead heir from the Gallagher family, I obviously refused.” “Kyle just happened to serve himself up on a silver platter. He might be a peasant, but he is clever. I needed a clever pawn to distract my parents. With them constantly warring with him, they naturally didn’t have the energy to micromanage me.” “Besides, watching him try so desperately to mimic old-money elegance every single day is actually quite entertaining.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Victoria had known from the very beginning. All my late nights, all my grueling efforts, were nothing but a circus act for her amusement. A chorus of laughter erupted inside the room. Victoria suddenly hushed them. Through the crack in the door, I saw a young boy. He was curled up on the leather sofa behind them, fast asleep. He was draped in Victoria’s custom-tailored trench coat. He shifted slightly, and Victoria immediately ordered the room to silence. “Keep it down. Do not wake him up. He pulled a double shift at the club last night. He is exhausted.” Carter clicked his tongue, teasing her. “Come on, Victoria. He is a literal hillbilly. He’s as unrefined as it gets. What do you even see in him?” Victoria rested her chin on her hand, gazing quietly at the sleeping boy. “Compared to Kyle’s manufactured elegance, I prefer authenticity. A twenty-dollar thrift store shirt looks incredibly charming on him. He doesn’t bow down, and he doesn’t grovel. That is what attracts me.” Just as she spoke, the boy rolled over and woke up. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and clumsily sat up. “How did I fall asleep…” He carefully handed the coat back to Victoria. “Ms. Sinclair, thank you for covering my little brother’s medical bills. I swear I will pay you back every single cent…” “You do not need to pay me back.” “No, I have to. I refuse to owe anyone.” He bit his lower lip. His eyes were shining with a stubborn, fierce pride. Victoria’s lips curled into a smile. She tapped the tip of his nose. It was a gesture full of absolute adoration. “Alright, alright. I can never win an argument with you. How about this. Come work as my executive assistant. I will pay you ten thousand a month.” Oliver’s eyes lit up. “But I didn’t even finish high school. I don’t know the first thing about business…” “Degrees do not matter. You are a smart boy. You will learn.” He hesitated for a second, then nodded eagerly. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a sewing needle. A sharp, radiating pain filled my chest. That assistant position belonged to me. The official job posting for her executive assistant strictly required a Master’s degree from an Ivy League university. My family background was a fabrication. But my academic degrees were completely real. To earn that position, I had prepared for years. Victoria’s company had a major branch in Paris. She traveled there constantly. Terrified that she would find me unprofessional, I spent every waking hour mastering French and studying high-society etiquette. I lived my entire life in transit between tutors and classes. It turned out none of that mattered to her. Not in the slightest. For the first time, I realized you didn’t need to be brilliant to stand by her side. Victoria gently ruffled the boy’s hair. “For my assistant, a high school education is more than enough.” Oliver smiled shyly. Standing in the hallway, my hands and feet went completely numb. I could barely hold myself upright. I dragged my hollow body back to my own private dining room. 2 The business partner was still trying to humiliate me. He poured cheap vodka straight into a glass of expensive scotch. “If Mr. Kyle downs this glass right now, whatever bad blood Ms. Sinclair and I have will be wiped clean.” He flashed me a sleazy, arrogant smirk. Once, to secure a contract for Victoria, I drank until my stomach hemorrhaged. I nearly died on an operating table. This time, I was done being a fool. I took the glass from his hand and poured the liquor straight onto the carpet. “Mr. Gallagher, you and Ms. Sinclair can settle your own disputes. I have other matters to attend to. Excuse me.” Like a walking corpse, I returned to the Sinclair estate. My mother-in-law was sitting rigidly on the parlor sofa, her eyes closed in meditation. Hearing the door open, she did not even bother to look up. “Have you finalized the seating chart for tomorrow’s charity luncheon with the foundation directors?” “Also, for the family heritage gala next month, I had the butler email you the flight itineraries for the senior board members. Make sure you personally arrange their airport transfers.” “We allowed you to marry into the Sinclair family so you could maintain our public image. You must execute these duties flawlessly. Otherwise, what is the difference between marrying you and plucking a filthy illiterate beggar off the streets?” A filthy beggar. My chest throbbed again. I stood quietly in the foyer. I didn’t say a single word. I just turned and walked toward the grand staircase. “Halt! Are you deaf? Or was your basic breeding fed to the dogs?” I paused at the foot of the stairs. For the first time in five years, I did not turn around to face her. “Find someone else to do it. I am tired.” Behind me, Eleanor unleashed a torrent of vicious insults, but I tuned them all out. I slammed the bedroom door shut, sealing away the noise. Memories flooded my mind. I suddenly remembered the very first time I laid eyes on Victoria Sinclair. I was a broke college student working as a banquet waiter to pay my tuition. It was my first time stepping into the glittering world of the ultra-rich. I was terrified. I was trembling. I accidentally knocked over a guest’s glass, spilling champagne all over their suit. The man flew into a violent rage. He grabbed me by the throat, slammed me into the marble floor, and kicked me hard in the ribs. I was shaking from the agonizing pain. “You filthy street rat! Do you have any idea how much this suit costs? It is custom Italian couture! It costs seven figures! It is money a bottom-feeder like you couldn’t earn in three lifetimes!” I kneeled on the floor like a beaten dog, pressing my hands together, begging for forgiveness. My face was bleeding from his slaps. The blood mixed with my tears, turning my vision red. It was Victoria who stepped out of the crowd and saved me. “It is just a piece of fabric. There is no need to torture the poor boy over it.” Her tone was light, effortless, almost bored. The way her slender, beautiful fingers held the pen as she wrote a blank check for the man. I still remember it vividly. My heart pounded violently in my chest. It was the first time I truly understood the crushing weight of class disparity. I was a top-tier university student, yet just because I was born poor, they could grind me into the dirt like an insignificant ant. But I refused to be an ant. I wanted to be the master of my own fate. I wanted a beautiful life, and I wanted the woman standing in front of me. In that moment, a twisted mixture of lust and ambition gave birth to an absurd, desperate plan. I forged my origins. I spun a web of lies. All just to earn a ticket into her world. Just to stand as her equal. I eventually made it happen. But looking back now, I finally understood that I was nothing more than a game to Victoria. She did not love my hard-earned brilliance. Yet she was completely captivated by a high-school dropout from a nightclub. Just because he was authentic. Because he refused to bow down. It was hilariously tragic. I dialed my lawyer’s number and instructed him to draft a divorce settlement. I knew it was time to end this. I lay in bed, tossing and turning in the dark. 3 It was nearly midnight when Victoria finally came home. I heard Eleanor’s muffled complaints from the living room before Victoria walked upstairs. She carried the faint scent of sweet citrus. It must have been that boy’s cologne. She kicked off her heels and unbuttoned her blouse. “My mother said you gave her an attitude today. Go down and apologize to her later.” I lay there without moving. She gently patted my shoulder. “What is wrong, baby? You look like you’re in a terrible mood.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was her usual gentle touch, yet I couldn’t feel a single trace of warmth. I forced myself to breathe evenly and replied, “It is nothing. I just don’t feel well.” “By the way, how did the dinner with Gallagher go?” “I didn’t fix it.” Victoria paused for a second. “That is fine. Drop it. We can just scrap the deal. I do not want you swallowing your pride for them.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. I wanted to ask her, whose pride was she really trying to protect? But the words died on my tongue. “Alright.” I didn’t sleep a wink that night. When I walked into the corporate office the next morning, the boy had already started his first day. His name was Oliver. Up close, he was even more handsome and youthful than he looked in that dim private room. But he was an absolute idiot. During the board meeting, he couldn’t even figure out how to project the presentation slides. His meeting minutes were an illegible disaster. Victoria was notoriously ruthless with her employees. Yet toward Oliver, she possessed an infinite well of patience. I endured the farce until the meeting ended. I followed Victoria into her private office to discuss a new project rollout. Oliver hovered nearby, pouring tea. With a clumsy twist of his wrist, boiling hot tea splashed directly onto my arm. Blisters instantly erupted on my skin. All the documents on the desk were ruined. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “How do you mess up pouring water?” He slammed the teapot onto the table. He didn’t say a word, but his face was a mask of sheer defiance and resentment. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to me?” I asked him calmly, but my tone only made him defensive. “I didn’t do it on purpose! Why do you have to be so aggressive? Don’t think just because you have money you can bully me.” Standing beside us, Victoria looked at him with unmistakable admiration. Was this the fierce independence she loved so much? I was about to reprimand him, but she immediately grabbed my hand, stepping in to shield him. “He is young. He doesn’t have any corporate experience. Let me apologize on his behalf, okay?” My heart gave a violent tremor. I pulled my hand out of her grip. The incident was swept under the rug. After finishing our work discussion, I packed up to leave. Victoria suddenly cleared her throat. “I have a networking dinner tonight. Head home without me. Don’t wait up.” I knew her too well. She always cleared her throat right before she lied. “Okay.” Back in my own office, I pulled Oliver’s contact info from HR and added him on Instagram. Sure enough, just past eight o’clock, Oliver posted a new story. Victoria was sitting right there in his photo. They were eating at a dirty street-food stall. The table was covered in aggressively spicy greasy food. Next to their plates sat two cheap, sugary lemonades from a corner bodega. This was a woman who refused to drink coffee unless the beans were flown in from Yemen. Now, she was happily sipping a three-dollar lemonade. It was pathetic. I clicked onto Oliver’s profile. His sparse feed was suddenly dedicated entirely to Victoria. [My twentieth birthday. Ms. Sinclair bought me my first pair of Italian leather shoes! But I still prefer my worn-out sneakers haha.] [The CEO experiences a dive bar for the first time. She frowned the entire time but still peeled my crawfish for me!] The more I read, the tighter my chest became. Right then, my phone vibrated loudly. It was a text message from an unknown number. I glanced at the preview, and my stomach plummeted. …It was my father. He had just been released from prison. [Kyle, help your old man out. Did you really think you could strike it rich and cut me off?] [I am rotting in the gutter, and I will drag you down into the mud with me!] [Do not forget how you crawled your way into the Sinclair family. Give me half a million dollars, and I will keep my mouth shut.] I didn’t reply. My hands shook as I deleted the message. 4 I suddenly remembered the bet Victoria and her friends made in that private room. They placed bets on exactly when my facade would crumble. My father was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later, that bomb was going to detonate. But I was exhausted. I was done living in constant, suffocating fear. If this lie was going to shatter, I wanted to be the one holding the hammer. Victoria didn’t come home until dawn the next day. She brushed it off, claiming she was stuck negotiating with clients all night. But I had already seen Oliver’s social media. There were no clients. She had hiked up a public trail with Oliver to watch the meteor shower. They spent the whole night looking at the stars, waiting for the sunrise. At the breakfast table, Eleanor spoke up. “The annual family gala is approaching. Kyle, you need to start the preparations.” The Sinclair family hosted a massive heritage gala every year. Every direct heir, distant cousin, and board member of the Sinclair dynasty attended. It was the single most important event on their social calendar. I listened to Eleanor and asked, “What is the exact date of the gala?” “The twentieth.” My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket. The blackmail texts were pouring in one after another. [You ungrateful brat! If you don’t reply right now, I am marching straight to your mansion!] I hesitated for a few seconds, then typed my response. [You want money? On the twentieth of this month, come find me at the Sinclair ancestral estate.] The days dragged on. The twentieth was rapidly approaching. Some people were stressed, while others were living a fantasy. Oliver’s Instagram updated daily. It was a meticulous diary of his romance with Victoria. Victoria skipped executive board meetings to drive him out to the suburbs to visit his sick grandmother. She spent her weekends experiencing the “working-class struggle” with him, wearing a ridiculous mascot costume to hand out flyers on the sidewalk. The two of them squatted on the curb, eating cheap hotdogs from a cart. Every photo, every caption was a poisoned needle driving straight into my heart. My father’s threatening texts continued to flood my phone. The messages grew increasingly vile. He called me a cheap whore, a sewer rat trying to feast with the royals. He told me I was born to die in the mud. The locked doors of my trauma were kicked wide open. I remembered his drunken rages. The way he beat me until my skin split open. He used to pin me to the dirty floor and force me to bark like a dog. He tied me up with extension cords and hung me from the ceiling pipes. My head felt like it was going to split open. The emotional pain made my physical body violently shake. I had to dig my fingernails into my palms until they bled, biting down on my teeth so hard they nearly cracked, just to maintain a blank expression. The twentieth was almost here. Money couldn’t save me anymore. This glamorous, glittering illusion couldn’t save me either. I had to crawl my own way out of this swamp. I had to save myself. The day of the gala finally arrived. The entire family was required to gather at the Sinclair ancestral estate in the Hamptons. Victoria’s Bentley was idling in the driveway. When I pulled open the passenger door, I froze. Oliver was sitting in the front seat. Victoria quickly explained, “I brought him along today to let him experience high society.” She turned to Oliver. “Move to the back seat. The front is for my husband.” Oliver bit his lip and tugged pitifully at Victoria’s silk sleeve. “Ms. Sinclair, I get terrible motion sickness. If I sit in the back, I’ll throw up…” Victoria’s heart melted instantly. “Kyle, why don’t you…” I didn’t say a word. I quietly closed the door and got into the back seat. The ride was dead silent. We finally arrived at the estate. Oliver looked exactly like I did when I first stumbled into this world. His eyes darted everywhere, terrified and shrinking into himself. But he was much luckier than I ever was. Victoria hovered over him like a protective hawk, shielding him from every judgmental stare. When a younger female cousin tried to flirt and offer Oliver a glass of champagne, Victoria silenced her with a lethal glare. “What are you doing? You already have a boyfriend. Trying to take my little assistant home as a side piece?” The cousin rolled her eyes. “Why not? Is that a problem?” Victoria instantly snapped her head back to look at me. She was checking to see if I had heard the exchange. Honestly, I was past the point of caring. I stared blankly at the antique grandfather clock against the wall, silently counting down the minutes. Finally, the estate manager rushed into the ballroom, looking frantic. He announced that an uninvited guest was causing a scene at the front gates. 5 As he spoke, his eyes kept darting nervously in my direction. “The man claims… he is here looking for the master of the house.” I spoke up, my voice perfectly flat. “Let him in.” The man who walked through the heavy oak doors was my father. His face was weathered and deeply lined. A cheap, unlit cigarette dangled from his lips. He was wearing a stained, torn flannel shirt. The soles of his work boots were peeling off. Victoria had run background checks on me. She instantly recognized his face from the private investigator’s files. She immediately flagged down the estate security. “Throw this man out!” “That won’t be necessary,” I said, stepping in front of the guards. “…What exactly do you think you are doing?” I looked Victoria dead in the eyes. “I told him to come today. I want to confess everything to your family.” Victoria’s face drained of color. She lunged forward to stop me. But it was too late. “My entire identity is a lie.” “My parents are not university professors. I am not an Oxford graduate. I am the son of a degenerate gambling addict. I have never even set foot in Europe. Every single thing I told you was a fabrication.” The grand ballroom erupted into absolute chaos. Eleanor looked like she had been struck by lightning. She was trembling violently, screaming at me, “Are you having a psychotic break?” “Eleanor, every word I am saying is the truth. If you don’t believe me, ask Victoria. She knows everything about me.” “From the very beginning, she knew I was a fraud. She sat back and watched me put on a show. She watched me play the elite prodigy, bleeding myself dry just to climb the ranks of your family.” I looked at Victoria and forced a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. “Victoria, I lied to you, and you played me for a fool. I would say we are finally even.” Before the silence could settle, my father lost his patience. He spat on the polished marble floor. “Kyle, are you done running your damn mouth? You people can sort out your rich drama later! Give me my money!” I slowly turned my head and locked eyes with him. I spoke slowly, emphasizing every single syllable. “I don’t have your money. You are not getting a single cent.” “I just confessed everything to the Sinclair family. You no longer have any secrets to hold over my head.” “I have nothing left to lose. I am not afraid of you anymore. If you push me one more inch, I will drag us both to hell!” I pulled a pocket knife from my jacket and pointed the blade directly at him. The crowd shrieked in horror. Panic swept through the room. It was absolute pandemonium. But for the very first time in my life, I saw genuine fear flash in my father’s eyes. His lips quivered. He muttered curses under his breath, but he didn’t dare raise his voice. Right on cue, the estate security swarmed in. They grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out of the ballroom without another word. The remaining guests stared at each other in shock. The whispers grew louder, echoing off the high ceilings. “Everyone, please quiet down!” Victoria barked, her expression dark and dangerous. She glared at me. She looked like a lioness preparing to tear my throat out. “Kyle, you planned this. Pulling a stunt like this today… what exactly is your endgame?” I twirled the small pocket knife in my fingers. The blade was sharp. It slipped, slicing a shallow cut across my palm. Bright red blood welled up instantly. “I used to worship the life you people lived. I was willing to lie, cheat, and steal just to experience it for one second. Now that I have lived it, I realize it is entirely hollow. It is incredibly boring.” “When a person lives in a world that doesn’t belong to them, they will never find peace.” “I am exhausted. The illusion is broken. I just want it to be over.” “Let’s get a divorce, Victoria. I am done being a pet in your gilded terrarium.” I pulled off the blood-stained diamond wedding band and dropped it onto the marble floor. It let out a sharp, echoing clink. Her jaw locked tight. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “A divorce? You conned me for years, and now you want out? If we divorce, you get absolutely nothing. You will walk away with the clothes on your back. I highly suggest you reconsider!” “My mind is made up.” I pulled the prepared divorce settlement from my inner pocket and handed it to her. Victoria was breathing heavily. Blinded by rage, she snatched the documents and ripped them in half. “You are not thinking straight. Once you sober up and calm down, we will talk.” “I am perfectly sober. I am divorcing you.” I looked at Victoria, my voice unwavering. “No matter what it takes, we are done.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450043”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My husband had a strange quirk: he had to count my heartbeat to fall asleep. Thinking it was romantic, I secretly took a photo and posted it on TikTok. The comments section was flooded with envy, putting me in a wonderful mood, until one comment was suddenly upvoted to the very top: [Did you have a heart transplant?] I sat up straight in bed, my heart hammering. I did have a heart transplant, but that was a secret known only to my immediate family. I sent a private message to the user, and they replied almost instantly: [Your transplant was on May 20th three years ago, wasn’t it?] [Your husband looks exactly like the donor’s boyfriend.] A wild, terrifying thought began to take shape in my mind. That night, I begged a contact to dig into the records. Hours later, they sent over a photo of the donor’s final wishes. It contained only one short, handwritten sentence: “Please leave this heart to Wesley’s beloved.” Wesley was my husband’s name. But three years ago, when I received that heart, I didn’t even know him. … [What was the name of the donor you found?] At two in the morning, I squatted on the balcony, my fingers trembling as I typed. The screen went silent for a few seconds before a photo popped up. The girl in the photo wore a white dress. Her smile was clean and bright, and there was a tiny mole at the corner of her eye. Then came a line of text: [Evelyn. She was Wesley’s college girlfriend. Three years ago, she was declared brain-dead after a car accident, and her organs were donated according to her wishes.] I stared at her face for a long time. She was a complete stranger, someone I had never seen before. Yet, her heart was beating inside my chest right at this moment. [In her will, she wrote ‘Wesley’s beloved.’ At the time, Wesley wasn’t married. The hospital ran the standard matching process, and you just happened to be the perfect recipient. But Wesley tracked you down afterward.] The light from the phone screen made my eyes sting. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell myself that Wesley and I met through a blind date set up by my mother’s friend, and that it had nothing to do with any donor. But a memory suddenly flashed in my mind. Three years ago, during our first blind date, the moment Wesley saw me, his chopsticks slipped from his hand and clattered onto the table. At the time, I thought it was love at first sight. Now, looking back, that look in his eyes wasn’t passion; it was recognition. I exited the chat and scrolled through Wesley’s social media. His profile was incredibly clean, containing only a few photos of us that I had forced him to post after our wedding. I scrolled all the way to the bottom. On May 21st, 2021, he had posted a single line: “From now on, I will live well for you.” There was no photo, no location. That day was the day after Evelyn had passed away. It was also the day after my heart transplant surgery. Footsteps echoed from the living room, and I quickly locked my phone screen. Wesley walked out, a coat draped over his shoulders, his brow slightly furrowed. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” “I couldn’t sleep. Just wanted some fresh air.” He walked over and naturally placed his hand over the left side of my chest. His fingers spread slightly, his palm covering the exact spot of my heartbeat. I used to find this gesture incredibly tender and comforting. Now, as I looked down at his hand, I only felt a cold dread, as if he were simply checking to see if something was still there. “Your heart is beating fast,” he murmured. “Just a bad dream.” He didn’t press further, wrapping his arm around my shoulder to guide me back to the bedroom. “Get some rest. I have a business trip tomorrow, so don’t stay up late while I’m gone.” I nodded, lying back down obediently. He lay on his side, his palm resting over my heart again, and closed his eyes to count. One, two, three. I stared blankly at the ceiling. He wasn’t counting my heartbeat. He was counting hers. The next morning, Wesley was at the entryway putting on his shoes. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe with a glass of milk, watching him just as I did every other day. “Wesley.” “Yeah?” “Who is Evelyn?” The hand tying his shoelaces paused for a fraction of a second. Just a fraction. Then, he stood up, his expression completely normal as he picked up his briefcase. “Never heard of her. Why do you ask?” “No reason. I just saw a blogger with that name online last night and thought it sounded pretty.” He smiled, walking over to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I’m off. I’ll bring back those almond tarts you love tonight.” The moment the door clicked shut, I poured the milk down the sink. He lied. I had gone through his college yearbooks and the memory books at the bottom of his bookshelf. Evelyn’s name appeared seventeen times. In the group photos, she stood right next to him, her smile bright and free. And the way he looked at her in those pictures held a warmth I had never once seen in our three years of marriage. Sitting on the floor with the yearbook in my lap, another memory hit me. During our first year of marriage, I asked him why he never called me by my name. He had laughed and said he was just used to calling me “wifey” because it felt more intimate. But now, I realized he had barely ever uttered the name Amelia. It was as if saying another woman’s name was a form of betrayal to him. And I, from start to finish, was nothing more than a vessel, carrying his deceased lover’s heart so she could keep beating. 2 “Amelia, is something going on with you lately?” Phoebe’s face appeared on the FaceTime call while I was sitting in Wesley’s study, sorting through his old hard drives. “No, everything’s fine.” “Don’t lie to me. Your dark circles are practically down to your chin. Is Wesley giving you a hard time?” I hesitated for a moment before forwarding her the screenshot of the donor’s will. The other end of the line went dead silent for ten whole seconds. “What a bastard,” Phoebe swore under her breath. “He married you just for this?” “I’m not entirely sure.” “What’s there to be unsure about? The will says ‘Wesley’s beloved,’ you didn’t even know him when you got the transplant, and then he actively sought you out. Amelia, use your brain.” I kept quiet. I had run through that exact logic all night long. “So, what are you going to do?” “I want to verify a few more things.” “Verify what? Whether he loves you or the heart beating in your chest?” Her words were brutal, cutting straight to the bone. I opened my mouth, but no defense came out. After hanging up, I continued scanning the files on the drive. Most of it was work-related, but there was one encrypted folder named “0520.” I tried three passwords. The first was my birthday: incorrect. The second was our wedding anniversary: incorrect. For the third attempt, I entered 20210520. The day Evelyn died. The folder clicked open. It was filled entirely with photos. Evelyn reading in the library, Evelyn running on the track, Evelyn fast asleep against his shoulder. The last photo was of her in a hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her body hooked up to a tangle of tubes. The caption below read: “Our final moment.” I closed the folder and put the hard drive back exactly where I found it. My hands were shaking, but my eyes remained dry. I couldn’t cry. Suddenly, I remembered the speech Wesley gave at our wedding. He had looked at me and said, “From this day forward, I will spend the rest of my life protecting you.” The guests had cheered, and my mother had wiped away tears of joy. Only now did I realize who the “you” in his promise actually was. At eight in the evening, Wesley came home on the dot, carrying a box of almond tarts. “Give these a try. They’re from that old bakery downtown. I stood in line for thirty minutes.” I took the box and opened it. The tarts looked beautiful, dusted with sliced almonds, smelling sweet and buttery. “Wesley, do you remember when I first told you I liked almond tarts?” He thought about it for a moment. “Right when we first met, wasn’t it? You said you’d loved them since you were a kid.” “I never said that.” He blinked. “I’m severely allergic to nuts, Wesley. I get hives if I even touch them. I told you that on our very first date.” The air in the room instantly turned heavy. The smile on Wesley’s face stiffened for a second before he quickly recovered. “Oh, really? I must have mixed it up. Don’t eat them then. I’ll get you something else tomorrow…” “The person who loved almond tarts was Evelyn, wasn’t it?” His hand gripping his briefcase tightened. The silence stretched even longer this time. “Amelia, what are you trying to say?” “Nothing.” I smiled, closing the box. “I’m going to take a shower.” I turned toward the bathroom, but after a couple of steps, I paused. “By the way, our anniversary is next week. You remember, right?” “Of course I do.” “What date is it?” He couldn’t answer. Our wedding anniversary was November 3rd. Evelyn’s birthday was May 20th. Every year on May 20th, Wesley took a day off, claiming it was for a company team-building event. I had never doubted him. The rush of the shower water drowned out everything else. I stood under the spray, letting the hot water stream over my face, unable to tell the difference between the water and my tears. 3 “How do you want to spend our anniversary?” During breakfast the next morning, Wesley brought up the topic himself. I looked at him as I chewed on my toast. He was calmly adding sugar to his coffee, his expression perfectly normal. “What do you think?” “Should we book a table? You mentioned wanting to try that new steakhouse downtown.” “Sure.” I didn’t point out that he had clearly looked up our anniversary date the night before. I had seen a notification on his phone screen earlier that morning: “Nov 3, Anniversary.” Created: Last night, 11:47 PM. In three years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever put our anniversary into his calendar. Yet, on his calendar, May 20th had a recurring red dot every year, empty of words but never missed. After he left for work, my phone rang from an unknown number. “Is this Amelia? I’m calling from the transplant registry office at Mercy Hospital.” “Yes, speaking.” “You underwent heart transplant surgery at our facility three years ago. According to our post-op management policy, we are due for an annual follow-up. Would you be able to come in for a checkup this week?” “Yes, I can make it.” “Excellent. I’ll schedule you for Wednesday morning. Also, I wanted to verify if Wesley remains your primary emergency contact?” “Yes, he is.” “Perfect. The notification will be sent to his number as well.” I hung up, a thought blooming in my mind. If Wesley received this notification, how would he react? Would he be anxious? Caring? Or would he simply be checking to see if his investment was still performing well? On Wednesday morning, I went to the hospital alone without telling him. After the tests, the doctor looked at my charts and declared everything normal. I hesitated before asking, “Doctor, is there any way for me to get information on my donor?” The doctor adjusted his glasses. “According to regulations, donor and recipient information must remain strictly confidential.” “What if the donor’s family reached out to me directly?” “If both parties agree, it can be arranged through the proper channels. But as far as our records show, your donor’s family has never submitted such a request.” Never submitted. Which meant Wesley had never used any official channel to find me. So how on earth had he tracked me down? As I walked out of the hospital gates, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Wesley: [I received the hospital notification. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you.] I replied: [I’m already done. Everything is normal.] He texted back instantly: [Let me know next time. I don’t feel comfortable with you going alone.] Not comfortable. Was he worried about me, or was he worried about this heart? I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stood at the entrance for a long time. Then, I hailed a cab and gave the driver an address: Greenwood Cemetery. I had looked it up online. Evelyn was buried there, in the quietest section of the grounds. Following the markers, I found her headstone. It was clean white marble, bearing the same bright, smiling photo I had seen on his hard drive. In front of the stone sat a fresh bouquet of white roses. The petals still carried the morning dew. Today was Wednesday. Wesley had told me he had an early morning board meeting. I knelt down, noticing a small card tucked under the stems. Written on it in Wesley’s unmistakable handwriting were two words: “Miss you.” I stood up, my legs feeling weak. Three years. On every day he claimed to be in meetings, traveling, or working late, how many times had he actually been standing right here? Whispering “I miss you” to a cold piece of stone, only to come home and press his hand against my chest to count her heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep. I felt a sudden wave of nausea, not directed at him, but at myself, for being so utterly blind for three whole years. My phone rang again. It was Wesley. “Amelia, what do you want for dinner? I can get off work early and cook.” I looked at Evelyn’s smiling face on the headstone while listening to the warm, gentle voice coming through the receiver. “Anything is fine. You choose.” “Alright. I’ll make those honey-glazed ribs you like.” My favorite was classic, smoky BBQ ribs. Honey-glazed ribs were likely Evelyn’s preference. “Okay.” I hung up, taking one last look at the white roses. As I turned to leave, I spoke to Evelyn in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m going to return her heart to him. 4 “Amelia, you seem a bit distracted tonight,” Wesley said, swirling the red wine in his glass as he looked at me across the table. “I’m fine. Just thinking about some projects at work.” “Leave work at the office. Tonight is our night.” He spoke with such quiet sincerity. I looked into his eyes, searching for any trace of guilt or hesitation. There was none. He looked at me with pure warmth and focus, like a husband deeply in love with his wife. If I didn’t know the truth, I would still believe I was the happiest woman in the world. “Wesley, let me ask you a question. You have to be completely honest with me.” “Go ahead.” “Do you love me?” He smiled, reaching across the table to cover my hand. “Of course I love you.” “What do you love about me?” “I love…” He paused for a beat. “I love everything about you.” What a textbook, flawless answer. But it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “If one day my heart gives out and I need another transplant, if I have to replace it with someone else’s heart, would you still love me?” His grip on my hand tightened slightly. “Why are you asking that? did something go wrong with your checkup today?” “You didn’t answer my question.” “Amelia, don’t let your mind wander. Your heart is perfectly healthy. Nothing is going to happen.” “I said if.” He set his wine glass down, his expression turning solemn. “There is no ‘if.’ I won’t let anything happen to your heart.” I caught his choice of words. It wasn’t “I won’t let anything happen to you.” It was “I won’t let anything happen to your heart.” I pulled my hand back and took a sip of my wine. “I’m just joking. Don’t look so serious.” He let out a breath, his smile returning. “You scared me. I thought the doctor had found something.” “Actually, the doctor said I’ve recovered beautifully. I don’t even need to come back for annual checkups anymore.” “Really? That’s incredible news.” His joy seemed entirely genuine, but I couldn’t tell if he was happy for my health or for the safety of the heart inside me. On the way home, he held my hand as we walked along the sidewalk. The streetlights stretched our shadows out, making us look like any other devoted, ordinary couple. “Wesley.” “Yeah?” “If one day I’m no longer around, what would you do?” He stopped walking, turning to look at me. “Amelia, what is wrong with you today? Why do you keep saying these things?” “I just wanted to know.” He pulled me into his arms, resting his chin against the top of my head. “You aren’t going anywhere. I won’t allow it.” I buried my face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was steady, strong, and slow, carrying a rhythm entirely different from the borrowed heart beating inside my own chest. In that moment, I made my decision. Once we returned home, I waited until he fell asleep. I waited until his hand found its usual spot over my heart, and his breathing turned deep and even. I gently moved his hand away and sat up. In the drawer of my nightstand was the package I had prepared earlier: a signed set of divorce papers, a letter, and a one-way ticket to Southport for six in the morning. I placed the divorce papers and the letter side by side on his pillow. Then, I opened the closet and pulled out my packed suitcase. I didn’t take a single thing he had ever bought me. None of the jewelry, the designer bags, or the dresses, because they had all been chosen according to Evelyn’s taste. I took only the clothes I had owned before our marriage and a single notebook. Tucked inside the notebook was our wedding photo. I looked at it one last time, pulled it out, and laid it on top of the divorce papers. At the door, I glanced back at the bedroom. Wesley rolled over, his hand reaching out across the empty sheets. Not finding me, his brow furrowed slightly, his palm clenching the air before falling loose. I pulled the door shut quietly behind me and rolled my suitcase to the elevator. The hallway at four in the morning was as silent as a tomb. As the elevator doors slid shut, a muffled shout echoed from inside the apartment, a voice rough with sleep and sudden panic: “Amelia?” The elevator began its descent. I took a deep, steady breath, letting his voice fade behind the concrete walls.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450059”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night my best friend debuted at the Met, Nolan locked me in our room. He was terrified the livestream would trigger another breakdown. Hearing the roaring applause from the tablet, I bit my lip until blood came. Five years ago, the car crashed. I shielded him, but he shoved me aside to protect Rebecca. I had been safe. That push slammed me into a steel rebar that pierced both thighs. At nineteen, I became paralyzed from the pelvis down. Five years of relentless phantom pain followed. A waking nightmare. Today, as the agony flared, I begged Nolan for relief. Still watching Rebecca onscreen, he sneered, “Hurts? Go die. Five years and you still whine. Do I look like a fool?” He threw potassium chloride at me and pinned my wrists. “Tonight is Rebecca’s comeback. Must you ruin it with self-pity?” “Try it,” I said. “Push that, and I’m gone in minutes.” His phone rang. It was Rebecca. His glare melted as he stepped out to answer. I looked at the syringe. With my own hands, I ended what little hope remained and pressed the needle into my vein. He never meant to kill me. But I was truly finished with living. 1 The moment the potassium chloride entered my bloodstream, I didn’t feel immediate pain. Just a suffocating tightness in my chest, like an invisible hand slowly crushing my heart from the inside out. The syringe was completely empty. Not a single drop left. I calmly pulled the needle out, twisted the safety cap back on, and dropped it into the medical sharps container. Inch by inch, I dragged my torso across the floor into the master bathroom. Outside the door, I could hear Nolan laughing on FaceTime with Rebecca. He praised her flawless routine. She playfully demanded he treat her to a late-night supper to celebrate. “You guys go ahead. I’ll pass.” “She is… she’s having a bad day.” His voice was drenched in exhaustion. After the crash five years ago, Nolan turned down a prestigious fellowship. His mentor screamed at him over the phone for forty minutes, calling him a waste of brilliant surgical talent. Nolan didn’t argue back. He hung up and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in the hospital hallway. Then he sold his downtown condo, moved us into a cramped two-thousand-a-month apartment, and took endless graveyard shifts in the ER just to cover my medical bills. My vision started to tunnel. Using the last ounce of my strength, I fumbled through my wheelchair bag and pulled out a watch. A gift I always meant to give him, but never found the right moment. With a trembling hand, I scrawled three words on the bathroom mirror using my lipstick. ‘Not your fault.’ The watch slipped from my grip, clattering against the tiles and rolling into a dark corner. My consciousness began to detach. The stained bathroom ceiling morphed into the starry dome of the Metropolitan Theater. I was standing in the center of the stage again. Wearing that diamond-studded contemporary ballet costume with the flowing silk ribbons. My legs were long, powerful. I pushed off the tips of my toes and launched into a flawless triple pirouette. My final thought was terrifyingly clear. Nolan wouldn’t have to work night shifts for my nerve meds anymore. His hands would stop trembling. Rebecca could finally stand by his side without guilt. Everyone was finally free. When my awareness reformed, I was floating near the bathroom ceiling. I looked down at myself. Slumped against the edge of the bathtub. Skin an ashen gray, lips tinted a deep purple. My arms were locked mid-air, forever frozen in a graceful ballet pose. The empty pant legs of my sweatpants draped pathetically over the tiles like discarded props. The front doorbell rang. I drifted out of the bathroom, passing right through the solid wood of the bedroom door. In the living room, Rebecca was walking in arm-in-arm with Nolan’s mother, beaming with pride. She was still wearing her silver stage costume, her makeup immaculate. She practically reeked of fresh roses and standing ovations. Eleanor patted Rebecca’s hand, absolutely gushing. “You were spectacular tonight! Three standing ovations! Even the arts critics were raving about you.” Rebecca offered a perfectly modest smile. “I just followed the choreographer’s vision. The instructors really guided me.” Choreographer’s vision? Those choreography notes for that specific solo were written by me. I spent three agonizing months staying up late in my wheelchair to perfect them. Arthur, Nolan’s father, walked in behind them carrying an expensive bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan. The whole family happily crowded into the kitchen to prep a celebration dinner. Nolan took charge of chopping the vegetables. Rebecca naturally stepped up right beside him to help. They moved in perfect sync. When she handed him the salt, her fingers brushed against his. Neither of them pulled away. Nolan paused his chopping. “Rebecca, that final suspended leap with the ribbons tonight was beautiful. The power for that movement comes from the shoulder blades, not the wrists, right?” Rebecca froze for a split second, then smiled and nodded. Floating near the ceiling, a phantom ache throbbed where my heart used to be. The secret behind that specific leap was something I taught all my students back in the day. 2 Only Nolan remembered. Eleanor walked out of the kitchen carrying a fruit platter. She glanced at our closed bedroom door and scowled. “Where is Avery? It’s the biggest night of Rebecca’s career, and she can’t even come out to say congratulations?” Nolan’s knife stopped moving. “We had a bit of an argument this afternoon. She’s resting.” Eleanor slammed the platter onto the dining table. “Throwing a tantrum again? It’s been five years! She screams about leg pain every single day. She doesn’t even have legs anymore, what is there to hurt?” “You are a brilliant attending surgeon, and she’s dragging you down so hard you can barely step into an operating room!” I wanted to speak. I wanted to say, I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was dead. But the moment the words left my lips, they dissolved into nothingness. Arthur sighed, leaning back into the sofa with his whiskey glass. “She used to be so glorious on stage. Remember when we sat in the front row for her opening night? Those were the days.” “Who could have known… honestly, it might have been a mercy if she had just passed away in that crash.” Rebecca poured a cup of tea and handed it to Nolan, her voice soft and soothing. “Don’t let Eleanor’s words get to you. She just cares about you.” “Avery’s condition… it really is a heavy burden on everyone.” She paused, dropping her voice to a whisper. “When was the last time you actually smiled?” Nolan stared at the cutting board. He swallowed hard but said nothing. Rebecca reached out and placed her hand over his. Nolan didn’t pull away. Looking at them standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the warm, yellow light of the kitchen, an overwhelming sourness flooded my soul. But I smiled anyway. I could never give him this kind of warm, normal domestic life again. The celebration dinner officially began. In the center of the table sat a custom cake decorated with a sugar-sculpted ballerina wrapped in white ribbons. I wanted to get a closer look at the little figure. Just as my ghostly fingers reached out, Rebecca cheerfully sliced right through it. She scooped the figurine onto her plate and bit off one of its sugar ribbon arms. “This is gorgeous. This pose is from my absolute favorite solo piece.” Nolan’s eyes locked onto the broken ribbon arm on her plate. His lips trembled slightly. Rebecca noticed his shift in mood. “What’s wrong? Is it too sweet?” Nolan looked down. “It’s nothing.” He picked up the broken piece of sugar ribbon, placed it on his own saucer, and left it untouched. I was stunned. Did he remember something? Before I could process it, Eleanor pulled a thick document from her designer purse and slapped it onto the dining table. “I already got Avery’s signature.” I recognized that signature. It was my handwriting, but I never signed a divorce paper. Then it hit me. Two months ago, my own mother visited me and asked me to sign some paperwork, claiming it was for transferring the deed to our old family house. That document had been a divorce settlement. Nolan picked up the papers, flipping through them page by page. Under the asset division section, it explicitly stated that I willingly forfeited all joint marital assets and future medical alimony. Rebecca spoke up right on cue, her tone gentle and persuasive. “Nolan, signing this doesn’t mean you’re abandoning her.” “I can use all my performance bonuses to cover her physical therapy from now on.” “I just want you to start living your life again. Johns Hopkins still has that fellowship spot open for you.” Arthur set his whiskey down. He looked at Nolan’s visibly shaking hands. “You know exactly what a surgeon’s hands mean. If you keep living under this stress, you won’t even be able to hold a suture needle.” Nolan’s hand hovered over the table, gripping a pen. He stared at that crooked, shaky signature for a long, long time. Suddenly, he spoke. His voice was incredibly quiet. “When she signed this, did she know what it was?” The room went dead silent. Eleanor’s expression shifted nervously. Rebecca immediately tried to smooth things over. “Avery wants what’s best for you too. She doesn’t want to be a burden anymore, right, Eleanor?” Eleanor nodded vigorously. “She knows her own situation better than anyone.” Nolan held the pen. The tip hovered over the signature line for three agonizing seconds. Floating right above his head, my nonexistent heart clenched again. Finally, he put the pen down. “Let me think about it.” 3 Eleanor’s face darkened. She looked ready to explode, but Rebecca gently held her arm, giving her a warning look. After dinner, Nolan walked his parents to the door. Before stepping out, Eleanor turned back and hissed in a low voice. “She is going to drag you into an early grave.” Nolan said nothing and gently closed the door. He cleared the dining table alone. He folded the divorce settlement neatly and locked it deep inside a drawer in the TV console. When the living room fell completely silent, Nolan stood perfectly still for a long time. He walked into the kitchen and packed a thermal lunchbox. Crab-roe tofu, steamed bass, and a small bowl of sweet silver ear mushroom soup he had simmered himself. He carried the tray to the bedroom door and knocked three times. “Avery, are you asleep?” Silence. He assumed I was still giving him the silent treatment. He pressed his forehead against the wooden door. His voice was incredibly soft. “I’m sorry. I lost control of my temper this afternoon.” “That potassium chloride… I was out of my mind to do that. When I tossed that syringe at you, my hands were shaking so badly.” A long, heavy silence. He lightly thumped his fist against the wood. “When I drove past the theater today, the billboards were covered with Rebecca’s face. But all I could think about was that it should have been you up there.” He sniffled. “I was reading a paper in the medical journal recently. It’s about transcranial magnetic stimulation for phantom limb pain. The success rate is over sixty-seven percent.” “I already contacted a specialized team in Boston.” He pulled out his phone, scrolled to some screenshots, bent down, and slid them under the crack of the door. “Take a look. I’ve studied the science behind it, the tech is solid. If you’re just willing to try…” His voice broke. He sounded like he was on the verge of crying. “Can you please just give me a little more time?” The bedroom answered with a deathly stillness. His phone alarm buzzed. It was a reminder for an emergency appendectomy he was covering for a colleague tonight. The extra overtime pay would cover my nerve block treatments for next week. He stood up, resting his head against the door one last time. “I’ll bring you your favorite raspberry tart tomorrow morning.” On his way to the front door, he stopped by the TV console, yanked the drawer open, and pulled out the divorce papers. My soul held its breath. He stared at it for a few seconds, then ripped it to shreds and threw the pieces into the trash can. Ten minutes after Nolan left, the front door clicked unlocked. Rebecca walked in using her spare key. She marched straight to the bedroom door and slapped it hard three times. “Avery, I know you’re awake. Are you playing the victim game again?” No answer. She crouched down and pulled the printed medical screenshots out from under the door. She glanced at them, let out a mocking snort, crumpled the papers into a ball, and tossed them into the trash. Then she picked up the thermal lunchbox Nolan had packed and dumped the expensive seafood and soup straight into the garbage disposal. She noticed the torn divorce papers in the trash bin. Meticulously, she fished out the pieces, taped them back together, and laid the restored document flat on the coffee table. Leaning against the bedroom door, her voice turned venomous and quiet. “Do you know what his physical exam showed last month?” “Resting tremors in both hands. Suspected early-onset Parkinson’s.” “A brilliant surgeon, and his hands are shaking. He’s only thirty-three.” “This is all because of you.” My soul felt like it was being strangled. Parkinson’s? He never told me. “You refuse to eat, you refuse to talk, you threaten to kill yourself over every little thing. You think you’re the most tragic person on earth, don’t you?” “Do you ever think about how much he suffers?” “People like you are the most selfish. You always live the longest.” After delivering her poison, she curled up on the living room sofa, scrolling through her phone while waiting for Nolan to return. At two in the morning, the front door opened. Nolan walked in carrying a small pastry box. Seeing Rebecca asleep on the couch, he paused, then quietly draped a blanket over her shoulders. Rebecca woke up, rubbing her eyes. She noticed the pastry box in his hand. “Is that for me?” 4 Nolan shifted the box slightly behind his back. “No. It’s for Avery.” He walked toward the bedroom. Noticing the medical printouts were gone from under the door, he assumed I had pulled them inside to read. A faint look of relief washed over his face. “Baby, I brought you a raspberry tart. It’s still warm. Do you want a bite?” Still no movement inside. He let out a bitter chuckle. “Alright, get some rest. I’ll leave it right here by the door. Come grab it when you’re hungry.” Rebecca watched this with cold eyes. She pushed the taped-up divorce papers across the coffee table. “Why did you tear it up? Are you planning to torture yourself for the rest of your life?” Nolan glanced at her. His voice was low, bone-tired. “I told you. I am never divorzing Avery. Not in this lifetime.” Rebecca’s eyes instantly went red. She stood up abruptly, lunged at him, and pressed her lips forcefully against his. Nolan stumbled backward, but she locked her arms around his neck, refusing to let go. He tried to pry her off, but she was relentless. Frustrated, she intentionally stomped her heel right onto the pastry box sitting on the floor. As his attention splintered, she took advantage to deepen the kiss. Floating in mid-air, watching this unfold, my phantom heart twisted in agony. Nolan clamped his jaw shut tight, took a sharp breath, and shoved her away with brutal force. He didn’t spare a single second to care about Rebecca’s hurt feelings. He immediately dropped to his knees, carefully wiping the dust off the crushed pastry box, his face etched with guilt. Rebecca staggered back. A flash of bitter resentment crossed her face before she quickly morphed it back into a mask of pure grievance. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the spare key to the master bedroom. “You don’t believe me? Fine.” “Go ask her yourself. Ask her what she really wants! Let’s see who is the one dragging this out!” She shoved the key into the lock and twisted it sharply. The door clicked open. A suffocating, sickly-sweet odor, like rusted iron soaked in warm water, billowed out, mixing with the damp humidity of the bathroom. It hit them like a physical blow. Nolan’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. The crushed pastry box slipped from his hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud. He violently shoved Rebecca out of the way and bolted into the room. The bed was empty. The balcony was empty. He kicked the bathroom door open. His shoe splashed into a sticky, half-dried puddle. He looked down. It was a pale yellow fluid, streaked with the unmistakable dark stains of bodily decay.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450044”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In the dead of night, Echo, the parrot in the living room, suddenly spoke. “I’ll call you back later. He isn’t asleep yet.” I bolted upright on the sofa. The living room was dead silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Echo stood on his perch, head tilted, his bead-like green eyes shifting. “Don’t use the trust fund account. He’ll notice.” The tone was a perfect imitation of my wife’s. Even that slight upward lilt at the end of her sentences was there. I froze, a sudden chill creeping down my spine. Tina had never uttered those words in front of me. And I had certainly never taught them to Echo. Echo pecked at his feathers and fell silent again, acting as if nothing had happened. I slowly leaned back onto the sofa, my eyes locked onto him. The next morning, I moved his perch to the far corner of the living room, right opposite Tina’s study desk. I needed to hear every word she left unsaid. … “Phillip, didn’t you sleep well last night? Why did you move Echo over here?” Tina walked out of the kitchen, holding two mugs of warm milk. She was wearing her loungewear, her collar slightly loose, her gold-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. As always, she looked the picture of gentle elegance. “It gets drafty by the window. I didn’t want him to catch a cold.” I took the mug and took a sip. The temperature was spot-on. Not too hot, not too cold. In our five years of marriage, she had mastered the exact temperature I preferred for my milk. What a wonderfully sweet, attentive wife. “True, autumn is setting in.” She sat opposite me. Her gaze swept over the bird perch now facing her desk, and she paused for a fraction of a second. “It’s nice here. I can play with him while I work.” “Yeah.” I didn’t look up, focusing on cutting the fried egg on my plate. The doorbell rang. Tina set her mug down. “Who could that be so early?” She walked over to open the door. A man stood outside, wearing a light khaki trench coat over a white silk shirt. It was the exact same limited-edition shirt hanging in my closet. “Good morning, Director.” Gavin smiled eagerly. He held a few blue folders in his hands. “For this morning’s signing ceremony, there are a couple of supplementary agreements that need your eyes.” Tina frowned slightly, but her voice remained soft. “Why didn’t you just email them?” “It involves confidential financial details. Physical copies are safer.” As Gavin spoke, his gaze drifted past Tina’s shoulder, landing on me. “Morning, Phillip.” “Morning.” I laid down my fork and wiped my mouth with a napkin. Gavin was the financial director of the Aurora Foundation, handpicked and promoted by Tina. He was young, handsome, and an Ivy League graduate. “Come on in,” I said, standing up. “I hope I’m not interrupting your breakfast?” Gavin swapped his shoes and walked inside. Instead of sitting on the living room sofa, he walked straight to Tina’s desk. He moved with a familiarity that made it seem like his own home. “Look at this part, Tina.” He spread the folders open, leaning in slightly, his arm brushing against hers. She didn’t pull away. “I think we can push this budget down another five percent.” “Too aggressive. Better to play it safe.” They spoke in hushed tones. I watched from the side. I watched their shadows overlap because they were standing so close. I saw the faint red mark on Gavin’s neck, just below his collar. That was no mosquito bite. Flap. Echo suddenly fluttered his wings. “Be good, don’t make a scene.” Echo mimicked. His voice was high and feminine, carrying a hint of playful coquetry. The two at the desk froze instantly. Tina’s hand trembled, almost dropping the folder, and Gavin’s face went pale. A dead silence fell over the room. I walked over, picked up my glass, and poured some warm water. “The bird’s been mimicking TV lines lately. I left a drama playing last night. He must have picked it up.” Tina let out a forced laugh. “Right, he’s a clever bird. Mimics everything.” She snapped the folder shut. “Alright, Gavin. I’ve reviewed the agreements. Everything looks fine. Head back to the office.” “Will do, Tina.” Gavin scrambled to pack up his things, his movements clumsy. At the door, he suddenly stopped and turned back to look at me. “Phillip, you know, you don’t have to stay home watching TV all day.” “Oh?” “The foundation is swamped lately. You are the founder, after all. You should drop by once in a while, otherwise everyone will forget you and only recognize Tina.” His smile held a trace of provocation. “Gavin, watch your tone with Phillip,” Tina snapped, her expression hardening. “Phillip isn’t in the best health. Staying home to rest was my idea.” “Of course. You pamper your husband so much, we’re all dying of jealousy.” Gavin pushed the door open and left. Tina shut the door, walked over to me, and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t mind him. He’s young and blunt, but he doesn’t mean any harm.” “I know.” I gently brushed her hand off. “I’m going to change. I need to head out.” “Where to?” “Just a spa appointment.” I walked into the bedroom and shut the door. The calm on my face vanished instantly. I walked to the deepest corner of the walk-in closet. Opening a drawer with a digital lock, I pulled out a burner phone. I turned it on and dialed. It rang three times before someone picked up. “Hello.” The voice was cool and lazy. “Audrey, it’s me.” Audrey. A senior partner at a top-tier accounting firm, my college classmate of four years, and once my fiercest rival. “Well, Phillip. What a rare surprise.” The rustle of papers came through the line. “I need a favor.” “Shoot.” “Audit some accounts for me.” “Which ones?” “The Aurora Foundation.” The rustle of papers stopped. “Your wife’s turf? You’re digging into her?” “Don’t ask. Are you in?” “I’m in.” “How long do you need?” “Depends on how deep you want to go.” “Everything. The ledgers, the cash flow, especially the offshore accounts.” Silence stretched for a couple of seconds. “That’s a massive undertaking. She isn’t careless.” “I’ll give you an entry point.” “Deal. I’ll wait for your signal.” “Keep this absolutely quiet,” I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t worry. You know my rules.” I hung up, changed into a sharp black suit, and walked out. Tina was adjusting her scarf. “Sweetheart, what do you want for lunch? I’ll have the maid prepare it.” She looked at me, her eyes full of warmth. I walked over and adjusted her collar. “Anything is fine.” “You’re always so easygoing.” She took my hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m off to the office. I have a dinner tonight, so I might be late.” “Okay.” I watched her walk out. The moment the door clicked shut, I turned and went straight to her desk. Underneath was a wastebasket. Inside lay a crumpled piece of paper. I picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a discarded draft of the supplementary agreement Gavin had brought over. On it was a handwritten figure: 8,000,000. Next to it, an arrow pointed to a scribbled abbreviation: C.I. Cayman Islands. I let out a cold laugh. Folding the paper, I slipped it into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and texted Audrey: “Start with the foundation’s Spark Initiative renovation project. Focus on the overseas procurement budget.” She replied instantly. “Got it. When are we pulling the net?” “Soon,” I typed back. “I’m going back to work at the foundation tomorrow.” 2 “Phillip, the files for the Spark Initiative have been archived. If you want to review them, you’ll need to go through the approval process,” Gavin said over the phone. His tone was purely professional, carrying an almost imperceptible hint of smugness. “An approval process?” I sat in my car, looking up at the glass facade of the Aurora Building. “Yes. Tina set a new rule yesterday. Any access to core project accounts requires her signature.” “Right. Got it.” I hung up, pushed the car door open, and stepped out. The Aurora Foundation. The passion project I had built from the ground up five years ago. Back then, Tina was just a struggling girl who couldn’t secure a dime of funding. I had gone against my family’s wishes, using our resources to pave her way, handing her the director’s seat. I had stepped back, keeping only the empty title of founder. And now, she was making the rules. I walked into the lobby. The two receptionists froze when they saw me. “Mr… Mr. Phillip?” “Morning.” I walked straight to the elevator. When I reached the top floor, the executive suite was quiet. I walked up to Tina’s office. The door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a narrow crack. Whispers drifted out. “Why did you block him? If he wants to see them, let him.” It was Tina’s voice. “Tina, there’s a deficit of nearly two million on the books. What if he catches on?” Gavin’s voice was tense. “Catch on to what? He’s a house husband who hasn’t touched a financial statement in five years. Do you honestly think he can decipher cooked books?” Tina sneered. “Besides, even if he did, he wouldn’t make a scene.” “You’re that sure?” “He’s head over heels for me. He gave up his family’s business just for me. You think he’d turn on me over a little money?” I stood outside the door. My hand hovered in mid-air, my fingertips feeling cold. So that was what I was to her. A gullible idiot. “But…” “No buts, Gavin. You’re getting soft.” The sound of a chair rolling back echoed from inside. “I’m just worried about your plan. Once that money is transferred, when are you going to show your hand to him?” Gavin’s voice softened. “Soon. After next month’s board meeting, when we officially secure complete control of the foundation.” I took a deep breath, took two steps back, and let my leather shoes click loudly against the floor. I pushed the door open. Tina was sitting behind her desk, with Gavin standing close by. Their distance looked professional enough now, but Gavin’s breathing was shallow and rapid. “Phillip? What are you doing here?” Tina stood up immediately, her face lighting up with surprise. “I was bored at home, so I thought I’d drop by.” I smiled, stepping past her outstretched hands, and sat on the sofa. “Gavin’s here too.” “Phillip,” Gavin said, pulling at his collar as he looked down. “I called earlier to check the Spark Initiative files. Gavin mentioned I needed your signature?” I looked at Tina. Her face stiffened for a second, then she glared at Gavin. “Nonsense! Phillip is the founder. Why would he need a signature to look at the books?” She turned back to me with an apologetic smile. “Honey, Gavin is still new. He doesn’t know how things work around here. He’s too rigid.” “He was just following the rules you set. He did nothing wrong.” I picked up the glass of water on the table but didn’t drink. “But the Spark Initiative was something I personally oversaw. Since it’s being renovated, I just wanted to check on the progress.” “Of course, absolutely.” Tina shot Gavin a look. “Go on, fetch the ledgers.” Gavin bit his lip. “Tina, those books are in the safe. The key… you have it.” Tina blinked. “Oh, right. Look at my memory.” She walked over to her desk and pulled open a drawer, pretending to search through it. “Oh dear, I must have left the key at home.” She turned around, looking thoroughly apologetic. “Sweetheart, what bad timing. How about I grab it from the house this afternoon and show you then?” I watched her perform. It was a clumsy act. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that urgent anyway.” Tina visibly relaxed. “Exactly. You aren’t in the best health. Why stress over these details?” She walked over and put her arm around my shoulder. “Come on, lunch is on me. Let’s get French.” “No, I have plans.” I pulled away from her hand. “Plans with whom?” Her eyes flickered. “An old college classmate. She’s in town, so we’re grabbing a quick bite.” “A she?” Tina’s expression soured instantly. “Phillip, you’re a married man. Meeting a female classmate alone doesn’t look good.” Her tone was heavy with accusation. A classic guilt trip. “It’s just lunch. What’s wrong with that?” “I don’t like you getting close to other women. You’re my husband, you need to think about your reputation.” She raised her voice slightly. In the past, whenever she used this tone, I would back down to protect her pride, to prove I was loyal. I smiled. “Fine. I won’t go.” Tina beamed. “That’s my husband. Let’s go, I’ll keep you company.” She turned to grab her coat. I watched her back, pulled out my phone, and messaged Audrey: “Meeting canceled. The ledgers are locked in Tina’s office safe. German model, C-400.” Audrey replied almost instantly. “Got it. I need the passcode to that safe before midnight.” “Consider it done.” I put my phone away and followed Tina out of the office. Gavin stood at the end of the hallway, watching us leave. His eyes were filled with envy and spite. In the elevator, Tina took my hand. “Honey, you aren’t mad at me, are you?” “About what?” “About not letting you see your classmate. I only did it because I care.” “I know.” “Good. By the way, next Friday is the foundation’s fifth anniversary. Get ready.” “For what?” “Just show up, say a few words. And…” She paused, her tone turning casual. “Announce at the event that you are transferring some of your decision-making rights to me. I’ve been running things for years anyway. It looks odd to outsiders if I don’t have the official authority.” I turned to look at her reflection in the polished elevator doors. She was finally making her move. “Sure,” I said softly. “If you think you can handle it.” 3 “Honey, you’re so understanding. I was worried you’d think Gavin is too young to handle things,” Tina called out from the kitchen, washing strawberries. She was in an exceptionally good mood tonight, probably because I had agreed to hand over my authority on the drive home. I sat on the sofa, a slim laptop open on my knees. “He might be young, but he’s capable. If you trust him, I have no objections.” I typed away, my voice flat. On my screen was an encrypted email Audrey had just sent. I entered the passcode and opened it. It was a corporate registry chart of an offshore company. Peeling back the layers of shell corporations, the final beneficial owner was revealed in three words: Gavin Reid. And the source of funds was clearly marked as the Aurora Foundation’s primary account. Over two years, like ants moving dirt, they had funneled nearly fifty million dollars out of the foundation. I shut the laptop, closing my eyes, and took a slow breath. Fifty million. That was money from countless kind-hearted donors, sponsorships I had personally secured to build schools for children in impoverished areas. Tina, you really are a piece of work. “What’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” Tina walked over with a bowl of strawberries, looking at me with concern. “I’m fine. Just spent too much time looking at the screen. My eyes are tired.” I took a strawberry and bit into it. It was sweet. “Then stop looking at it. Honestly, it’s not like you need the money. Why keep stressing yourself?” She sat beside me, resting her hand on my thigh. “By the way, Phillip, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you.” Here it comes. “What is it?” “The foundation has its eye on an overseas medical aid project. The returns are incredible, but the initial funding gap is quite large.” She looked at me with earnest eyes. “How much do you need?” “Thirty million.” She paused. “I was thinking, don’t you have that family trust fund? Could we pull some from there just to cover the temporary gap?” I stared at her. My family trust fund. That was the final safety net my father had left me. It required my physical signature to touch. She was finally reaching for that. “The trust fund is heavily protected. Moving assets out of it is incredibly complicated, and the returns are fixed. It’s not meant for risky investments,” I declined gently. Tina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered. “I know it’s a hassle, but this is for the foundation’s growth. You’re the founder. You wouldn’t want to watch this project fall apart, would you?” “Doesn’t the foundation still have twenty million in reserves?” “That money… it was already used to cover some previous deficits.” Her eyes darted away. “What deficits?” I pressed. “Oh, just some general operating losses. You don’t understand the day-to-day logistics anyway, so don’t worry about it.” Her impatience flared, her voice rising. “Look, all you need to do is sign. I’m your wife. Would I ever do anything to hurt you?” That same sense of entitlement. “I can’t touch that money,” I said coldly. Tina snapped, standing up abruptly. “Phillip, what is that supposed to mean? Are you keeping secrets from me?” She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “For five years, who worked day and night to build this foundation? Me! And what did you do? You sat at home playing the wealthy gentleman! Now I’m asking you to support my work, and you’re making excuses!” “Your work?” I stood up, staring her down. “Who provided the starting capital for Aurora? Who gave you the seat you are sitting in? Tina, without my family, you would be absolutely nothing.” In our five years of marriage, this was the first time I had ever spoken to her like this. Tina froze, staring at me in disbelief, as if looking at a stranger. Then, pure fury took over. She raised her hand. I didn’t flinch, meeting her gaze coldly. Seeing my eyes, her hand stopped in mid-air. Instead, she swept it sideways, knocking a ceramic vase off the table. Crash! Shards of porcelain shattered across the floor. “Fine. Great.” She gritted her teeth. “Phillip, do you honestly think you’re still that powerful heir? Your family’s business is practically gone! The only thing you have left to rely on is me!” She snatched her car keys, slammed the door, and stormed out. The house fell back into dead silence. I looked at the shattered porcelain, knelt down, and began to clean up the mess. No tears. Only absolute clarity. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Gavin, showing an image of Tina sitting in a dark booth at a bar, her scarf loosened, leaning against Gavin’s chest with a glass in her hand. The caption read: “Tina was upset, so I’m keeping her company for a few drinks. Phillip, a woman needs understanding. If you’re too controlling, you’ll only push her away.” I stared at the screen and smiled. I saved the photo, then forwarded it to Audrey with a simple note: “She won’t be home before midnight tomorrow. I’ll get you the passcode to the safe.” Audrey’s reply was short: “Get ready.” I stood up, threw the broken porcelain into the trash, and walked over to Echo’s cage. “Echo.” “Don’t use the account… Don’t use the account…” the parrot repeated, fluttering inside the cage. I threw a black cloth over the cage, blocking out the light. “Tomorrow,” I whispered to the empty room. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring the papers to sign at the board meeting. I’ll give her the show she wants.” 4 “Director, today’s board meeting is the main event. Are you ready?” Gavin whispered just outside the conference room. I caught the tail end of his words as I turned the corner and stopped in my tracks. Tina stood with her back to me, smoothing the lapels of her blazer. “Everything is set. Once he signs the authorization today, this foundation will belong to me entirely.” She let out a cold laugh. “The moment the funds clear, I’m kicking that useless weight out of my life. I’m sick of looking at his miserable face every single day.” “Oh, Tina, you’re cruel.” Gavin smiled, tracing a circle on her chest with his finger. “So, what does that make me?” “You’ll be the official spouse, of course.” Tina caught his hand and planted a kiss on it. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching them. My stomach churned, but I forced the disgust down. My brain told me now was not the time to flip the table. Let them climb as high as they want first. The fall is spectacular from the top. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, letting the rhythmic click of my shoes announce my presence. Hearing the footsteps, the two broke apart instantly. Tina turned around, her venomous expression shifting effortlessly into a warm, gentle smile. The speed of her transition was sickening. “Phillip, you’re here. I had a bit too much to drink last night and slept at the office. You aren’t mad at me, are you?” She stepped closer, reaching to wrap her arms around my waist. I stepped aside, avoiding her touch. “Let’s start the meeting.” I pushed the door open, my face completely blank. Inside sat a dozen board members, all veterans who had built this foundation with me. When I walked in, a few looked up in surprise. I had lived in seclusion for years, and it had been a long time since I had shown my face at an official gathering. Tina followed me inside, walking straight to the head of the table. She took the primary seat. I took a side seat—a subtle but telling arrangement. “Everyone, thank you for coming to this emergency board meeting. We have two main items on the agenda today,” Tina began, her voice commanding and professional. “First, an internal personnel adjustment. Gavin Reid has shown outstanding performance during his tenure as financial director. I propose we appoint him as the Deputy Secretary-General to assist with daily operations.” Silence met her words. Deputy Secretary-General was a position of real power. Several board members exchanged glances, their eyes shifting toward me. I kept my head down, staring at the glass of water in front of me, saying nothing. Seeing my lack of reaction, a smug smile spread across Tina’s face. “Since there are no objections, we’ll make it official.” She turned to Gavin. “Gavin, hand out the documents.” Gavin walked around the table with a sway in his step, placing a folder in front of each member. The final folder was laid before me. The Aurora Foundation Full Decision-Making Transfer Agreement. “The second item,” Tina said, crossing her hands on the table, her eyes locked onto me. “Due to Phillip’s health, he is unable to participate in the long-term management of the foundation. For the sake of Aurora’s future, Phillip has decided to transfer all his decision-making rights, personnel appointments, and fund allocation authority over to me.” The room erupted into quiet murmurs. This meant I would be completely stripped of power, leaving the foundation as Tina’s personal empire. “Phillip, is this…” one of the older board members started. “Everyone, this is a decision Phillip reached after careful consideration,” Tina interrupted, her voice firm. “Isn’t that right, honey?” She stared at me, her eyes carrying an unspoken warning. Yesterday she couldn’t get her hands on my trust fund, so today she wanted the foundation’s lifeblood. Her greed knew no bounds. I set my glass of water down, looking up to let my gaze sweep across the room. Then I picked up the agreement and flipped through the pages. “This is a very thorough agreement,” I said quietly. Pure joy flashed across Tina’s face. She quickly pulled a pen from her pocket and offered it to me. “Then let’s sign it. Once it’s done, you can relax at home without any worries.” Gavin stood behind her, his lips curving into a smug grin. I took the pen and pulled off the cap. Under the collective gaze of the room, the tip of my pen hovered over the signature line. Tina held her breath. Click. I capped the pen and tossed it onto the table. The sharp sound echoed loudly in the quiet room. “I’m not signing.” The smile froze on Tina’s face. “What did you say?” “I said, I’m not signing.” I leaned back in my chair, looking at her coldly. “Not only am I refusing to sign this, but I am also rejecting Gavin’s appointment as Deputy Secretary-General.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450061”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The scholarship student my parents sponsored led the charge in bullying me. She locked me in a bathroom stall, dumped freezing dirty water over my head, and took degrading photos of me stripped down to my underwear. When I knelt crying on the floor, clutching my medical report and an audio recording, begging my parents to call the police, they confiscated my phone. They did it for the sake of their laughable public image. “Audrey, Riley comes from a dirt-poor family. This is just kids messing around. If we involve the cops, the press will say the District Attorney is throwing his weight around, destroying a disadvantaged kid’s future.” “You are our daughter. You need to look at the bigger picture. To avoid any conflict of interest, we are settling this privately. You are going to sign a formal statement of forgiveness.” I stared at that piece of paper, filled with words about grace and maturity, in absolute disbelief. “She ruined me, and you’re afraid of ruining her?” “Is she your real daughter?” Later, I saw a post on Riley’s Instagram. The picture showed my parents treating her to a massive seafood feast I had been begging to go to for months. The caption read: “My godparents say some entitled brats just need to be put in their place.” In that exact moment, my heart turned to ash. 1 “Smile for the camera, Audrey! Aren’t your parents big-shot lawyers?” “Call them! Let’s see if the almighty DA saves his precious daughter, or if he protects his favorite charity case.” The stall door was kicked open. A bucket of ice water, reeking of cigarette ash and bleach, washed over my head. I curled up next to the toilet. My clothes clung to my shivering skin. Riley shoved her phone right into my face. The camera flash blinded me, burning into my retinas. I bit down on my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. That night, I knelt on the cold marble floor of our living room. I held my medical report in one hand and a voice recorder in the other. “Dad, Mom, I need to file a police report. Riley took photos of me in my underwear…” “Shut your mouth.” Victoria sat perfectly upright in her tailored designer suit. She held a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea, not even bothering to look up. “Go change your clothes. You smell like a dumpster. Look at the state of you.” I jerked my head up. The hard floor was grinding into my kneecaps, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the shock. “Mom, this is proof! She held my head near the bowl! She’s threatening to post the pictures online…” My dad sat in the center of the plush leather sofa, rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers. He finally looked at me. His eyes were like dead stones. “Audrey. Hand me the phone.” My hands shook violently as I offered it to him. Without missing a beat, he powered it down, popped the SIM card out, and tossed it right into the heavy crystal ashtray on the coffee table. “As of today, your phone is confiscated. You are grounded. Stay in your room and reflect on your behavior.” I shot to my feet. “Are you insane? I am the victim! Dad, just listen to the tape! Listen to what she said to me…” “I said, shut your mouth!” Richard slammed his fist onto the coffee table. The teacups rattled. He stood up, towering over me. “Call the cops? Do you have any idea what that means?” “How do you think the media will spin it? The arrogant daughter of the District Attorney bullies a poor scholarship girl and ruins her future.” “Riley’s family has nothing. Her father is paralyzed. She is the city’s poster child for overcoming adversity.” “Do you want to throw away everything we’ve built just because your feelings got hurt?” My jaw dropped. My throat felt like sandpaper. No words would come out. My feelings got hurt? I was stripped, photographed, and humiliated. And to him, it was just a minor inconvenience. My mother set her tea down and walked over. “Audrey, be reasonable. We are public figures. Thousands of eyes are watching our every move.” “Riley has had a hard life. Maybe she acted a bit aggressively, but she’s just crying out for attention.” “You are older. You need to show some grace. To keep our hands clean, this gets buried. Tonight.” She pulled a crisp sheet of paper from her leather briefcase and slid it onto the table. Statement of Forgiveness. Party A: Audrey. Party B: Riley. Terms: An acknowledgment of roughhousing between classmates. I agree to drop the matter and waive all rights to pursue legal action. Dad handed me his Montblanc fountain pen. “Sign it. Don’t make us force your hand.” I stared at the pen. I had saved up for months to buy it for him when he got promoted to Chief DA. “And if I don’t?” Dad let out a short, cold laugh. “If you don’t? I will pull you out of school and ship you off to your grandfather’s cabin upstate.” “As long as I run this district, no precinct will touch your case. No one will cross me.” These were my parents. To protect their pristine political feathers, to maintain their fake philanthropy, they were willing to feed their own flesh and blood to the wolves. My fingers trembled as I took the pen. The nib scratched harshly against the paper. I signed my name. Mom smiled, clearly satisfied. She folded the paper neatly. “That’s my girl. I knew you’d understand. You must be starving. Let me go fix dinner.” “Don’t bother.” I pushed myself off the floor. My legs were numb. Back in my room, I dug out an old backup iPad from the bottom of a drawer. Half an hour later, an Instagram notification popped up. It was from Riley. A photo carousel. Massive Alaskan king crab legs. Maine lobster tails. Two hands clinking champagne glasses. One hand wore my mother’s signature diamond ring. The other wore my father’s Rolex. Location tag: The Oceanaire Room. Caption: “My godparents treating me to calm my nerves. Some entitled brats just need to be put in their place. Thank you Mom and Dad! Love you!” I stared at the screen. My stomach did a violent flip. Mom didn’t go to the kitchen to fix dinner. She had a reservation booked the entire time. They were throwing a victory dinner for my abuser. I bolted to my bathroom and threw up until my ribs ached. The girl in the mirror was pale as a ghost, a bruise already blooming on her jawline. And on the screen, the three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. If they loved their little charity case so much. Then I guess they didn’t need a real daughter anymore. 2 The sky was barely gray when I woke up. I dragged my dusty suitcase from under the bed and unzipped it. My closet was stuffed with designer labels. Prada, Gucci, Chanel. All bought by my mother to make me look like a proper DA’s kid. I didn’t touch a single piece. I packed a few faded vintage tees and two pairs of worn-out denim jeans. I smashed my porcelain piggy bank with a heavy book. It held about three hundred dollars in crumpled bills and coins. When I lugged the suitcase downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and bacon filled the air. Mom was untying her apron. She frowned the second she saw me. “What are you doing dragging that thing around at six in the morning? The noise is unbearable.” Dad was reading the morning paper at the island counter. He didn’t look up. “Put the bag away and eat your breakfast. Riley is coming over this afternoon. Don’t ruin the mood with that miserable look on your face.” Riley. He practically said her name with affection. I left my suitcase by the front door and stood in the entryway. “I’m not eating. And I am never looking at her face again.” Mom slammed a plate onto the granite counter. “Audrey! What kind of tantrum is this? We settled this last night.” “Riley apologized. You signed the paper. We are turning the page.” “Why are you being so vindictive?” “Vindictive?” I tapped my temple with my index finger. “Mom. I have a mild concussion.” “She has pictures of me stripped down on her phone, and you two bought her lobster.” “Is this your idea of the bigger picture?” Dad slammed his newspaper down. His face turned an ugly shade of red. “You’re stalking our social media now?” “She posted it on a public feed. That’s the whole point.” “Enough!” Dad stood up, pointing a thick finger at the front door. “You want to walk out? Fine! Let’s see how far you get!” “If you walk through that door, you stay gone. I will act like I never had a daughter.” “Leave the credit cards, the keys, and whatever cash you have on you.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out the heavy brass house key, and tossed it onto the shoe cabinet. It made a sharp, metallic clink. “You took my phone last night.” “I don’t have your plastic. It’s in my desk.” “As for this house…” I took one last look at the crystal chandeliers and the imported rugs. “Give my room to Riley. She’s clearly cut from the same rotten cloth as you two.” “You ungrateful little bitch!” Mom snatched her hot coffee mug and hurled it at my head. It shattered against the doorframe. Boiling coffee splashed my jacket, and a sharp shard of ceramic sliced across my cheek. A warm line of blood trickled down my jaw. “And one more thing. Stop pretending you do anything for my sake.” “The only things you love are yourselves and your fake public image.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, pushed the heavy oak door open, and stepped into the cold morning air. Dad’s roar echoed behind me. “Get out! Let her freeze! Give her three days, and she’ll be crawling back on her knees!” I didn’t look back. Three days? I wouldn’t beg them for a drop of water if I were dying of thirst. I found a cramped, illegal basement apartment in the rundown east side of the city. I had just dropped my bag onto the concrete floor when my iPad buzzed. An incoming FaceTime call from an unknown email. I hesitated, then swiped to accept. Riley’s smug face filled the screen. The background was my living room. She was lounging on my custom velvet beanbag chair, the one nobody else was allowed to sit on. She was spinning my limited-edition anime figure in her hands. “Hey there, big sis. Heard you ran away from home?” Her voice was dripping with fake sweetness. “Mom says you threw a massive fit. Told me to just ignore your drama.” “This little toy is pretty cute though. Mom said I could keep it. You don’t mind, do you?” Snap. She twisted her hands, violently snapping the figure’s head off. She covered her mouth in mock horror. “Oops. My hand slipped. You’re not mad, are you?” My mother’s voice drifted in from the background. “Riley, honey, leave that garbage alone. Throw it in the trash. I’ll buy you a better one.” My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edges of the iPad. I saved up my allowance for six months to buy that figure. It was the only thing in that suffocating house that brought me any joy. I took a deep breath and forced a dead, chilling smile. “I don’t mind at all.” “Trash belongs with trash. It suits you.” “Oh, and by the way. I used to let a stray dog sleep on that beanbag. It pissed all over the filling.” Riley’s face warped into disgust. She vaulted off the chair like it was on fire. “You’re lying! They don’t even own a dog!” “Believe what you want.” I cut the call. Staring at my black reflection on the screen, I slid down the dirty wall until I hit the floor. My stomach growled fiercely. The real nightmare was just beginning. 3 I filed for a temporary leave of absence at the university. My academic advisor took one look at my bruised face and my medical report, sighed heavily, and processed the paperwork without asking questions. Without a degree, my options were trash. I took a graveyard shift at a sketchy gas station convenience store and spent my days doing cheap freelance translation online. By the third day, the fever hit. I needed antibiotics, but my bank account had exactly thirty dollars left. I chugged tap water and forced down some expired cold medicine I found in my jacket pocket. As long as I kept breathing, I was going to stick around to watch their empire burn. Half a month later, I had to go back to campus to pick up some administrative paperwork. My backpack held my beat-up laptop and my ID documents. I had barely reached the steps of the main library when a group surrounded me. “Well, well. If it isn’t the disgraced DA’s daughter.” Riley stood at the top of the concrete steps, looking down at me like I was a rat. She was wrapped in a cream-colored cashmere coat. I recognized it. My mother bought it in Paris last month. “What are you wearing? Did you fish those jeans out of a dumpster?” Riley trotted down the steps and pinched the sleeve of my faded hoodie. “This is so pathetic. Mom told me you were whoring yourself out on the streets, but I didn’t believe her.” “I guess it’s true. You can’t even afford decent clothes.” A crowd of students started gathering, whispering and pointing. I slapped her hand away and glared at her. “Did you steal that coat, or did you beg for it?” Riley’s face twitched, but she immediately cranked up the volume. “What are you talking about! Mom lent this to me!” “I’m representing the university at the State Debate Championship. She didn’t want me catching a cold.” Her eyes darted around. Suddenly, she lunged forward and grabbed the straps of my backpack. “Wait a minute! I just realized I’m missing a hundred-dollar bill!” “You stole it! You’re broke and desperate, and you were lurking right next to me!” “Search her! Check her bag!” Her little groupies instantly closed in. I hugged my backpack to my chest. “Back off! I didn’t take your damn money!” In the scuffle, Riley’s manicured acrylic nails dragged hard across the back of my hand. The skin split open. Blood welled up instantly. “What is going on here!” The Dean of Students pushed through the crowd, looking panicked. And walking right behind him, carrying thermal soup containers, were my parents. They had come to bring their pet project a hot lunch. Mom shoved past me, practically knocking me over, and pulled Riley into a protective hug. “Riley, sweetie, what happened? Are you hurt?” Dad marched right up to me. “Audrey! How long are you going to humiliate this family?” “Sneaking onto campus to steal money? You are a complete disgrace!” I held up my bleeding hand. “Mr. District Attorney. Which eye did you use to see me steal anything?” “I thought your job required evidence. Or do you just skip right to the conviction without a trial?” Dad’s face flushed dark purple. “Then why would Riley single you out? Out of everyone here, she pointed at you.” “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. You’ve clearly hit rock bottom.” Riley buried her face in my mother’s expensive blouse, faking a sob. “Dad, maybe I misplaced it… but Audrey was acting so aggressive…” “It’s okay, honey. I’ll handle this.” Mom glared at me with absolute venom. “Open the bag, Audrey. Let everyone see what’s inside. Prove your innocence.” “If you didn’t take it, you apologize to Riley for causing a scene, and we’ll let this go.” Looking at my parents acting like benevolent gods, my stomach churned. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed the zipper of my backpack, ripped it open, and flipped the whole bag upside down. Crash. Notebooks, chargers, cheap pens, and my old sticker-covered laptop spilled onto the concrete. My frayed wallet hit the ground. A few crumpled one-dollar bills fluttered out. “Look at it! Where is the hundred dollars?” My eyes burned with rage as I pointed at the mess. “Search it! Isn’t that what you wanted? Search me!” The crowd went dead silent. Riley shrank back, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then… maybe I left it in the lecture hall.” “You ‘left it’?” I took a step toward her. “You publicly accused me of theft, incited a mob to search my property, and physically assaulted me. Isn’t that harassment?” “Enough!” Dad barked out the order. He noticed the growing ring of students holding up their smartphones. His jaw tightened. He marched over and clamped his hand around my wrist like a vice. “Stop acting like a lunatic and get in the car.” He dropped his voice to a menacing hiss. “We will talk about this at home. Stop putting on a show for these peasants.” Mom caught on quickly. She plastered a fake, polished smile on her face for the crowd. “Teenage rebellion, you know how it is. Nothing to see here, kids. Let’s clear the area.” They flanked me, grabbing both my arms, trying to physically drag me toward the black Audi A6 idling by the gates. I dug my heels in and grabbed onto a metal handrail. “I’m not going anywhere! Let go of me!” Dad leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “If you don’t stop making a scene, I will have you committed to a psychiatric ward before the sun goes down.” A psych ward. To protect his reputation, he was perfectly willing to lock his own daughter in a mental asylum. I let out a dry, cracked laugh. “You care about your optics?” I sucked in a massive breath and screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help! Someone help me! The District Attorney is trying to kill me! My parents are trying to silence me!” Every single person froze. The campus security guards popped out of their booths, looking terrified. Dad’s face drained of all color. He instinctively let go of my arm like it was on fire. “Are you insane!” He roared, veins popping on his forehead. Mom panicked, her perfect political wife mask completely shattering. “Audrey, stop lying! When have we ever hurt you?” I didn’t give her a second to recover. I pointed straight at the Audi. “You’re dragging me to the car so you can lock me away and threaten me where no one can hear!” “Just like the night you forced me to sign that NDA!” “You covered up Riley’s abuse to save your own political careers! You forced me to kneel and apologize to my own bully!” “And now that I’ve escaped, you hunt me down at school to frame me for stealing?” The crowd erupted. “Wait, what NDA?” “The abuse rumors were real?” “Did she just say her parents covered it up?” Hundreds of judging eyes locked onto Richard and Victoria. Dad’s hands were shaking. He wanted to strangle me, but the sea of glowing camera lenses held him back. He stared at me, his eyes filled with pure hatred. “Audrey. If you don’t get in that car right now, I will freeze every asset tied to your name. You will never set foot in a classroom again.” I smirked, reaching into my hoodie pocket. I pulled out my cheap folding boxcutter. Click. “Don’t take another step.” I pressed the blade lightly against my own neck. The crowd gasped in horror. Mom shrieked. “Audrey! What are you doing! Put that down!” “Are you scared?” “You’re not scared I’ll die. You’re scared I’ll bleed out right here and ruin your shiny election campaign.” “Richard. Victoria. Listen very carefully.” “As of this exact second, I have no parents.” “Whatever debt I owed you for bringing me into this world, I paid in full the night you forced me to sign away my dignity.” “Now take your fake charity daughter, and get the hell out of my sight.” I pressed the blade just a millimeter deeper. The skin broke. A single drop of crimson blood rolled down my collarbone.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “450045”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel