Category: English

After the New Year, I unexpectedly noticed that the compact car I’d bought before marriage was being driven out every afternoon. During dinner, I casually asked my husband: “Ian, darling, who have you lent my car to? I thought you said that model was too small, only women liked it.” His chopsticks paused mid-air. He quickly pulled out a receipt from the dealership and handed it to me: “I was worried the car would deteriorate from sitting too long, so I sent it for maintenance.” He spoke, then picked up a piece of braised fish and placed it in my bowl, smiling considerately: “What’s wrong? Didn’t you say I wasn’t allowed to sell that car because it held our memories? I just wanted to surprise you.” His explanation was flawless. I lowered my head and continued eating, but an uneasy feeling grew within me. The next day, I passed by that dealership and showed them the receipt: “Hello, my husband brought the car here for maintenance; I’d like to pick it up now.” The manager nodded, about to retrieve the car for me. Just then, a girl walked in through the front door, approached the counter, and said, “I’m here to pick up Mr. Vance’s car.” But what she held in her hand was clearly my car key. 1 The moment our eyes met, a flicker of panic crossed the girl’s face. Although she quickly composed herself, she changed the subject as if she didn’t know me: “I just remembered I have something to do this afternoon. I’ll leave the key here. You can just deliver the car to garage 801 at the Oceanview Estate.” Her voice was trembling. She didn’t dare to linger for another moment after speaking, turning to leave. I watched her retreating back. The young woman was quick-witted, trying to pretend she was just an intern running an errand to lessen my suspicion about her holding my car key. But she didn’t know that Ian Vance was a germaphobe; he never let outsiders touch his belongings. Especially not this compact car, which held such significant meaning for us. I glanced at the key she’d placed on the counter, my heart sinking little by little. I lifted my foot and followed her. Sensing my presence, her steps quickened. After failing to hail a cab for a long time by the roadside, I stood beside her. She timidly looked up: “Are, are you also waiting for a cab?” I didn’t answer her. My gaze first fell on the bag she was carrying. The latest luxury brand, more expensive than her entire outfit. Just two days ago, Ian had given me an identical one. On her wrist, she wore an icy jade bangle, which, by coincidence, clearly matched the one on my wrist. I couldn’t help but recall my birthday, when Ian kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear: “Aurora, I told you I’d give you a unique gift every year. This bangle I carved myself. I’ll love you forever.” A sneer played on my lips. It seemed Mr. Vance, the acclaimed actor, was addicted to acting, no longer distinguishing between reality and a billionaire CEO drama. The girl noticed my gaze and awkwardly hid her bag behind her back: “If you’re in a hurry, I can let you go first.” Her eyes were filled with defensiveness and fear. I smiled, continuing to walk closer to her, then extended my hand: “See, I have a bangle exactly like yours, but my husband said he carved it himself. So I just wanted to ask you, where did you buy it wholesale?” “Once I find the evidence, I’ll divorce him. We’ve only been married ten years, and he’s already getting complacent with me. I’m afraid he’s… seeing someone else.” Hearing that last sentence, her face instantly went pale, and she became even more flustered: “I, I can’t remember which street vendor I bought it from.” “Never mind then. But we’re still quite fated. My name is Aurora Xu, what’s yours?” “Skylar Lynn.” Oh. Even the last initial of her name was ‘L’. Just then, a public bus arrived, and Skylar fled onto it, leaving. I, too, turned around, my face instantly hardening. I returned to the dealership, retrieved my car, and opened the door. Then I noticed something else was wrong. The good luck charm hanging in front of the car had been replaced with a plush toy. I suppressed my emotions, pulled out my phone, and called my best friend: “Can you help me find out if Ian Vance has truly been filming on set every day recently? Also, what’s his relationship with a girl named Skylar Lynn!” My best friend was an investor in his new show. Hearing this, she asked, puzzled: “Aurora, what happened?” “I suspect Ian is cheating…” Before I even got home, my best friend had sent over the information. She still seemed a bit incredulous. The data showed that while Skylar Lynn and Ian Vance had indeed acted together in one project, other than that, Ian had only visited her school for movie promotions. The two had not met privately since. One could say they were strangers. My best friend called back: “You’re overthinking it, aren’t you? Back then, Ian announced his marriage to you at the peak of his career, Aurora… you two are the entertainment industry’s model couple.” I held my phone, but smiled: “You said ‘back then.’ If it’s really that clean, why do you think Skylar Lynn had my car key?” This car was the first one we bought on installment with the money we earned when he was still an extra. Even after he became an acclaimed actor and we owned many luxury cars, this humble compact car had always quietly remained in the garage. “How about we make a bet? Let’s completely blacklist Skylar Lynn and see Ian Vance’s reaction?” After hanging up, I sat in the car, touching the dashboard. Ian, it’s been ten years. I accompanied you from living in the poorest basement all the way to where you are now. If you truly betrayed me. Don’t blame me for making you lose everything and ruining your reputation, just like the vow you made back then! 2 When I got home, I found that Ian had surprisingly returned from the set again. He was even wearing the hoodie I bought him. I recalled fan comments: “[Married, yet no hint of a husband, just pure youthful charm. Ian Vance is a divine being!]” “[Aurora Xu must have saved the world in her past life to marry Ian Vance.]” I used to think I was very lucky too. He pulled me into his arms. “Who dared to make my wife come home so late? Did Old Man Sterling torture you again, making you revise the script repeatedly? Should I go for the casting instead?” I pressed my lips together, suddenly wanting to ask him directly who Skylar Lynn was. Just to give him a chance. However, he took my hand, played with it, and continued: “I heard Old Man Sterling invested three hundred million in this show and plans to use new faces. You went to the Academy of Dance and Arts today, right? Did you find anyone suitable?” His probing words instantly choked me up, and a chill shot from my spine to the top of my head: “How did you know I went to the Academy of Dance and Arts?” Ian’s hand stiffened, but he quickly grabbed my hand again, laughing: “Aren’t newcomers always chosen from those few schools? Aurora, I just care about you.” “This script is your mother’s unfinished work before she passed away. She was suspected of unfair casting and suffered online bullying, leading to depression. I’m afraid you’ll fall into those bad things again.” He seemed genuinely worried about me, no longer pressing the issue, and carried me back to the room. But in the middle of the night, I feigned sleep. He, however, picked up his phone and messaged someone. And for the next few days, every time I finished a conversation with Old Man Sterling, he would “coincidentally” return from the set, either cooking for me or buying me gifts. Yet, each time, he would subtly probe about the new show’s casting. The smile on my face grew increasingly rare. Until a week later, Skylar Lynn’s scandal of hooking up with a sugar daddy suddenly hit the trending topics, also mixed with ambiguous videos of her bribing teachers at school. Although she wasn’t very famous, her social impact was negative. Her acting career was clearly about to be blocked. My best friend called, her voice excited: “It took me a week to find enough scandals to blacklist her, Aurora. Someone is really helping her behind the scenes.” I immediately arranged for someone to keep a close eye on Ian’s movements. Sure enough, he took leave from the set that afternoon, first went to Skylar Lynn’s school, and then met with the media company that released the video. What he didn’t know was that as soon as he left, the people there called me, their tone playful: “Aurora Xu, he said he’d exchange a dinner with you for taking down the trending topic. What do you say, should I agree to him or agree to him?” I clenched my hands, laughing bitterly with anger: “Of course, agree to him!” But as I laughed, tears couldn’t help but fall. I had thought he was cheating, but I never expected him to use me as a bargaining chip. Since that’s the case. I abruptly hung up the phone, grabbed my bag, and rushed home, originally intending to prepare to discuss divorce with Ian. Who knew that as soon as I reached the garage, I suddenly found two handprints on the window of that compact car parked in the corner. I stared intently at the fresh-looking prints, my steps faltering, leaning against the wall to barely keep myself from falling. I didn’t open the car door, only feeling a surge of nausea. He actually brought that woman home, and might even be hiding in the car with her right now. Ian Vance, you truly disgust me! 3 I stumbled upstairs in a daze that day. Ian, clever as ever, didn’t follow me back, not even a call. Sleepless all night, at dawn I asked my best friend to find me a lawyer. I sent all the evidence I had gathered to the lawyer. The lawyer said that while I could ruin Ian Vance’s reputation, without concrete evidence, I would only get half the assets. I immediately went to check the surveillance footage, but last night’s video had been silently deleted. Indeed, not a single trace left behind. Two more days passed. Then Old Man Sterling’s assistant suddenly called me: “Ms. Xu, Mr. Vance visited Old Man Sterling alone yesterday, saying you entrusted him with the casting? He wants to start casting early. Old Man Sterling asked me to confirm with you.” I paused, then sneered. It seemed Ian, seeing that my script was ready but I was unwilling to let him handle the casting, was getting anxious from that little vixen’s pestering? He knew Old Man Sterling would definitely notify me. I wanted to see how he’d explain himself. That evening, Ian called: “Darling, today I passed by Old Man Sterling’s place after a dinner party, and went up to ask him to allow me to handle the casting for you.” “You haven’t appeared in public for years, and I don’t want you to be affected by public opinion again. If anything happens… just let me bear it, alright?” Listening to his affectionate and concerned tone, my nails were almost digging into my flesh. But I still agreed with a smile. Not long after, my best friend sent me a photo. Her people had finally caught Ian meeting Skylar Lynn alone, a worthwhile expense given how much I paid several media outlets. After that, to help Skylar Lynn meet Old Man Sterling’s requirements, Ian began to expose himself frequently. First, he stole my revised script. During the day, he filmed, and in the evenings, he dined and socialized with me. Late at night, he still had to go and explain the script to Skylar Lynn. My best friend couldn’t help but exclaim in anger: “He’s truly a master of time management! And that Skylar Lynn, she’s not even that pretty, but Ian Vance insists on promoting her.” “Aurora, half the entertainment industry now knows he’s problematic… everyone’s waiting to laugh at you.” After hearing her, I just told her to collect more evidence. Even people I had feuded with came by, making veiled remarks, mocking me, saying what good was my arrogance now if I couldn’t even control my own man. The day before casting, Ian specially came home and cooked me a meal himself. The dining table was filled with all my favorite dishes: Longjing shrimp, lotus root and pork rib soup. “Darling, I heard from Old Man Sterling that you’re going directly to the set tomorrow, not the casting audition?” He asked, probing. I took a bite of shrimp; it used to taste incredibly fresh and fragrant, but now I felt a little nauseous. Lowering my head, I hid a sneer in my eyes: “Yeah, Old Man Sterling asked me to set up the venue first. Besides, don’t I have you for the casting?” I clearly saw a flicker of triumph in his eyes. Someone who once loved me so much, yet insisted on destroying something I had poured all my heart and soul into, and betrayed me. He held my hand: “Darling, don’t worry. I know how important this show is to you. After filming… I’ll go with you to visit your mother.” He still had the nerve to see my mother. I silently withdrew my hand. For the sake of the past ten years, I decided to give him one last chance, staring into his eyes and saying: “Ian Vance, do you still remember why my mother wrote this script?” “That year, my father cheated, bringing his mistress and their son to my mother’s face. My parents were childhood sweethearts. She wrote this script during her most painful time.” He seemed to suddenly remember this as well, and his expression started to change: “Of course I remember, Aurora. Have you heard anything recently?” “It’s all just gossip cooked up by the company for publicity. You know, I’d give my life for you.” Saying this, he leaned in, trying to kiss my lips, his hand beginning to wander over my body. I was already physically repulsed by him, and I pushed him away. Using the excuse of needing to pack, I returned to my room first. He didn’t know that as soon as I entered the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth over a dozen times. My phone chimed twice; it was a message from my best friend: [Aurora, you guessed it! That scumbag Ian Vance really cheated!] [Damn it, he often drove your compact car to deserted outskirts, and the two of them were in the car in the middle of the night… so disgusting.] [Now we have the evidence. Should we send the lawyer’s letter immediately?] I looked at my somewhat disheveled self in the mirror. [No, send the evidence to the lawyer first. I still want to give him a grand gift!] Ian Vance wants Skylar Lynn to step on me to climb to the top, paving her way to become an award-winning actress through me… Now that the evidence was conclusive, I tidied my hair and smiled at myself in the mirror. This time, I won’t hold back!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394841”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The IV bag was hanging, a clear pouch of life-saving fluid. As I adjusted the drip rate for the patient, I glanced over and saw her recording a TikTok. Her phone was pointed right at the drip. The caption read: “This little nurse is all dolled up. Guess she has a hot date tonight.” “So I just cranked the drip down to the slowest setting. I’m in no rush.” “LOL. Looks like that date’s not happening.” 1 It started when I was hanging her first bag of antibiotics. She suddenly spoke up. “Honey, how old are you?” I looked at her. She was maybe in her late thirties, early forties, with sallow skin stretched tight over high cheekbones. She wore a bright red dress, the lace trim at the hem frayed and worn. I managed a small, professional smile. “Twenty-three.” “So young,” she said, her eyes raking over me from head to toe. “Seeing anyone?” I was used to this. You deal with hundreds of patients, and the older ones often just want to chat. It’s part of the job. “Nope,” I replied, keeping it brief. A sly grin spread across her face. “Wow, you even wear makeup to work. You’re pretty good at it, too. All dressed up like this… you got a date later?” The truth was, a little makeup was the only thing that made me feel human on these grueling night shifts. It was for me, not for anyone else. But something in her tone, a weird, needling quality, set my teeth on edge. “No,” I said, not feeling the need to explain myself. I focused on gently inserting the needle into the back of her hand. “This is for your pneumonia, right? You have three bags. Just call me when one is finished.” I gave her my standard instructions, emphasizing the important parts. “Please don’t adjust the flow rate yourself. It’s normal to see a tiny bit of blood back up in the tube sometimes, so don’t panic. If you need anything at all, just press the call button.” “Oh, okay, okay, I got it. You go on, get back to your work,” she said, her smile plastered on her face. For a moment, I thought I’d imagined the strange look in her eyes. Night shifts in the infusion ward are pure chaos. I was immediately swallowed by a storm of beeping machines and patient requests, and I quickly forgot about her. After what felt like an eternity of running around, I finally got a moment to breathe. I found an empty stool and sank into it, rubbing the deep ache in my calves. The thought of my day off tomorrow brought a genuine smile to my face. I was just pulling out my phone, thinking about texting a friend to see if she was free, when the call button for that same patient lit up. “What’s wrong?” I asked, pushing myself back to my feet and walking over. “I don’t feel good,” she whined, clutching her chest. “Something’s wrong.” A jolt of alarm shot through me. I immediately checked her chart and the IV bag. “Are you absolutely sure you’re not allergic to penicillin?” She nodded. “I’m sure. I’ve had it before, plenty of times.” The medication was correct, and she had no known allergies. My training kicked in. “Okay, tell me what’s wrong. Where does it hurt? What does it feel like?” “I just… I just feel bad,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I can’t explain it. Wait… oh. I think it’s better now. It’s gone.” I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught the IV drip. A single drop of fluid hung suspended, taking forever to fall. Someone had turned the flow rate down to a crawl. My brow furrowed. “Did you touch the dial?” “Oh, that? Was I not supposed to? It felt like it was going too fast, it made me uncomfortable.” I looked down at her, trying to keep my voice even. “The drip rate is set by the doctor for a reason. You can’t just change it. If you’re feeling unwell, you need to tell me.” I reached out and adjusted the dial back to the standard rate. Then, remembering she’d felt sick, I slowed it down just a little, a compromise. “I’ve already slowed it down for you,” I said, my voice firm but polite. “Please, don’t touch it again. Call me if you need anything.” “Okay, okay. Sorry to be a bother.” Her apologies meant nothing. She was a constant, draining presence. Every time I managed to sit down for more than thirty seconds, her light would flash. “Excuse me, honey, do you have a portable charger? My phone’s about to die.” “I’m sorry, we don’t provide those, but there’s a charging station over by the wall,” I said, trying to be helpful. “If you need, I can take your phone over there for you.” “Oh, no thanks. Never mind.” A few minutes later, the light flashed again. I sighed, dragging myself over. “Yes?” “This stuff is so cold,” she complained, shivering dramatically. “It’s making me freeze.” I thought for a second. “I could get you a heat pack?” “No, no, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” “It’s no trouble,” I said, waving a hand. I had just gotten back to my seat when, like clockwork, the bell rang again. I was at the end of my rope. “Ma’am, what is it now?” She was smiling that same unsettling smile, pointing toward my little corner. “You must have a date later, right? I saw you smiling to yourself over there.” I had been running nonstop all night. The only time I’d smiled was for a fleeting second, thinking about my day off. A slow burn of anger started in my chest. I fought to keep my voice steady. “I do not have a date. Please, only press the button if you actually need something.” “Okay, okay, sorry. I was just curious,” she said, her smile never wavering. “I just figured, a pretty girl like you, how could you not have a boyfriend?” She looked me up and down again. “I bet you have guys lining up, don’t you? With that fair skin and those big eyes… and your makeup is just perfect.” She leaned in, scrutinizing my face. “You really took your time with this. Must’ve taken you an hour or two, right? What time do you have to wake up in the morning to get all that done?” I was completely fed up. But then I looked at her, alone in this sterile, impersonal room late at night, with no one by her side. A flicker of pity cut through my irritation. Maybe she was just lonely, desperate for someone to talk to. “It doesn’t take that long. Five, ten minutes, maybe,” I said, my tone softening slightly. I was about to gently ask her to stop pressing the button when a thought struck me. It had been over an hour. Her first bag of antibiotics should have been empty by now. I glanced up at the IV stand. The bag was still more than half full. The fluid was dripping at a glacial pace, one drop at a time. She’d slowed it down again. This time, I didn’t hide my frustration. “I told you not to touch the flow rate. You have three bags to get through. At this speed, you’ll be here all night.” “I already slowed it down for you once. Please, stop messing with it.” I reached for the dial, my movements sharp and angry. My only intention was to get her treatment done so she could go home and rest. The plastic chairs in the waiting area were cold and uncomfortable; no one wanted to spend the night in one. But she just sat there, wearing that same infuriatingly cheerful expression. “Oh, dear. Am I going too slow? Am I holding you up from your date? I’m so, so sorry.” My patience snapped. I didn’t say another word. I set the drip to the correct rate and stalked back to my station. At least this time, she didn’t press the button again. I let out a sigh of relief and did one last round through the ward before heading to the prep room to mix medications for the next wave of patients. I had just finished when my charge nurse, Mrs. Davis, came in for her nightly inspection. She did a quick walk-through. “Everything okay out here?” “All good,” I said, shaking my head. “Everyone’s hooked up, and I’ve double-checked all the meds.” “Good work.” Mrs. Davis glanced at my chart. “You’re the most meticulous of the new hires. Keep it up.” She was just turning to leave when the bell chimed again. I looked at the flashing light above the patient’s cubicle and my heart sank. It was her. Again. This time, she’d pushed other patients too far. The man in the next cubicle, who had been trying to sleep with a blanket over his head, threw it off in a rage. “Will you give it a rest?” he snapped. “How many times have you pressed that thing tonight? Can’t you just say what you need all at once? Some of us are trying to sleep here!” The woman flinched, her voice shrinking. “I don’t feel well. I’m not allowed to say so?” Mrs. Davis walked over. “What seems to be the problem? Where are you uncomfortable?” She checked the IV bag and the line. “The medication is fine… wait a minute. Why is this drip so slow?” “It hurts when it’s too fast,” the woman said, darting a look at me. “This young nurse keeps speeding it up. I think I’m keeping her from her date.” She let out a little chuckle. “Young people these days, always have plans, you know? A pretty girl like her, must have a lot of suitors. It’s understandable. I can just take it faster if it’s a problem. I don’t want to mess up her night.” I saw red. “I did not speed it up,” I said, my voice rising. “I set it to the standard rate. In fact, I already slowed it down for you. If you’re in pain, you need to tell me specifically what’s wrong. And for the last time, I don’t have a date. Stop making things up!” The man in the next cubicle chimed in again. “She’s right. The nurse has been over here half a dozen times. You say you’re uncomfortable, she adjusts it for you. What is your problem?” “I don’t have a problem!” the woman shot back, her voice thick with fake outrage. “I’m sick, and I’m not allowed to say so? And you,” she snarled, pointing at the man, “you’re only defending her because she’s pretty. You trying to get her number or something?” The man rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy.” Mrs. Davis took control, her voice calm but firm. “This flow rate is far too slow. You have two more bags after this. You’ll be here all night, and you won’t get any rest. Can you tell me exactly what’s bothering you? We can try a different medication if we need to.” “No, no, that’s okay,” the woman said, waving her hands dismissively. “It’s probably just the needle. I asked this nurse her age, and she’s only twenty-three. She must be a new graduate, right?” “A trainee, I bet. It’s normal for students to not have much experience. It’s okay, I’m not a picky person. I understand.” I felt a surge of fury. I knew, for a fact, that the IV placement was perfect. It was just a simple IV. I’d practiced at home until my hands were sore, and I’d done hundreds at the hospital without a single failure. I clenched my fists. “You said the placement is bad. What, exactly, is wrong with it?” “Oh, how would I know? I’m not the professional here. All I know is that it hurts. And look, there’s blood backing up.” She pointed to her hand. There wasn’t a speck of blood in the line. “Where?” I challenged. “Oh, well, it was there a second ago. It’s probably gone now.” She shrank back into her chair. “Don’t be mad, miss. I won’t say anything else. I’m just not an expert, and it scared me. I didn’t mean any harm.” Mrs. Davis examined her hand carefully. “The needle placement is fine. There’s no blood, and even if there were, a small amount of backflow is perfectly normal. There’s nothing to worry about.” “Oh,” the woman said with a sheepish little laugh. “Well, maybe I saw it wrong. I feel much better now. You can adjust it. It’s fine.” Mrs. Davis reset the flow rate. “Our nurses are all highly responsible professionals. They work their scheduled hours and not a minute less. You can rest assured that someone will always be here for you. If you have a problem, just tell the nurse.” “Heh, heh,” the woman replied with a hollow laugh. … The first bag finally emptied. I went over to change it, my face a mask of professional indifference. The woman’s apple cheeks bunched up in a smile. “I’m so sorry, nurse. This is my first time coming to the hospital by myself, so I was a little scared. Please don’t take it personally.” I took a deep breath. “If there is a problem, let me know, and I will take care of it. I am not leaving early to go on a date. And when my shift ends, another nurse will take my place. This department is staffed twenty-four hours a day. You have nothing to worry about.” “Right, right. You run along now. Sorry again. I’m fine.” I’d dealt with difficult people before; it was part of the job. It wasn’t worth the energy to stay angry. I had other patients to prep meds for. A while later, my work finally done, I walked back through the ward. As I passed the woman’s chair, I saw she was on her phone, her back to me. My eyes snagged on her screen, and I froze. She was posting another TikTok. On the screen was the freshly hung bag of IV fluid. The caption was what made my blood run cold. “This little nurse is all dolled up. Guess she has a hot date tonight.” “So I just cranked the drip down to the slowest setting. I’m in no rush.” “LOL. Looks like that date’s not happening.” My head snapped up, a roaring in my ears. I looked at her IV pole. She had turned the drip rate all the way down. Again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394823”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I sold my shares in the startup I’d built from the ground up. I was getting married. But my two co-founders, the women who had sworn they’d never marry anyone but me, didn’t know yet. They were too busy throwing a celebratory dinner for our new male secretary. It was my deal. I was the one who drank with the client until I was coughing up blood. But after I collapsed, he’d left me in a hotel room and taken the signed contract back to the office to claim all the credit. And they, my partners, had believed him without a second thought. The next day, compromising photos of me circulated through the company’s group chat. The whispers were everywhere—that I’d only landed our biggest accounts by sleeping my way to the top. I called them from my hospital bed, desperate to explain. Their response? “You’re a grown man, Simon. Stop being so dramatic. Making up stories about bleeding stomachs? Really?” “We’ve seen you drink. You have an iron stomach. You could drink battery acid and be fine.” “Alex landed a huge win for us, and we’re celebrating. Come if you want, don’t if you don’t.” The day I was discharged, I sold my shares to their biggest rival. Then I called my parents. “I’ll marry her,” I said. “I’ll marry the heiress. You can start planning the wedding.” 1 Isabelle and Olivia pushed open my office door just as I hung up. Their brows furrowed in unison. “Wedding? What wedding?” With the ceremony only ten days away, there was no point in hiding it. “Mine,” I said. “I’ll send you both an invitation.” They exchanged a look of disbelief. Just then, my phone began buzzing incessantly. My mother was spamming me with over a dozen design concepts for wedding rings. They leaned over my shoulder, their eyes widening as they saw the images. Isabelle’s voice was sharp. “What are you doing looking at wedding rings, Simon? Are you planning to wear one on each hand?” Olivia interrogated me like a suspect in a lineup. “You’re a workaholic. You don’t even have a girlfriend. Who are you marrying?” The irony was laughable. These were the two women who had once vowed to spend the rest of their lives with me. Alex, the new secretary, chose that moment to walk in with a stack of documents. He overheard the conversation, his face a mask of shock. “Mr. Davies, you’re not actually going to be Mrs. Gable’s boy toy, are you? I heard her son is already in college. Isn’t that a little… inappropriate?” Thanks to him, the entire office now thought I was having an affair with our biggest client. My gaze turned to ice. “Barging into my office without knocking is just bad manners. But stealing my credit and then spreading slander about me? Is that just ignorance of the law?” My harsh tone made his eyes well up. He stammered an apology, wringing his hands. “Mr. Davies, I didn’t… I never thought people would misunderstand like this. But you and Mrs. Gable, that night in the hotel room…” He trailed off, his face beet red, unable to finish the sentence. But he’d said enough. Isabelle and Olivia’s faces darkened, their eyes now dripping with contempt. “That’s enough!” Isabelle snapped at me. “If you didn’t want people to know, you shouldn’t have done it. Don’t take your humiliation out on Alex.” “He was just concerned for you,” Olivia added. “Mrs. Gable is old enough to be your mother. Do you have to debase yourself by becoming some rich woman’s plaything?” I let out a harsh, humorless laugh and kicked all three of them out of my office. We had a lifetime of friendship, five years of building a company from nothing. And yet, they trusted a man who had been here for less than two months over me. I refused to let their toxicity get to me. I went back to choosing a wedding ring. Two minutes later, a notification popped up. It was a message from Isabelle in the company-wide group chat, announcing that Alex and I would be swapping offices. Her reasoning? As their secretary, Alex needed to be closer to them to improve “work efficiency.” The chat, filled with hundreds of employees, immediately flooded with messages congratulating Alex. A few loyal team members, however, questioned the decision. It was absurd for a freshly graduated intern to be given the general manager’s office after only two months. I was about to privately message them to stand down when Alex sent a voice note to the group, his tone dripping with false humility. “Isabelle, it’s all my fault. I was so focused on the contract that night that I failed to take care of Mr. Davies. I don’t deserve his office. I’m too ashamed to even face him. I’d like to formally submit my resignation!” His performance was so nauseating it made me want to puke. The glass door to my office flew open. Olivia stood there, glaring at me. “Look what you’ve done! Pack your things and clear out for Alex. I don’t want to see you bullying a young man who’s new to the professional world ever again!” Isabelle followed close behind, urging me to hurry up while simultaneously typing a message in the group chat, consoling Alex. Then, someone in the office shouted that Alex was on the roof. The color drained from both their faces. They sprinted out of the room, their long legs carrying them toward the stairwell. I watched them go, then picked up my phone and dialed the number of the person who wanted to buy my shares. 2 Isabelle and Olivia’s arch-nemesis, Evelyn Vance, had somehow heard I was selling. She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I glanced at the email I’d sent Isabelle and Olivia. Yesterday had marked the 30-day deadline. Their failure to respond meant they had forfeited their right of first refusal. Evelyn had given me three days to consider. I called her back and told her we could sign the papers immediately. By the time they had coaxed Alex down from the roof, they returned to find my office exactly as it had been. Their patience had worn thin. “It’s an office swap, not a cross-country move,” Olivia snapped. “What’s taking you so long?” Alex bit his lip, his eyes red and swollen as he looked at me. “Mr. Davies, I’m sorry. I don’t have to have this office…” “It’s fine,” I said coolly. “If you like it, it’s yours. You can have the general manager title, too.” My words made fresh tears well up in his eyes. The ruthless ambition he’d shown when he stole my deal was nowhere to be seen. “What’s with the sarcasm, Simon?” Isabelle chimed in. “It’s just an office. Do you have to be so petty?” I had already sold my shares. I couldn’t care less about the office. My dismissive smirk, however, seemed to infuriate Olivia. With a sharp movement, she swept the few personal items I had on my desk into a box and dumped it on an empty cubicle outside. Isabelle shot me a cool glance before she started personally helping Alex arrange his new space. HR sent up plants, flowers, and even collectible figurines. You would have thought they were decorating a honeymoon suite. At the end of the day, Isabelle knocked on the edge of my new, cramped desk. “Don’t leave when you clock out. We’re having a team dinner to celebrate Alex’s new office.” I was stunned. A celebration for an office swap? But I didn’t refuse. I figured it would be a fitting farewell dinner with my former colleagues. At the restaurant, I noticed that the few employees who had defended me in the group chat were gone. I messaged them one by one. They told me Isabelle and Olivia had fired them on trumped-up charges, warning them not to contact me or they would be blacklisted from the industry. To appease Alex, they had cast aside their most loyal employees without a second thought. After that display of power, no one else dared to cross them for my sake. Instead, they kicked me while I was down. “Simon,” one of them slurred, “you missed Alex’s last celebration. You should really toast him tonight. If he hadn’t closed that deal, who knows what other… sacrifices you would have had to make.” The insinuation reminded me of the disgusting comments I’d overheard in the restroom earlier that day. “He’s got some nerve, showing up to work like nothing happened.” “A guy who sleeps with rich old ladies to land clients doesn’t need a sense of shame.” I ignored them all, pouring myself a glass of soda and sipping it quietly. Isabelle’s face went cold. She snatched the glass from my hand and dumped it out. Olivia, in a seamless move, filled it to the brim with hard liquor. “You bullied Alex so badly today he almost jumped off a roof,” she said. “A drink to apologize isn’t too much to ask, is it?” “Besides,” Isabelle added, “you owe him one from the last party you skipped.” Without a second thought, I flicked my wrist and sent the contents of the glass into Olivia’s face. “Who the hell is he to deserve a toast from me?” The table fell silent, everyone stunned by my action. Isabelle, ever the stoic one, simply refilled the glass and held it out to me. “Simon, this is for team unity. You’re drinking it, whether you like it or not.” Alex, ever the actor, feigned concern. “Isabelle, it’s okay. I know Mr. Davies looks down on me. If he doesn’t want to drink, let’s not force him…” But Olivia, still dripping with liquor, was having none of it. 3 Furious, she slapped me across the face. While I was still reeling, she grabbed the glass and forced the liquor down my throat. “You have no right to look down on him,” she hissed, “you, who sell your body for contracts.” The two women who once fretted if I had a single drop of alcohol were now force-feeding it to me for Alex’s sake, their words dripping with venom. The fiery liquid burned a path down my throat, igniting a sharp, searing pain in my stomach. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. But they didn’t notice. They were too busy pouring Alex his favorite fruit juice. He drained his glass in one gulp and gave me a triumphant smile. “Mr. Davies, thank you for your sacrifice. I’ll work even harder from now on.” Everyone else thought he was talking about the office. I saw something else in his eyes: the unwavering certainty that he would conquer Isabelle and Olivia next. “Well then,” I said, my voice tight, “here’s to you marrying the bosses and reaching the pinnacle of your career.” I clutched my stomach and tried to stand, needing to get to the restroom. Isabelle blocked my path. “A couple of sips of liquor and now you’re acting like you’re dying? Stop the theatrics.” The burning in my stomach was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. I looked up at her, my eyes bloodshot. “I just got out of the hospital for stomach bleeding, and you’re forcing me to drink?” Her hand, which had been pressing against my chest, froze. “Couldn’t you come up with a more believable excuse? You’ve been drinking for years. I’ve never seen you bleed from it.” Olivia, the one who had poured the drink down my throat, scoffed. “I barely got a mouthful in you. You, the man who can drink anyone under the table. Are you serious?” It’s easy to be dismissive when you’re not the one in pain. It used to be that when Olivia saw me drinking with clients, she’d pull me aside and ask, “Simon, there will always be more clients. Is one contract really worth this?” Back then, she and Isabelle would cry seeing me drunk. They’d make me hangover soup, take turns staying up all night by my bedside, just to hand me a glass of warm water if I stirred. The next day, they’d go to the office with dark circles under their eyes and work twice as hard, determined not to let my efforts go to waste. We had survived the hardest years of our startup. They had sworn they would never marry anyone but me. And now, they were using Alex as a weapon to destroy me. “I just need to use the restroom,” I gasped, the pain in my stomach twisting into sharp cramps. I was doubled over, barely able to speak, leaning against the wall for support. A female colleague was the first to notice something was seriously wrong. She stood up to help me. Isabelle shoved her away. “Don’t touch him.” She sneered at me. “Is this how you do it, Simon? Drink a little, then play the weak, vulnerable man to win over your female clients?” The colleague who had tried to help me blushed with embarrassment. “Isabelle, I think you’re mistaken. He really doesn’t look well.” Olivia let out a derisive laugh. “He knows he’s made a fool of himself. This is all an act.” I couldn’t blame her for not believing me. For years, no matter how sick I felt from drinking, I had always pushed through it. This was the path I chose. I had embraced the struggle of building something from nothing, thrived on the sense of accomplishment. In their eyes, I was invincible. Alex, having enjoyed the show long enough, now stepped forward with a glass of hot water, a look of faux concern on his face. “Mr. Davies, no matter how you landed the contract, you’re a hero to this company. We’re all grateful for your contribution.” His words were gasoline on a fire. Isabelle, who had been supporting me, abruptly let go, as if I were something unclean. “If you don’t want to be here, then just go home.” She then walked over to the restroom and began vigorously washing her hands. Under the contemptuous glares of everyone at the table, I clutched my stomach and turned to leave. But Alex stopped me. As he grabbed my arm, the scalding water from the glass he was holding splashed onto both of our hands. I recoiled instinctively, pushing him away. Olivia shot up from her seat, yelling for a waiter to bring an ice pack for Alex. She didn’t seem to notice that the majority of the hot water had landed on me. Alex had a small red patch on his hand. The back of my hand was completely scalded. Isabelle came out of the restroom, saw Alex on the verge of tears, and her anger finally boiled over.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394824”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Just before the wealthy Davenports came to the orphanage to find their lost son, my childhood friend Stella pressed a jade crest pendant into my hand. “The director said this was with you as a baby,” she whispered. Suddenly, glowing text appeared before me: [She’s giving the male lead’s heirloom to the side character? So the side character gets adopted?] [Yes. The real heir has a fresh back tattoo—he needs time to heal.] [What noble family wants a son with bleached hair, piercings, and a flashy tattoo?] [Let the side character take the fall. Once the heir’s tattoo heals, he’ll reveal the imposter and take his place.] [Too bad the side character can’t read this. He’s about to be called a scheming usurper.] That was my past life. I took the pendant, was welcomed into the Davenport family, and was showered with love. But two years later, at my birthday gala, the “real heir” Rhys Davenport burst in, weeping. He said I’d stolen his life. Stella stood beside him, calling me a cold, calculating fraud since childhood. Overnight, I became a social-climbing snake, blacklisted in every industry. I died broke on the street. Now, opening my eyes, I was back. Stella offered the pendant again. A slight smile touched my lips. I took it. 1 “Here, Nathan. For you.” Stella pressed the cool, smooth jade into my palm, her face a mask of gentle concern. “The director said this was the only thing you had with you when you were brought to the orphanage. I thought… maybe it could help you find your family.” I looked down at the familiar crest, the transparent text once again floating in my vision. [Here we go! The classic pendant hand-off! The imposter is officially online!] [Stella is ruthless. She came up with this whole ‘trading the prince for a pauper’ scheme just so Rhys could have a few weeks for his ugly tattoo to heal.] [Poor Nathan. Used as a shield for two years only to be discarded.] My hand clenched around the pendant, my knuckles turning white. I looked up at the woman who had personally orchestrated my doom, her eyes glinting with a cunning she concealed so well. “Really?” I sniffled, forcing my eyes to redden with unshed tears. “Stella, thank you! I… I don’t know what to say!” I pressed the pendant to my chest, feigning the same overwhelmed gratitude as before. A flicker of triumph flashed in Stella’s eyes. She had taken the bait. “Silly,” she murmured, her voice dripping with false affection. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re friends.” Just then, a black Rolls-Royce purred to a stop at the orphanage gates. A regal-looking couple stepped out—Harrison Davenport, CEO of the Davenport Corporation, and his wife, Eleanor. Just like in my previous life, Eleanor’s gaze landed on the pendant I was clutching, and she froze. She rushed toward me, her voice trembling. “Young man… that pendant…” I took a deliberate step back, my expression a mixture of fear and confusion. “Ma’am? Do I know you?” Harrison caught up, placing a steadying arm around his emotional wife. He looked at me, his eyes a storm of complex emotions that finally settled into a heavy, solemn promise. “We’re your parents, son,” he said, his voice thick. “We’ve been looking for you for nineteen years.” Eleanor could no longer contain herself. She pulled me into a fierce embrace, her body wracked with sobs. “My boy… my sweet boy… Mother has finally found you…” Over her shoulder, I met Stella’s gaze from across the yard. She offered me a small, encouraging smile. I lowered my eyes, hiding the icy contempt that swirled within them. 2 The Davenport mansion was even more opulent than I remembered. Eleanor led me by the hand into a bedroom so vast it felt more like a suite. “Nathan, you’ve suffered so much,” she said, her voice choked with emotion as she pressed a black card into my hand. “This is for you. A little something to make up for lost time.” “There’s no pin, no limit,” she whispered. “Buy whatever you want. Don’t you dare try to save money for my sake.” Harrison, who had followed us in, nodded gravely. “The card is yours. From now on, you are the one and only heir to the Davenport family.” [Here it comes, the unlimited black card! Last time, Nathan was too scared to spend a dime, terrified of being seen as a gold-digger.] [And what did that get him? They still thought he was an unsophisticated nobody who couldn’t handle himself.] [In the end, Rhys got the card and blew tens of millions on luxury goods without batting an eye.] [Spend it! Go on! If you don’t, someone else will spend it for you!] A small smile played on my lips as I read the comments. They were right. In my past life, I had treated this card like a hot potato, pathetically trying to win their affection with obedience and humility. How naive I was. “Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother.” I accepted the card with a calm poise, showing neither hesitation nor excessive excitement. My composure seemed to startle them. They had probably expected a boy from an orphanage to be stammering with joy. I didn’t give them long to study me. Taking the card, I retreated to my new room and opened the brand-new laptop they had provided. I needed money. A lot of it. And this black card was my first lever. Drawing on the memories of my past life, I quickly identified several projects that were initially overlooked but were destined to become colossal successes. NovaCore Tech’s “Oracle” chip project. Luminary Pictures’ high-concept series, Midnight Sun. And a small biotech firm on the verge of bankruptcy, soon to be acquired and restructured. Without a moment’s hesitation, I began funneling vast sums of money through a complex network of channels. [Whoa! He’s actually spending it! Nine figures right off the bat?] [Is he insane? NovaCore is a notorious money pit! The Davenports will break his legs if they find out!] [Wait a minute… isn’t Midnight Sun that show that became a global phenomenon? The return on investment was something like 30,000%!] [To the guy above, I just checked. That biotech firm is being acquired by the Chen Corporation next month. They’re about to announce a breakthrough cancer drug. The stock is going to the moon!] I worked fast. In less than half an hour, a staggering amount of money had flowed out of the black card’s account. As expected, a sharp knock came at my door. Harrison Davenport strode in, his face a thundercloud. In his hand was a fax from the bank, detailing my recent transactions. “Nathan.” He slammed the list onto my desk, his gaze as sharp as a hawk’s. “I just had your spending records pulled. The Davenports are not short on cash, but that doesn’t give you the right to squander it.” He had clearly done his research on the companies I’d invested in. That’s why he was so furious. I didn’t even glance at the list. I simply looked up, my expression calm as I met his fiery gaze. “Father, this isn’t squandering. It’s investing.” “Investing?” Harrison laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “What does a boy straight out of an orphanage know about investing?” “Do you know how much money NovaCore has burned through? And Luminary Pictures is a third-rate production house. Are you playing games with me?” “By the end of this month, NovaCore will announce a major breakthrough in their 2nm chip technology, securing a massive investment from the military.” “And while the production team for Midnight Sun may be underfunded, their director is Li An, a genius who just returned from winning an award at Cannes. I believe it will be the biggest hit of the year.” The anger on Harrison’s face slowly froze, replaced by a look of sharp scrutiny and disbelief. “As for the pharmaceutical company, within a month, the heiress of the Chen Corporation, Victoria Chen, will personally lead the acquisition.” “Father, you’ve been in the business world for decades. You know what that implies.” The room fell into a dead silence. Harrison stared at me, searching my face for any sign of panic or deceit, but he found none. My expression was as placid as a still lake. After a long moment, he turned and left my room without another word. Within the gilded cage of a dynasty, affection was a fleeting rumor. Value was the only true currency. 3 Just as I predicted, within a month, all three of my major investments exploded with spectacular news. NovaCore officially announced its breakthrough in 2nm chip technology. A military-backed fund made a high-profile investment, and the company’s valuation multiplied tenfold overnight. Luminary Pictures’ underdog series, Midnight Sun, with its masterful production and mind-bending plot, became a viral sensation, breaking viewership records and becoming a massive cultural export. And the bankrupt biotech firm was acquired by the Chen Corporation for a breathtaking sum, all because it had developed a revolutionary new cancer-targeting drug. For the second time, I was summoned to Harrison’s study. “These are your investment dividends,” he said, pushing a set of documents across the desk toward me. “Nathan, tell me. How did you know?” I simply smiled. “Father, would you believe me if I said it was just luck?” He fell silent. A true businessman doesn’t believe in luck; he believes in strength and information. The more mysterious I appeared, the more valuable I became in his eyes. From that day on, Harrison began taking me to exclusive business galas and private banquets. Eleanor, too, was eager to introduce me to the city’s most eligible heiresses, her matchmaking intentions crystal clear. In my past life, I had felt like a product on a shelf, awkward and tongue-tied before the scrutinizing gazes of the city’s elite. This time, I was the one doing the judging. “Mr. Davenport, what are your thoughts on NFTs?” a man in gold-rimmed glasses asked, trying to sound profound. I swirled the wine in my glass. “A bubble over-inflated by capital,” I said coolly. “When the fad dies, so will the fools who bought into it.” The man’s face stiffened. “I hear you’ve just returned to the Davenports, Mr. Davenport. Where were you employed before?” another trust-fund kid asked, his tone dripping with condescending curiosity about my origins. I looked him straight in the eye. “Where I was before is irrelevant. What matters is that my name is Davenport now.” I paused, letting my gaze sweep over him. “And from what I hear, Mr. Ashton, your family’s quarterly reports aren’t looking too good, are they?” Their stunned and humiliated expressions bored me. It wasn’t until a business gala hosted by the Chen Corporation that I met Victoria Chen. As the host, she was conversing with several industry titans. Dressed in a flawlessly tailored suit, she exuded an aura of cool confidence and innate control. [It’s her! The male lead’s future partner!] [In the last life, Nathan never had the status to attend events like this, so he never met Victoria.] [Wait, isn’t Stella the male lead’s partner? Why are the comments saying it’s Victoria?] [Oh, right, I remember now. Stella was just the early-game partner. Rhys eventually dumps her and tries to climb his way up to Victoria, but she never gives him the time of day.] As I was reading the comments, a grating voice sounded behind me. “Well, well, if it isn’t the country boy the Davenports just dragged in. Learning how to hunt for a sugar mama already?” I turned. It was Blake Ashton, the heir to the Ashton Group, a thorn in my side in my previous life. I couldn’t be bothered with him and turned to leave. But he blocked my path, raising his voice to draw attention. “What? Did I hit a nerve? I guess for someone with your background, all you have is a pretty face and the Davenport name, right?” He had succeeded in attracting a small crowd, including, I noticed, Victoria Chen. I stopped and looked at him, a slow smile spreading across my face. “You’re right, Blake, one can’t choose their background. But one can choose to use their brain.” “Instead of wasting your time obsessing over my past, you should be more concerned with the Ashton Group’s precarious stock price. I hear your line of credit is about to be cut, isn’t it?” The color drained from Blake’s face. “You… What nonsense are you spouting!” “You and I both know it’s not nonsense,” I said, my smile vanishing, my eyes turning cold. “If you want to leave with any dignity, I suggest you do it now.” Just then, Victoria Chen approached, a wine glass in her hand. She ignored the shell-shocked Blake, her gaze landing directly on me. “Mr. Davenport, a pleasure,” she said, raising her glass. “Your analysis of the Ashton Group’s situation was quite astute.” “You flatter me, Ms. Chen.” “What I’m more curious about,” she said, her sharp, intelligent eyes glinting, “is how you managed to buy up the majority of that biotech firm’s scattered shares right before my acquisition. Your intel was better than mine.” So, she had already investigated me. “Perhaps,” I replied with the same well-worn excuse, “I’m just very lucky.” Victoria laughed, a sound of genuine appreciation, the kind one gives an equal. “Harrison has kept you hidden for too long. We should have dinner sometime, Mr. Davenport. I believe we’ll have a great deal to talk about.” After that night, Victoria and I began to meet frequently. We didn’t talk about trivialities; we discussed corporate mergers, future technologies, and global economic trends. Many of my insights surprised, and even impressed, her. A month later, Harrison summoned me to his study again. He wore a complex expression I had never seen before. “Nathan,” he began, his voice sounding almost surreal, “Victoria Chen just called me.” I watched him calmly, waiting. “She wants to merge our families,” he said, the words hanging in the air. “She wants to marry you.” The news was a bombshell, cementing my unshakable position. The massive returns from my investments had also started to roll in, doubling the Davenport family’s assets. Soon, my twentieth birthday arrived. The Davenport and Chen families decided to co-host a lavish gala in my honor, which would also serve as my and Victoria’s official engagement party. Standing before the mirror, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, I knew that the night that had plunged me into despair in my past life was about to play out again, but this time, on my terms.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394825”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Boredom is dangerous. To kill time and make extra cash, I took an online cat-sitting gig. Easy enough, I thought. But entering the client’s apartment, the first thing I saw were couple photos on the wall. I didn’t recognize the woman. But the man… I knew him all too well. Jack, my boyfriend of seven years. Just as my world tilted, the client texted: “Are you at my place yet?” Bitterly, I replied, “Yes. About to scoop the litter.” “Great! After, could you spray air freshener? My boyfriend hates the cat smell.” Then: “And take the trash out? Thanks!” Her words led me to the kitchen bin. Inside, among the rubbish: a used condom wrapper. My composure cracked. I had to ask. “Is the man in the photos your boyfriend?” She replied instantly. “Yes! That’s Jack. We’ve been together a year.” “We’re deeply in love, getting married this year. How about you? Have a boyfriend?” A tear hit the screen, blurring her text. “I did, before I walked in,” I typed. “Not anymore.” 1 A single question mark emoji was her immediate reply. I quickly wiped my eyes, aimed my phone at the little ginger cat hiding in its plush bed, and snapped a photo. I sent it to her, desperate to change the subject. “Your cat’s a little shy.” Again, an instant response. “I know, right? But she absolutely adores my boyfriend.” “He’s actually allergic to cats, but every time he comes over, she just has to cuddle up in his lap. Poor thing has to pop allergy pills every other day because of her.” “What about you? I saw on your profile that you love cats. How come you don’t have one?” Why don’t I have a cat? Probably because the man I loved, who was also named Jack, was allergic to cat hair. Because I was so desperately in love with him that three years into our relationship, when we decided to move in together, I was the one who suggested giving my cat of five years to my mom. I only went to see him when the ache of missing him became unbearable. I’d snap a few pictures, then spend my nights scrolling through them, pretending to stroke his fur through the cold glass of my phone. And only now, standing in this stranger’s apartment, did I learn there was another solution. A simple one. Jack could just take an allergy pill. That familiar, sour ache returned to my chest, sharper this time. I couldn’t waste another second on this charade. “Sorry, I need to get back to work,” I typed, then shut my phone off. I moved on autopilot, scooping the litter, refilling the water bowl, pouring fresh kibble. After all, she’d gone to great lengths to orchestrate this little play, hasn’t she? No matter how many times I tried to steer the conversation away, she dragged it right back to Jack. It would be a shame not to give her what she wanted. I had to satisfy her. I had to document everything in this home she shared with Jack. I had to gather all the evidence I could. It was the least I could do to repay her for all her meticulous planning. 2 I left her apartment half an hour later and had just reached the gate of the complex when my phone buzzed. It was Jack. He told me he was working late tonight. Don’t wait up for dinner, he said. Don’t stay up waiting for him to come home. The photos I’d taken on my phone were more than enough proof. The walls of her apartment were a shrine to their relationship. Vacation snapshots from trips they’d taken. Date night pictures from right here in our city, some from restaurants I’d been to with him countless times. There was even a group photo with his best friends, our friends. And there, on her nightstand, sat the matching ring he’d worn for seven years, the one he told me he’d lost months ago. Even with all of that, a stupid, hopeful part of me needed to see it with my own eyes. I waited outside her apartment complex until 8 PM, shivering in the biting spring chill, but he never showed. Defeated, I finally hailed a cab and went home. The moment I stepped through the door, I saw him. The man who was supposedly “working late” was sitting on our couch, his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny needles. He looked up at the sound of the door and his face broke into a smile. He stood up immediately. “Where have you been? It’s so late.” He walked over, his voice laced with concern. “My client tonight wasn’t that important, so I rescheduled to come home and be with you.” He took my cold hands in his. “You know, you’re pregnant. You’re not even three months along yet, you shouldn’t be running around like this. You should stop with that online cat-sitting stuff for a while.” “The doctor said the first trimester is the most critical time.” He bent down, pulled a pair of slippers out from the shoe cabinet, and gently placed them on my feet. He was always like this, so thoughtful and gentle. When he was home, he doted on me, trying to do everything for me. He could even read my most complex, tangled emotions before I’d even sorted them out myself. And tonight was no different. After putting on my slippers, he led me to the couch. He draped a soft blanket over my legs before speaking in that warm, soothing voice I used to love. “You’re worrying about being a good mom again, aren’t you?” “Don’t worry,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “I’m here. Everything will be okay. That stuff you see on TikTok is just the algorithm. It feeds you what you’re already scared of.” “All you need to do right now is take care of yourself. Once you’re past the three-month mark, you can relax and focus on being my beautiful bride.” The pregnancy had unearthed a deep-seated fear of marriage and motherhood in me. It wasn’t a surprise, really. My parents divorced when I was five because my father cheated. I grew up with my mother, and for the next twenty-odd years, any time I dared to disobey her, she would launch into the graphic, horrifying story of my birth. How she nearly bled to death. How the doctors had to manually, painfully pull the afterbirth from her body. She even managed to twist the narrative so that my father’s affair was somehow my fault. She claimed that being pregnant with me meant she couldn’t satisfy his “basic needs as a man,” leaving him with no choice but to find comfort elsewhere. That’s why he chose his mistress over her. Because of that shadow, I’d been with Jack for seven years, living with him for four, and turned down dozens of his marriage proposals. I just couldn’t find the courage to take that step. Until this. An accidental pregnancy. Until Jack had knelt before me, tears streaming down his face, begging me to keep the baby. He’d sworn he would never let me end up like my mother. And I’d finally, finally let myself believe him. I’d decided to keep the baby. I’d decided to marry Jack. But just as I started to embrace the idea of a future, a family, he cheated. A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek, landing on the crisp fabric of his suit. More followed, soaking a dark patch on the blanket over my legs. Seeing me cry sent him into a panic. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, fumbling for a tissue to wipe my face. “Shh, don’t cry, don’t cry. I’ve got you.” He pulled me into a tight hug. The familiar warmth of his body only made the pain in my chest burn hotter. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled back, my mouth open, ready to confront him about the other woman. But as I looked up, my eyes caught something just below the collar of his slightly unbuttoned shirt. A dark, purplish mark, partially hidden. A hickey. A wave of revulsion washed over me, so powerful it stole the words from my throat. I shoved him away, a primal instinct taking over, and scrambled towards the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet as my body heaved violently. And then it all clicked. His strange behavior over the past month. Ever since the doctor had advised us to abstain from sex during the first trimester, Jack had started coming to bed later and later. He always waited until I was fast asleep. I’d thought he was just being considerate, afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Now I knew the truth. He was afraid I’d find the marks she left on his skin. The pain in my chest intensified. From outside the closed door, I could hear his urgent knocking. “Ava? Are you okay?” “Ava, is it the morning sickness again?” Before I could answer, his phone rang. I heard the muffled sound of him picking it up. “What? To the office now?” he hissed. “I don’t have time for this, my fiancée is pregnant and sick in the bathroom.” There was a pause. “What do you mean the client insists on seeing me tonight? They’ll find another lawyer if I don’t go? Fine. Fine! I’m on my way.” He hung up. The knocking started again, more frantic this time. “Ava, please open the door. Let me just see you, make sure you’re okay.” “I don’t care if you’ve been sick, I just need to know you’re alright.” My chest ached, and my body was limp from the force of my retching. But the thought of seeing his face right now was unbearable. I choked back a sob and forced my voice to sound calm. “Is it work? If it’s urgent, you should go. I’m fine, it’s just the pregnancy sickness. It’ll pass.” “Don’t worry,” I added, “I’ll call you if I need anything.” His work must have been truly urgent. After a few more hurried words of concern through the door, I heard his footsteps retreat towards the front of the apartment. A few moments later, the heavy thud of the front door closing echoed through our home. The tension drained from my body, and the tears I’d been holding back finally came, silent and steady. Jack and I had known each other since high school. He was the valedictorian; I was the salutatorian. The whole school gossiped that we were a couple, but we weren’t. Back then, my world revolved around my grades. And Jack… though he always looked at me with a softness in his eyes, a kind of protective warmth, he never actually asked me out. So in college, I dated someone else. It wasn’t until two years later, after a stupid fight led to a breakup, that Jack finally confessed. He told me he’d been in love with me for six years. My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from the cat-sitting client. From Sienna. “Did you steal my diamond ring when you were at my house today?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394826”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, Vincent Smith, has fallen in love. Only this time, his girlfriend is rather disobedient—she actually came before me to provoke: “Miss Harper, you and Vincent are just an arranged marriage. I’m his true love.” I smiled faintly, extended my slender fingers, and forcefully yanked the Bulgari necklace from her neck. Vincent witnessed this scene, his lips pressing into a thin line. Joanna bit her lip coyly: “Vincent, Miss Harper took the gift you gave me.” Vincent glanced at the necklace in my hand and tossed it into the trash without hesitation. Then he scolded his girlfriend: “Joanna, who gave you the audacity to disturb my wife?” Joanna stared at him in shock, tears streaming down her face. I watched coldly, finding it rather amusing. When Joanna was led away by Vincent’s assistant, she seemed full of grievances and questions. She probably couldn’t understand why the man who had whispered sweet nothings to her in bed yesterday became cold and heartless today. Vincent’s attentiveness toward me wasn’t just for show. When he took my hand, he immediately noticed the faint marks on my fingertips, kissing them tenderly over and over. “Harper, you’re hurt.” I didn’t look at Vincent. He and I had grown up together, childhood sweethearts. He wasn’t a gentle gentleman by nature, yet with me he was tender and restrained. In families like ours, couples who play around separately are common, but I was the one he pursued relentlessly. When the Harper and Smith families arranged our marriage, my cousin Vivian couldn’t hide her envy. Vivian said that in wealthy families, there’s no such thing as true love. But Vivian had seen Vincent hold an umbrella for me, seen him so nervous his hands trembled when he proposed, seen him choke up with emotion as he took his vows at our wedding. Yet, I wasn’t his only woman. Vincent made dinner. For such a successful businessman to cook personally was truly rare. Even my demanding parents praised him repeatedly. The young ladies in our social circle seemed quite envious that I could possess Vincent’s eternal favor. Just because I’m allergic to willow and poplar catkins, Vincent could ensure the entire city would never see another willow or poplar tree. He carefully tossed the salad for me, then placed it before me. I thanked him politely. During dinner, his phone screen kept vibrating. I glanced at it unconsciously. When he realized I was looking at his phone, he handed it to me without hesitation. “Harper, you’re actually taking an interest in me.” Vincent never hid his kept mistresses from me. Perhaps because no husband around us was more responsible than him. Even my parents were no exception—they each played around, and my father’s illegitimate sons could form a soccer team. My mother had her uterus removed due to an accident and couldn’t give my father a son. The two of them selected an illegitimate son to inherit the company. That illegitimate son was very respectful toward my mother and quite caring toward me. I took the phone. Sure enough, Joanna was already deleted from his Instagram. After all, having offended me, she would probably never return to the capital in this lifetime. Scrolling further down, I saw Amanda Brown. A female celebrity, also the only mistress who had stayed by Vincent’s side for over three years. I’d met her before—indeed, she was obedient and humble. When she encountered me, she was always careful, never overstepping. Vincent was very satisfied with her discretion and would give her resources from time to time. Her career was developing smoothly now. I’d even seen her at a fashion show last weekend. I had attended with Vincent, in my capacity as Mrs. Smith. Amanda walked the red carpet gracefully in the brand’s haute couture. She nodded to me gently in acknowledgment. She was very tactful, didn’t linger, and didn’t exchange any words with Vincent in my presence. That evening, Vincent seemed to notice the displeasure in my eyes and leaned close to my ear, whispering: “You don’t like her? Then I won’t see her anymore.” The sincerity in his words was unmistakable. What I disliked, he never pursued. I shook my head and laughed: “Vincent, I’m not that unreasonable.” Vincent pulled me close by the waist. Despite the noise around us, his voice was tender: “Harper, let’s have a child.” I said nothing, just quietly looked at myself reflected in his pupils.

That evening, Vincent didn’t come home as usual. He said he had business. I nodded calmly and watched his Maybach drive into the distance. Half an hour later, Vivian sent a voice message: “I think I saw your husband with mine at a nightclub. I saw several girls with them, but don’t worry—your husband has a cleanliness obsession, he usually only plays with virgins.” I removed my wedding ring and asked slowly: “Which boyfriend are you drinking with?” Vivian laughed cheerfully: “What boyfriend? Just a male model. Harper, you should learn from me. It’s better when couples each do their own thing. I’ve invited you to come play before, but you always refuse. Let me be real with you—when only one person in a marriage cheats, things will go wrong.” I didn’t respond. She continued laughing and persuading me: “Harper, I know what you really want. But you need to understand, as long as men have money, women swarm to them. With fresh young girls all around, wanting them to stay faithful is impossible.” “I haven’t stayed faithful either,” I said gently. Vivian’s mouth dropped open in surprise, asking with great interest: “Damn, look at you! You’ve been sleeping with someone behind my back! Who is it? Do I know him? Does your husband know? Tell me quick.” Just as I was about to answer, I heard knocking at the door. I smiled and hung up decisively. I sat on the living room sofa, looking toward the entrance. Adrian Martin opened the shoe cabinet familiarly, removed his coat, and walked toward the kitchen. He curved his lips and raised the lunch box in his hand, nodding at me. I met Adrian on a snowy winter night—the first time I learned of Vincent’s infidelity. I stood under the streetlamp as snowflakes mixed with tears fell continuously. When in love, I had invested all my emotions, full of expectations for marriage. Suddenly learning of his affair, I was both disappointed and furious. But I’d seen plenty of similar situations. Friends, family, including my parents, all provided less than ideal examples. For a long time, I wondered if I was the one out of step. Even my cousin Vivian, who understood me best, saw my dejected state and showed incomprehension in her eyes: “Harper, the Smith family enterprise is worth hundreds of billions. Vincent isn’t just the Smith family leader, he’s also an outstanding talent among his peers. With such background and status, it would be strange if he didn’t keep a few women.” Men’s infidelity seemed trivial in their eyes. But I was angry and tormented, yet couldn’t vent, because I’d seen Vivian’s heartbroken expression. Later she often sought thrills outside too—at first to vent, later becoming addicted. That evening, Adrian held an umbrella in the snow, slowly walking toward me. He was tall and well-built, his eyes sparkling like stars when he smiled. I lowered my head, telling him to leave. But he acted as if he hadn’t heard, simply wanting to hand me the umbrella. I directed all my fury at him, yet Adrian just gazed at me tenderly. I suddenly fell silent. After a long while, he finally chuckled softly: “Today is Christmas Eve. I wish you peace and joy.” I felt very ashamed that I had vented at such a stranger. I saw him again the following spring. I was attending as a sponsor of a film festival. During the awards ceremony, I saw him. He won the Best Newcomer award at that festival and took photos with me. Later this photo trended on social media, and people started shipping us as a couple. When my assistant asked if we should handle the public opinion, looking at his aloof expression in the photo, somehow I chose not to. In the end, I even had someone send him some film and television resources.

The third time we met, he was filming a commercial. After it ended, Adrian walked over to greet me. He smiled: “Hello, I’m Adrian Martin. Nice to meet you again.” He looked at me calmly, and in that instant, I suddenly realized—he didn’t know who I was. He had forgotten I was that woman who lost control in the snow that night. After that, I often appeared around Adrian. At first, I was just curious about him, perhaps because I rarely encountered such pure people. It might also be that when wealth accumulates to a certain degree, life becomes empty and one needs to find some interest. At that time, Vincent had met a new girlfriend, a straightforward and sincere girl, passionate as fire. He seemed quite infatuated with that girl then, somewhat addicted, and I rarely saw him. He even occasionally let things slip in front of me. I suppressed my anger, controlled my emotions, quietly playing the role of Mrs. Smith. Vincent put his arm around my shoulder: “Harper, they’re different from you. To me, you’re irreplaceable.” Of course, I understood what that meant, and I believed he was telling the truth. I never doubted anything he said to me. Because our backgrounds were similar, our interests aligned, and we had once been in love. Adrian was shy by nature, following rules and conventions. Before I even realized it, he had already fallen for me. Because every time he saw me, his eyes seemed filled with clear springs. Later I went to visit him on set, and we played together in a nearby town. It happened to be summer. We walked shoulder to shoulder through a small alley. At the end of the alley, close to a small river, boats passed by. That day, under the setting sun, sunlight danced on his hair, and the sound of flowing water filled my ears. Adrian reached out and supported my shoulder, his palm warm. In the moment I was lost in thought, he lowered his head and softly said something. When I came back to my senses and asked what he’d just said, Adrian just shook his head gently. Later, when I returned home and stood on the balcony watering flowers, I suddenly smiled. Actually, I had heard what he said that day. If I hadn’t misheard, his words should have been: “I like you.” But I felt ashamed. Because he didn’t know I was already married. After we became familiar, Adrian learned about my chronic insomnia and would come to the villa to tell me stories whenever he was free. We never had excessive intimacy. I hadn’t erased Vincent’s traces in this home. Interestingly enough, Vincent actually didn’t leave many traces in this house. Probably because he was always busy outside. After dinner, Adrian and I watched a movie on the sofa. I kissed the corner of his lips. His voice trembled: “Harper…” An impulse surged in my heart: “Adrian, do you like me?” In an instant. Even his ears turned red.

I didn’t expect Vincent to suddenly come home. At that moment, I was wearing a soft shawl, reading the script Adrian had left behind by the window. He knocked on the door first, and only after confirming I was alone did he walk in quietly. He casually loosened the tie around his neck, his tone gentle: “Sorry, Harper, I didn’t tell you in advance. Actually, I was with Maxwell today.” Maxwell was Vivian’s husband. I had no fondness for him. I put down the script and smiled faintly: “It’s fine.” Vincent reached out to hug me, but he probably realized he carried another woman’s scent, so ultimately he just gently held my hand: “I’ll go take a shower. You should rest early too.” As he turned, he saw the lilies in the bedroom, then asked: “Harper, I remember there were no lilies in the house when I left. Did you have someone buy them?” Although he knew I didn’t like having fresh flowers in the bedroom, there had never been any before. So who had bought and arranged flowers after he left? He still considerately gave me an excuse. I only needed to go along with it, and perhaps on the surface, we could return to our previous life. “Vincent, when my cousin called me, you heard it from nearby, didn’t you?” I curved my lips and looked directly into his eyes: “That’s why you rushed back in such a hurry.” Hearing my words, Vincent’s pupils darkened like an abyss. He threw the flowers into the trash. I stood up and took out the shawl, draping it over my shoulders. Wind howled, rain beat against the window. Making both our faces appear somewhat pale. After a long while, Vincent raised his eyes to look at me again. He had already reined in all his emotions and turned to get a glass from the wine cabinet. He filled it and drank it all in one gulp, only then slightly calming the irritation in his heart. He asked me when I’d gotten a boyfriend. I answered honestly. Vincent’s brows furrowed tightly. For a long time, he slowly exhaled: “Harper, I thought you were different.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “369919”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn

Marcus wanted to go to headquarters for advanced training and asked me to temporarily take over his work. When I refused, he started making things difficult for me. For five straight months, I worked overtime without a single day off. It drained all my energy and even ruined my relationship. I finally snapped and texted my best friend during a meeting: “I honestly don’t know how he can pretend so well.” The moment I realized I’d accidentally sent it to the wrong person, I looked up at his increasingly dark expression. My mind short-circuited, and before I could stop myself, I added another message: “But somehow, you still can’t pretend to keep me in your heart.” I woke up in the infirmary. The smell of disinfectant mixed with Marcus’s crisp sandalwood scent, flooding my nostrils together. I snapped my eyes open to meet his unfathomably deep gaze. He was sitting by the bed, his suit jacket perfectly pressed, though the look behind his glasses carried a hint of scrutiny. “Awake?” His voice was low, emotionless. Those two death-wish messages from the meeting room instantly came flooding back. I remembered how he’d stared at me in shock, while the surrounding colleagues all turned to gawk at me with their gossip-hungry faces. In my panic, I’d shot up suddenly, which triggered my low blood sugar. My vision went black and I fainted. I jolted upright, my brain racing. “Mr. Marcus, I… that was…” That was because I got my head caught in a door, got my brain zapped by lightning! “Your true feelings?” He cut me off, his tone flat but sending a chill down my spine. True feelings? Truly calling him pretentious, or truly wanting him to pretend his way into my heart? Either one was a death sentence. Could I really tell him the truth—that my stupid mouth was just used to trading cheesy lines with my best friend? I opened my mouth but couldn’t squeeze out a single word. Finally, I just buried my head in my knees and played dead. “Susanna.” He called my name. The volume wasn’t loud, but the pressure was overwhelming. “Don’t you have anything you want to say to me?” I jerked my head up and forced out a smile uglier than crying: “Mr. Marcus, I just admire you so much that I got overexcited and started talking nonsense. Please don’t take it seriously!” He said nothing, just looked at me quietly. That gaze seemed to pierce through my skull and see every thought in my head. Just as I was about to faint again from his staring, he finally spoke. “Rest well.” With that, he stood up, straightened his already wrinkle-free cuffs, and left the infirmary. I let out a long breath and collapsed back onto the bed. I survived. I thought this incident would blow over like a passing breeze. But I underestimated the speed and power of workplace gossip. The next day, when I walked into the office with dark circles under my eyes, I was greeted by knowing looks from all directions. “Susanna, wow! You’ve been hiding your talents!” “Right? You always seem so quiet, but you’re brave enough to go after King Marcus!” “Tell us, what happened? Did he accept?” My colleagues surrounded my desk, every face screaming “Spill the tea!” I was speechless, could only laugh awkwardly: “It’s a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding.” No one believed me. My best friend Lily sent me a message: “You’re famous. I heard you confessed to Marcus in front of everyone and he didn’t reject you?” I was near tears: “I sent the message to the wrong person! I meant to send it to you.” Lily: “Then how do you explain the second message? Can’t pretend to keep you in his heart? Susanna, did overtime scramble your brain?” Me: “…My fingers moved faster than my brain!” No one believed me, including myself. What was more terrifying was Marcus’s attitude. He never asked me to work overtime again. Not even once. In fact, one time near the end of work hours, he deliberately walked over to my desk and tapped on it. “If there’s nothing urgent, leave on time.” Everyone in the office instantly gave me looks that screamed “shipping it.” I froze in place, watching him walk away. This was unbearable. For a whole week, I enjoyed the divine treatment of nine-to-five hours with full weekends off. The price? I became the focus of the entire company. Everyone looked at me like they were looking at the future boss’s wife. Even the tea room lady, when making my coffee, would add an extra spoonful of sugar and say with a smile: “Susanna dear, get some extra sugar. Dating takes brain power.” I was going crazy. That night, I tossed and turned in bed, my mind full of Marcus’s expressionless face and my colleagues’ knowing smiles. I couldn’t just sit here and wait for death. The grudge from five months of overtime had to be settled. The resentment from my breakup had to be vented. I sprang up from bed and opened a delivery app.

In the search box, I viciously typed two words: beat someone up. The page loaded, showing a bunch of merchants offering “sparring practice” and “boxing experience.” I randomly clicked on one. The avatar was a delivery guy wearing a helmet. I got straight to the point: “Hi, I want to hire someone to beat up my boss. Male, about six foot one, looks pretty built.” The other side replied instantly: “…” I added: “Money is no object.” After a few seconds, they sent a long voice message. I clicked it open. A voice full of positive energy came through: “Hiring someone to hurt people is illegal! You’ll go to jail! It’s not worth throwing yourself away over some boss.” “Listen to my advice—there are plenty of fish in the sea. Why fixate on one? Change jobs, start a new life! Look on the bright side!” Me: “…” A kind-hearted delivery driver. I silently closed the app. Beating him up was out. But his words gave me an idea. Since Marcus was afraid of romantic scandals, I might as well make this scandal a reality! He wanted a promotion to headquarters, right? At this critical juncture, the last thing he’d want was unclear relations with a subordinate. As long as I made my “pursuit” obvious and foolish enough that everyone knew about it, he’d definitely avoid me to prevent suspicion. When that happened, forget making things difficult for me—he probably wouldn’t even want to see me. I’m a genius! A perfect revenge plan rose up in my mind. Step one of the plan was to make my “crush” even more widely known. I needed a platform. So I posted on the company’s internal forum, in the anonymous section. Title: “Help! How do I pursue that handsome, aloof boss in our department?” I wrote the main post with heartfelt sincerity, tears in every word, portraying myself as a humble little employee madly in love and recklessly brave. To add authenticity, I subtly mentioned a few of Marcus’s habits that only our department would know, like how he only drank pour-over black coffee and liked to tap his knuckles on the table during meetings. As soon as I posted it, it exploded. “Is the OP Susanna from the Planning Department? Front row for the gossip!” “Wow, is this the warrior who confessed publicly? I salute you!” “Mr. Marcus is such an iceberg—probably hard to melt. Good luck, OP!” Watching the replies grow rapidly, I smiled with satisfaction. The buzz was there. Next came the actual action. Netizens flooded me with advice. The top comment said: “If you want to capture a man’s heart, first capture his stomach! Send him a love bento!” Good idea. The next day, I got up early and spent two hours in the kitchen, producing a bento box with… extremely abstract presentation. I tried hard to shape the rice into a heart but ended up with an unnameable blob. The broccoli was overcooked, yellow like autumn grass. The only meat dish was pan-seared chicken breast, black as charcoal. I looked at my masterpiece and fell silent. Whatever. It’s the thought that counts. Besides, I was afraid if I made it too good, it might actually reach his heart. After all, I just wanted to disgust him. I packed up the bento and brought it to the company. At noon, while Marcus was in a meeting, I snuck the bento onto his desk and stuck on a note with a giant heart. After doing all this, I slunk back to my seat like a thief. I waited for him to come back, see this “love” bento, and throw it in the trash with a disgusted look. However, when he returned, he just calmly glanced at the bento box, picked it up, and walked into his private office. All afternoon, there was no movement. I sat restlessly, frequently glancing at that closed door. Did he eat it? No way. Even a dog would shake its head at that thing.

Near the end of work, Marcus’s office door finally opened. He walked out holding the now-empty bento box. He walked straight to my desk and placed the freshly washed container on my table. “Thank you.” He looked at me, his tone still flat. “It tasted good, just a bit salty.” I was completely stunned. He not only ate it but washed the box and even gave me feedback on the taste? This wasn’t the script! Didn’t he hate stupid people the most? Before, when I made even the tiniest mistake at work, he’d publicly criticize me, looking at me like I was an idiot—I could still picture that expression. Shouldn’t he be avoiding me like the plague? The surrounding colleagues started whispering again, their eyes burning with gossip fire. “Oh my God, Mr. Marcus actually ate the lunch she made!” “And washed the box! What kind of plot twist is this!” “Locked in! I’m shipping this couple to death!” I felt my face burning. Not from embarrassment—from anger. Marcus! What are you trying to do! Step one of the plan: total failure. I refused to give up. That night at home, I kept scrolling through the forum. The second top comment: “Create coincidental meetings! Make him think you’re destined!” Okay, coincidental meetings. I found out from a colleague that Marcus had a habit of night running, usually at 8 PM, at Riverside Park near the company. The next evening at 7:50, I changed into full workout gear and showed up at the park entrance right on time. I pretended to stretch while looking around. At 8:10, a tall figure came running from the distance. It was him! I immediately adjusted my breathing, struck my most graceful running pose, and ran toward him. When I was about three meters away, I deliberately “twisted” my ankle and weakly fell toward him. According to my plan, he’d instinctively dodge, and I’d spectacularly fall in front of him, staging a bit of self-inflicted suffering to make him think I was a clumsy troublemaker. But I didn’t expect that not only would he not dodge, he’d steadily extend his arm and catch me in his embrace. My face slammed solidly into his hard chest. My nose bridge nearly broke on the spot. A strong masculine scent mixed with the smell of sweat surrounded me. “Are you okay?” His voice came from above my head, carrying a hint of post-exercise breathlessness that sounded… kind of sexy. I shoved him away hard and backed up two steps, covering my nose. “I-I’m fine, thank you, Mr.—” “Call me Marcus.” He interrupted me. I froze. He looked at me. In the darkness, his eyes shone brighter than starlight. “Outside the company, you don’t need to be so formal.” My heartbeat skipped. The plan failed again. Not only did I fail to make him dislike me, I actually made him tell me to use his first name. I trudged home dejectedly and buried my face in the couch. Lily called: “How’d it go, my hero? What scene did you perform today?” I told her about the park “coincidence.” She laughed so hard she couldn’t sit straight. “Susanna, oh Susanna, are you sure you’re taking revenge on him and not pursuing him with rom-com tactics?” “First the lunch delivery, then fake falling—what’s next, standing in the rain to get sick so he’ll take you to the hospital?” I was speechless at her roast. “I’m telling you, guys like Marcus are secretly passionate. The more proactive you are, the more interesting he finds you. You’re basically playing with fire.” “Then what should I do?” I asked desperately. “Deal with it.” Lily gloated. “Unless you rush to him right now and tell him you’ve been acting this whole time and you actually can’t stand him.” I fell silent. I didn’t dare. I was afraid that the moment I said it, he’d make me re-experience the joy of five straight months of overtime. After hanging up, I opened that help thread again. The post had over a thousand replies now. The netizens’ enthusiasm exceeded my imagination. The latest top comment offered me a new tactic, with stratospheric popularity. I perked up, but after reading it, I fell completely silent.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “369920”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn

My wife and her lover lured me into a school overrun with zombies, planning to use me as food for them. Just as the zombies were about to tear me to pieces, I awakened the “Eternal Homeroom Teacher” System! As long as I played the role of a strict homeroom teacher and scolded the zombies, it would trigger the fear they once felt toward their elementary school teachers. They would obediently turn into well-behaved “students,” following every command I gave. When I finally returned with the entire school full of zombies and confronted my wife and her lover, they were completely stunned. The blood moon descended, and the zombie outbreak erupted without warning. Risking being devoured by zombies, I ventured out to search for my wife, Emma Snow. But she and her lover, Felix Stone, lured me with a single text message to the very heart of the zombie outbreak—the school. Now I’m trapped in an abandoned classroom, cornered by an entire class of zombies. They were all students here when they were alive. Now only tattered school uniforms hang from their rotting bodies. Their cloudy eyes fix on me, teeth bared, guttural groans rasping from deep in their throats. My back is pressed against the blackboard. My only weapon is half a broken mop handle. Watching the zombie horde closing in, despair soaks through me like ice water. “Emma Snow! Felix Stone! If I get out of here alive, I swear I’ll tear you both to pieces!” Bitter hatred floods my heart, but the mass of zombies pressing closer fills me with despair. Am I really going to die here like this, humiliated, devoured by zombies? 【Ding! Detecting host in desperate situation.】 【Eternal Homeroom Teacher System successfully activated!】 【This system aims to reform lost lambs through strictness and purify the world’s filth with discipline.】 【Please remember your teacher’s ethics and restore classroom order!】 What the hell? My mind is in chaos. It’s the apocalypse, and I get an education system? What use is that! Just then, a female zombie in a school uniform lunges at me, her reeking mouth wide open, about to bite my throat! In this critical moment, inspiration strikes. I think of the system. With nothing to lose, I sternly scold the female zombie: “Which class are you from?” “Didn’t you hear the class bell ring?” “How dare you act so unruly!” “Get back to your seat right now!” Time seems to freeze in that moment. The female zombie’s movements suddenly stop. Her gaping mouth slowly closes. In her cloudy eyes, a flash of something human appears—panic and confusion carved deep into her soul. Then… she actually lowers her head, drags her feet, and slowly shuffles back to an empty seat. She sits down obediently, even unconsciously placing her hands on the desk. 【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost student x1.】 【Teacher authority +1!】 【Rewarding beginner’s gift: Authority Pointer and Chalk of Discipline!】 The next second, a sleek black pointer materializes in my hand, heavy and solid. A full box of chalk appears on the podium. I’m shocked. This actually works? I take a deep breath, suppress my churning emotions, straighten my back, and slam the pointer hard on the podium! “Bang!” The sharp sound echoes through the dead-silent classroom. All the zombies tremble in unison, fear appearing on their faces in an almost human way. I scan the room like a real teacher examining undisciplined students: “Don’t you know it’s class time!” “Our class is the loudest in the entire building.” “Can you be quiet!” “Well? Why’d you stop talking!” “I’m holding a meeting up here while you hold little meetings down there, is that it?” “Where’s the class monitor?” “Stand up!” “And you few peeking in from the doorway—which class are you from?” “Wandering the hallways during class.” “What does that look like!” “All of you get in here and stand while you listen!” “Look at me!” “Why are you looking at them?” “Listen to me!” These words strike directly at their souls!

The zombies all show fear, then begin shuffling their feet, swaying as they enter the classroom, jostling each other to find their seats. The few zombies caught peeking shrink their necks and obediently squeeze to the back of the classroom, not daring to sit, automatically standing as punishment. 【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x12.】 【Teacher authority +12!】 I look at this group of increasingly docile students, then glance out the window at the ruined apocalyptic wasteland. An uncontrollable smile, tinged with madness, curves my lips. Emma Snow, Felix Stone… you never expected this, did you? Not only did I survive, but I now have a class full of zombie students. Just wait. I’ll bring my students to settle this score with you properly! Burning for revenge, I want to lead this zombie class to find that cheating couple right now. However, just as I step out of the classroom, the system suddenly issues a warning. Beep! 【Warning! As an ordinary teacher, host’s authority is below 100.】 【After taking students out of the classroom, you will be unable to control their behavior!】 【When host’s authority reaches 100, ordinary teacher will be promoted to homeroom teacher.】 【Host can freely take direct students out of the classroom.】 【When authority reaches 500, “Homeroom Teacher Intimidation Field” can be deployed.】 【Within a 500-meter radius, all zombies can feel the homeroom teacher’s authority and will be suppressed!】 I see! So that’s how authority works! I was too impulsive just now! I must quickly raise my authority to 100—no, to be safe, straight to 500. Otherwise, with countless zombies outside the school, relying only on my homeroom teacher status and the zombie students in this school won’t be enough to guarantee my safety. I need the intimidation field for critical moments! Just then, a giant zombie nearly two meters tall charges toward me. It’s incredibly fast, sending student zombies flying as they block its path! In the blink of an eye, the giant zombie reaches me and lunges! My anger has nowhere to vent. I stride back into the classroom and whip the pointer down on the podium with all my strength! “Crack!” I glare, pointing at the giant zombie and roaring: “Who gave you permission to run around outside during class time!” “Which class are you from?” “Are the school hallways meant for students to run and roughhouse?” “Charging around recklessly—this is completely unacceptable!!” The giant zombie’s body shudders violently. Deep, bone-level panic and fear—the kind students feel facing a stern teacher—appears on its face. Its crimson eyes don’t even dare meet mine. It lowers its head, at a loss. I fix my gaze on the giant zombie. With its large build, it shouldn’t be a student. Could it be a parent? “Even after graduating, you still give me this much trouble!” “Is this how I taught you?” “Respecting teachers, caring for the young—where did all your basic manners go?” “Look what you’ve done!” I point to the student zombies with mangled limbs from being knocked aside. “Hold out your hand!” The giant zombie’s body trembles violently. Shaking, it extends its huge, rotting palm—the size of a fan—before me. Without mercy, I raise the pointer and strike down hard on its palm! “Ahhh—!” The giant zombie releases an inhuman howl of pain. Its massive body shakes violently, and a clear scorch mark appears on its palm! It seems this pointer not only increases authority but can also inflict real harm and pain on zombies!

After five consecutive strikes, the giant zombie has collapsed to its knees, clutching its palm covered in black scorch marks, whimpering. All its previous ferocity is gone. I snort coldly, withdraw the pointer, and glare viciously at the trembling student zombies around me: “And you lot!” “Urgh!” The zombies all jolt at once. Their hunched bodies immediately straighten. They even suppress the gurgling sounds in their throats, terrified they’ll be next. I coldly survey this cowed group of zombies: “You are the worst class I’ve ever taught!” “Not listening during class is one thing, but you dare gang up to chase your teacher?” “Lawless!” “Believe me, I’ll call your parents right now!” “All of you face the wall and reflect!” “Think hard about your mistakes!” My pointer indicates the blank classroom wall. The zombies, as if granted amnesty, quickly line up in rows against the wall, facing it, not daring any movement. 【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost student x1.】 【Teacher authority +1!】 Still too slow! I’ve extracted most of this classroom’s potential. I need to take the initiative. I take a deep breath and stride out of the classroom with purpose. Target—the first floor with the densest zombie concentration! The first floor has at least a hundred zombies gathered. Unlike the upper floors dominated by student zombies, the zombies here wear various clothing and mostly appear to be adults—clearly parents who once came to pick up children or handle school business. Their crimson eyes lock onto me. They release more frenzied roars, swarming toward me with bared teeth and claws, far more intimidating than the student zombies! I remain calm, quickly retreating into the nearest empty classroom, raising my pointer and shouting outside: “Don’t you know it’s class time?” “Your children are studying peacefully inside, and you parents are making a racket outside, baring your teeth and claws—what does that look like!” “Do you still want your kids to get into college or not?” These words hit like precision mental strikes. The effect is immediate! The parent zombies in front screech to a halt. The violent expressions on their faces freeze instantly, then transform into a mixture of terror, confusion, and the bone-deep anxiety parents feel about their children’s education. In their crimson eyes, they actually squeeze out a hint of human-like servility and flattery. “Urgh…” A middle-aged male zombie even instinctively performs a clumsy, almost fawning bow toward me. The other parent zombies follow suit! Seeing the moment is right, I soften my tone slightly but maintain an unquestionable commanding manner: “If you want your children to continue their education and make something of themselves in the future, then get in here, sit down properly, and I’ll hold a parent meeting for you shortly!” Before I finish speaking, this group of parent zombies—so savage just moments ago—eagerly swarm into the classroom, carefully searching for seats, then sitting down properly. 【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x83.】 【Teacher authority +83!】 The pleasant system notification sounds. Success! Having tasted victory, I don’t linger. Using the same method, I move between different floors and classrooms of the teaching building, recruiting the wandering and hiding zombies of all types one by one. 【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x38.】 【Teacher authority +38!】 【Ding! Successfully intimidated lost students x144.】 【Teacher authority +144!】 … 【Ding! Congratulations, host’s authority has reached 500!】 【Successfully unlocked Homeroom Teacher Intimidation Field!】 Yes! Finally! Emma Snow, Felix Stone… I’m bringing my zombies to find you now!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “369921”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #重生Reborn

For eight years, I harbored a secret crush on Lucas Brooks. And then, I slept with him. The next morning, I heard him on the balcony, taking a phone call. “I told you, it was just a one-night stand. Marry her? Don’t be ridiculous. Just give her some money and send her on her way.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I got dressed, went home, and dragged out the box filled with eight years of memories from my closet. Secret photos, movie ticket stubs, a button he’d discarded. I dumped it all into a black garbage bag. As the garbage truck rumbled past, crushing everything beneath its wheels, I let out a long breath. Later, that same man who said “just throw some cash at her” took a red-hot steel pipe through his back to save me. He lay on the ground, covered in blood, but he was still smiling. “Thank God… it didn’t hit your face. You’re getting married tomorrow, even if the groom isn’t me. You should still be the most beautiful bride.” Ivy Laurent POV For eight years, I harbored a secret crush on Lucas Brooks. And then, I slept with him. It was unexpected, absurd, yet somehow inevitable. I woke at six in the morning. London had been raining all night. The air was heavy with moisture and the lingering scent of us. My whole body ached. I didn’t even dare look at the man sleeping beside me. This was the deity I’d placed on a pedestal and worshipped for eight years, now reduced to evidence of my deepest transgression. I picked my clothes up off the floor. I’d barely gotten half-dressed when I heard movement from the balcony outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lucas was awake, taking a phone call. Through the half-open glass door, his voice was low and husky, lazy with post-coital drowsiness, yet it cut into my heart like an ice-cold blade. “I drank too much last night. Didn’t even see who it was.” The person on the other end must have been teasing him, because Lucas lit a cigarette, his tone distant to the point of coldness. “Who told you to drug her? Don’t use that kind of tactic again.” Through the curling smoke, he paused, irritation creeping into his voice. “I don’t like her, but we’ve known each other for years. Last night was her first time… What do you expect me to do? Take responsibility? Marry her?” A scoffing laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not just anyone can walk through my family’s door, least of all her. What I feel for her is friendship at most.” “Enough. Keep this between us. As for compensation… I’ll have my assistant send her a card later. She can fill in whatever amount she wants. Enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. That’ll settle years of acquaintance.” My hands froze mid-button. In an instant, my blood ran cold. My hands and feet went numb. So in his eyes, my eight years of careful companionship, this one wild night-all of it could only be converted into a string of cold numbers. With the added phrase: “Don’t be ridiculous.” I didn’t cry. I dressed efficiently, left no note, took nothing, and slipped silently out of the villa that had trapped my youth. When I got home, my father was sitting on the sofa, sighing. Spread across the coffee table were a pile of photos, potential marriage candidates he’d painstakingly collected. “Ivy, I know you’ve got pride. You used to chase after Lucas all the time. But people like him, we’re not in their league. I’m getting old, my health’s failing every day, and I just want to see you settle down with someone ordinary…” In the past, I would have stayed silent, resisted, made excuses to retreat to my room. But today, I walked over and scanned the pile of photos. Not one looked like Lucas. That was good. I randomly pointed to one. “This one.” My father froze, hardly daring to believe it. “That’s Ethan Rivers. He’s a doctor, very refined. But he’s being transferred to the New York branch for a few years. If you marry him, you might have to leave home…” “It doesn’t matter.” I cut him off. “The farther away, the better. Set up a meeting for us.” My father was overjoyed and hurried to make the call. I returned to my room and pulled out a locked box from the depths of my closet. Inside was everything related to Lucas Brooks. Photos I’d secretly taken in high school, every movie ticket stub from the past eight years, even a button he’d carelessly tossed aside. I didn’t burn them. Burning things creates smoke, stings your eyes, makes people think you’re crying. I found a large black garbage bag and dumped everything I’d once treasured, along with the heart that had loved Lucas Brooks for eight years, into it. I tied the bag shut and threw it in the trash bin downstairs. The garbage truck rumbled past, crushing everything. I looked at my empty room and let out a long breath.

Ivy Laurent POV The meeting with Ethan went surprisingly smoothly. Ethan wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a refined, scholarly air. He spoke softly and politely. He didn’t have Lucas’s aggressive presence. He was like a glass of warm water. Good for quenching thirst. Good for living a stable life. “Miss Laurent, the matchmaker should have told you about my situation.” Ethan refilled my water glass. “Next month I’ll be going to New York. I’ll probably settle there permanently. If you’re willing, we can get married first, and you can join me after you’ve settled things here.” The pace was absurdly fast, like completing a task. But I only thought for three seconds. “Okay.” Ethan looked up, somewhat surprised. “Don’t you want to think about it more? After all, marriage is a big decision.” “No need to think about it.” I looked down, stirring the water in my glass. “I want a change of environment. A fresh start.” Ethan smiled, genuinely pleased. “What a coincidence. So do I.” We hit it off immediately. Though the meal lacked passion, it was remarkably relaxed. No one needed to look up to anyone. No one needed to force themselves to read obscure philosophy books or learn difficult video games just to cater to the other person. Since I’d decided to leave, the first thing I did when I returned to the office was submit my resignation. The editor-in-chief Mr. Evans looked at my resignation letter, frowning. “It’s not that I won’t let you go. You’re one of the pillars here. Losing you would be a real loss. Plus, you haven’t finished that London’s New Elite feature yet.” He tapped the desk, offering a deal. “Here’s what we’ll do. The first subject is Lucas Brooks. Everyone in London knows he never gives interviews, but you know him. As long as you can get his exclusive, even just ten minutes, I’ll sign off immediately and double your bonus for the month.” My fingers holding the resignation letter went pale. Lucas Brooks. Lucas Brooks again. I couldn’t shake his name no matter how hard I tried. “Mr. Evans, could we get someone else?” “No.” Mr. Evans’s tone was firm. “Only you can do this. If this article doesn’t get done, your resignation process could take three months.” I stood at the end of the hallway, looking out at the gray sky, silent for a long time. To leave London cleanly. To completely sever the past. One last meeting. After seeing him this one time, never again. I pulled out my phone and found the number I’d kept at the top of my contacts for eight years but never dared to call. My fingertip hovered over the screen, trembling, then finally pressed down. It rang once before being answered. The background was noisy, like people playing cards, then footsteps, and the surroundings quieted. Lucas’s voice came through the receiver, carrying a careless, teasing quality. “You’ve been avoiding me for three days. Finally willing to call?” So he knew I’d been avoiding him. I took a deep breath and spoke in a businesslike tone. “Mr. Brooks, our magazine would like to do an interview with you. When would you be available?” Two seconds of silence on the other end, then a soft scoff. “Ivy Laurent, since when did you learn to be so formal with me?” Lucas seemed to be in a good mood. He wasn’t angry about the distant form of address. “I’m at the club. Come now.” “It’s working hours…” “Then forget the interview.” Lucas cut me off, his tone carrying its usual arrogance and control. “If I don’t see you within half an hour, the interview’s cancelled.” He hung up without waiting for a response. I looked at the darkened screen and put my phone away. I turned and called to the photographer. “Let’s go. To the club.” The photographer looked shocked. “That place? He’s there? My god, you’re amazing. You actually got him to agree!” I said nothing. Amazing? This was a “privilege” I’d bought with eight years of blood and tears. And today, I was going to tear that privilege to shreds and throw it in the trash.

Ivy Laurent POV This was London’s most exclusive private club, the place Lucas and his circle frequented. In the past, whenever I came here, I always felt awkward and inferior, trailing behind Lucas like a shameful little shadow. But today, I wore my press badge, held my voice recorder, and kept my spine straight. When I pushed open the private room door, smoke and alcohol fumes filled the air. A group of rich kids were laughing with their female companions. When they saw me enter, the room fell silent for a moment, then erupted in louder jeers. “Isn’t that Ivy? Long time no see!” “Wow, you’ve got some pull! Three days without seeing him and now you’re here to check up on him?” The man sitting in the center of the sofa wore a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing his pale collarbones. He was playing with a lighter, the flame flickering on and off, illuminating his sharply defined face-the kind that made countless women throw themselves at him. Lucas Brooks. He leaned lazily against the back of the chair, his gaze cutting through the crowd to land on me. His eyes lingered on me for a moment. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, then smoothed out. He patted the empty spot beside him. “Come here.” Like summoning a well-trained pet. In the past, I would have obediently walked over, sat down, poured him drinks, waited on him. But this time, I stood where I was and gestured for the cameraman to set up the equipment. “Mr. Brooks, we’re on a tight schedule. Let’s just do it here.” I pulled out my equipment. “About fifteen minutes.” The atmosphere in the room instantly chilled. Everyone exchanged glances. Lucas’s hand playing with the lighter paused. The lid snapped shut. He narrowed his eyes, his expression amused. “Ivy, what are you trying to pull?” “You’ve got it wrong, Mr. Brooks.” I turned on the voice recorder, meeting his gaze directly. “This is strictly business. If now’s not a good time, we can do this another day. Or I can have someone else take over.” I started to pack up my things. “Stop.” Lucas’s face darkened. He slammed his glass on the table with a sharp clink. “Everyone out.” He waved his hand at the others. Though curious, no one dared to anger Lucas. They all filed out with their companions, but as they passed me, their eyes held a voyeuristic gleam. The photographer hesitated. “Should I…” “Wait for me outside,” I said. The private room door closed. The vast space held only the two of us. The lighting was dim. The air was filled with expensive perfume and lingering cigarette smoke. Lucas stood and walked toward me step by step. He was tall, his presence overwhelming. He lowered his head, leaning close to my face, his warm breath brushing against my ear. “Still mad about that morning? Didn’t I say I’d have Steve send you a card? Not enough?” I stepped back half a step, avoiding his breath. “I didn’t accept the card. I already sent it back to your company’s front desk.” I lifted my head. “Lucas, that night was an accident. We’re both adults. It’s over. I’m here today purely for work.” “Over?” Lucas looked like he’d heard a joke. He suddenly grabbed my chin, his fingertips grazing my delicate skin. “Ivy, you’ve followed me around for eight years, and now you’re playing it cool? I don’t believe you feel nothing for me. That night, you clearly…” “That was the drug’s effect.” I interrupted him. “Mr. Brooks, I’m resigning. This interview is my last assignment at this company. After this, I’m leaving London. We probably won’t see each other again.” Lucas’s fingers tightened abruptly, the pressure making me wince. “Leaving London? Where to?” “That’s none of your concern.” “To avoid me?” Anger flickered in Lucas’s eyes. “Ivy, is this really necessary? Just because I never made you official? You never cared about that before.” “I was naive before.” I pried his hand off forcefully and stepped back twice, smoothing my wrinkled collar. “Now I’ve come to my senses. Someone like Mr. Brooks, up in the clouds-you’re not suitable for someone ordinary like me. I apologize for bothering you all these years. It won’t happen again.” I raised the voice recorder again. “Mr. Brooks, first question: regarding the Brooks Group’s strategic plans for next quarter…” Lucas stared at me. He laughed in fury and sat back on the sofa, lighting a cigarette, his expression dark. “Fine. Very good. You want an interview? Ask away. I’d like to see how long you can keep up this act.”

Ivy Laurent POV The interview was exceptionally difficult. Lucas didn’t cooperate. In fact, he deliberately made things hard for me. No matter what I asked, he answered carelessly, even deliberately steering the conversation toward his private life, trying to provoke me. “What are Mr. Brooks’s expectations for a future partner?” “Obedient. Well-behaved. Preferably not like some people, the kind who sleep with you and then pretend you don’t exist. Change faster than the weather.” Lucas exhaled a smoke ring, looking at me with mock amusement. My fingers tightened around my pen, but I still dutifully recorded his words. “Mr. Brooks prefers the obedient type. What about the recent rumors of a business marriage…” “Not interested.” Lucas cut me off, suddenly leaning forward, his gaze intense. “Lately I’ve been more interested in women who look proper on the surface but will do anything for a man in private. Got any recommendations?” I closed my notebook. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Brooks. I have enough material.” I didn’t want to stay a second longer. Just as I was about to stand, the private room door suddenly burst open. A girl in a white dress with long flowing hair rushed in, carrying an elegant thermal container. The girl was beautiful-the kind of bright, flamboyant beauty completely different from mine. “Lucas! I heard you were here, so I made you chicken soup!” The girl fluttered toward Lucas like a butterfly, naturally looping her arm through his and nuzzling against him affectionately. Charlotte Ashford. Also Lucas’s recent rumored girlfriend, the female lead in those ambiguous social media posts. Though that post was later deleted, everyone in their circle knew Charlotte was pursuing Lucas. Lucas didn’t push her away. His gaze traveled over Charlotte’s head, staring straight at me, seemingly waiting for my reaction. I just glanced once. I nodded politely at Charlotte. “Hello, miss Ashford.” Then I turned to Lucas. “Since Mr. Brooks has a guest, I won’t intrude further. I’ll send you the draft for review once it’s written.” I turned and left without a trace of reluctance. But I still heard the voices behind me. Charlotte sounded confused. “Lucas, who is she? She seemed kind of weird.” He suddenly shook off Charlotte’s hand and irritably swept the glass off the table. “Get out.” Charlotte jumped. “Lucas…” “Everyone get out!” Lucas roared. I ignored his tantrum. After leaving the club, the wind outside was cold, clearing my head. The photographer had been waiting anxiously in the car. Seeing me emerge, he quickly started the engine. “How did it go? Did you get it?” “Got it.” I tossed the voice recorder into my bag and leaned back in the seat, exhausted. “Back to the office.” Back at the paper, I worked through the night to finish the article. I sent the piece to Mr. Evans with a single line. “Assignment complete. Please sign.” Mr. Evans was probably surprised by my efficiency. He didn’t make things difficult and readily approved my resignation. The moment I finished the paperwork, I stood outside the company building, looking at this prosperous city, feeling only relief. I sent Ethan a message. “I resigned.” Ethan replied almost instantly. “Congratulations. To celebrate your freedom, dinner tonight? I’ve made a reservation.” I thought for a moment and replied. “Okay.” I didn’t tell anyone I’d already bought a plane ticket to New York for the day after tomorrow. This meal was a farewell. Farewell to the past, and farewell to this city.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “369912”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn

After a night of passion on our wedding day, my husband Derek White cupped my face and suddenly spoke. “There’s something I need to come clean about.” I lazily hummed in response. “I can’t marry you. Officially, I’m already someone else’s husband.” My whole body froze. My nails dug into my palms. “Who?” “A woman my parents forced me to marry years ago. I never mentioned her to you.” He sat up and looked at me with deep affection. “Evelyn, you’re the most important person to me. But she’s just a housewife who can’t survive without me. I can’t just abandon her.” “Why are you crying?” His brow furrowed with confusion. “We had the wedding, you’re wearing the ring, everyone thinks you’re my wife. Is a marriage certificate really that important?” I took half a step back, my spine pressing against the cold wall. “We’re done.” He froze for a moment, then laughed. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” “Then divorce her.” I insisted. Derek fell silent. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “She took care of my parents for seven years. No merit, maybe, but she put in the work. I can’t do something so ungrateful.” Seven years. I calculated the timeline, and a wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. That year we had just graduated, and his lease was ending. I helped him move. He took a phone call and walked to the balcony. When he came back, he said it was work I believed him. Turns out that was his wedding day phone call. “Don’t look at me like that.” He walked over, reaching to put his arm around my shoulder. “Nothing ever happened between us. It’s just a formality.” “We’ve been together for ten years. How can she compare to that?” I pushed his hand away. The nausea intensified. He stood there, his tone growing colder. “Evelyn, think rationally. You’re going to throw away ten years over a piece of paper? How will you explain that to your parents?” “What about all our plans we’ve been saving for? You’re just going to walk away from all of that?” The door closed with a soft sound, like a sigh. I knelt by the toilet, dry heaving until tears smeared across my face. At 3 AM, I dragged out my suitcase and yanked clothes from the closet one by one, stuffing them in randomly. My phone lit up. His mother had posted on Ins. “Derek’s wife made me this roast beef. Delicious.” The picture showed a table full of food, utensils arranged neatly. In the upper right corner of the photo, half a sleeve was visible. I recognized that watch. It was the first gift I ever gave him. I’d saved three months of salary for it. Today he said he was having dinner with a client. I liked the post, then unliked it. His mother probably didn’t know that like came from her son’s mistress of seven years. 2 At 3:17 AM, I stood in the elevator watching the floor numbers descend. The elevator doors opened and cold air rushed in. That’s when I realized I was only wearing a thin knit sweater. My phone rang. It was my father. I stared at that name for a long time before finally answering. My father’s voice was soft. “Evelyn, Derek just called. He said you two had a disagreement?” I didn’t respond. “He’s been really good to you all these years. We’ve all seen it.” “Tell me, what has he done wrong?” What has he done wrong? Well, nothing really. That year I had acute appendicitis. He rode his electric scooter to take me to the hospital and fell on the way. His knee was scraped raw, blood running down his pant leg. When my parents arrived, he’d already treated his own wound and was limping around buying me fruit. When he was starting his business, things were hardest. He went three days without sleep, and the project still failed. He sat on the company building steps all night and only came home at dawn. The first thing he did was take a shower, then stick his face in front of mine. “Smell it. Does it smell good? New shampoo.” I only found out later he was afraid I’d smell the cigarettes and alcohol on him. He was good to me. But he was also someone else’s husband. “Evelyn? Are you listening?” “Yes.” “I need to tell you something.” “Dad, I have something to tell you too.” The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back down. Tell him what? That your daughter was deceived for ten years? That your future son-in-law married someone else seven years ago? “Your mother is having heart surgery next month.” My father’s voice was calm, like he was talking about pork prices dropping at the market. “The doctor said she can’t handle any stress.” “Evelyn, I know you have your own issues to deal with, but right now, we need peace at home. You know your mother’s temperament…” I couldn’t hear the rest clearly. I don’t know when it started raining. By the time I came to my senses, my hair was plastered to my face, water dripping from my chin. “Evelyn!” An umbrella appeared over me. Derek stood in the rain, his shirt soaked through. He grabbed my wrist, gripping it tightly. I could feel his fingers trembling. “Get in the car first. We’ll talk about everything at home.” “That Ins post was deliberate. I was trying to get back at you.” “I never wanted to break up. I really didn’t.” He threw my suitcase in the trunk and pulled open the passenger door. “I’ll handle things with Mia. Just give me some time, okay?” “Your dad told me about your mom’s situation. I know some cardiac specialists. I’ll contact them tomorrow.” I sat in the passenger seat without saying anything. There was a faint fragrance in the car. On his collar was a very faint lipstick mark. I tilted my head, watching the windshield wipers sweep back and forth. He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. The rain was heavy. The neon lights outside the window blurred in the rain, red, green, yellow, all mixing into a hazy glow. 3 I stayed at the hospital for two weeks. Derek never complained once. In fact, he did everything he could. He found the specialists, finalized the treatment plan, and even switched us to a south-facing private room. He knew my mother’s pre-surgery indicators better than I did. At night he sat with me on the hallway bench. When he got tired, he’d lean against the wall and doze off. The nursing station lights were dim yellow. Even in sleep his brow was furrowed, but his hand never let go of mine. When my mother was feeling better, she’d hold his hand and talk. “Derek, Evelyn can be stubborn. Please be patient with her.” He smiled and tucked my mother’s hand back under the blanket. “I’m the lucky one.” My mother looked at me, her eyes full of relief. I nodded without saying anything. But each day, the weight in my chest grew heavier. That afternoon, he was called away by the company.  I was carrying a food container toward the hospital room. When I pushed open the door, a strange woman was sitting by my mother’s bed. They’d changed caregivers. The woman wore light blue scrubs and was peeling an apple with her head down. Sunlight streamed through the window. She looked up and smiled at my mother. “My husband? He’s not a bad person.” “He’s just too softhearted. Women throw themselves at him, and he always says he’s afraid of hurting their feelings, can’t bring himself to cut them off.” My mother leaned against the headboard and sighed. “That must be hard on you.” She handed the peeled apple to my mother. “You’re telling me.” “Sometimes when I feel suffocated, I come out to find something to do, clear my head.” My mother’s voice was muffled. “If you ask me, those homewreckers have no shame at all.” I stood in the doorway, the thermal container in my hands growing heavier. My mother waved me over. “Evelyn’s here?” “Mia is such a good person, just unlucky. You don’t know what her husband is like…” “Mom, I brought you food.” I set the container on the bedside table and turned to the woman in blue scrubs. “Can you step outside? I need to talk to you.” The window at the end of the hallway was open, the smell of disinfectant dispersed somewhat by the breeze. “Were those words meant for my mother to hear?” She leaned against the wall. The gentle expression on her face peeled away like paper. “I was talking about my own family business. How does that concern you?” “This is between us.” I kept my voice low. “It has nothing to do with my mother.” “Between us?” She laughed. “Evelyn, you’ve been an underground mistress for seven years, and now you want to talk to me about ‘us’?” I clenched my fists. “You think he’ll actually marry you?” “You know that, right? He plays everyone.” “Your mother’s surgery? Who knows if it’ll even happen. She’s old. Her health isn’t great. Something could go wrong on that table…” The slap happened before I even realized what I was doing. My palm burned. She covered her face and stumbled backward. Her scream hadn’t even left her throat before it was drowned out by a voice from the other end of the hallway. “Evelyn!” Derek rushed over and pulled her behind him, grabbing my wrist. “Have you lost your mind?” She hid behind him, tears coming on command. “Derek… I just wanted to help. I saw her mother had no one with her… I don’t know why she got so angry. I didn’t say anything and she just…” I stared at Derek. “Ask her what she said.” He frowned, looking at me, then at her swollen face. “What could she have said?” “Evelyn, whatever she said, hitting her was wrong. When did you become like this?” I laughed, my eyes burning. “What have I become?” “Derek, it’s you who-” “Enough.” He cut me off, putting his arm around her shoulder and walking toward the elevator. “I’m taking her home. You calm down and think about whether what you did today was right.” 4 That night at 11:40, I got a call from the hospital. The nurse on duty said the original team of specialists had been urgently reassigned. The specific reason was unclear. I stood outside the hospital room holding my phone, hearing people talking at the far end of the hallway. “…that woman, she was the other woman for seven years.” “Really? She looks pretty decent.” “You can’t judge a book by its cover. The real wife even came to confront her.” I stood there silently, not moving. The next morning, my mother somehow heard about all this. She leaned against the headboard, her face ashen, and asked me. “Evelyn, tell me the truth.” I opened my mouth. She suddenly clutched her chest, her whole body tilting to one side. The heart monitor started screaming. My dad rushed in from outside, frantically pressing the call button. A nurse ran in, glanced at the situation, then ran back out. When she returned, she said the original surgical team wasn’t there. They could only stabilize her for now and wait for people to arrive. My dad grabbed the nurse’s sleeve. “Where are they?” “Didn’t you say everything was arranged?” The nurse shook her head and said she didn’t know. I put an oxygen mask on my mother, my hands shaking badly. Her eyes were half-open, looking at me. Her lips moved but no sound came out. I pulled out my phone and called Derek. It rang seven times before disconnecting. I called again. Still no answer. My dad paced back and forth, asking over and over what was happening. I couldn’t answer. I just stared at my phone screen, my finger frozen over the dial button. Then I tried calling from a different number. Mia answered, her voice lazy. “Looking for Derek?” “Let me talk to him.” “He’s in the shower. You can tell me whatever it is.” “Give the medical team back.” The other end went quiet for a few seconds before Derek’s voice came on. “Have you thought it through?” “Give them back.” Tears fell involuntarily from my eyes. “Please.” “I can do that.” He said, “Apologize to her. If she agrees, the team will go back.” I hung up and looked at the numbers on the monitor, then at my dad. He crouched in the corner, his hair mostly white now, shoulders hunched, like a dried-up tree stump. The elevator at Riverside Apartments was the slowest I’d ever seen. Mia sat on the sofa. There was fruit on the coffee table. She was peeling an orange. Derek stood by the floor-to-ceiling window with his back to me. “You’re here?” Mia popped a piece of orange in her mouth and chewed. “Sit down.” “Actually, I don’t really want to make things difficult for you.” “But you know, getting slapped out of nowhere-anyone would need an explanation, right?” I didn’t say anything. She looked at me and smiled. “So apologize.” “I’m sorry.” She tilted her head. “Hmm?” “What did you say? I didn’t hear clearly.” “I’m sorry.” She sighed, crumpled the tissue into a ball, and tossed it in the trash. “Words alone won’t cut it.” “Kneel down. Slap yourself. Keep going until I say stop.” I looked at her coldly. She glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling window. “Derek, what do you think?” Derek didn’t turn around. I knelt down. My knees hit the tile floor with a dull thud. I raised my hand and slapped my own face. Once, twice, three times. My palm burned, my face burned. I couldn’t tell if it was pain or numbness. “Is that enough?” Mia didn’t answer. She stared at something behind me. My phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. “Hello?” “Evelyn…” “Your mother is gone. Her heart just stopped. We couldn’t wait any longer…” The phone fell to the floor. The screen shattered. Light seeped through the cracks like a spider’s web. I knelt there, staring at that broken screen. It was still lit, the call interface showing. The timer kept running. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Derek walked toward me and crouched down, his hand on my shoulder. “Evelyn? What happened?” “Is it your mother…” His voice paused. “Don’t panic. I’ll call right now and get the team back.” “I never really planned to withdraw them. I just wanted to teach you a lesson…” I looked up at him. This face-I’d been looking at it for ten years. In front of the dorm building, cooking noodles for me in our rental apartment, asleep in the hospital hallway holding my hand. But now it looked like a stranger’s. “Derek. My mother is dead.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “369913”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #浪漫Romance #惊悚Thriller #重生Reborn