Category: English

The alert from my neighborhood Facebook group lit up my phone screen while I was in the kitchen, trying to scrape together some semblance of dinner. Someone was tagging me. Over and over. “@Clara Miller, unit 502. Your son took a key to my brand-new Rivian.” “What the hell are you raising over there? Does he want a head start on a juvenile record?” “This happens again, I swear to God, I’m breaking his fingers.” Then, the floodgates opened. Other neighbors chimed in. “My car got hit last week! A gash from the headlight to the trunk!” “Has he even left a single car in the garage untouched? Who are his parents? Do they even care?” “That explains it. I saw him walking with a key out the other day, just dragging it along the wall. I thought it was just a sound. He’s a little monster.” I turned off the stove, the motion feeling heavy, distant, as if I were moving through water. From the junk drawer, I pulled out the small black ledger. The one I kept just for this. This was the 56th time my son had keyed a car. The first time, it was our neighbor’s old Honda. I paid two hundred dollars. The tenth time, a BMW from the floor below us. Two thousand dollars. The thirty-sixth time, a Porsche in the reserved parking area. Ten thousand dollars. That was the last of our savings. Every payment since then had been made with money I’d swallowed my pride to borrow. I walked down to the garage. The gleaming electric truck sat under the fluorescent lights, a cruel white scar marring its side. My son, Leo, stood beside it, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Mommy,” he said, his voice perfectly guileless. “Didn’t you say that if I scratched the cars, I’d get a new toy? Why is that man so mad?” There it was again. That practiced, theatrical innocence he used every single time, designed to thrust me into the crossfire. The truck’s owner heard him. His face went from red to purple. He whipped out his phone and pointed it at me, the red light of the recording already on. He was live-streaming. “Everyone, get a look at this!” he yelled into the phone. “It’s the mother! She’s the one telling her kid to do it! This is the kind of trash poisoning our society!” The comment feed on his screen became an instant, waterfalling blur of judgment. In the reflection of his phone, I saw myself: wearing a stained sweatshirt, my unwashed hair plastered to my cheeks. I looked from my own haggard reflection to the jagged line on the car door, and a strange, broken sound escaped my lips. I started to laugh. 1 I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stood like this, being screamed at by a stranger. The first time was three years ago. Leo was three. I was on our small balcony watering the plants. He had found my keys, which had fallen on the floor, and quietly slipped away. He used them to draw a wobbly, misshapen flower on our neighbor’s brand-new car. Faced with the owner’s fury, I felt a shame so hot it was physically painful. All I could do was apologize, over and over, and promise to pay for everything. Back then, I thought it was just curiosity. A toddler’s mistake. I taught him, again and again: you can’t touch other people’s things, and you certainly can’t break them. He would nod, his expression serious and understanding. I thought he’d gotten the message. But then it was other cars in the neighborhood. Cars in the mall parking garage. Cars parked on the street. Anywhere we went, if there was a car, he would leave his “masterpiece.” I apologized a thousand times. I paid out a fortune. I tried everything. Patient conversations. Stern punishments. Taking away his tablet. Time-outs. I even took him to a child psychologist. The verdict was always the same: he’s a perfectly normal, exceptionally bright child. Just a bit mischievous. But he never stopped. Every single time, he would look at me with those crystal-clear eyes and promise with all his heart, “I’ll never do it again, Mommy. I promise.” And the next time, he’d choose a more expensive car and carve an even deeper line. He’d look at me with an even more innocent expression. And then, just like now, he would pin all the blame squarely on my shoulders. He made me the villain, the target of everyone’s rage, the woman they could all point their fingers at. I don’t know why he does it. All I know is that I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in years. I wake up in a panic, checking his bed to make sure he hasn’t slipped out to create a new debt, a new humiliation for me to bear. Now, listening to the car owner’s furious ranting, watching the endless stream of insults and curses on his livestream, and seeing the woman in the reflection—hair a mess, clothes stained, clutching a cheap ledger like a bible—I laughed again. Is this really my fault? Why did the child I nearly died to bring into this world make me, a thirty-two-year-old woman, look and feel fifty-two? Before I got married, I was an illustrator with a bit of a name for myself. I had my own studio, my own ambitions. Now, my eyes are sunk in dark circles, my skin is sallow. My entire life revolves around scratch repairs and payment plans. Everywhere I go, people whisper and stare. I’m like a rat in the gutter, despised by everyone. My laughter only seemed to stoke the owner’s rage. “Your son destroys my car and you have the nerve to laugh?” “If I were as big of a failure as you, I’d have jumped off a bridge by now!” Other residents, drawn by the commotion, added their own fuel to the fire. “Exactly! Your kid looks smart enough. How hard is it to teach him not to destroy property?” “If you can’t even handle that one simple thing, what’s the point of you?” “You’re an embarrassment to women.” Just as the chorus of condemnation reached its peak, my husband, Graham, appeared. “What’s going on?” He was wearing a crisp, ironed button-down shirt. He jogged over, saw the glaring scratch on the car, and his face fell in perfect, practiced understanding. Then, he turned to the owner, his voice the epitome of grace and apology. “I am so, so sorry. My wife… she hasn’t been managing him well. She will cover all of your damages.” 2 I looked at Graham. He looked the same as the day I first met him. Clean. Put-together. Incredibly polite. And just like our son, he was an expert at shifting all the blame onto me. At the sight of him, the neighbors’ anger subsided slightly. “Mr. Miller, you see the mess this has become.” “Honestly, and we’re not trying to attack you, but you need to get your wife under control. She’s ruining this kid.” “Forget it, the guy has it hard enough. Imagine being married to a walking disaster, constantly having to clean up her messes.” I stood there like a criminal on trial, watching as everyone’s gaze toward Graham softened with pity. I watched as Leo ran to his father’s arms, playing the part of a poor, frightened boy who had been misled by his own mother. From beginning to end, I was the only villain in the story. Graham let out a heavy sigh, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, everyone. It’s my fault for not keeping a better handle on things at home.” Then, he looked at me, his voice laced with a familiar, weary disappointment. “When I’m with Leo, he never touches things that aren’t his. Why can’t you teach him that?” Yes. I’d like to know that, too. Why is it that when Leo is with his father, he’s a perfect angel? But the moment he’s in my care, he becomes a demon with a vendetta against expensive cars. I wanted to explain, but by the time the words reached my lips, they turned into a bitter smile. Forget it. I’ve said it all a thousand times before. And every time, the response from Graham is the same: “This is your issue, Clara. Stop trying to blame it on our son.” I said nothing more. I just quietly took out my phone to arrange the payment. Graham, holding Leo, turned and walked away without a backward glance. The next day was the 50th wedding anniversary for Graham’s parents. I woke up early, dressed Leo in a new outfit, and repeated the instructions carefully. “Leo, honey, Grandma and Grandpa have invited a lot of guests today. At the restaurant, you have to be on your best behavior. No running around, and absolutely no touching things that don’t belong to you, okay?” He blinked his big eyes and nodded enthusiastically. “I know, Mommy. I’ll be a good boy today.” Graham came out of the bedroom, shot me a look, and said coldly, “Do you have to be so dramatic? You act like you’re guarding a prisoner.” He added, with a dismissive wave, “If you just paid more attention on a daily basis, he wouldn’t need these constant lectures.” 3 It was always like this. When I was the one paying for damages and apologizing, he was in his home office with his noise-canceling headphones on, “working.” When I tried to gently reason with Leo, he’d tell me I was too soft, that I lacked authority. When I raised my voice and disciplined Leo, he’d say I was hot-tempered and giving our son a traumatic childhood. When I took Leo to a psychologist, he said I was overreacting and needed to look for the cause of the problem in myself. He always found a way to stand on the moral high ground, enjoying the peace and quiet I bought with my own sanity, only to critique my methods from a safe distance. He would push me until I became a hysterical, screaming mess. And then he would smile that calm, gentle smile. “See? You can’t even control your own emotions. How do you expect to raise a child properly?” I used to argue with him. I used to doubt myself. I used to break down and cry. Now, I don’t even have the energy to open my mouth. We arrived at the upscale hotel we’d booked for the party. His parents and all the relatives were already there. The moment they saw Leo, their faces lit up. “Oh, there’s my handsome grandson! You look so sharp today!” “He does. You can just tell he’s a smart, well-behaved boy.” And today, Leo was. He sat quietly beside me, eating his food in small, neat bites. The adults mingled, glasses clinked, and the atmosphere was warm and celebratory. They chatted and reminisced. After a while, Leo tugged on my sleeve. “Mommy,” he whispered, “I have to go to the bathroom.” The fact that he had asked so politely filled me with a small sense of relief. Graham smiled and ruffled Leo’s hair, then glanced at me. “See? What a good boy.” His eyes held a flicker of smugness. “I really don’t know what you’re so anxious about all the time.” I ignored him, took Leo’s hand, and led him to the restrooms just outside our private ballroom. I waited for him by the door. A few moments later, a piercing car alarm shrieked from the direction of the parking garage. It was followed by a man’s furious roar. “What the FUCK? Who did this? Who the hell keyed my car?!” “Goddammit, it’s a limited-edition Bentley! I just got it!” “Which one of you assholes did this? Get the hell out here!” My blood ran cold. My stomach dropped. I called out to the men’s room door, my voice trembling. “Leo?” “Leo, are you in there?” Silence. The restroom was empty. My heart seized in my chest. I broke into a run, sprinting toward the parking garage as if my life depended on it. I burst into the garage to find a crowd gathering around a gleaming black Bentley. A deep, long, white gash ran from the front fender all the way to the taillight. A man in an expensive suit was absolutely apoplectic, screaming at his car. 4 I knew that scratch. I knew it like a part of my own body. The commotion had drawn the attention of our party. Graham and all our relatives came running out. When they saw the defaced Bentley, they gasped. Everyone froze. And then my son, Leo, ran from behind a pillar, a car key clutched in his hand. He dove into my arms, sobbing loudly for everyone to hear. “Mommy, didn’t you say this was the most expensive car?” he cried. “Didn’t you say if I scratched it, you could buy me the biggest Transformer ever? Why is that man yelling at me?” His innocent, tear-filled accusation made every single person turn to look at me, their eyes like daggers. “Clara, are you insane? You told him to key a car like this?!” Graham screamed, his face turning crimson. His father, trembling with rage, pointed a shaking finger at me. “Are you trying to bankrupt our family on purpose?!” I shook my head, trying to find the words. “No, I didn’t, I—” SMACK! Graham’s mother slapped me hard across the face. “You dare lie about it?” “Leo is six years old! Do you think he knows how to make up a story like that?!” “A child doesn’t know any better! If you, his mother, didn’t tell him to do it, why would he?” “I knew it! You’ve always been jealous of our family’s success! You’re trying to destroy us!” The car’s owner saw me and his eyes narrowed with fury. He pulled out his phone and immediately started another livestream, the title a sensationalist banner: INSANE MOTHER FORCES 6-YEAR-OLD SON TO VANDALIZE MILLION-DOLLAR CAR FOR A TOY! He bellowed at his phone’s camera, “You all see this? This is the woman! I heard her son with my own ears! She put him up to it!” “I just had this car imported! I haven’t even had it a week! This woman is a psycho!” The story from the day before was still fresh in people’s minds. The moment I appeared in a new livestream, hundreds of thousands of viewers flooded in. The comments were a tidal wave of hate. “It’s that bitch again! Is she mentally ill?!” “Holy shit, telling her kid to key a million-dollar car? What is wrong with her brain?!” “She doesn’t deserve to be a mother! She’s a menace to society!” “Call the cops! They need to arrest this lunatic and lock her up!” The online mob was rabid, hurling the most vicious curses imaginable at me. The story was exploding, my face plastered across every social media platform. “Psycho Mom,” “The Vandalism Coach,” “Social Menace”—these were my new titles. More and more people gathered in the garage. Fueled by the car owner’s rage, the mood of the crowd reached a fever pitch. They started pointing, shouting, and someone even threw a lit cigarette butt at me. I stood in the center of the circle, a condemned prisoner awaiting execution, enduring the storm of their hatred. I looked at their faces, twisted with a desire to see me ripped apart. And then I looked at my son, nestled in my arms, who gave me a tiny, triumphant smile that only I could see. In that moment, I did something that shocked everyone to their core. 5 Under the glare of a dozen phone cameras, I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the face. Twice. The sharp, cracking sounds echoed through the garage, silencing the roar of the crowd. Everyone stared, dumbfounded. Even the livestream comments seemed to pause for a beat. Into the stunned silence, I spoke, my voice cold and flat. “Yes. I’m a terrible mother. I’m a criminal.” There was no emotion in my tone. As they all watched in bewilderment, I scanned the crowd, my expression blank. “It’s my fault. I was greedy.” “It’s my fault. I failed to raise him right.” “It’s my fault. I ruined your perfect day.” “There. Are you satisfied now?” Without another word, I stopped looking at them. I ignored the shocked, angry, and contemptuous stares. I pushed my way through the crowd and walked out. Behind me, after a moment of dead silence, the garage erupted in an even more ferocious wave of discussion. And above it all, Graham’s furious, panicked shout: “Clara, what the hell is this new psychotic episode?” “You can’t just walk away! Get back here and clean up this mess!” No. The mess that needed cleaning wasn’t the scratch on that car. It was the years of filth that had accumulated in my own heart. I went straight home. The first thing I did was pull the divorce papers I’d prepared months ago from my desk drawer. Then, I started packing. I’m only thirty-two. I refuse to spend the rest of my life consumed by a child who is deliberately trying to ruin me, trapped in an endless cycle of debt and public condemnation. I am a person first, a mother second. I am done living this small, terrified life. This cold house has given me nothing but despair, humiliation, and exhaustion. Graham, my husband, the eternal bystander, always looking down on me from his pedestal. And the child I risked my life to give birth to, always stabbing me in the back, always setting me up for public disgrace. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I don’t know why this father and son duo teamed up to torture me this way. But I’m done serving them. I’ve had enough. I didn’t have much to pack. The house was filled with Graham’s expensive suits and Leo’s designer toys. My own existence had been whittled down to nothing but cleaning up their messes. I gathered a few articles of clothing, my old art supplies, and my important documents. Then I dragged my dusty suitcase out from under the bed. As I bent down, my fingers brushed against something cold and hard tucked away in the back. I reached in and pulled it out. My eyes widened. My breath caught in my throat. I finally understood why Leo had become the boy he was.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394333”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My best friend, my fellow struggling actress, turned out to be the long-lost heiress to one of New York’s old-money families. The day she left our tiny walk-up in Queens, she swore she’d pull me up with her into the good life. Two months later, she blocked my number. Fueled by a white-hot rage, I chased her to the city, arriving just in time for her wedding to the son of a titan of industry. Ava, that ungrateful snake. The second she got a taste of the high life, she forgot all about me. For the sake of appearances, I swallowed my anger, stuffed some cash in an envelope as a final goodbye to our friendship, and prepared to walk away. But when I looked up, I saw the woman in the wedding portrait wasn’t my best friend. It was Chloe, the Davenports’ adopted daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, the same couple who had once plastered their tear-streaked faces all over national television, begging for their daughter’s return, now spoke of Ava with utter disgust. “That morally corrupt creature has been thrown out of this house. From this day forward, Chloe is our only daughter!” “She’s just a no-name extra who learned all her dirty tricks from TV. Since she loves acting so much, we decided to let her star in her own horror show—naked and screaming.” I just stood there, stunned, the world tilting on its axis. On the day of that wedding, I brought the Davenport empire to its knees. A no-name extra? Hardly. I am Jade, the Crown Princess of Starlight Entertainment, the largest media conglomerate in Asia. And my best friend? She is destined to win an Oscar. 1 The woman next to me on the flight to New York had been talking for the last hour about the wedding of the decade: the union of the Davenport heiress and Carter Sterling, son of the real estate magnate. “Twenty custom Rolls-Royces, circling Central Park twice,” she’d gushed, scrolling through a gossip blog on her phone. “The gown was designed in Paris, took a year to hand-bead. And the party favors? The new Hermès Kelly. For everyone.” She sighed, a cloud of envy. “That Davenport girl, she hit the lottery. Disappeared for twenty-three years, and the moment she’s found, she’s wrapped in cotton wool. Parents who adore her, in-laws who basically own the Eastern seaboard… God, I’d wake up laughing in my sleep.” I gripped the cheap airline blanket bunched in my lap, my knuckles white. Ava. That ungrateful, forgetful… friend. She’d sworn on the day she left our shoebox apartment that she’d bring me with her, that we’d finally live the life we’d always dreamed of. Two months later, my number was blocked. Now she was handing out designer bags like party mints while I was still counting my tips to make rent. I took a cab straight from JFK to the Sterling family’s sprawling Long Island estate. The sheer opulence of the place, with its manicured gardens and fountains that glittered like diamonds, should have made me angrier. Instead, a strange calm settled over me. I pulled all the cash I had from my wallet—a couple hundred dollars—and stuffed it into a wedding envelope. A final transaction to close the account on our friendship. As I walked toward the entrance, I glanced up at the massive, elegantly framed portrait of the happy couple. And I stopped dead. The bride smiling in the photograph wasn’t Ava. It was Chloe, the Davenports’ adopted daughter. A cold dread washed over me. Something was terribly wrong. I pushed past a confused-looking usher and stormed into the bridal suite, searching for any sign of Ava. Inside, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport were fussing over Chloe, their faces beaming with pride. They looked up, annoyed by my intrusion. The moment I said Ava’s name, their expressions curdled. “That morally bankrupt creature has been thrown out,” Mrs. Davenport said, her voice dripping with disdain. “From now on, the Davenports have only one daughter: Chloe.” She gave me a dismissive once-over. “If you’re here for the wedding, have some champagne and find your seat. But if you’re here to make a scene on that little tramp’s behalf, you’ll find we are not nearly as polite as our staff.” My heart sank to the floor. The way she spat the words “little tramp,” referring to her own flesh and blood… “I’m here to find Ava,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “Where is she? Why is her phone off?” Chloe, who had been watching me with a look of curated curiosity, suddenly shrank back, clutching her mother’s arm. “Dad, it has to be her! I bet Ava sent her! She’s still furious that I won Carter’s heart, and now she’s trying to hurt me again!” she cried, her voice trembling. “Mom, you have to protect me!” The Davenports’ eyes narrowed, instantly protective and hostile. I let out a short, cold laugh. This whole damsel-in-distress act was so pathetically outdated. If she wanted to play the victim, I’d be happy to give her a reason. I snatched a bottle of champagne from a silver bucket on the table and, in one smooth motion, dumped the entire contents over her perfectly coiffed head. “Aaaah! My dress! You’re insane!” Chloe shrieked. “Mom, my wedding is ruined! It’s ruined!” Mrs. Davenport lunged at me with a scream, her manicured nails like claws. I sidestepped and slapped her, hard, across her powdered cheek. The sound echoed in the silent room. “You… you hit me!” she gasped, her hand flying to her face. As I raised my hand again, Mr. Davenport quickly pulled his wife and daughter behind him, his eyes boring into me with pure hatred. “You really were sent by that monster to destroy Chloe’s day!” he snarled. “Security! Get this woman out of here! She’s trespassing!” Two large men in black suits started toward me. I didn’t move. Instead, I crossed my arms, sank into a velvet armchair, and casually crossed my legs. “Inform the guests,” I said, my voice calm and clear, “the wedding is cancelled.” The head of security, a man with a jaw like a cinder block, stopped in his tracks, gave me a short, respectful nod, and said, “Yes, ma’am.” The expressions on the three Davenports’ faces shifted from outrage to utter confusion. For the security of the Sterling Estate to obey me, a complete stranger, meant something they couldn’t comprehend. “Who… who in God’s name are you?” Mr. Davenport stammered. 2 “You don’t need to know who I am,” I said, my gaze locked on him. “You just need to know that I’m Ava’s friend. And if you want this wedding to happen, you will bring her to me. Now.” The security team formed a loose circle around the three of them, a silent, intimidating wall. Chloe stomped her foot, her champagne-soaked dress squelching pathetically. “If you’re her friend, why are you doing this to us? Everyone who’s anyone in New York is out there! Ava isn’t just embarrassing me; she’s making a mockery of the entire Davenport family!” “That viper! That ungrateful snake!” Mr. Davenport’s face was turning a blotchy, furious red. “By tomorrow, this will be all over the society pages! The Davenports will be a laughingstock!” He turned on his wife. “I told you we should have just left it alone! People lose children every day, it’s fate! But no, you had to go looking!” “What good does saying that now do?” she shrieked back. “If I’d known she was this much trouble, I would have preferred she’d died out there! A gutter-born animal with no manners, after all the money I wasted on her!” The story of the lost Davenport heiress had been national news. They had poured millions into a TV drama about missing children, a vanity project designed to find their daughter. Every episode began and ended with Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, weeping into the camera, pleading for her return. Ava had been hesitant, unsure about re-entering their world. But they’d gone on talk shows, they’d sworn to the entire country that they would spend the rest of their lives making up for the years they’d lost. Their performance had convinced me. It was I who had encouraged Ava to go back to them. Two months. How had their hearts turned to stone in just two months? My jaw tightened. I pulled out my phone and tried Ava’s number again. Straight to voicemail. My patience evaporated. I held out my hand, and the captain of the security detail, as if anticipating my need, placed a long, thin riding crop into my palm. “Tell me where Ava is,” I demanded, the leather tip tapping against the marble floor with a sharp crack. Just then, a man pushed through the security cordon and strode into the room. “What the hell is going on? Why was my wedding cancelled?” The Davenports lit up like they’d seen a savior. “Carter, darling, you’re finally here!” Mrs. Davenport cried. “Mr. Sterling, this girl cancelled your wedding without your permission! You have to stop her!” “Carter!” Chloe wailed, running to him. “Look what she did to my dress! She’s just some nobody extra Ava used to know! She’s here to cause trouble, to disrespect your family, to disrespect you!” She looked up at him, her beautiful face streaked with tears and mascara, a perfect picture of wounded innocence. “All our guests are watching! You have to put her in her place!” A thunderous look crossed Carter’s face. “Who the hell did this to my wife?” he boomed, scanning the room. “Who thinks they can come to New York and screw with the Sterling family? You got a death wish?” Whispers erupted from the onlookers who had crowded the doorway. “That’s Carter Sterling! His family practically built this city. They’re old-world power, serious political connections.” “No wonder the Davenports kicked out their real daughter. The adopted one landed the biggest fish in the sea.” “Carter’s family is untouchable in this town. It doesn’t matter if this girl is right or wrong, she’s about to get flattened.” As the crowd waited for the fireworks, I flicked my wrist. The riding crop sliced through the air and struck Carter across the chest. I’d spent six months in intensive training with a world-renowned stunt coordinator for a role. My technique was flawless. Even with only a fraction of my strength, a bright red welt blossomed instantly on his white tuxedo jacket. “Who the hell hit me?” he roared, stunned. I took a step forward. “Do I need an appointment?” Carter clutched his arm, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and fury. Then, recognition dawned. “You! What are you doing here?” “Is that any way to greet your elders?” I gestured with the crop toward Chloe. “I thought you were marrying the Davenport heiress. Who’s the impostor?” A flicker of guilt—or maybe fear—crossed his face. “I saw you last on a film set in Vancouver. This is my business. Stay out of it.” Your business? A humorless smile touched my lips. “Kneel.” Carter’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning with defiance. Chloe scoffed from behind him. “He’s Carter Sterling! Why in the world would he ever kneel to a nobody like you?” I didn’t even bother to look at her. With another sharp flick of my wrist, I struck the back of Carter’s knee. His leg buckled, and he fell to the ground with a grunt of pain, landing heavily on one knee. “Jade,” he choked out, his face pale. “I thought you said you were too busy to come to the wedding.” 3 A wave of gasps rippled through the onlookers. “What did he just call her?” “She can’t be more than a few years younger than him… How is she his… elder?” The Davenports just stared, their mouths hanging open, unable to process what they were seeing. I ignored the murmurs and pointed the tip of the crop at Carter’s chin. “Tell me where Ava is. Were you involved in this?” “Hmph. I’m not telling you anything,” he spat, his neck muscles straining. “That woman is nothing but a conniving snake. I personally saw her push Chloe down a flight of stairs. She spread the most vicious rumors about her! She deserves everything she’s getting!” “You little fool,” Carter growled, trying to get up. “I call you Jade out of respect for my grandfather, but you better not push it. This has nothing to do with you.” I laughed, a sound devoid of any warmth. What had Chloe done to these people? It was like they were all under a spell. I looked at the four of them—the gullible fiancé, the social-climbing fake, the cruel, heartless parents. “You,” I said, my voice cutting through the air as I addressed the Davenports, “were supposed to be her parents. You didn’t raise her for a single day, and in the eighteen years she was lost, did you ever once try to understand her? To trust her?” I turned back to Carter. “And you. Your grandfather arranged a match with the Davenport daughter, not some imposter you picked. You knew her identity was a lie and you said nothing to your family. You have no honor.” With that, I began to strike them, the crop landing with sharp, punishing cracks. They cried out, trying to scramble away, but the security team moved in, holding them firmly in place as they howled. “Ava was born bad! We don’t have a daughter like that!” “Do you know who you’re messing with? The movie star Seraphina Roche is Chloe’s god-sister! Her fans will eat you alive!” “Don’t think because my grandfather respects you that I’m afraid of you!” Carter yelled. “You’re not blood! Without the Sterling name, you’re nothing!” Just as he said it, a new commotion started at the door. “It’s Marcus Sterling! The man himself is here!” “Mr. Sterling, you have to see what’s happening to your son! He’s been beaten!” A distinguished, middle-aged man in a tailored suit strode forward, his face a mask of authority. “What is the meaning of this circus? Everyone, stop this instant!” I lowered the crop, my breathing heavy. Seeing his father, Carter immediately scrambled over. “Dad, it’s Jade! She’s lost her mind! It’s my wedding day, and look what she’s done to me!” Chloe rushed forward as well. “Mr. Sterling, thank God you’re here! This woman not only ruined our wedding, she attacked my parents! They’re not young, what if she seriously hurt them?” Marcus Sterling looked from his battered son to the weeping bride, to the cowering Davenports, his mind clearly struggling to catch up. I cleared my throat softly. His head snapped in my direction. “Jade! Why are you here? If I had known you were coming, I would have sent a car for you myself!” The Davenports’ jaws dropped so low they nearly touched the floor. They looked utterly, hopelessly stupid. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Marcus,” I said. “We need to talk about your son. My father, before he passed, arranged for Carter to marry the Davenport heiress. So you tell me why he’s marrying this… replacement. And where is my real niece-in-law?” The color drained from Marcus’s face as he finally understood. “He’s right. Where is Ava? And you,” he said, pointing at Chloe, “you’re the adopted one. Why are you in the wedding dress?” Carter had clearly planned to get the ceremony over with, forcing his father to accept Chloe in front of all their guests. Now, his plan was in tatters. He just stammered, unable to form a single coherent sentence. “Speak up! Where is Ava?” Marcus roared. The room fell deathly silent. Chloe peeked out from behind her parents. It was Mrs. Davenport who spoke, her voice shrill. “That Ava girl is no good! Chloe may not be our blood, but we raised her to be a perfect lady!” “That’s right!” Mr. Davenport chimed in. “That little stray can’t compare to our Chloe! She isn’t worthy of the Sterling family!” “The woman our family chooses is not for you to approve or disapprove of!” Marcus thundered. “Now if you don’t tell me where she is, I will personally ensure the Davenport name is erased from this city by morning!” I was done wasting time. In a single, fluid motion, I stepped toward one of Marcus’s bodyguards, pulled the handgun from his hip holster, and turned, pressing the cold muzzle against Chloe’s forehead before anyone could react. “Where. Is. Ava?” Carter, seeing the look on his father’s face—a look that offered no help—finally broke. He whispered three words, his voice trembling. “Blackwater Street… the warehouse.” For a second, the world went silent, and then my mind exploded.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394352”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone claimed Michael Long was obsessed with me. To force me to him, he severed my fiancé’s legs and sent them in a satin-lined box—my birthday gift. I retaliated swiftly: had him kidnapped, cut his hamstring, and gouged out an eye. He wasn’t angry. He just smiled, bloody and terrifying. “See? We’re cut from the same cloth. A match made in hell.” I smiled back, horrified he was right. We spent eight years carving a path of blood. Then a pristine, ethereal woman appeared beside him—clean, untouched by our filth. She came to my door, flowing white dress like an angel. “Michael says you’re too dirty now. Only I am worthy.” I nodded, unimpressed, then took a knife and carved a new reality into her perfect face. “An angel? Let’s see if heaven accepts scarred ones.” Her screams were a divine symphony. I took a photo of her blood-streaked face and sent it to Michael: “Come get your dog.” 1 Ten minutes. That’s how long it took for Michael to arrive, a pistol tucked into his waistband. “What did you do?” he growled. “I disciplined your disobedient pet. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?” I lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around my fingers as I rubbed my ear. “What’s that? I can’t hear you over all the barking.” “Elara, you—” The woman in his arms, Alyssa, was sobbing hysterically, clutching her ruined face. “Michael, kill her! Please, kill her for me!” she shrieked. “She destroyed my face! She’s just jealous that you love me!” Michael pushed her hands away. The moment he saw the bloody gashes, his eyes turned crimson. He whipped out his gun, pressed the cold muzzle to my forehead, and racked the slide. His voice was colder than the steel. “Elara. You’ve gone too far.” “She’s just a girl! She’s not like us!” I laughed, a puff of smoke clouding his face as I casually pushed the barrel aside. “So? You’re going to kill me to avenge her?” I took another drag, my voice laced with amusement. “Or maybe… you want to ruin my face, too? Give her a little payback?” My own blade was already pressed against his stomach. “You know I’m not this little fool. You know the consequences.” In a flash, Michael’s men surrounded me. I pressed the knife a fraction of an inch deeper, drawing a bead of blood. Michael hissed in pain. For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then, a slow, dark smile spread across his face. He raised a hand. “Stand down,” he commanded his men. “I didn’t call you. Get the hell out.” He turned his gaze back to me, his one good eye boring into mine. “Elara. You’ve got guts.” “Takes one to know one. You taught me well, after all.” To make me just like him, he’d presented me with my fiancé’s legs. To force me to marry him, he’d wrapped my hand around a knife and plunged it into my fiancé’s heart. “Once you’re as filthy as I am,” he had whispered, “no one else will ever have you.” He had dragged me from my pedestal down into the gutter with him. Now this pristine white lily was stained with blood, never to be clean again. And he was claiming he preferred purity? Hilarious. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my gift?” I taunted. “Then again, you always preferred taking limbs. I suppose I was a bit too merciful. I’ll try to do better next time.” Alyssa, incensed, tugged at his arm, begging him to defend her honor. Michael watched me for a long, silent moment before finally turning to leave with his men. “Mark my words, Elara,” he snarled over his shoulder. “This isn’t over.” The consequences came faster than I expected. That night, Michael summoned every doctor on the Family’s payroll to treat Alyssa. He threatened their lives, demanding they ensure not a single scar remained on her precious face. The news reached me while I was feeding the sharks in my private aquarium. I clicked my tongue. “It’s been too long since you had a real meal, hasn’t it, my pretty?” I murmured to the circling predator. “Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you’re fed soon.” My loyal retainer, Arthur, draped a coat over my shoulders, his face a mask of fury. “The Boss has gone too far this time, Miss Elara. This is the first time he’s ever turned on you for another woman.” He lowered his voice. “Without your support, this Family would have never fallen into his hands.” I just shook my head, a smile playing on my lips. “She’s just a toy, Arthur. Let him play. When he’s done, I’ll be there to clean up the mess.” I pressed a finger to his lips, my tone sharp. “And remember, there is no ‘Family’ anymore. We are a legitimate corporation now.” I turned back to the massive tank, to the hundred smaller fish Michael had so painstakingly curated. “Dump them in,” I said, my voice flat. “Useless things don’t deserve to live.” The small, colorful fish scattered in a panic, but there was no escaping the shark’s gaping maw. A crimson cloud bloomed in the crystal-clear water. I watched, fascinated, and sent a photo to Michael. “Fun, isn’t it? A bit of an appetizer. You should raise more next time.” He didn’t text back. Instead, a video call request popped up. It was Alyssa’s triumphant face that greeted me. “What’s the matter? Disappointed to see me?” she chirped. “I’m so sorry to tell you, but not only did Michael not abandon me over a few scratches, he promised to make you pay. All your personal doctors are here with me. I hear you need a shot every night just to sleep. I wonder if you’ll have sweet dreams tonight?” She leaned forward, deliberately revealing a fresh love bite on her collarbone. “You’re so foul, Elara. Disgusting.” Her voice dripped with saccharine pity. “But I’m different. My hands… are clean.” My lips curved into a smile. “Is that so? A word of advice: clean things don’t last long in the Long family.” I hung up. Moments later, Arthur entered with a file. “Miss Elara, you asked me to find these items. They’re up for auction tomorrow night.” Finally, some good news. “Eight years,” I whispered. “It’s taken eight years. Prepare fifty million. I’m bringing them home tomorrow.” At the auction, it was inevitable that our paths would cross. Alyssa clung to Michael’s arm, her voice dripping with mockery. “Miss Elara, what a coincidence. Is there something here that catches your eye?” she asked. “Though, Michael already told me everything tonight is mine. As compensation.” Michael felt my gaze on him and patted her hand reassuringly. “She’s right, I did,” he confirmed, his tone flat. “You went too far last time, Elara. Consider this your apology to her. Don’t be childish.” I almost laughed. When I’d dealt with a rival crew that came for his head, I left dozens of bodies in my wake. All he’d said then was, “Good girl.” Now, for Alyssa, I was being childish? I stared at him, my voice low. “You didn’t see my photo last night?” “I imagine not,” I continued, not waiting for an answer. “Otherwise, how could you possibly be in the mood for a night out?” Michael’s expression froze. He shot a look at Alyssa, who stammered for a moment before admitting she’d seen the photo of the fish being devoured. “They were just some stupid fish! I didn’t think they were important, so I deleted it for you.” Michael’s breathing hitched. “Who gave you permission to do that?” he hissed. But the moment a tear traced a path down Alyssa’s cheek, his anger deflated. “Forget it. Let’s just watch the auction. We’ll talk when we get home.” As the auction began, Michael, without even looking at the catalogue, bought out the entire event. He invoked the “Emperor’s Bid”—a single, massive payment that won him every lot for the rest of the night. Gasps echoed through the hall. My face went cold. One by one, the lots were hammered down, all to him. Then came the final three items. I shot to my feet. My mother’s emerald bracelet. My father’s crucifix, blessed in Rome. And my grandfather’s antique pocket watch. My last remaining heirlooms. I cornered the auctioneer. “Those three items. They must be mine, no matter the price.” The man turned pale. “Miss Elara, you know the rules of the Emperor’s Bid… please don’t make this difficult for me. Perhaps… perhaps you could speak to Mr. Long directly?” I found Michael’s private box. Just as I was about to speak, Alyssa pointed at the stage. “Michael, darling, I love those last three pieces! They’re my favorite. I want them.” Michael’s face tightened. “You just said they were tacky.” “Well, I’ve changed my mind,” she pouted, placing a hand on her stomach. “Are you going to deny me? Both of us will be very upset. When our baby is born, I’ll be sure to tell him what a cheapskate his father is!” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at her still-flat stomach. So that’s why this woman was so bold. She was carrying his child. Michael’s face hardened as he looked at me. “Elara, I promised these to Alyssa. If you like them, I’ll find you something similar later.” “You know what these mean to me!” Eight years ago, when a rival family ambushed us, those heirlooms were lost. I slaughtered a hundred of their men, but their leader, to spite me, would never tell me where they were. In the end, it was Michael who tortured the location out of them over the course of a month. His voice was tight with suppressed rage. “They’re just things from dead people, Elara. Why are you so obsessed?” “I said I’ll make it up to you. This time, they go to Alyssa. You owe her that much.” Alyssa stepped forward, her smile laced with poison. “That’s right, Miss Elara. Your parents are dead. Won’t keeping their things just make you sadder?” She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think… maybe they died so horribly as cosmic punishment for all your sins?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394369”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For five years, I dedicated myself to saving Alberto Morris, trying to rewrite the tragic ending where he dies for the story’s heroine. But when she was in danger again, he didn’t hesitate for a second to throw his life away for her. He stopped fighting, letting his enemies plunge their knives into him, again and again, all to protect her. When I rushed to the scene, I found Alberto kneeling in a pool of his own blood, his trembling hands wiping away the heroine’s tears. He gently soothed the terrified Amelia. “Don’t cry, Mia. It’s okay. I don’t feel a thing.” Looking at this picture of devoted love, who would have guessed that just yesterday, this same man was whining to me about a tiny scratch on his hand? “Babe, it hurts.” Back then, I was naive enough to believe I was special to him. Now, I finally understand. The devoted male side character belongs to the heroine. And dying tragically to save her is the ending he would willingly choose. Five years. This time, I’m truly done. 1 The warehouse was a wreck. The man across from them sneered. “Three more cuts. Do it yourself, and we’ll let her go.” Alberto looked down at Amelia, who was shivering in his arms. His throat bobbed. “Fine,” he rasped. I stood behind them, my nails digging into my palms, unable to move a single step. I watched as Alberto picked up a blood-stained knife from the floor. He gently covered Amelia’s eyes. “Mia, close your eyes. Don’t look.” He raised the knife, his movements fluid and without a trace of hesitation. Seeing this, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an iron fist. Just as the blade was about to fall, I forced myself to speak. “Wait.” Every eye in the room turned to me. Alberto looked over his shoulder. His pupils contracted when he saw me. His lips parted as if to say something, but all that came out was a violent cough. I deliberately ignored his gaze, walked past him, and handed the briefcase in my hand to the kidnapper. “The money’s here. I’m taking them with me.” The leader of the group grinned, taking the case. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “We’ll take the money. But a pretty thing like you… why don’t you stay and play with us for a while?” As his hand reached for me, I instinctively took a step back. I bumped into a tall metal pole behind me. It teetered for a second before crashing down with a deafening clang. The pole landed right between Amelia and me. Alberto reacted on pure instinct, shielding Amelia with his entire body, his back to the falling pole. “Mia, look out!” It slammed onto the concrete an inch from my feet, the impact kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the hem of my dress. My heart stopped. Watching them clinging to each other, a loud ringing filled my ears, and the world went silent. “Hands up!” A swarm of people rushed in. My backup had finally arrived, subduing the kidnappers. Only then did I manage to regain what little composure I had left. I took a deep breath, slowly righted the fallen pole, and walked toward the two still locked in a desperate embrace. Amelia looked up from Alberto’s arms, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for saving me and Alberto, sister.” I didn’t answer her. I just stared at Alberto. He immediately let go of Amelia, his eyes wide with a flicker of panic as he looked at me. “I…” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “The ambulance is here,” I said flatly, cutting him off. He refused to get into the ambulance until Amelia’s private driver arrived to take her home. Inside the vehicle, he carefully tugged at the corner of my shirt, his voice impossibly soft. “Babe, my arm really hurts…” The moment Amelia was gone, he was back to being the Alberto who knew how to play on my sympathy. Before, my heart would have ached for him. Now, I found it almost funny. Hurts? That’s not what he told Amelia just a few minutes ago. I looked at the red stain his bloody hand had left on my clothes. After a long silence, I pried his fingers off my sleeve. “It’s dirty,” I said softly. He froze. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with confusion. “Babe, I lost a lot of blood today…” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I saw.” His breath hitched. He stared at me for a long moment, and when he saw that I remained unmoved, he finally turned his head away and fell silent. He was sulking, expecting me to coddle him. But this time, I didn’t. I saw things more clearly than ever. This was a man who had been the young heiress’s personal bodyguard since he was eight years old. A man whose body was a roadmap of scars from knives and bullets. How could he possibly be fragile? And yet, he had shown me his vulnerability time and time again, making me believe that I was different, that I was special to him. But now… I lowered my eyes, hiding the emotions swirling within them. I felt a dampness on my fingertips. Looking down, I saw that the gash I’d gotten from the falling pole was bleeding. And Alberto hadn’t even noticed. 2 We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride. I stared out the window, the passing city lights blurring into a meaningless smear. My mind drifted back five years, to the day I first met him. He had been covered in blood then, too, kneeling ramrod straight outside the gates of Amelia’s family estate, taking the blame for her mistake. Rain mixed with the blood running down his body, staining the pavement a dark crimson. I had knelt in front of him, holding an umbrella over his head. “Do you need help?” I had asked. He had lifted his dark, bottomless eyes, studying me for a long moment before raising an eyebrow. “And if I do? You’ll save me?” I had nodded. From that day on, I used the points I had accumulated over the years to piece his broken body back together. His tendons were torn, his back and abdomen a mangled mess from the beating he had taken. The healing process was excruciating. But he never made a sound. He would just stare at me with those dark, guarded eyes, his body tense with suspicion. Until the very last treatment. He had suddenly reached out and grabbed my sleeve, forcing out a single, clumsy word: “Hurts.” That was the first time he had ever shown me his weakness. After that, he grew more and more dependent on me. He would reach for me in his sleep when nightmares plagued him. He would rest his head on my shoulder when the pain from his old wounds flared up. He would cling to my hand during thunderstorms. It was then that I confidently accepted the mission from the System. Save the devoted male side character. Change his tragic fate. I naively believed I could be the light that saved him. But gradually, I came to understand. In the world of a devoted side character, the heroine is always the exception. Even though he only ever showed his vulnerability to me, even though he spent months planning our wedding, even though he whispered “I love you” in my ear countless times. The moment Amelia needed him, he would drop everything and run to her side. He would protect her with a self-destructive recklessness that tore open all the wounds I had so carefully healed. The first time was the day after our wedding. He took a call and left in a hurry. When he came back, he had seven new bullet holes in him. The wounds were too compromising to take him to a hospital. I had to treat him myself, at home. Covered in his own blood, his eyes shimmering with tears from the pain, he looked utterly pathetic. He clung to my sleeve, his feverish eyes hazy as he called out my name over and over again. “Babe… babe…” I should have been furious. But with every weak call of my name, my heart softened. The second time was on my birthday. He abandoned me in front of all our friends, diving off a yacht to save Amelia, who had “accidentally” fallen overboard. I stood on the deck that day and watched a real-life reenactment of Titanic. When I found him, he was half-frozen, but he was still clutching our wedding ring so tightly that his palm was bleeding. And in that moment, my resolve wavered again. It had been like this for years, one time after another. The heroine truly was the heroine, always surrounded by danger, always in need of a protector. I told myself over and over again that it was a matter of life and death, that of course he would choose to save her. I just hadn’t been in that kind of danger. The moment I was, he would surely choose me. Until today. When that pole came crashing down, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He chose her. And I finally saw the truth. His choice would never be me. 3 Alberto’s injuries were severe. He passed out from blood loss on the way to the hospital. The System’s life-support alarm blared in my head, over and over again. I sighed. I had no points left. If I wanted to save him, I would have to trade something else. I leaned in close to his pale face and whispered in his ear, “Alberto, this is the last time.” In the end, I chose to trade all of my feelings for him in exchange for a sliver of a chance at his survival. The moment the System extracted those emotions from my heart, the world went quiet. I looked down at the unconscious man on the gurney and saw a stranger. All the pain, the joy, the sleepless nights—it all vanished in an instant. There were six months left on the mission timer. An idea, one I had never considered before, popped into my head. So what if the mission fails? The worst that could happen is I don’t get my bonus. If he dies, I won’t. Besides, if he was so determined to walk into his own grave, what could I possibly do to stop him? I looked at the blood splattered all over the ambulance and took a disgusted step back. 4 I considered just leaving, finding some quiet corner of the world to hide in until the mission was over. But abandoning a mission mid-task would likely result in some unforeseen punishment. I decided to just phone it in, to do the bare minimum until the end. On the third morning, Alberto finally woke up. He shifted slightly and let out a soft groan.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394386”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day Natalie’s wealthy family reclaimed her, a convoy of black luxury cars paralyzed our sleepy village. When the butler arrived, she didn’t flinch—as if she’d expected this. But she hesitated when choosing who to take. Clutching our daughter’s hand, she gave me an apologetic glance. “I’ll take Zoe first. I’ll come back for you later.” Her eyes flickered toward the man in the Rolls-Royce. “As for William… my father likes him, so…” She trailed off, waiting. But I already knew. William was her lost love, the man she belonged with. In our years together, Natalie often sighed that I couldn’t discuss astronomy, poetry, or Proust. Yet when I brought her fresh greens or rich broth, she’d reluctantly set aside her books—complaining about mosquitos, muddy floors, laundry. She never knew I could read her letters to “My Dearest William.” So when she spoke, I just nodded and slung my foraging basket over my shoulder. “Your choice,” I said flatly. “I’m picking morels. We’ll talk later.” 1 The village kids came running to our house, shouting the news, just as Natalie was teaching our daughter, Zoe, her penmanship. Zoe’s pen slipped, smudging a dark blot of ink across the page. Natalie’s expression remained serene. “Zoe, what have I told you? Penmanship is about discipline. A quiet mind.” I knew what was coming. She would be reunited with her family, the illustrious McDonough clan, and would soon return to the sprawling metropolis of Veridia. After the family’s initial visit, Natalie remained impossibly poised. She was, after all, the cherished eldest daughter of the McDonoughs. Even after years of amnesia in this backwater village, the grace and dignity etched into her very bones had never faded. And I was even calmer than she was. I went about my business, heading to the mountains to forage as usual. Old Man Hemlock, a village elder, saw me and chuckled. “Leo! About to live the high life in the city with that wife of yours, and you’re still grubbing for mushrooms in the woods?” Natalie had told her family she needed a day to pack, that they should return for her tomorrow. She said she was bringing two people with her. The whole village was green with envy, saying my ancestors must have done something truly spectacular to grant me such luck. They’d all forgotten how, when Natalie first washed up here with no memory and no skills, I was the only one willing to care for her like a lost child. It was a small village. To protect her from the wagging tongues and preserve what was left of her honor, I married her. The “wedding” was nothing more than a few neighbors, a few hard-boiled eggs passed around. And for a time, we were happy. Back then, she was my wife. Only mine. Now she was leaving, and it was only natural that she should take her husband and child. But I knew better. In my previous life, Natalie had indeed taken two people back with her to the McDonough estate. I wasn’t one of them. Remembering this, I just smiled at Old Man Hemlock. “The morels are especially good this season.” Good mushrooms fetched a high price. Enough for me to leave this place and start a new life. 2 When I returned, William was in our small living room, teaching Zoe some basic French phrases. “You have to study hard,” he was saying, his voice smooth and encouraging. “In Veridia, kids your age can already hold a conversation in French.” Zoe was hanging on his every word. William smiled, ruffling her hair. “You’re a quick learner, Zoe. Not like…” Zoe threw her arms around his waist. “It’s all thanks to you, Uncle William! If I was like Dad, who only knows how to talk like a country bumpkin, I’d be so embarrassed when we get there.” Natalie, who had been engrossed in a book, merely glanced up. A soft, approving smile touched her lips. What a warm, picture-perfect family scene. I’d seen this tableau play out for two lifetimes now. William was a local boy, too. But his father was a violent drunk and his mother had died young. An aunt from the city eventually found him and took him in, giving him a proper education. I never understood why he came back to Stonehaven. At first, I was grateful to him. Zoe had been playing near the river, slipped, and it was William who’d pulled her out. But after that, things began to shift. He started visiting our home and saw Natalie. He watched, mesmerized, as she practiced her calligraphy, one hand behind her back, the other guiding the brush with a fluid, elegant grace. Her slender, clean fingers moved with an artist’s confidence. He leaned in close. “Natalie, you’re a woman of culture. Leo is a lucky man.” I didn’t understand the poets and philosophers she and William discussed for hours. With me, she only ever talked about the summer heat or the winter chill. But I understood the mockery in William’s tone. I just stood there, my hands calloused and dirty, feeling like an oaf. Soon, William was at our house every other day. He even convinced Natalie to take a part-time teaching position at the village school. From then on, it was always “Miss Natalie.” Whenever I brought her lunch, I’d find William sitting right beside her. I watched as she carefully ladled the chicken soup I’d simmered all night into his bowl. Zoe would giggle beside them. “Dad, Uncle William loves your cooking the most!” Yes. I worked from dawn till dusk, foraging and trading for the best hens to feed my wife and daughter. I toiled on that barren patch of land behind our house to grow the tenderest greens. I never saved the best for myself. And now, they were using the fruits of my labor to win the affection of another man. In my last life, I’d said as much, right there in front of everyone. Natalie’s brow had furrowed, her lips a thin, tight line. She gave William a slight, apologetic bow. “I’m so sorry, William. My husband is not himself.” As if I had committed some unforgivable sin. Zoe was more direct. “If you won’t let Uncle William have any, then I don’t want any either!” William, acting like the master of the house, wrapped an arm around Zoe. “Zoe, what have I taught you? You mustn’t speak to your father that way.” He then looked at me, not with embarrassment, but with an air of righteous ownership. In that moment, my wife and my daughter made me feel like a complete and utter outcast. A discarded husband. A bitter wave of despair washed over me. William was handsome and well-dressed. I spent my days on the mountainside and in the fields, perpetually covered in a fine layer of dust and sweat. Together, they looked like a family. Just like in my last life, when he went with them to Veridia, no one ever questioned if he was Zoe’s father. At first, Zoe called him “William.” He’d just smiled and said, “Why don’t you call me Uncle?” Only much, much later did I understand his subtle, calculated ambition. 3 Natalie saw me enter the house, my basket heavy on my back, and she subtly stepped away, as if the smell of earth clinging to me was an offense. When her eyes fell on the basket brimming with mushrooms, a flicker of guilt crossed her face. “Why are you still doing this back-breaking work?” she murmured. “We have… we have money now.” The last part was barely a whisper. In my past life, after she left, a sum of money would appear in my account every month. Just enough to survive on in the village. Not enough to ever leave. I didn’t bother explaining. “Habit. Keeps my hands busy.” I set the basket down and picked up a bundle of dried herbs from the table, beginning to mix them for insect-repellent sachets. The herbs lost their potency after a week, and I’d noticed a fresh constellation of red bites on Zoe’s legs. For some reason, the sight didn’t stir the same ache of pity it once did. Zoe saw what I was doing and wrinkled her nose. “Dad, there won’t be any mosquitos in the city. You don’t have to make those smelly things for us.” True. The McDonoughs had never appreciated anything I made. They’d even laughed at me, a man skilled in what they considered a woman’s craft. In my last life, just before their car pulled away, I had rushed to Zoe with red-rimmed eyes, stuffing her arms with everything I could give her. She’d tossed it all out on the road before they even reached the edge of the village. Old Man Hemlock found the sachets and brought them back to me, his eyes a mixture of pity and amusement. I’d assumed it was Natalie’s father who had ordered them thrown away. Later, I scraped together enough money to buy a used smartphone, hoping to stay in touch. But every video call was met with Zoe’s impatience. “I have to go, my riding lesson is starting.” “Uncle William is calling me.” I saved for months, then made the long journey to her private school, just to see her. She saw me. And she ran, sprinting toward a waiting car, terrified I would call out her name and expose her. Watching her small figure flee from me, I finally understood. It wasn’t the scent of the herbs that had faded. It was the love in their hearts. I never tried to see her again. Not until she came of age. By then, years of hard labor had broken my body. The doctor said I didn’t have long. I called Natalie. After a long silence, she just said, “I’ll arrange a hospital for you.” But I didn’t want treatment. I wanted to see my daughter one last time. So I wore my best clothes, got a haircut with the last of my savings, and went to her lavish coming-of-age party. “Zoe,” I’d whispered, my voice raw. “Don’t you remember your father?” She was clinging to William’s arm, and she looked at me with pure disgust. “Who are you? Why are you here, trying to ruin my family?” Natalie stood beside them and said nothing. The cold, calculating pragmatism of the wealthy was on full display. In that glittering ballroom, I was a ghost, a rat scurrying in the corners. I was escorted out, and as I stumbled onto the street, I was hit by a speeding truck. Lying on the pavement, staring up at the indifferent sky, tears slid from the corners of my eyes. Fate had been so cruel. And then, I opened my eyes again. I was back on the day her family came for her. This time, I would not be that pitiable, pathetic fool. 4 So this time, I didn’t plead with them to take the sachets and pillows I’d made. I just spoke with a detached calm. “I know you don’t like them. These are for Amy.” Zoe was visibly confused. Though I could be strict, I had always doted on her, always offered her the best of everything. She pouted. “Amy’s not a good kid. She’s disrespectful to the teacher! Why would you make them for her?” Amy was one of the few children in the village who wasn’t utterly charmed by William. As a result, she was often an outcast at school. In truth, she’d never done anything to disrespect him. She just liked me more. She said I smelled nice. Like herbs and fresh air. A few days ago, I’d seen the welts on Amy’s pale little arms and promised to make her some sachets. What my wife and daughter didn’t value, others would. I continued mixing the herbs, my voice even. “I’ll make them for whomever I please.” Zoe’s face crumpled. “You’re mean! I’m going to find Uncle William! He’s taking me to the county town for a real steak dinner, and he’s going to teach me how to use a proper knife and fork.” Her eyes glinted with a childish challenge. “You’ve never had a steak before, have you, Dad?” I didn’t even look up. “No, never have. You go on.” Her punch had landed on cotton. She couldn’t understand what had changed. Before, I was always jealous of William, always trying to insert myself into whatever he planned with Zoe. For so many years, I believed my child was more important than my wife. In the end, it was Zoe who delivered the final, fatal blow. 5 After Zoe stomped out, a look of hurt confusion on her face, Natalie approached me. “Leo, are you angry with me?” Her voice was soft, placating. “If you’re upset, take it out on me. Don’t involve Zoe.” She sighed. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Let’s not make everyone unhappy.” Unhappy? The word felt foreign. In my past life, from the moment they left, joy had ceased to exist for me. And now she had the audacity to say, “Let’s not make everyone unhappy.” That day, just like in my previous life, Natalie’s ailing father had traveled a great distance to see his long-lost daughter. But the moment his eyes landed on me, standing beside her, his face contorted in revulsion. He let out a shrill cry. “Monster! Get that monster away from her!” I froze. I knew I wasn’t much to look at, that her family wouldn’t approve, but I hadn’t expected this. A member of the McDonough entourage sighed and looked at Natalie. “His mind… it hasn’t been right since you disappeared.” Though Natalie’s memory hadn’t returned, the bond of blood was undeniable. A look of deep sorrow crossed her face. What none of us expected, however, was his reaction to William. He reached for him, his expression softening. “Timothy,” he’d whispered, his voice trembling. “You’ve come back.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393827”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d just been dropped into the body of the useless, washout heir of the Northern Duke, just in time for my fiancée to publicly break off our engagement at the ceremony. “Caden,” she declared, her voice ringing through the hall, “the man I love is Asher. Now that he’s back, I can’t possibly marry you. I hereby announce that our engagement is over!” Asher, the story’s golden-boy protagonist, drew his sword, his voice a low threat. “And if you don’t agree, Caden, I swear I will slaughter every last member of your family.” The original Caden was a pathetic simp for the girl, Elara. He would have gladly handed over his life for her. So, as everyone in the room held their breath, expecting me to meekly agree and let them walk away… I spoke, my voice deceptively calm. “Excellent. You dare to publicly humiliate the House of the Northern Duke? Then you can all die right here.” 1 The engagement ceremony was in full swing when he appeared. The moment Asher, the story’s “Chosen One,” stepped into the grand hall of the ducal palace, my fiancée, Elara, shot to her feet. “Caden, I don’t love you,” she announced, her voice filled with righteous defiance. “If your family hadn’t strong-armed mine, I never would have agreed to this engagement! The man I love has always been Asher. And today, I, Elara Thorne, declare that our engagement is null and void!” Asher drew his sword, a menacing glint in his eye. “And if you object, Caden, I will one day slaughter your entire household.” I was still reeling from being thrust into this world, my head spinning. But the plot of the novel came rushing back to me. This Northern Duke’s heir was just a side character, a pathetic, spineless loser obsessed with the female lead, Elara. In the original story, to make her happy, he not only stepped aside but also provided them with a fortune in resources for their training and cultivation. And his reward? The moment Asher achieved the highest level of swordsmanship, he and the Thorne family stormed the ducal palace, slaughtering everyone inside. The hero and heroine then lived happily ever after. I remembered reading that part and cursing out the author. The next thing I knew, I was here. And with my temper, there was no way I was letting that happen. I slapped Elara hard across the face. “You goddamn bitch,” I snarled. “Every scrap of resources your family has came from my house. And now you want to call it off? You humiliate me and my family in public, and you expect me to just take it?” Elara stared at me, her hand pressed to her reddening cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Caden, you hit me? You told me you loved me! Was that all a lie? You said you’d do anything to make me happy! All I’m doing is breaking off an engagement! What’s the big deal?” Asher looked equally stunned. This was not how the script was supposed to go. 2 The guests began to whisper amongst themselves. “Is Elara Thorne insane? The Duke’s heir is top-tier in family background, talent, and looks. Why would she break it off?” “He doted on her, gave her family anything they asked for. And this is how she repays him?” “Exactly. And to do it so publicly… she’s lost her mind.” “Well, you know, based on his usual behavior, he probably would have agreed. But something’s different about him today…” I shot a cold glance at the hero and heroine. “Where are the ducal guards?” The captain of the guard, a man named Kane, dropped to one knee. “Your Grace, what are your orders?” “Kill them.” “What?” Asher immediately stepped in front of Elara. “Caden, are you insane? You’d kill Elara over something so trivial?” Trivial? They had just dragged my family’s name through the mud in front of the entire nobility. Were the people in this book all idiots? Besides, if I didn’t kill them now, they’d be the ones wiping out my entire family later. “Caden, you said you loved me!” Elara cried. “Is this how you show it?” Even Kane, the guard captain, hesitated. The entire palace knew how much she meant to the original Caden. He wasn’t sure if I was serious or just trying to scare them. “Hmph. Caden, you disappoint me,” Elara huffed, her chin held high. “So you just wanted to possess me. Don’t you know that true love is wanting the other person to be happy? I’ve found the man who can make me happy, and instead of wishing me well, you threaten us? That’s not love!” What the hell kind of twisted logic was that? This was definitely a story written for a female audience. “I’m telling you, Caden, let us go right now,” she declared. “Otherwise, we can’t even be friends!” My face darkened. I turned to Kane, my voice laced with displeasure. “Are you deaf? Or have my orders as the heir suddenly stopped meaning anything?” Kane hesitated no longer. He drew his blade and lunged at Asher. The other guards immediately formed a protective circle around me. Asher hastily drew his own sword to parry. BOOM! A powerful shockwave erupted from the clash, sending tables and chairs flying. Dishes shattered, food and wine splattering everywhere. The weaker guests were thrown from their feet, crying out in pain as they rolled on the floor. The hall was in chaos. Asher, a level-eight warrior, stood his ground. But Kane, a level-nine, was forced back a dozen steps, his face a mask of shock. I had to hand it to him. Asher was the Chosen One, all right. He could fight above his weight class and still come out on top. Good thing he was still in his early stages. It was the perfect time to crush him. 3 Two of the palace’s grandmasters, powerful cultivators in service to my family, appeared at my side in a flash. They bowed. “Your Grace.” “Caden, what kind of man relies on his family’s power to fight his battles?” Asher taunted. “If you have any guts, you’ll fight me one-on-one. If I win, you let me leave with Elara.” The original Caden, despite his decent talent, was only a level-six warrior. I’d have to be an idiot to take that deal. Elara’s father, Lord Thorne, seeing the grandmasters appear, quickly positioned himself in front of his daughter and Asher. “Your Grace, please forgive us! This is all my fault for failing to raise my daughter properly. I’ll be sure to discipline her when we get home. The Thorne family would be honored to have Elara marry you.” “But,” he added, his tone shifting, “as Elara said, her heart belongs to Asher now. You can’t force love, can you?” I didn’t even spare him a glance. “Seize the entire Thorne family,” I ordered coldly. “Anyone who resists is to be executed on the spot.” “Yes, Your Grace.” Hundreds of ducal guards descended on the Thorne family contingent. They, of course, did not go quietly. “What do you think you’re doing? Touch me again and I’ll cut you down!” “Our Elara has the Duke’s heir wrapped around her finger! You think he won’t have you all killed for this?” “Agh! Get your filthy hands off me, you dogs!” The guards showed no mercy. For those who resisted, blades flashed. Four or five Thornes fell, their blood staining the marble floor. The rest finally understood the gravity of the situation and fell silent, their faces pale with terror. “Caden, you dare to have my cousins killed?” Elara shrieked. “You kill these guards right now and get on your knees and apologize to me! Otherwise, I will never forgive you!” I looked at her like she was a moron. “Haha, Elara, you really are brainless. Did you honestly think I was going to let you walk out of here alive today?” I gestured to the two grandmasters. “What are you waiting for? Kill these two degenerates. And make it quick. Don’t give them a chance to turn the tables.” “Yes, Your Grace.” 4 Just as they were about to move, a powerful voice roared through the hall. “I’d like to see you try!” A crushing pressure filled the air, so intense it seemed to crackle. A black-robed old man appeared in an instant, his presence suffocating. Asher’s eyes lit up. “Master, you’re here!” The newcomer was Asher’s master, Alistair, the vice-master of the Martial Temple, a half-step away from being a Saint-level powerhouse. My father, the Northern Duke, had taken most of the household’s elite forces and our half-a-million-strong army to the northern border to fight off an invasion of demonic beasts. The strongest fighters left in the palace were grandmasters, no match for a near-Saint. I looked at the old man, my voice cold. “Vice-Master Alistair, is the Martial Temple planning to interfere in the affairs of my house?” “Your Grace,” Alistair said, his tone placating, “my student acted rashly, but surely his crime is not punishable by death. I hope you will be magnanimous and show him mercy.” I laughed in his face. “Magnanimous? Your student publicly tried to steal my fiancée, disgraced my house, and made us the laughingstock of the entire kingdom, and you want me to be magnanimous?” Alistair bowed again. “What Asher and the Thorne girl did was wrong, I admit. But Lord Thorne has already promised to discipline his daughter. I will also punish my wayward student severely and give you a satisfactory explanation. Will that suffice?” “No,” I said flatly. “No one humiliates my house and walks away unscathed. I don’t care who they are.” Alistair’s face hardened. “Your Grace, do this as a favor to me. I will owe you one.” In the original story, the Martial Temple played a major role in the downfall of my house. The last thing I was going to do was give him any “face.” “Alistair, who the hell do you think you are? Is the Martial Temple declaring war on the House of the Northern Duke?” I was betting he wouldn’t dare. At this moment, my house was at the peak of its power. Besides the half-million-strong army, we had two Saint-level powerhouses and the kingdom’s only Sword Saint, a legendary figure named Lucius. Though Lucius had been injured in a great battle, he could still easily dispatch a regular Saint. If my father got truly angry, not just the Martial Temple, but the entire royal family would have to think twice. The only reason Elara was so bold was because the original Caden was such a pathetic simp. In the book, when my father found out, he was furious and wanted to wipe out the Thorne family, but the original Caden threatened to kill himself to stop him. Alistair, a man used to being revered, had never been so humiliated. A flash of killing intent flickered in his eyes. “So, Your Grace, you refuse to give me this courtesy?” “That’s right. These two lovebirds must die.” “And what if I insist on taking them with me?” “Then you can try.” I turned to the grandmasters. “You two, hold off Alistair. The rest of you, kill that bastard and his whore!” “Yes, Your Grace!” 5 Alistair’s face paled. “What are you all waiting for?” he yelled at Asher and the Thornes. “Run!” Asher and the surviving Thornes finally snapped out of their daze and scrambled for the exit. The battle erupted. The two grandmasters, both masters of the blade, attacked Alistair from either side. Their sword energy cut through the night air like twin rainbows of destructive light. Alistair met their attack with his own sword, a dazzling display of crisscrossing energy. BOOM! BOOM! The collision of forces was devastating. A gale-force wind ripped through the palace courtyard, sending rocks and debris flying. The ground was torn apart. The three combatants were all thrown back, but they were on each other again in an instant. The air thrummed with the sound of clashing steel and explosions. The courtyard was turned into a crater-filled wasteland. Though the two grandmasters were clearly outmatched, they managed to keep Alistair tied down. Meanwhile, the Thornes were being slaughtered. A dozen had already fallen. Lord Thorne and Elara had managed to escape the palace. Asher was covering their retreat, his body a canvas of bloody wounds. Kane was no match for him, forced back again and again. Taking two blows from the guards to create an opening, Asher cut down several more before finally disappearing into the night. [Ding! Congratulations, Host, for severely wounding the Chosen One. Reward: Ancient God-Devil Physique +1, Divine Bow of the Archer God +1] The moment the bow appeared in my hands, a surge of energy flooded my body, instantly boosting me from a level-six warrior to a level-nine. I was ecstatic. This was like leveling up on a rocket ship! This was awesome!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393844”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My new suspense novel went viral for one reason: the serial killer terrorizing the city was using my plotlines, murder for murder. Worse, each crime was committed ten minutes before my chapter went live. The day I finished the book, the police found the murder weapons in my house. I was named the prime suspect. My husband, Noah, sold his company to try and clear my name. But in the end, the evidence was ironclad. They convicted me. I was executed. Now, I’ve been reborn. And this time, I’m not finishing that damned book. There’s just one problem. My husband just told me his company is about to go bankrupt. He says he needs a massive cash injection to save it. Otherwise, he’ll have to jump off a bridge. 1 “Dee, don’t listen to that online bullshit. This book is a goldmine. You can’t stop now, you just can’t! They’re just jealous haters.” Hearing that familiar voice, I knew. I was back. Reborn. The person trying to convince me to keep writing was my best friend, Chloe. In this timeline, I had just finished writing about the second victim. His death was unique—sewn inside the belly of a pig and left to suffocate. Eerily, on the very day my chapter was published, the city’s real-life serial killer had done the exact same thing to his second victim. The first murder had also mirrored my book perfectly. The internet was in a frenzy, convinced the author—me—was the killer, drumming up publicity for my own novel. The police had visited my home multiple times, always leaving empty-handed. In my past life, I thought it was all absurd. How could a writer like me be tangled up with a murderer? That delusion lasted right up until I posted the final chapter. The police searched my house, found the weapons, and dragged me away as the prime suspect in a city-wide manhunt. I was in a state of shock, frantically trying to explain. “I’m just a writer! I couldn’t kill anyone!” My husband, Noah, was home. He was just as desperate, even trying to create a fake alibi for me. But the police investigation quickly proved he’d been out of the house during the murders. His lie only made me look guiltier. To clear my name, Noah sold his company, pouring everything he had into proving my innocence. But it was no use. Every piece of evidence pointed directly at me. And I had no explanation for the most damning fact of all: how the killer managed to replicate my methods, in real-time, with every single chapter I published. Online forums were calling for my head. [This author is sick. She’s so desperate for fame she started killing people? A whole string of them?] [She’s worse than an animal. What are we waiting for? Just put her down!] In the end, I was sentenced to death. On the day of my execution, Noah came to see me. He had just turned thirty, but his hair was completely white. A wave of pain crashed over me. Maybe God himself thought my death was an injustice. Maybe that’s why He gave me a second chance. This time, I would abandon the novel. I would just live a quiet life with Noah. But Chloe was still here, pushing me. “Let the police handle the murders. You’re a writer. Just write!” I shook my head. “I can’t. Too many people have died. Whether it’s connected to my book or not, I can’t keep going.” She looked horrified that I would just give up. “Dee, you’ve been writing for years! You finally have a hit, a real blockbuster! How can you just quit?” “Even if Noah can support you, you need to be able to support yourself! He says he loves you today, but what about tomorrow?” I walked over and hugged her tight. “Tomorrow, you can support me.” 2 Chloe and I grew up together. After college, I became a full-time writer while she went into sales. It was Chloe who introduced me to Noah. He was supposed to be her blind date, but she insisted on dragging me along. After the date, Noah confessed to Chloe that it was me he’d fallen for at first sight. I tried to explain, to smooth things over, but Chloe just waved it off. “Who doesn’t love a pretty face? I get it.” The next day, she flew to Korea. She came back a month later, and when I picked her up from the airport, she was stunning—a total bombshell. Later, at my wedding to Noah, Chloe hit it off with the best man: Larry Byrne, the heir to Byrne Industries. After the wedding, Noah was always warning me about her. “A guy like Larry has seen every kind of woman there is. He used to despise girls who’ve had work done, but Chloe has him wrapped around her little finger. That tells you how slick she is. And she comes from a sales background… you have no idea how cutthroat that world is. You need to be careful around her.” I’d always dismissed his concerns. Chloe would never hurt me. Now, as I hugged her, she seemed to soften. “What if,” she murmured, “one day I can’t support you either?” That evening, when Noah got home, I told him my decision to stop writing the novel. His hand paused as he was setting down his briefcase. His brow furrowed. “Was this Chloe’s idea? Did she tell you to stop?” He was so worked up, I found it almost funny. I teased him, “What if it was?” Noah slammed his briefcase onto the sofa. “I knew it! She can’t stand to see us happy!” Seeing how agitated he was, I quickly backtracked. “No, it was my idea. Every time I post a chapter, someone dies. I know it’s not my fault, but it feels awful. I thought maybe I could wait until the case is solved?” Noah hesitated, then took my hand. “But, honey… my company is about to go bankrupt.” I was stunned. In my previous life, I’d never heard a single word about his company having problems. His voice was muffled with stress. “It just happened today. Larry Byrne was supposed to invest in the new AI software we’re developing. We’ve already poured a ton of time and resources into it. Today, he just pulled the plug. I have to wonder if it’s because of Chloe…” The moment he mentioned her name, his voice rose, filled with agitation. “Did you see her today? Did you tell her you were thinking of quitting the book?” When I didn’t deny it, he barreled on. “I knew it. She’s still trying to get back at me. She hates me for choosing you over her!” I replayed the events of my past life in my head. I’d worked on that novel for over a month, and not once had Noah’s company been in trouble. Could it be true? Did my decision to stop writing really cause Larry to pull his investment? And if Chloe was involved, why would she do that? I pulled out my phone and called her. Her tone was clipped. “I don’t get involved in Larry’s business dealings. Besides, Noah and Larry grew up together. If Noah has a problem, why can’t he talk to Larry directly? This is between them. We should stay out of it.” Then she sighed. “Let me guess, Noah doesn’t want you to stop writing? For once, I’m on his side. What’s wrong with making more money? From the first day I met Noah, I knew he was no good. Actually, let me rephrase that. No man is any good.” I sighed. The animosity between Noah and Chloe was a constant I’d learned to live with. But now, reality was forcing my hand. I had to keep writing. Which meant I had to be careful. Very, very careful. 3 I thought about it for a long time and decided to change the murder methods from my previous life. A home invasion robbery, being sewn into a pig… the tools for those murders were too easy to find. I needed something new. Something impossible. I landed on it: being thrown from a helicopter. Let’s see the serial killer get his hands on a helicopter. With a solution in hand, I wrote like a woman possessed. By 9 PM, the new chapter was done. I hit the publish button, praying the killer would finally leave me alone. The forums exploded. [Thrown from a helicopter? Looks like the author is working overtime to clear her name!] [A helicopter isn’t exactly easy to come by. Think the killer can pull this one off?] [I still think she’s the killer. The crazier the murder method, the more clicks she gets. She’s earned a fortune from this book. Buying a helicopter would be chump change for her.] My heart leaped into my throat. Please, I prayed, don’t get a helicopter. I can’t be a murder suspect again. I was a nervous wreck all night, unable to sleep. The next day passed in silence. No news. It was the best news I could have hoped for. Noah breathed a sigh of relief. “See? It was all just a coincidence. I told you you were overthinking it.” The internet seemed to agree. [Guess the killer doesn’t have a chopper after all. The author really went to great lengths to prove her innocence!] [Okay, maybe she’s not the killer. The real murderer was just piggybacking on her fame.] That night, I slept soundly. But the next morning, a news alert lit up my phone. [CITY’S SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. VICTIM THROWN FROM HELICOPTER AT 15,000 FEET.] My scalp went numb. I clicked the article. The victim’s time of death was just slightly before my chapter update. But because the body had been obliterated on impact, it wasn’t discovered until a dog walker found the remains this morning. I was losing my mind. I couldn’t understand how the killer knew my plot in adByrne. And how did he get a helicopter? This person had to have incredible resources. The police came again. And again, they found nothing. But I knew my time was running out. I asked Noah to check my computer, suspecting it had been hacked or bugged. How else could the killer know what I was going to write? Noah did a full sweep but found nothing. “If you’re still worried,” he said, “I’ll just buy you a new one.” I agreed. Next, I went back to the online forum thread that had started it all. It was now the number one trending topic in the city. I tracked down the username of the person who first connected the murders to my novel. My first victim in the book had been stabbed in the shower—a common trope. The second death was more bizarre, but in the long history of suspense fiction, what hasn’t been done? Why was this one user so intent on pinning it on me? I gave the username to Noah, asking him to trace the IP address. He tapped away at his keyboard for a few minutes, then spoke slowly. “The address is 188 Goldcrest Drive, on Riverside…” A chill ran down my spine. That was the house right next door to Chloe’s.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393861”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I spiked my nemesis’s drink, hoping to see him make a fool of himself. The moment I turned around, he caught me. But instead of getting angry, a slow smile spread across his face as he picked up the glass and downed it in one go. I could only stare, frozen, as he began to unbutton his shirt with deliberate slowness, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “You’d better run now… before it’s too late.” 1 The high school reunion was in full swing, the private room buzzing with energy and laughter. But when Julian Trammell walked in, the atmosphere hit a fever pitch. Of course it did. The guy was a legend, always at the top of the class, the undisputed king of our high school. Our eyes met across the crowded room, his dark and unreadable. It was the first time I’d seen him since graduation. I watched as a swarm of girls flocked to him, their attention bordering on predatory. With a quiet scoff, I knocked back my drink. My old desk mate, Mark, nudged me. “Andy, I thought you couldn’t stand the guy. How come you’re so quiet now?” “I still can’t stand him,” I muttered. It wasn’t just that my mom paraded him around as the gold standard of academic achievement. The real problem started when he transferred into our advanced placement track. Overnight, my dating prospects evaporated. Mark leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, and slid a small packet into my hand. “So… wanna mess with him a little?” The alcohol had already gone to my head. I looked down at the small pills in my palm and thought, Yeah, that bastard needs to be knocked off his high horse. I slipped away to the back lounge where I’d stashed a bottle of expensive wine I’d brought to share. Hmph. Guess he’s getting the good stuff. The deep red liquid swirled in the glass. A tiny white pill dropped in, dissolving almost instantly. I hesitated for a second, then added two more for good measure. Let’s see what those girls think when they see the real Mr. Perfect. 2 I swirled the wine one last time. Behind me, the lock clicked shut. I whipped around to find Julian leaning against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. “There you are, Andy. I was looking for you.” “What for?” I asked, my heart starting to pound. “To catch up, of course.” His voice was as smooth as ever, but there was an undercurrent of something sharp, something… displeased. His gaze dropped to the packet in my hand. I shoved it into my pocket, but it was too late. A low chuckle escaped his lips. “Planning on spiking my drink? No need to be so shy about it.” “…” Damn it. My brilliant plan, busted before it even began. Julian took a step forward, plucked the glass from my hand, and drained it. I just stood there, my hand still hanging in mid-air, completely stunned. This was not part of the plan. “Julian, are you insane? Do you even know what that was?” “I have an idea,” he said, his eyes lifting to meet mine. There was a flicker of something wicked in their depths, something I’d only seen glimpses of before. He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. “Aren’t you going to run?” “Any longer, and it’ll be too late.” “…” My eyes went wide. I lunged for the door, twisting the handle frantically. Nothing. It was locked from the inside. Son of a bitch. I spun back around. Julian was slowly, methodically, unfastening the buttons of his shirt as if the room had suddenly become too warm. “Julian, where’s the key?” He just smiled and started walking toward me, his steps unhurried. My back hit the cold wood of the door, and a bead of sweat trickled down my spine. Oh god, I’d put in extra. “The key…” he murmured, closing the distance between us. He took my hand. I thought he was going to give it to me, but instead, he guided my palm to his chest, resting it just above his collarbone. The skin there was already burning up. He slowly dragged my hand downward, over the hard plane of his pectoral muscle. My ears burned. I tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, guiding me lower… …and lower, until my fingers brushed against the waistband of his jeans. He pressed my body flat against the door, his breath coming in ragged pants. “It’s right here,” he rasped, his voice thick. “If you’ve got the guts, come and get it yourself.” Shameless bastard! Before I could even process the words, his mouth was on mine. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a conquest. My world tilted, my mind short-circuiting. I tried to push him away, but he pinned me easily. Wasn’t Julian a pre-med? Where the hell did he get this kind of strength? The lights of the lounge seemed to blur and spin. The next thing I knew, he had me sitting on the wide windowsill, his body pressing me back against the cool glass. He bit down on my shoulder. “Ow!” His breath was hot against my ear, but his voice was chillingly cool. “You deserve this, Andy.” His words were a low growl. “Didn’t we promise to go to the same university? You’re the one who broke your word first.” … 3 Through the haze of the night, only one thing was crystal clear: he’d played me. There was no key. Not there. That son of a bitch. At least the expensive wine didn’t go to waste. Last night, Julian, his face flushed a deep crimson, had put that bottle to very creative use. I had no idea where he’d learned some of those moves. When I woke up, I staggered out of bed, my legs shaky as I gathered my scattered clothes. Julian was propped up on one elbow, casually watching my pathetic state with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, Andy, seeing you like this makes me want to start all over again.” “Shut up!” You goddamn hypocrite. I was convinced he’d planned this whole thing just to mess with me. My legs were so weak I could barely stand, my hands trembling as I tried to button my shirt. A pair of warm arms wrapped around me from behind. He steadied me, his fingers slowly doing up the buttons I was fumbling with. “So, Andy,” he murmured into my ear, “how does it feel to get a taste of your own medicine?” “…” Just three little pills, and I was almost broken. “That stuff you got is pretty effective. Maybe you could give me some more?” “Julian, are you a fucking sadist?” “I just thought this was the kind of game you liked to play.” He chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, his tone dripping with a playful cruelty that made my skin crawl. I shoved him away, my face a cold mask. “I was drunk last night. If you dare tell a soul about this, I’ll kill you.” 4 The truth is, deep down, I’ve always been a little afraid of Julian. To everyone else, he was the picture of a perfect student—refined, brilliant, and polite. But I’d seen the other side of him. I’d seen him corner a stray cat once, his expression anything but kind. And I’d seen him fight. His own father, drunk and belligerent, had said something to set him off. The way Julian hit him was terrifyingly methodical, each blow harder than the last. The sheer violence in his eyes was a fury I had never witnessed in anyone before. If a security guard hadn’t intervened, I think he might have actually killed him. His face was splattered with blood, but his gaze found me hiding around the corner with chilling accuracy. He offered me a small, bloody smile. “Enjoying the show?” I ran. I ran and didn’t look back. I never told anyone what I saw. Over time, it became this unspoken, twisted secret between us. Sometimes, when adults were praising him, he’d shoot me a look over their shoulders—a warm, polite smile for them, and a mischievous, taunting arch of his eyebrow just for me. “Andy’s grades are excellent too,” he’d say once, his voice smooth as silk. “Why don’t you apply to Kingston with me?” “…” Like hell I would. 5 I blocked Julian’s number. After a week of successfully avoiding him, I found him sitting in my living room. It was my mom’s birthday at the end of July, and his mother had brought him along to drop off a gift. He gave me a subtle smile, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in a gesture that was just for me. I stiffened, looking away. The marks he’d left on my body hadn’t even fully faded. I tried to escape to my room, but my mom stopped me. “Don’t just hide in your room playing video games all day. Julian’s here. You two should talk. He’s a top student at Kingston University now, you know.” “Big deal,” I mumbled. It wasn’t that I couldn’t get into Kingston; I’d deliberately chosen Lanton University instead. She forced me to sit on the couch next to him. The moment he shifted slightly, I shot up like a rocket, knocking over a pitcher of water on the coffee table. Julian glanced at me, a lazy, knowing look in his eyes. “So clumsy.” He spoke softly, grabbing a napkin to dab at my jeans. To our parents, he was the perfect, helpful friend. But his fingers pressed down right over a spot that was still tender, a faint bruise he himself had left. A dull ache shot through me, awakening memories I’d been trying to bury. I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” My mom shot me a glare, mortified by my rudeness. “Andy, Julian is our guest. Can you please be civil? Here,” she said, pulling out two tickets. “My work gave me these. They’re for a movie you young people would like. You and Julian should go.” No way in hell. I didn’t move, but Julian graciously accepted them. “Thank you, Auntie.” 6 That night, I escaped to a bar with my best friend, Jimmi. Being cooped up at home listening to my mom’s lectures was driving me crazy. Jimmi is gay. A total bottom. After every breakup, he dramatically swears off dating and begs me to be his top. But I’m not gay, and I keep telling him to stop dreaming. “I called you a few days ago. Why didn’t you pick up? You’ve been acting weirdly secretive. Don’t tell me you got a boyfriend behind my back,” he said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. I quickly clinked my glass against his, changing the subject. “Nah, you know my mom. If I go out too much, I’ll never hear the end of it.” The real reason was that the marks on my body were still visible. I needed a few more days for them to fade. Jimmi’s eyes scanned the crowd, hunting for his next handsome target. I watched his animated profile and found myself wondering: How could Julian be gay? He had girls falling all over him. Hadn’t a single one caught his interest? Jimmi suddenly turned back to me. “Why are you staring at me like that? Andy, you’re being extra weird tonight. You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” “Get lost. I’m not into that.” “I mean, for you, I could make an exception and top.” “…” A power bottom? The mental image was too horrifying to contemplate. My phone lit up on the table. An unknown number. I answered it, but the line was silent. Thinking the bar was too loud, I stepped outside. “Hello? Who is this?” “Why weren’t you at the theater? I waited for a long time.” “…” That cool, measured voice sent a shiver down my spine. “I never said I was going. Stop bothering me.” I hung up, irritated. When I looked up, I saw him standing across the street. Julian. Dressed in a black button-down, he stood so still he almost blended into the night. My heart leaped into my throat as he started walking towards me. I tried to duck back into the bar, but he caught my arm before I could make it. “This is the second time you’ve lied to me, Andy.” His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of fury was terrifying. “What are you talking about? I never made any plans with you. That was all in your head.” I struggled against his grip, but his warm fingers clamped down on the back of my neck. He dragged me into a nearby alley, his gaze intense, lost in his own twisted logic. “Now, let’s see… how should I punish you this time?” 7 My heart hammered against my ribs as Julian pinned me against the cold brick wall. “Let me go!” I kicked, I punched, I swore at him, but he didn’t react. He just watched me with a disturbing, detached interest, as if observing a cornered animal in its final, desperate struggle. When I was exhausted, he calmly reached out to smooth my messy hair. “Don’t touch me, you psycho.” “Well, since you’ve already labeled me,” he murmured, his eyes darkening, “I might as well live up to it.” “…” Seeing that look, I was genuinely scared. Julian’s smile was a chilling curve in the dim light. “Andy, look up.” The next second, his teeth sank into the side of my neck. It wasn’t a gentle bite. He held me tight, giving me no room to escape. My eyes welled up with tears of pain, my fingers digging into his arms. “What the hell are you doing? Are you a dog?” “Just leaving a little mark,” he whispered against my skin, “to make sure you don’t go straying.” “You… ow! Lighter!” I threw a punch, but he caught my wrist easily. He kissed the spot on my neck, his hot breath traveling up to the corner of my mouth. Even in the gloom of the alley, a stray beam of light caught the sharp, perfect lines of his face. If his eyes weren’t filled with such unnerving darkness, I might have actually admired the view. Footsteps echoed from the end of the alley. “Andy? Andy! Where the hell are you?” It was Jimmi. He heard the scuffling and took a few steps closer. My eyes flew open in panic. I aimed a kick at Julian’s shin. “Let go!” “And if I don’t?” Julian’s expression hardened at the sound of Jimmi’s voice. His entire demeanor shifted into something colder, more dangerous. I couldn’t bear the thought of Jimmi finding out about this—about me being tangled up with another guy. With his big mouth, the entire school would think I was gay by morning. “Please, just stop…” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, trembling. Seeing the raw fear in my eyes seemed to please him. A slow smile spread across his face, like he’d just won a prize. He ducked his head, his hand cupping the back of my neck. “If you don’t want him to find out,” he murmured, “don’t move.” His lips crashed down on mine, warm but anything but gentle. It was a frantic, possessive kiss that felt like being devoured by a predator. His tall frame completely shielded me from view. Jimmi glanced down the alley, probably mistook us for some random couple making out, and quickly turned away. Even after he was gone, Julian didn’t let me go. His fingers toyed with the nape of my neck, his other hand roaming my waist. A wave of heat washed over me. I bit his lip, hard. He finally pulled back. I gasped for air and tried to bolt back to the bar, but his arm snaked around my waist, holding me fast. “The punishment isn’t over. You’re not going anywhere.” “…” He dragged me, protesting, all the way downtown. We walked down a street lined with the flashing neon signs of a dozen different hotels. A cold dread washed over me. He wasn’t thinking of… that again, was he? “I can’t walk anymore. I’m tired,” I said, digging my heels in. He just chuckled. “Want me to carry you?” “No.” Julian pulled me around a corner and into a movie theater. I saw the giant screen and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Since I’d skipped our “date,” he’d bought tickets for the last showing and was determined to make me watch it with him. It was some artsy film I couldn’t get into. Halfway through, I fell asleep. In my drowsy state, I felt the person beside me wrap a possessive arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. 8 Julian left a deep, angry mark on my neck. There was no way I could go out like that, so I was forced to hide at home. It took two full weeks for all the marks on my neck and body to finally disappear. The moment they did, I dragged Jimmi to the riverbank. When we were kids, we used to buy firecrackers and try to stun fish in the river after school. Now, the city was stricter, so we settled for grilling skewers and setting off fireworks by the water at night. The riverbank was lively, filled with students on summer break and families camping out. Jimmi lit a sparkler and demanded I take artsy, influencer-style photos of him. I have zero talent for photography; the pictures came out so bad he chased me halfway down the bank. “Andy, you made me look like a ghost! You think you can just run away? Get back here! You’re not going home until you get a decent shot!” We were fooling around when I turned and bumped squarely into someone. I started to apologize, then looked up and saw that infuriatingly handsome, smug face. My playful mood vanished instantly. Julian raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Not happy to see me?” “What are you doing here?” I took a step back, instinctively putting distance between us. “Your mom told me you were here. I came to check on you.” The moment Jimmi saw a handsome face, he was all over him. “Hey there!” Julian gave him a curt nod, maintaining his usual polite and reserved facade. I shot Jimmi a series of desperate, warning looks from the side, but he was completely oblivious, charmed by Julian’s good looks. He even tried to drag him into our games. I lost all interest and went back to grilling chicken wings by myself. A little while later, Jimmi walked off to take a call, and Julian came and sat down next to me. “When are you going to unblock me?” “Maybe in the next life.” “…” He let out a soft laugh, took one of the skewers, and bit into a wing. After a moment of silence, he took the rest of the food from my hands. “Here, let me.” His hands were elegant, his movements precise and unhurried. As I watched him, so calm and confident, I couldn’t help but think about all the times our parents had compared us. It was so damn annoying. 9 Jimmi dragged me off to light more fireworks, whispering questions about Julian. “Is he into guys or girls? How could you have a friend this hot and not tell me?” “He’s the guy I was complaining about, the one who always beat me into second place. Still think he’s so hot now?” “…” Jimmi snuck a glance back at Julian, then lowered his voice. “Honestly? I can see why you lost.” “You little traitor!” I raised my fist to playfully punch him. He dodged and ran into the crowd, and I took off after him. A little kid nearby was playing with a Roman candle, not paying attention to where he was aiming it. As I ran past, the tube swiveled directly towards my face. A flash of fire, a brilliant, terrifying spark. Before I could even register what was happening, a strong arm wrapped around me, pulling me back as a body shielded me from the front. BANG. The firework discharged directly into Julian’s back. I was enveloped in his clean, familiar scent, my mind a complete blank. “Are you okay?” Julian’s voice was steady as he checked me over, then shot a sharp look at the kid. Before he could say a word, the child burst into tears and quickly pointed the firework at an empty patch of ground. The danger had passed. I tried to push him away, but he leaned his weight against my shoulder. “Ow, that hurts,” he murmured. “Let’s just stay like this for a minute.” “Stop faking it. Stand up.” “I just saved your life, Andy. You’re going to have to repay me for that.” The way he drew out the word “repay” was heavy with insinuation, his breath warm against my ear. “Cut it out.” I gave him another shove and my hand came away sticky. The thin fabric of his shirt had been blasted open, and his back was burned. “Julian, I’m taking you to the hospital.” 10 We spent half the night at the hospital getting Julian’s wound cleaned and bandaged. When my mom found out, she lectured me endlessly. “Julian comes from a single-parent home. His mother works so hard, and now she has to take time off to care for him. You’ve just made things more difficult for her.” “How was I supposed to know this would happen?” I mumbled, picking at the food in my bowl. I felt a pang of guilt. When I dropped Julian off last night, his apartment was dark and empty. It felt… lonely. My mom sighed, then handed me a thermos of pork rib soup. “Take this to him.” I didn’t want to go, but I took the thermos and went anyway. … The door opened, and I was greeted by a wall of well-defined muscle. Even though I’d seen it before, it still made me uncomfortable. I averted my eyes. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” “My back hurts. Clothes irritate it.” He sounded weak, almost pitiful. I stepped inside and opened the thermos, telling him to drink the soup. He took a sip, then looked at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Is this your idea of repayment?” “I guess.” After all, he did get hurt saving me. If he hadn’t been there, that firework could have hit my face. “A bowl of soup isn’t nearly enough.” His long fingers stirred the broth, his dark eyes fixed on me. That look always gave me a bad feeling. “Just drink it. I have to get home.” “What’s the rush? You can help me change my bandages later.” “Go to the clinic for that.” “It’s too hot out. I don’t want to go.” I was speechless. After he finished the soup, Julian led me to his bedroom. The room was immaculate, his shelves packed with textbooks and research papers. In a corner under his desk were towering stacks of used scratch paper. So, the top student wasn’t just a genius; he put in more effort than anyone ever saw. The resentment I’d held onto for so long suddenly deflated. He lay face down on the bed and arched an eyebrow at me. “The medicine is on the table.” “…” He was, without a doubt, the most shameless person I had ever met. I sat on the edge of the bed and started to apply the ointment. The muscles of his back were sleek and powerful, clearly the result of regular workouts. It should have been a completely clinical situation, but my mind kept flashing back to… other situations. My ears started to burn. My hand accidentally brushed against the base of his spine. He let out a low groan. He looked over his shoulder, his voice raspy. “Are you doing that on purpose?” “What?” Before I could decipher the dangerous glint in his eyes, he yanked me forward. He trapped me in his arms, his voice a low, lazy drawl. “In a place as dangerous as a bed, Andy, I’m easily provoked.” “Who’s trying to provoke you? Let me go!” I pushed against him with some force. “Julian, if you don’t want to injure yourself again, you’d better let go of me right now.” He stared back, unfazed, and easily pinned my wrists to the pillow above my head. The sheer pressure of his presence was suffocating. Dammit. I knew I shouldn’t have come. His fingers traced a path up my neck, a gentle, possessive caress. I trembled, feeling like a fish on a cutting board. “The marks are gone…” he murmured, then leaned in and bit down. Right on the same spot. If he left another mark, how was I supposed to face anyone? I struggled desperately. “Julian, you psycho, let me go!” “Stop biting, it hurts!” I winced, wishing I could kick the damn dog off me. He pulled back to admire the fresh red mark on my neck and smiled with satisfaction. “There. We’ll call that repayment.” “You’re sick.” I glared at him, the pain bringing tears to my eyes. He gently pinched my earlobe, his lips brushing against the corner of my eye. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll want more than just this.” “…” I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tears back. But his kisses continued, soft and insistent, until they finally found my lips.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393880”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My roommate pinned me to the bed and started kissing me. The other one stood beside us, losing his mind. “You’re going to kiss his lips raw! When is it my turn?” 1 I was watching porn in my dorm room when my roommate caught me. My asshole roommate, Mark, started in with the snide comments. “So, you’re into guys, huh?” “Don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on me.” “The thought is seriously gross.” I shot back a cold smile. “Ever heard of a mirror? Or a puddle? Gay guys have standards, you know. If I were into anyone, it’d be someone like Evan. Who the hell are you?” The words had barely left my mouth when I saw him standing in the doorway, a faint blush on his cheeks. Evan. And right behind him, with a face as dark as a thundercloud, was Isaac. My heart dropped. It was bad enough that my crush had overheard my stupid outburst. But his number one admirer had heard it too. Only the idiot, Mark, was still clueless. “You, like Evan? The best you could hope for is to be his simp.” I fell silent. The word “simp” wasn’t just a dig at me; it was a dagger in someone else’s heart. I’d known Isaac was into Evan from the first day of school. They weren’t even in the same major, but Isaac was always orbiting Evan, hiding behind the flimsy excuse of being “just friends.” He was practically the tragic mascot of the friend zone. Sure enough, Isaac’s face was grim. “If you’re going to fight, take it outside.” Just then, the alarm I’d set for my part-time job went off. I scrambled to change and get out the door. As I was leaving, I heard Mark eagerly spilling my secrets to Isaac. “Hey, Isaac, did you know Leo’s gay? He likes men. It’s so disgusting.” Isaac kicked a chair, his voice a low growl. “Get lost.” 2 It was true. I was into Evan. He was gentle, thoughtful, and had a face that was both beautiful and sweet. A lot of people at school liked him. If it wasn’t for Isaac guarding him like a mother hen, he’d be drowning in admirers. Yesterday, I’d walked in on him changing. Not only was his skin pale and practically glowing, but he had a slim waist, long legs, and a perfect eight-pack. His face had already captured my heart, and it turned out his body was just as incredible. He was a literal god in the gay community. I’d spent the entire night fantasizing, and today, I just couldn’t hold back anymore and decided to find a video to watch. I’d finally found one with a pale-skinned guy who looked a little like Evan when Mark ripped open my bed curtain. I took out my frustration on the lemon in my cup, stabbing at it with my straw. And as I did, a horrifying thought occurred to me. My laptop on the bed… I don’t think I closed it. Then again, my sexuality was already out in the open. What was one little video? Besides, I was using headphones. As long as they didn’t pull back my curtain, they wouldn’t find out. 3 It was almost ten o’clock. I handed a taro milk tea to the girl in front of me. She took it, then looked at me shyly. “Hey, um… can I get your number?” On the outside, I was cool as a cucumber. Inside, I was beaming. See? I wasn’t half bad-looking. Mark should have been here to see this. The only problem was, I’m gay. Just as I was figuring out how to let her down gently, a dark voice came from behind her. “He’s gay.” …And just like that, I was outed to a complete stranger. The girl, far from being disappointed, actually seemed excited. She exchanged a look with her friend, and they walked off, clutching their milk teas like trophies. I stared at Isaac, completely baffled. What was his problem? He ordered a pearl milk tea and then stood to the side, watching me with a dark, menacing look. My coworker, a senior, gave me a mysterious smile. “Your boyfriend’s pretty possessive.” Oh no. It seemed they’d gotten the wrong idea. 4 After my shift, I walked out of the milk tea shop. Isaac followed behind me, nonchalantly sipping his drink. I stopped and turned to him. “Alright, what do you want?” The warm yellow light of the streetlamp illuminated his face. His features were sharp, his eyes a little severe. He looked fierce when he wasn’t smiling. He closed the distance between us, step by step. Then, a cold, sticky liquid drenched my hair, and a few boba pearls slid down my neck and into my shirt. He looked at me, his eyes like ice. “Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself. Evan is not for you to touch.” I wiped my face, unbothered, and fished a pearl out of my collar, shoving it into his mouth. “Who died and made you Batman? You follow Evan around all day. Aren’t you just as hungry for a piece of him? Besides, you’re the filthy one. You litter.” I pointed at the empty cup on the ground. Isaac froze, as if I’d thrown him off his rhythm. But he quickly recovered his menacing expression. He chewed. “If you dare harass Evan in the dorm…” He chewed some more. “Or watch any more of those disgusting videos…” His hand shot out, and I felt a sharp pain below my waist. Isaac kept chewing as he threatened, “I’ll chop this thing off.” I had to hand it to myself, the boba I made was perfectly chewy. Okay, so that’s what this was about. He’d seen what was on my laptop. But sneaking a peek behind my curtain without permission was pretty rude too. Suddenly, I heard a gasp. I turned to see a figure quickly running away. That wasn’t the main issue, though. Isaac’s hand was still… there. He awkwardly pulled his hand back, picked up the cup from the ground, shot me a glare, and stalked off. 5 When I got back to the dorm, Mark was gaming with his headphones on. I grabbed my toiletries and headed for the bathroom, running straight into Evan, who had just finished showering. I felt a little awkward, wondering if he’d seen the video. Did he think I was a pervert? Evan frowned at me, his gaze sweeping over my chest. I was too guilty to say hi and just ducked my head as I walked into the bathroom. The air was still steamy and fragrant, smelling just like him. I couldn’t help but take a deep breath as I peeled off my sticky white t-shirt. I’d just taken off my pants when the bathroom door opened. I turned to see Evan’s face. He was blushing. “Sorry, I forgot my clothes.” I followed his gaze to the laundry basket. Inside were the dirty clothes he’d just taken off. My heart felt like a shaken bottle of coke, fizzing with a sour feeling. “Evan,” I said, my voice muffled. “It’s true that I’m gay, and that I have a crush on you. But I’m not a pervert. I wouldn’t just take your things. You don’t have to guard them from me like I’m a thief.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, looking away as he mumbled, “I’m not guarding them from you.” I laughed bitterly. I was just so tired. People’s prejudices were like an uncrossable chasm. Evan must think I was pathetic. I turned on the shower, and warm water streamed down. I let out a long breath. This damn life. I was basically the star of a tragedy. After the shower, I felt refreshed. If the world was going to make me gay, then I was going to turn the whole world into my personal club! I felt like I could start a new life… except, crap! I’d forgotten to bring clothes! I glanced at the laundry basket. It was empty. Okay, fine. I believed him. He really didn’t have a problem with me. He’d even taken my dirty clothes with him! 6 Before, I would’ve just walked out naked to get my clothes. But after today, I couldn’t. Mainly because of that idiot Mark. He’d probably think I was trying to seduce him. There were only three of us in the room. After a moment of hesitation, I decided to ask Evan for help. I called through the door, asking him to grab some clothes for me. He agreed good-naturedly, passing them through a crack in the door. Outside, I could hear Mark’s snide voice again. “You gays are so extra.” I rolled my eyes. I shook out the clothes and realized something was wrong. These looked like Evan’s. Evan’s gentle voice came from outside. “I didn’t want to go through your closet without permission. You can just wear mine. The underwear is new.” A wave of warmth washed over me. Evan really was an angel. So gentle and considerate. It would be a damn shame if Isaac got his hands on this pure soul. I quickly got dressed. Hmm. Evan looked tall and skinny, but his boxers weren’t small. I opened the bathroom door, then immediately wanted to shut it again. Did I get water in my brain while I was showering? Why was I seeing that walking disaster, Isaac, again? A hand pushed the door open. Isaac’s eyes were practically shooting fire. “Why are you wearing Evan’s clothes?!” I rolled my eyes at him. “He let me. What’s it to you?” I swaggered out of the bathroom and saw Evan on the balcony, hanging up clothes. “Ev—” I was about to ask him where my dirty clothes went when I saw the dripping white boxers in his hand. Evan looked at me, radiating an almost wifely glow. “It was no trouble. I just washed them all together.” Behind me, I could hear the sound of Isaac grinding his teeth. “Evan, you washed his underwear?” Evan looked innocent. “We’re all guys. What’s the big deal?” Isaac was furious. He glared at me. “Have you no shame?” Me? How was this my fault? Evan finished hanging the laundry and stepped in front of me protectively. “Isaac, stop picking on Leo.” Another wave of warmth. I couldn’t help but praise him. “See? You’re so gentle and reasonable. Not like some people, who are just like mad dogs.” Isaac shot me a death glare, looked at Evan, and then stormed out without another word. 7 I dried my hair and climbed into bed, only to see the empty bunk across from me piled high with stuff. The recently departed Isaac was back, and he was carrying a suitcase. He looked at me with a cold smile. “Starting today, I’m living in this dorm too.” I could feel the murderous intent behind that smile. This son of a bitch really thought Evan was his property. He was here to guard him from me? A competitive spark ignited within me. Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it, I was going to make him watch. I pictured it in my head: me, driving a luxury car, with Evan leaning against my shoulder like a delicate bird. And Isaac, crying as he ran behind the car. “Evan, don’t leave with him! Evan, how will I live without you?” I almost laughed out loud, but a sharp crash echoed through the room. A glass had rolled off Evan’s bed, shattering on the floor. Isaac was the first to react. “Evan, are you okay?” “I’m fine. Just spilled some water.” Evan started to get down from his bed. Isaac quickly stopped him, grabbing a broom. “Wait there. I’ll sweep up the glass first.” Evan agreed, then pulled back his own bed curtain and swung his legs right over onto my bed. His voice was a little wounded. “Leo, my bed’s all wet. You don’t mind if I sleep with you, right?” The air in the room seemed to freeze. I almost burst out laughing. Isaac’s sweeping came to an abrupt halt. Even Mark shot Isaac a look of pity. No exaggeration, the guy looked like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. The broom was thrown aside with force. Isaac’s face had a greenish tint to it. “Evan, if you didn’t want me to move in, you didn’t have to resort to this.” My eyes darted between the two of them, and I finally understood. So they were having a fight, and I was just the pawn in their little game. Isaac stormed out of the room again, slamming the door behind him. I looked at Evan. He was smiling even more brightly now. For some reason, a chill ran down my spine. “He’s finally gone.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393896”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My period was two months late, and my mom, in a full-blown panic, dragged me to the gynecologist. When the clinic door swung open, I nearly slid off my chair. The doctor sitting before me was the ex I’d dumped so spectacularly two months ago. He stared coldly at his keyboard. “Lie down on the exam table. Pants down to your knees.” When I remained frozen, he pulled on a pair of gloves, walked over, and hooked his cool fingers into my waistband, yanking them down. The second the privacy curtain closed, he suddenly ripped off his glasses and leaned over me, his warm lips brushing against my earlobe. “We never finished last time, did we? So whose is it? Hmm?” 1 Fate has a twisted sense of humor, always arranging for me to run into my ex at my most humiliating moments. The moment the name “Dr. Sean Boyce” flashed on the screen in the waiting room, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. It has to be a different person! I clutched my appointment slip, praying to every god I could think of. But when I pushed open the door to his office, there he was. The white coat did little to hide his tall, lean frame, and the pair of familiar eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses made my breath catch in my throat. He didn’t even look up from his keyboard, his voice clipped and cool. “Name?” He spoke as if he’d never seen me before in his life. “Chloe Reaser, is that right?” he continued, his tone relentlessly professional. “What seems to be the problem?” Wow. We’d been broken up for all of two months, and he had the “complete stranger” act down perfectly. He was ruthless. Then again, the things I’d said to him were ten times more ruthless. My parting words had been: “Don’t even think about seeing me again after this, unless you’re on your deathbed begging for me. Then, maybe, I’ll consider stopping by.” I guess my words came true. Except I was the one lying down… His appointments were impossible to get. I hadn’t been able to book one myself. It was my mom who’d deployed the power of cash, paying a scalper double the price for a last-minute cancellation. I’d overheard some girls in the waiting room gushing about how handsome the doctor was, how the pictures online didn’t do him justice. They said you didn’t even need medicine; just getting his number was enough to cure you. His face was just that devastatingly handsome. At the time, I’d wondered if all doctors with that name were blessed by the genetic lottery. I had to see for myself. And now I had. Devastatingly handsome, indeed. Except the devastation was all mine. 2 I, who could normally talk my way out of anything, felt like my tongue had been stolen the moment I stepped into his office. My mom, however, was completely oblivious to the turbulent undercurrents between Sean and me. She launched into a dramatic recital of my symptoms. “Doctor, her period is two months late! It’s either a baby or a disease. You have to give our Chloe a thorough check-up!” The sheer awkwardness was enough to power a small city. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “Of course, ma’am. Let’s take this one step at a time,” Sean said, his voice the epitome of a caring, reassuring physician. It was the kind of calm demeanor that put patients at ease. But I saw it. As he lowered his head to write on my chart, I caught a glimpse of his notes: “Patient presents with suspected pregnancy. Delayed menstruation. A seamless rebound is one thing, but to be pregnant with someone else’s kid after only two months…” Hey! Was that last part really necessary for my medical record? “Are you sexually active?” It was a standard GYN question, especially concerning a missed period. Before I could speak, my mom jumped in. “Oh, yes, yes! And Chloe and her boyfriend are so in love, they’re practically inseparable!” “Have you taken a pregnancy test?” “Not yet! The moment I found out her period was late, I rushed her over. It’s so hard to get an appointment these days,” my mom chirped. “I see.” On the surface, Sean’s expression was perfectly placid. But my danger senses were tingling, and I could see the truth. The hand gripping the ballpoint pen was clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. The pen’s tip was bent at a sharp angle, pressing so hard it had torn through three layers of paper on the clipboard. Dude, get a grip! That’s my medical chart, not your personal death note! “So, it’s very likely she’s pregnant, right?” my mom asked, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation. I shot up from my chair. “You know, I think I’m fine now! I suddenly feel like my period is about to start!” I knew Sean’s possessive streak. If I stayed here any longer, I was doomed. But my mom shoved me right back down. “What are you talking about, child? Do you know how hard this appointment was to get? Now that we’re here, you tell the doctor whatever is bothering you.” I was on pins and needles, a knot of dread in my stomach. Sean finally adopted a thoughtful tone. “Ma’am, perhaps Chloe is a bit shy with you in the room.” Realization dawned on my mom’s face. As she walked toward the door, she said, “What’s there to be shy about? I’m your mother, I’ve seen it all.” But do you know what kind of man this Dr. Boyce is? I screamed internally. In bed, he’s an absolute animal! This whole saintly doctor thing is just an act! 3 If my life were a movie, it would be a disaster film, and right now, the camera would be holding a long, dramatic shot on my face. The office door slowly clicked shut. To me, it sounded like the fall of a guillotine. The sole audience member for our little drama was finally gone. Sean dropped the act. He tossed down the pen he hadn’t even been using to write notes. The cool, aloof, ascetic doctor was gone. Behind his silver-framed glasses, his handsome eyes glinted with a cold smile. “Well, well, Chloe. You’ve really outdone yourself. Who’s the father?” “It’s only been two months, and you’re already knocked up.” “That person who texted me wasn’t wrong. You really are a fickle…” He cut himself off, his voice turning icy. “Forget it. From now on, you’re just a patient. This has nothing to do with me.” I was completely lost. What text? What did he mean, fickle? Had Sean fallen for a phishing scam? The heavens could bear witness to my devotion! Okay, fine, before Sean, I might have been a little bit of a flirt. My first meeting with him was neither romantic nor dramatic. One night, after finally hitting a brutal client deadline, I’d called up a few friends to go see a male revue. The crappy GPS led us to a quiet, upscale cocktail lounge instead. We didn’t look too closely and just walked in. The bar was chic, but my tastes are more… straightforward. After a quick look at the menu, I ordered a rum and Coke. As luck would have it, Sean was one of the bar’s investors and happened to be on-site. When he brought our drinks, he offered a gentle warning. “Mixing cola and alcohol isn’t great for your heart rate…” By then, my friends had already plied me with a round of shots. I was dizzy, and all I saw was a ridiculously handsome man standing before me. I grabbed his hand. “Wow, the dancers at this place are incredible! How much for a night?” “Damn, look at these hands, these abs… The quality here is top-notch.” I was too drunk to remember the details, but according to my friends, I didn’t just touch him; I tried to wrap my arms around his waist and kiss him. They were so mortified they wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend they didn’t know me. The next day, when I sobered up and learned what I’d done, I was mortified too. But I couldn’t get his face out of my head. I shamelessly went back to the bar to find him, claiming I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t stop myself from tugging at his sleeve and admiring his chest. I did this for over a week until finally, Sean snapped. He cornered me against a wall. “Chloe, are you here to apologize or to grope me?” I just giggled. “If you’re with me, you can’t go to any more male revues,” he’d said, laying down his terms. “And you can’t oogle other handsome men. Can you do that?” “Of course! From now on, my heart belongs only to you,” I’d sworn. That night was actually the first time I’d ever tried to go to a male revue. It was just for the novelty. By a twist of fate, I’d stumbled upon the man of my dreams, and I truly hadn’t looked at anyone else since. I was the one who’d delivered the harsh breakup lines, but he was the one who had initiated it. His reason? “I’m too busy at the hospital. I don’t have enough time for you, and I don’t want to hold you back.” What kind of garbage excuse was that? Naturally, I’d fired back with my own harsh words, determined not to lose face. But now, he was calling me “fickle” and mentioning some mysterious text? There had to be more to this story. 4 The reason I hadn’t chased after Sean these past two months was because I wanted freedom. After we got together, he told me his real job was being a doctor. And the biggest problem with having a doctor for a boyfriend is that he micromanages everything. Other couples would stroll hand-in-hand, sipping iced milk tea on a hot day. Sean would stop me, explain how cold drinks on a hot day were a direct assault on my lungs, and hand me a thermos of ginger-date tea instead. When ordering takeout, I craved bold flavors—spicy stir-fry, grilled skewers. He would launch into a detailed analysis of how those foods increased my risk for various diseases by X percent, scaring me into canceling my order. So, when he broke up with me, even though I was confused, a small part of me was relieved. I could finally gallop through a paradise of fried foods, late-night street food, ice-cold beer, and spicy crawfish. No more pinching my nose to down the various “wellness potions” he concocted. Those harsh words I’d said were just a front, a way to keep him from showing up at my door and finding me binge-watching shows while eating street food at 3 AM. For the past two months, my social media projected the image of a heartbroken girl, posting lyrics from sad love songs like “How Could You Bear to See Me Sad” and “Thinking of You All Night.” But in reality, freed from his watchful eye, I went wild. I ate my way through every takeout menu in my neighborhood. I binged on anything and everything—icy, greasy, scalding hot. I stayed up all night, every night. And I’d managed to land myself in the hospital. My plan had been to eat my fill, then shamelessly go win him back. But fate had other plans, and here we were. And damn it, if I’d known I was going to see my ex, I never would have worn my Hello Kitty matching bra and panty set! The cat’s big, innocent eyes were staring right out from my chest, looking utterly ridiculous. Every other time I’d seen Sean, I’d dressed to kill. Lace, silk, beaded thongs—anything to keep his eyes glued to me. If he saw that my true preference was for cartoon cats, my reputation would be ruined… 5 While I was having a silent panic attack, Sean’s voice cut through the air, cold and commanding. “On the bed. Shirt up, pants down.” I clamped my hands on my waistband, refusing to budge. “There isn’t a single part of you I haven’t seen. What’s there to be shy about?” When his words didn’t work, Sean decided to use his hands. “No, you can’t!” I wriggled like a worm on a hook. The commotion must have alerted my mom. She walked back in to see me struggling desperately to escape his grasp and crawl off the exam table. She boomed, “Child, what are you doing? To a doctor, there’s no such thing as gender! He’s just trying to help you!” She rushed forward and pinned me down. “Dr. Boyce, please, just examine her.” “I want a different doctor!” I croaked. “This is the hardest hospital to get an appointment at! I was refreshing my phone for three days straight to get this slot! You can’t just leave!” my mom said, extinguishing my last flicker of hope. “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to marry your boyfriend and spend the rest of your lives together? Do you want to drag this illness out and make him worry?” “He’s already so busy every day, and you want to cause him more trouble? Don’t you love him?” In my mind, Sean and I were on a fake break, so I hadn’t told my mom. Everything she was saying now was a regurgitation of the beautiful future I had described to her months ago, back when Sean and I were still together. These vows of a shared life were sweet and moving. But in this context, the more my mom talked, the darker Sean’s face became. He thought she was talking about the new boyfriend who’d supposedly knocked me up. And I, thinking about the tangled mess I’d have to explain later, felt a headache coming on. A jarring ringtone suddenly shattered the tense atmosphere: “We should have a clean break…” Sean’s phone was playing the same few lines of a sad breakup song on a loop. Talk about holding a grudge. If he was really over it, would he be using that as his ringtone? He silenced the screen, and in that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of his lock screen. It was a photo of us together. Except it was in black and white. Was he mourning our dead love? It hit me then. The breakup, for him, was real. 6 I didn’t care about my Hello Kitty pajamas anymore. Just then, Sean finally cut my mom off. “I need to perform the examination now. Family members, please wait outside.” Seeing that I was now lying obediently on the table, my mom shot me a warning look, pulled the privacy curtain, and left. As my shirt was slowly lifted, Hello Kitty’s big, cute face popped into view. And I’m a C-cup, for the record. Sean glanced down. “Your taste these days… is truly something else.” With my mom gone, I seized the opportunity to explain. “What my mom was saying… it’s not about some new boyfriend. I’ve only ever been with you.” Sean just snorted, ignoring me completely. He squirted cold gel onto my stomach, the probe sliding across my pale skin. With only my mouth free to move, I decided to launch a nostalgia attack. “Sean, maybe it’s your baby. My period has been late for two months, remember?” “And if you count the days, it lines up perfectly with that last night we were together.” “Is that so?” There was no warmth in his eyes. “We didn’t exactly finish things that night, did we?” Suddenly, Sean, still in his white coat, leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. His warm breath traced the shell of my ear, and my treacherous heart began to pound. He was so close, it felt like he was flirting. Was he going to… right here, right now? A thousand X-rated scenarios flashed through my mind.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393913”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel