Category: English

According to Ethan Miller’s family tradition, a groom had to hand-carve a piece of bridal jewelry for his bride. It was supposed to symbolize a love stronger than diamond. The night before we were set to sign our marriage license, Ethan, my boyfriend, locked himself in his studio for three days straight just to finish this set. Our friends and family couldn’t stop praising him. They said he was so deeply in love, a brilliant rising star in the jewelry design world who was willing to lower himself for me. I truly believed I was the luckiest woman in the world. Holding a thermos of gourmet lavender-infused honey tonic that I had spent five hours slow-brewing, I reached out to push open the frosted glass door of his studio. But then, I heard the trembling voice of Amber Vance, his newly hired apprentice. “Ethan, are you seriously giving this Imperial Jadeite set to me? Chloe paid a hundred thousand dollars just to get her hands on this raw stone!” “Chloe is so petty. If she finds out, she’ll probably trash this entire studio.” Ethan let out a scoff. It was followed by the harsh, grating sound of a carving knife scraping against stone. “Trash it? Please. Chloe Shen loves me so much she’s completely lost her dignity. I can buy her a cheap designer knockoff bag, say a few sweet words, and she’ll believe anything.” “She’s just an orphan with no parents, no family, and no one to back her up. I’m a genius designer with a limitless future. It’s only natural that she throws herself at me.” “This stone might look like high-quality synthetic lab-grown glass to her, but the green is stunning. This necklace was tailor-made for your gorgeous, slender neck anyway. I’ll give Chloe the wedding, but I’m giving this set to you. It’s only fair.” Using my raw gemstone to custom-make a necklace for another woman. Despising me as a helpless orphan. Thinking it was only natural that I desperately clung to him. These words felt like poisoned ice needles piercing straight into my brain. The dust kicked up by the polishing machine drifted through the crack in the door, making me feel physically sick. But I didn’t push the door open. I just stood in the cold, dimly lit hallway, pulled out my phone, and sent a text with a blank face. “Christian, I’m doing it your way. Playing poor to find true love was a joke. I’m done taking this trash’s disrespect.”

“Ethan, do you want to drink this tonic while it’s hot?” I pushed open the half-closed glass door and slammed the empty thermos heavily onto the workbench. The sharp clang of glass hitting metal echoed loudly in the quiet studio. Amber flinched violently, dropping her polishing cloth onto the floor with a clatter. “Ch-Chloe… when did you get here?” Amber stammered, her eyes darting nervously toward the velvet-covered tray beside her. Ethan turned around. The mockery and contempt on his face vanished instantly. In their place was that suffocating, tender gaze that I had once believed in so blindly. “Chloe, babe, why did you come all the way here?” He stepped forward quickly, trying to grab my hand, then made a show of wiping his dirty hands on his apron. “It’s dusty in here. I don’t want you breathing in all this grime.” I stared at his dusty hands, my heart freezing over as if I had been dumped into an arctic lake. “I just came to see what my hundred-thousand-dollar raw stone turned into.” Ethan immediately held up his hands, showing me the tiny, bleeding cuts on his palms left by the carving tools. “Look, I’m putting my life on the line just to marry you.” “I carved every single facet of this set by hand. Three nights of no sleep, pure hand-polishing. I’m practically going blind.” He sighed, his tone carrying an undisguised sense of superiority, as if he were giving me charity. “Chloe, you’re just an orphan with no background. In my elite circle, you wouldn’t even be worthy of wearing a piece I personally designed.” “But I love you too much. I ignored all the gossip from my colleagues just to give you the best.” “You better appreciate this and give me everything you have in return.” I didn’t lose my temper. Instead, I quietly slipped my phone out of my bag and tapped the voice recorder. “Ethan, you’re so good to me.” I sniffled, forcing my eyes to turn red as if I were deeply moved. “But this raw stone cost me a fortune and a lot of favors to get. I trusted you to keep it safe and work on it.” “It’s all going to be used for our wedding jewelry, right?” Ethan’s eyes flickered, a trace of guilt flashing in his pupils before he quickly masked it. He puffed out his chest and nodded righteously. “Of course! This set will be your wedding ring and necklace.” “Don’t worry, the stone is all here. Not a single scrap was wasted. It’s all for you.” I saved the recording and slid the phone back into my pocket. Just then, Amber slid over to his side, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. She was wearing the exact Bvlgari luxury perfume I had just bought last week. Noticing my gaze, she gasped dramatically, covering her mouth. “Oh my, Chloe, have you been wearing that same coat for three years? The cuffs are practically pilling.” “I didn’t think someone your age would be so sensitive to the draft in the studio.” “But then again, being an orphan with no one to look after you, your body must be weak. You should take care of yourself. We wouldn’t want you falling sick at the wedding and embarrassing our star designer, Ethan.” She walked right up to Ethan, naturally wrapping her arms around his, her chest rubbing against his sleeve. “Ethan is the sweetest. He just told me on Snapchat earlier that once the wedding rush is over, he’s taking me to Paris for the fashion exhibition.” She looked at me with a smirk, her eyes filled with the smugness of a thief who had successfully stolen a treasure. Looking at Amber’s face, distorted by greed and jealousy, I found it hilarious. In the past, I would have screamed, demanded to know who he really loved, and begged him to prove his innocence. Now? I just saw them as two rats in a sewer. Utterly pathetic.

I ignored Amber’s jab and pulled a document from my purse. “Ethan, we haven’t decided on our wedding house yet, right?” I slid the document in front of him. “This is a penthouse in the ‘Aurelia Heights’ downtown. It’s worth thirty million dollars. I paid for it in full.” “Here are the keys.” Ethan’s eyes widened instantly. His greedy gaze locked onto the deed, his breathing turning heavy. He snatched the contract, his hands shaking with excitement, completely forgetting his sophisticated act. “Chloe… you… you bought this for me?” Amber swallowed hard, the jealousy in her eyes practically boiling over. “Wow, Chloe, you must be loaded.” She spoke with a sour tone. “An orphan with no family, yet you saved up this much cash to throw at a man? Impressive. Is this money even clean?” I smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my eyes turning icy as I looked at her. “It’s a wedding, after all. We need a decent place to live.” “I’ll let you two get back to work. I have things to handle at the office. See you.” I turned and walked out, getting into the back of my Maybach parked around the corner. I watched the studio window in silence. Ethan was currently grabbing Amber and planting a wet kiss on her lips, his hands sliding down her waist. The two of them were jumping up and down with the deed, acting as if they had just won the lottery. My phone buzzed. It was a Snapchat message from Ethan. “Babe, I saw the penthouse. I love it. But I’ve been meeting high-end clients lately, and I need a ride that matches my status. I saw a fifteen-million-dollar limited-edition Lamborghini. Since you love me so much, why don’t you get that for me too?” He was moving fast. He wasn’t even trying to hide his greed anymore. I sneered and dialed a number that had no contact name. “Christian, move the plan up.” “Activate the international grading certificate for that raw Imperial Jadeite.” A deep, cold chuckle came from the other end of the line. “Already done, little sis.” “The priceless dowry of the Shen Group’s heiress isn’t something a street rat can touch.”

“Chloe, this penthouse and the lambo have to be under my name before the wedding.” Three days before the wedding, Ethan slammed a property transfer agreement onto the coffee table. He lounged back on the sofa, lit a cigar, and blew a cocky puff of smoke into the air. “You’re an orphan. In my family’s eyes, your bad luck already brought down your parents.” “I’m a brilliant, handsome young designer with a golden future. Marrying you despite the social backlash has made my parents back home feel incredibly embarrassed. They think I’m settling.” “This thirty-million-dollar penthouse and the fifteen-million-dollar supercar are just my mental compensation.” I looked at the agreement on the table, amused by how he could dress up utter shamelessness as a noble sacrifice. The penthouse and the Lamborghini were bought with my own cash, totaling forty-five million dollars. With just a wave of his hand, he wanted to take it all for free while acting like he was doing me a favor. “Ethan, I bought these in full before the wedding.” I pretended to be heartbroken, my eyes welling with tears as I looked at him with a trembling voice. “I’ve spent all my savings to buy you a home and a car. Why are you forcing me to sign them over?” “Do you even love me? Or are you just after my money?” Ethan frowned impatiently, snubbing his cigar out in the expensive crystal ashtray. “What nonsense are you talking? If I didn’t love you, would I have spent three sleepless nights carving that jewelry set for you?” “That set is a hand-carved masterpiece! Priceless! Wealthy socialites beg me for custom work and get rejected!” “Besides, you have no family. Who else is going to take care of you if not me? What’s wrong with me taking some of your assets? It’s your chance to show your commitment!” “If you won’t sign them over, then this wedding is off!” He stood up abruptly, pretending to walk out—a classic manipulation tactic he had mastered. Amber, who had been sitting quietly peeling an apple, immediately stood up and grabbed his arm. “Ethan, please don’t be mad.” She turned to me, putting on her best “sweet, innocent helper” act. “Chloe, I hate to say this, but you’re being really unreasonable. Ethan is so good to you. He gave you his sweat and blood with that jewelry set.” “These are just material things. You can’t take them with you when you die. If you love Ethan, you should trust him completely.” “Or does a pile of cold concrete mean more to you than Ethan’s love?” Watching these two put on their little show almost made me laugh out loud. “Fine. I’ll sign.” I took a deep breath, pretending to break down and surrender. “But before I do, you have to sign this.” I pulled a document from my bag—one I had prepared long ago—and handed it to Ethan. “What’s this?” Ethan took it warily, a flash of suspicion in his eyes. “A prenuptial agreement regarding gifted assets.” I pointed to the detailed clauses, keeping my voice soft and submissive. “I can transfer the penthouse and the car to you. But you must guarantee that the jadeite jewelry set you carved remains solely mine.” “You cannot gift, sell, pawn, or even lend that set to anyone else.” “If you violate this, you must pay me double the value of the penthouse and the car. That is ninety million dollars.” Ethan stared at the complex legal jargon, his brows furrowing. He was a hack designer who built his career on plagiarism and marketing. He couldn’t understand the legal traps hidden in those words.

“What is this? Are you treating me like a thief? You don’t even trust me?” He yelled angrily, trying to cover his guilt with rage. “Ethan, I just want some security.” I lowered my head, my shoulders shaking as I let out a soft sob. “That set was hand-carved by you for me. It’s the most precious thing in my life because it represents your heart. As long as you promise it’s mine, I’ll transfer the penthouse and the car immediately.” Ethan and Amber exchanged a quick, knowing look. Amber gave a barely noticeable nod, a sneer of pure greed flashing in her eyes. To them, that stone was just a hundred-thousand-dollar piece of synthetic glass. At most, the labor was worth a few thousand. Trading a cheap stone for a forty-five-million-dollar luxury package? Only an idiot would say no. “Fine, I’ll sign! I swear, your petty, lower-class mindset is exhausting.” Ethan grabbed a pen, scrawled his signature, and stamped his thumbprint in red ink. He held the agreement joyfully, as if he could already see himself living in the penthouse, driving the supercar, and leaving me in the dust. That afternoon, we went to the registry office and transferred the titles. The moment he got the papers, Ethan’s attitude toward me turned freezing cold. “Alright, take an Uber back. I have some finishing touches to do at the studio.” He stuffed the papers into his pocket, didn’t even look at me, and hopped into the brand-new Lamborghini, roaring away. Standing at the curb, I watched the supercar disappear into the traffic. A cold, lethal smile spread across my face. Back in my empty apartment, I opened my laptop. The screen lit up with live feeds from the studio and the new penthouse. I had hired a top-tier security team to install hidden cameras yesterday while they were out. On screen, Ethan was proudly holding the completed Imperial Jadeite necklace, presenting it to Amber. Amber, wearing a silk slip dress, squealed with excitement. “Oh my god! Ethan, this is gorgeous! The green looks so deep, like it’s glowing!” “Of course it is. Look who carved it. Even though the stone itself is cheap synthetic crap, under my skills, it’s a masterpiece.” Ethan smugly fastened the massive jadeite necklace around Amber’s neck. The brilliant green glow reflected off her greedy face. “Ethan, are you really giving this to me? What if that dumb b*tch Chloe asks about it?” “Who cares? I’ll just throw some leftover scraps together, make a thin ring, and give it to her. What does she know about jewelry? Wearing this on her would be a waste of art anyway.” Ethan leaned in, burying his face in Amber’s neck. “Babe, let’s go check out our new home.” Half an hour later, the Lamborghini parked in the underground garage of the thirty-million-dollar penthouse. The feed switched to the living room camera. The moment they walked through the door, Ethan pinned Amber onto the expensive, custom Italian leather sofa. Their clothes were thrown all over the floor as they tangled together. The Imperial Jadeite necklace around Amber’s neck caught the light of the crystal chandelier, reflecting a dazzling glow that made the filthy scene look incredibly ironic. “Ethan… this place is huge… it’s ours now…” “Yes, all ours. That idiot Chloe thought she could control me. Once we’re married, I’ll slowly drain her dry and kick her to the curb.” I watched the screen without a shred of emotion. I packaged the high-definition recordings and sent them to an encrypted email address.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “436156”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On his deathbed, in front of everyone present, Don Vittorio left his final will: Whichever of his sons reached his bedside first would inherit the ring bearing the family crest, and would become the next Don of the Corleone family. His second son, Damian, was all the way out in Sicily. My husband, Luca, was only ten minutes from the hospital. It should have been a foregone conclusion. But I called him until my phone nearly burned out, and Luca simply switched his off. All because his first love, Sofia, was in a bad mood that night and wanted him to watch a fireworks show set off solely for her. In my last life, I’d gone half-mad. I rounded up the family bodyguards, charged onto the pier, and dragged him off that yacht and back to the hospital by force. He made it in time, took the ring, and was crowned the new Don. But Sofia, left alone in the river wind for half an hour, caught a nasty cold and ran a high fever. She wept and cursed him for not caring about her, said she was through with him for good. Luca’s face never showed a thing. But in his third month of total power, he tied heavy stones to my body with his own hands and threw me into the Atlantic. “If it weren’t for you — you greedy bitch with nothing in your head but family interests — Sofia wouldn’t have gotten sick. The Don’s seat was always going to be mine. Who asked you to meddle?” After my rebirth, I came back to this exact moment — to Enzo, the consigliere, urgently pressing me to make the call. I glanced down at Instagram. Luca had just posted an update. A silhouette photo from the deck of a yacht, captioned: *Even if the sky falls, I’ll watch these fireworks with my princess to the end.* Expressionless, I tapped the like button. Then, calmly, I opened the DM window with my brother-in-law, Damian: *Damian. Want to make a deal?* … “Mrs. Corleone, what are you waiting for? Call Master Luca, now!” Beside me, the consigliere, Old Enzo, was so frantic he was nearly hopping in place, his graying beard trembling. “The Don has left his will. Whoever walks into this room first, before he passes, and takes the ring from his hand — that man becomes the new head of the Corleone family.” “Ten minutes by car. If Master Luca leaves right this second, the family is his!” I forced down the hatred boiling up in me, the kind that threatened to swallow me whole. In front of the consigliere, the priest, the doctor, and the representatives of the Five Families, I dialed Luca’s number. The phone rang for a long, long time. Long enough that Enzo’s forehead beaded with cold sweat, and the priest began murmuring prayers under his breath. Then, finally, it picked up. The deafening crackle of fireworks burst out of the receiver, along with Luca’s deeply irritated voice: “Vera, are you fucking done? How many times do I have to tell you — Sofia’s in a bad mood tonight, and I’m watching the fireworks with her!” I crushed down the urge to laugh in his face, my voice as flat as if I were reading off a balance sheet: “Your father’s been in a serious car accident. He’s in the hospital, in critical condition. He said—” Before I could even mention the will, a tearful, choking cough cut me off from the other end. “Luca… are you going to leave me again…?” Sofia must have taken the phone. Her voice was soft, laced with just the right amount of hurt. “Vera, my heart’s really not in a good place tonight. That’s the only reason I begged Luca to come keep me company.” “You really don’t need to make up lies like this to force him back. Do I have to get down on my knees and beg you before you’ll let him stay with me a little longer?” Luca’s voice instantly shifted, soft enough to drip honey: “Sofia, don’t be scared. I’m not going anywhere. Nowhere.” Then he turned back to the receiver, and his tone went as cold as Arctic ice: “You hear that? Sofia’s already fragile, and now she’s upset, and you’re still calling to push her over the edge. Are you trying to drive her to her death? Is that what you want?” Beside me, Enzo’s temple veins were bulging. He snatched the phone right out of my hand: “Master Luca, this is Enzo! Mrs. Corleone is not lying — the old Don really has been in an accident. He’s at Mount Sinai right now.” “Please, you must be here within thirty minutes. The Don has left his final will—” “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Enzo himself?” A lazy, mocking male voice cut in from the other end. Luca’s personal assistant — and Sofia’s younger brother — Marco. Marco’s tone was insufferable. “Vera, you really went all out tonight, huh? You even got the consigliere to play the part? Pity. You miscalculated one little thing.” “Luca, listen — I’ve got a friend working the ER at Mount Sinai tonight. The whole place is dead quiet. There’s no Don, no accident, none of it exists!” “Vera’s just jealous. She paid people to put on this little show to trick you home!” That was all it took. Luca exploded with fury. “Vera Marino! You’d stoop low enough to use my father’s life in your sick little games? You make me sick.” The line cut off without mercy. Enzo stood frozen, the dead phone clutched in his hand, his lips trembling. “How… how could Master Luca be this much of a fool?!”

The words had barely left Enzo’s mouth when the hospital room door slammed open. “Vera Marino, you jinx!” Rossana — Luca’s mother, the so-called *future* matriarch of the Corleone estate. She came rushing in, eyes bloodshot, hand already raised to strike me across the face. This time, I was ready. I gave a cold smile and stepped back. Rossana put too much force behind the swing, hit nothing but air, and stumbled forward, sprawling across the chair behind her. Half her carefully arranged updo came loose, snagged on her pearl tassels. She didn’t even feel the pain. She jabbed a finger at my nose, screaming. “Where is Luca? I asked you, where is Luca!” “How did I ever pick a useless wife like you for him? If Luca doesn’t make it back, if the family falls to that little bastard, I’ll skin you alive!” Behind her came a pack of distant relatives who’d been mooching off the Corleone coffers for years. Every one of them had drunk her wine at the Long Island estate, worn the gold chains she’d doled out. Now they all swarmed around me, spitting as they shouted. “Useless! Can’t even get her own man to come home! If Master Luca doesn’t inherit the Don’s seat, we’ll have your hide!” “That’s the Marinos for you. They marry off nothing but garbage!” I watched their ugly faces with cold eyes. I knew exactly what they were afraid of. Rossana wasn’t the real matriarch. She had started out as one of Vittorio’s mistresses. When the actual Donna was pregnant, Rossana rushed to give birth to Luca first. Twenty years ago, when the Donna was about to deliver, Rossana deliberately showed up with infant Luca in her arms to provoke her. The shock sent the Donna into early labor — she hemorrhaged and died on the operating table at Mount Sinai. The motherless second son, Damian, became the enemy of Rossana and Luca from the moment he could understand words. At best, he was publicly humiliated at family dinners. At worst, he was locked in the wine cellar and beaten with belts. Eventually, under the pretext of “toughening him up,” they shipped Damian off to the Sicilian countryside, sealing him out of the Corleone family’s core power. As for Vittorio — he had let Rossana live in the Long Island estate, but he never thought her fit for the role. In all those years, he had never once acknowledged her status in front of anyone else. Which meant: the moment Vittorio died, if Luca failed to claim that ring, Rossana wouldn’t even hold the title of “Corleone widow.” By the family’s own rules, she’d be thrown out without ceremony. Now, eyes blood-red with panic, she lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. “Are you deaf? Call that little hanger-on next to Luca! Tell him to bring my son back this instant!” I looked at her coldly, said nothing, and obediently dialed Marco’s number. This time, it picked up fast. The background was still all laughter and cheers, the boom of fireworks bursting overhead, and Sofia’s deliberately amplified, soft, girlish giggles. “Vera, are you fucking serious right now?” Marco’s lazy, smarmy tone shoved its way through. “Can’t you give your man a little personal space? Stop clinging to Luca like some pitiful, nagging old housewife.” He warmed to his own performance, even taking on a lecturing tone. “You want my honest opinion? If you were my wife, I’d beat you ten times a day, just to knock some sense into you.” “A woman should stay home, iron the shirts, boil the pasta. Stop sticking her nose in a man’s real business!” His arrogance was so brazen that the whole room went still. Enzo’s graying eyebrows knotted into a furious tangle. The priest instinctively crossed himself. But I stayed perfectly calm. I slowed my voice deliberately, hammering down each word. “Marco. I don’t care whether you believe me.” “The Don is dying.” “He has left his will. Whichever son — Luca or Damian — reaches his bedside first to take the family ring, that son inherits the Corleone family.” On the other end, a strange silence fell. Only the faint sputtering of distant fireworks remained. Marco’s tone shifted, suddenly uncertain. “You… you serious?” Rossana caught his words like a lifeline. She rushed to the phone, weeping with relief. “It’s true! It’s true! Marco, get Luca back, I’m begging you, this is the whole Corleone family at stake!” “Oh… well, if it’s true, I’ll go report it to Luca right now.” Marco answered, smooth as silk. Rossana let out a long breath, patting her chest, muttering: “Thank God… as long as Luca comes back…” The next second, the phone erupted with the most unrestrained, mocking laughter. Marco was howling, gasping for breath, as if he’d just heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. “Oh my *God*, Vera, you really are good at pretending, aren’t you? I already called your bluff and you’re still putting on the whole show with your little troupe of actors?” He let out a smug snort. “Let me tell you something. Luca just made his position very clear.” “Even if God Himself came down from heaven tonight, He couldn’t interrupt the private world of him and my sister!” “Your sob-story act is so last season.” “Be smart. Get the hell out.” “Luca’s going to file for divorce. For the rest of your life, you can dream all you want, but you’ll never set foot in the Corleone house again. As for you and the rest of your Marino people — start packing. You’re heading back to Sicily to beg, you idiots!” The line went dead a second time, without ceremony. The wild joy on Rossana’s face froze, then turned a deathly white. My eyes reddened, and I made a show of looking devastated. Inside, I was as cold as river silt. I had been married into the Corleone family for three years. To keep Luca’s position in the family stable, I had pulled more all-nighters than I could count, balancing his books, smoothing things over with the heads of the Five Families, cleaning up the messes that nearly turned into bloodbaths. Those shipments at the Brooklyn docks, the ones the Feds were watching — I’m the one who arranged for them to be moved overnight. The witness in Queens, the one about to flip on Luca — my Marino people made him disappear. And in return, Luca had taken family money and funneled it to Sofia. A penthouse in Manhattan. A private island in the Mediterranean. A yacht docked at Port Monaco. He’d even said it to my face, with a clear conscience: “Vera, you’re already the *Mrs. Corleone*. Sofia has nothing. What’s wrong with me giving her a little compensation?” And Rossana, back then, had chimed in airily: “What man doesn’t stray? Women in families like ours — we turn a blind eye and let it go. So long as Luca still comes home to the Long Island house, who cares how many he keeps on the side?” Yes. Luca Corleone believed his *true love* came before everything. Family. Code. His dying father. None of it mattered next to his *true love*. Fine. Then he could lose all of it — half a century of Corleone empire built across New York. He could lose every bit.

A sudden chaos of heavy footsteps came pounding down the hallway. A handful of mid-tier capos — men who had all bet everything on Luca — burst into the hospital room. Carlo was at the front. He was one of Luca’s most important money men, and his eyes were red with panic. “Where is Master Luca? Why isn’t he here yet?!” Rossana whipped her finger toward me. “It’s her! It’s all this useless Vera’s fault! She couldn’t even get Luca to come back!” Carlo’s composure shattered. He snatched up a thick stack of family ledgers from the table and hurled them at me. “Vera Marino, what the *fuck* do you do all day?!” “Every one of us has staked our lives, our entire fortunes, on Master Luca.” “If he misses this ring tonight, every drop of blood we shed, every brother we buried, every enemy we made — it all goes down with him!” “You stupid, worthless woman!” I said nothing. I let the papers scatter at my feet. You bet on the wrong man, gentlemen. But that — I couldn’t say. Not yet. Before Carlo could finish his cursing, the cardiac monitor by the bedside let out a sharp, urgent alarm. Every heart in the room seized. The attending physician lifted his head from his stethoscope and let out a heavy sigh. “Gentlemen… Mr. Corleone has, at most, twenty minutes left. I suggest you act quickly.” Twenty minutes. Truthfully, if Luca would just glance at his phone, take one call — From the East River pier to Mount Sinai on the Upper East Side, ten minutes was more than enough. A flicker of hope rose in Rossana again. With shaking hands, she picked up the phone again, her voice ravaged to a hoarse whisper. “Luca… baby… this time, you *have* to pick up Mommy’s call…” Meanwhile, on the East River. The forty-million-dollar private yacht was gliding gently beneath the Manhattan skyline. Brilliant fireworks bloomed across the night sky, one after another, lighting up the entire city. On the open-air deck of the yacht’s top level — Sofia was nestled against Luca’s chest. Her slender fingers pointed at the phone that wouldn’t stop vibrating. “The ringtone is so loud, my head hurts… Luca, could you turn it off, or, better yet, throw it into the river for me?” She lowered her lashes, looking more pitiful by the second. “For these thirteen minutes and fourteen seconds of fireworks, your entire world needs to be just me. Can you do that for me?” Luca paused for a moment. The words from the call earlier flashed across his mind: *Your father’s been in a serious car accident.* But when he looked up and saw Sofia, her eyes slightly red from the river wind, those eyes brimming with dependence on him — every last doubt evaporated. Just Vera Marino, picking another fight out of jealousy. His father was as strong as a lion. There was no way he was actually dying. “Okay.” Luca bent and kissed her forehead, his voice tender enough to bleed honey. “As long as my princess is happy, even if the sky falls, I’ll be right here.” He raised his arm. Without a moment’s hesitation, he hurled the vibrating phone over the railing and into the black water of the East River. A faint *plop*. Swallowed completely by the roar of the fireworks.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260707zcT8mkWLHG 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni539818”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

“I’m sorry, Eira,” Bryn Holt said. “The final list is locked in. There’s no mistake.” I stood in front of the bulletin board and stared at the roster for almost five minutes. My name was gone. In the slot for the full-scholarship tryout at the Northern Shifter Academy, where it should have read Eira Vane, it now read Senna Ashford. At first I assumed it was a clerical error. A mixed-up data entry, a delayed email, some idiot confusing the shortlist with the final roster. Then it hit me. This wasn’t a mistake. This was Kael Blackthorn’s doing. Black Dragon heir. My boyfriend. I found him in the parking lot, leaning against that black sports car of his. He gave me a lazy glance. “Senna was cast out by her clan. She lost everything,” he said first, as if I’d shown up for a verdict. “This is her only shot.” “You’re strong. You can make Regionals on your own.” “That’s a full ride to the Northern Academy, Kael.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Coaching, housing, Federation certification—everything. You know what that means to me.” “You’ll figure something out.” I looked at him and said nothing. Then he sighed, pulled a black card out of his wallet, and held it out between two fingers—the way you’d tip a valet. “Fine. I’ll cover all of it. Coaches, training hours, gear, everything. Consider it me buying the slot off you. We’re square, right?” It started to rain. I looked at the card, then back at his face. He was the one who’d told me that if I trained hard enough, I’d claw my way out of that wretched house, out of this town that reeked of cheap liquor, poverty, and the bone-deep despair of shifters who’d given up on themselves. No one would ever spit the word halfblood at me again. So I’d trained. Spent every free hour in Bryn’s equipment room—patching gear, mopping floors, doing the jobs no one else wanted. And now he was sticking a price tag on all of it. I turned and walked away. His voice followed me across the parking lot, flat and cold. “Are you serious? You bust your hands open in that shop. You’ve spent your whole life chasing pennies.” “I’m offering you more than you’ll see in ten years. Don’t let your pride be the thing that gets you killed, Eira.” I stopped and turned to look at him. Everything I’d thought was unbreakable rotted through in a single second. I laughed. “Believe whatever you want, Kael.” I’d barely made it back to the training grounds when Tessa came storming in. She was a gray wolf like me, bottom of the pack. But she was purebred. We worked the same shifts in the equipment room. “Eira. Tell me I read that list wrong. Tell me that fox isn’t standing in your spot.” “You read it right.” “It was Kael. It had to be. Did you go to him?” “Just got back.” Last week’s training scabs were still on my hands. “He offered to pay my way to the Northern Academy in full. Buy my place out from under me.” She was quiet for a long beat, then muttered a curse under her breath. “That smug Black Dragon bastard. Please tell me you threw the card in his face.” “I walked away.” “Eira, you have to fight for this. That spot is yours. Everyone knows what you went through to earn it. The scars on you, your father—” “It doesn’t matter.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “His clan funds the sponsorship program, Tessa. They picked me once. They can pick someone else.” She fell silent. “Oh—I just saw Senna’s feed.” Tessa lowered her voice. “Kael booked out an entire restaurant for her. A celebration dinner. Eira.” “Okay.” “Okay? That’s it?” “I need to get back to work. Go home.” I didn’t wait for her to say anything else. I turned and walked into the back of the shop.

The next morning I went down to the training center to file my paperwork for Regionals. That’s when I saw them. Senna on Kael’s arm. She spotted me first. Then she ducked behind his shoulder. “Kael, I’m scared.” Kael stepped forward. “Eira, don’t make a scene.” I tried to go around him. He grabbed my wrist. “What is your problem? Senna hasn’t done anything to you. None of this was her call. Do you really have to take it out on her?” I yanked free. “Let go of me.” People in the hallway started staring. Right on cue, Senna’s tears showed up. She slipped out from behind Kael and took a step toward me. “Eira, I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of this. If you want to hit someone, hit me. I deserve it.” She lifted her chin and leaned closer. Kael’s arm came around her from behind, sliding to her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “Look at her.” His face hardened. “Look at what you’re doing to her. I didn’t think you could be this cruel, Eira.” The whispers started. “That’s her, right? Works in the equipment room over at Bryn’s.” “The one who lost the Northern spot? The halfblood?” “Can she even shift? I’ve never seen a hint of wolf on her.” “At least Senna’s a real shifter. I’d have picked her too.” I didn’t look at any of them. My eyes stayed on Kael. “I said let go.” He didn’t move. He shoved me. I staggered back into the row of metal lockers behind me. My shoulder blades hit the door and the whole row rattled. I stayed there for a second, my back against the cold steel, looking up at him. He looked back at me. His face was blank. Not a flicker. Nothing. We grew up together. He was ten when his family sent him here. His first week in town, he got into a fight with three older boys in the alley behind the training grounds. They split his lip and kicked him until he was spitting blood. I came around the corner with a freshly sharpened claw blade in my hand. They ran. After that he followed me everywhere. Whenever someone in town called me a halfblood waste, Kael was the one grinding their face into the dirt for it. “Eira. I’m here. Always.” “We’re getting out of this town. Just the two of us. The North, the Federation, all of it. You and me.” Now he was standing in front of me with another girl in his arms, and he’d just slammed me into a wall. Senna cried harder. “Kael, please, let’s just go. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault.” He turned his head and kissed her hair. “It’s not your fault. Not even a little.” He gave me one last look—a warning—and walked past me with her. I stayed against the lockers until I could breathe properly again. The office was at the far end of the corridor. On the way I passed the Rising Stars display wall. Senna’s photo hung dead center—bigger than every other one. Beneath it, in neat black lettering: This extraordinary shifter has overcome exile and persecution. A story of resilience. I laughed. It tasted bitter. I remembered one night, coming back to the equipment room after evening training. My father, Garrett, was waiting in the parking lot. “Where’s the money?” I didn’t answer. I tried to walk past him. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my face into the exterior wall. “I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” “There isn’t any.” “Bullshit.” He pinned me against the brick. “That Black Dragon kid throws cash around like water and you’re glued to his side every day. You expecting me to believe you can’t squeeze a few hundred out of him for your old man?” He backhanded me. He started patting me down, ripping at my pockets. I shoved him off. That was a mistake. It set him off. He drove his boot into my stomach and put me down. “You ungrateful little bitch. Just like your mother. Both of you, useless.” Garrett was a purebred gray wolf. He could break bones in a body like mine—a body with no beast form to soak the hit. That was when Kael’s car pulled into the lot, just as I thought it was all over. He put Garrett on the ground in two moves and hauled me up. His hands ran over my face, my arms, my ribs, checking. His voice was shaking. “Where did he hit you, Eira? Tell me.” I couldn’t speak. He pulled off his jacket, draped it over my shoulders, and held me. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m right here.” He didn’t go home that night. He sat on the beat-up couch in the back of the shop until daylight. The next day he walked into the local enforcement office and didn’t leave until they’d put suppression cuffs on Garrett and locked him in a holding cell. When he came back, he sat down next to me and said: From now on, I take care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything. Ever. I believed him.

A week before Regionals, the training grounds ran a full dress-rehearsal mock trial. Full judging panel, full scoring system, everything identical to the real thing. The mock covered three events: beast-form sprint, alpha pressure resistance, and survival tracking. I took first place in human form. My total beat second place by nearly twelve points. Senna was the last one to arrive. She extended one clawed finger, ripped the results sheet off the board, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. “Whatever. The Northern spot is mine. I don’t need to bother with these trials.” Kael was waiting at the railing with two coffees. He handed her one. She smiled at him like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just thrown a tantrum in front of everyone. “You look beautiful.” She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. I walked past them toward the locker room. “Eira.” I didn’t stop. “Eira. Hey.” He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Still pissed about the slot?” I didn’t answer. “I get it. But let it go. Look at where she is. She needs this more than you do. You could win Regionals blindfolded.” “Why hang onto it? You should learn how to lose gracefully.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The offer still stands. Whatever you need—coaches, off-season camps—it’s yours.” He thought money fixed everything. He thought money could buy back what he’d already broken. He was wrong. “I don’t want it.” “There it is again.” His jaw tightened. “How long are you going to keep this up? Do you have any idea what you earn in a month? What I’m offering is more than you’ll make in a lifetime at that place.” Senna hooked her arm through his. “Kael, don’t. She just hasn’t accepted it yet.” She gave me a sad little smile. “Eira. I know you hate me right now. But I really, truly have nowhere else to go. I don’t want the two of you fighting because of me, but I’ve already lost everything.” Her eyes welled up on cue. For a whole year I’d watched her run this routine. In every conversation, she was the victim. In every room, I was the one making her cry. “Kael said he’d take care of you,” she went on, her voice soft and magnanimous. “If there’s anything you need, you just let us know, okay?” Us. As if she’d already walked into his life. I couldn’t help it. The corner of my mouth pulled. Kael frowned. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing,” I said. “Just admiring the two of you. You make a great pair. Hope it lasts.” His expression changed. “Eira—” I walked past him and into the locker room. “Eira, get back here.” I tuned every word out. That night Tessa sent me a screenshot—caught before it disappeared from Senna’s feed. Senna and Kael at a bar. Kael holding up a bottle of champagne, Senna draped sideways across his lap. Their friends behind them lifting glasses, shouting: Congrats, Senna! Tessa: Don’t look at her. She’s not worth ruining your night over. I tossed the phone aside. Then I pulled my training log off the nightstand, turned to the next blank page, and started mapping out my route for Regionals. As long as I was training, I didn’t have to think about anything else.

A week out from Regionals, the training grounds scaled the program down to taper sessions. Most people used the time to rest. I picked up extra shifts in Bryn’s equipment room. Wednesday afternoon, Kael’s car pulled up outside. He got out and leaned against the driver’s side. The music was deafening, pulsing through the window hard enough to rattle the glass, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. “Eira, come here.” I kept fiddling with the guard set in my hands and didn’t look up. “I’m talking to you.” He walked over, frowning, and reached for my arm, then saw the grease and metal shavings on my hands and pulled his fingers back without touching me. “Go clean up. We’re heading to the cabin in the mountains. Senna wants to get off the ground for a few days. You’re coming too.” “I’m not going.” “Don’t be like this. I drove all the way out here. Senna wants to make peace with you. Stop being difficult.” “There’s nothing between her and me to fix.” “Eira.” “I need to train.” He laughed, short and ugly. “Training. Right. Like you have to. You could show up half-dead to Regionals and still take first.” “Come on. Don’t spend the weekend in this dump. Senna’s genuinely trying.” “I’m not going.” His patience finally snapped. “Suit yourself.” He pulled out his wallet, peeled off a stack of hundreds, and threw them at my feet. The bills scattered across the concrete like a command. “There. That’s your salary for the month. I already paid your boss. Take the money, keep your precious pride intact, and stay away from me.” I didn’t move. “Not enough?” He pulled out another stack and dropped it on top of the first. “How about now?” Bryn Holt. Bear shifter. He stepped out of the back office, looked at the money on the floor, and walked past it. “Mr. Blackthorn. What’s going on here? We don’t need any of this.” Kael didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked on me. “Pick it up.” I still didn’t move. Senna got out of the car wide-eyed and ran over in a pair of blindingly white leather boots. “Kael, please don’t. You’re scaring her.” She crouched down and started picking the bills up one by one. “Eira, don’t be angry with him. He’s just protecting me. He didn’t mean it.” Her eyes filled as she held the stack out to me with both hands. “Please. Come with us. I don’t want to be the reason you two aren’t speaking.” I looked at her, then at Kael. Not a flicker of remorse. He thought he was being generous, so I was supposed to be grateful. I walked past both of them, went into the back of the shop, and shut the door. Through the wall I heard him say: “See? That’s what you get. You try to help her, and this is how she treats you.” The engine started. The music faded down the street. A minute later, Bryn came in. He set the stack of bills on the workbench in front of me. “Take it, kid.” “No.” “Eira.” He pushed it closer. “Your father, your situation. You need this.” I stared at the cash. It smelled like Kael. A scent that didn’t belong in this town. I went to the sink in the corner, turned the water as hot as it would go, and started washing my hands. Over and over. Until my skin was red and raw. That night, Garrett came back. Drunker than usual. He spotted the money through the front window. He took the cash, then started smashing everything else. He grabbed a chair and put it through the front window. I called the enforcement office. When the officers arrived he was still in a rage. It took two of them to bring him down and lock the suppression cuffs onto his wrists. As they dragged him out, he spat blood and saliva in my face, eyes red. “You called the law on your own father. I hope you know what kind of person you are. I hope you rot, you little bitch.” I watched them take him away. So this was what it felt like. No one standing behind me.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260707oeH96rCzI1 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni481128”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

At the final fitting for my bridal vestment, I stepped out from behind the silk partition to find my sister Rosalind adjusting the silver clasp at my fiancé Caelan’s collar. Caelan Solyne — the High Priest of the Temple of Solyne, the most feared and revered hand of divine authority across all of Aurelia. I had just opened my mouth to say, “I’ll do it,” when the adornment attendant smiled brightly and walked toward Rosalind. “This way, my lady bride.” I stopped where I stood. Caelan did not correct her. The Silver Vow guardsmen at the doorway kept their gazes fixed forward, faces unreadable beneath their pale hoods. Rosalind only lowered her lashes shyly and leaned a little closer against him. Meanwhile Miles — my oldest friend, the temple’s appointed bridal portraitist — lifted his enchanted lens and began capturing image after image of the two of them. I stood there like a stranger at other own betrothal. Almost every image glowing inside Miles’s lens-stone was of Rosalind and Caelan. Not a single one of me. The actual bride. Rosalind spoke as easily as if she were the one preparing for the bonding ceremony. “Elara, bring me those starlilies, would you?” When Caelan noticed I hadn’t moved, he walked over and gently took the bouquet from my hands. Those eyes of his — eyes that had silenced entire councils of priests, eyes before which kings had been known to bow — held a rare flicker of warmth. “Elara, what are you standing there for? Go look over the scroll designs. I’ll come find you once we’re done with the portraits.” Miles lowered the lens just enough for one eye to show above it. “Elara, scoot over a little. You’re in the light.” I moved without a word and stood in the corner. That was the moment I finally understood how unnecessary I was. If this bonding ceremony didn’t need me, then I wouldn’t be here. … I quietly lifted my cloak from the bench and pushed open the heavy temple door. The silver chime above it rang once, soft as a sigh. No one called after me. I looked back. Rosalind was twirling in front of the long mirror while Caelan stood behind her, smoothing the sash at her waist. Miles lifted his lens-stone again. “Yes — that’s it. Hold there. Perfect angle.” The enchantment hummed five or six times in quick succession. I turned and walked out of the fitting hall. The polished marble corridor stretched ahead of me, cool and empty. My two Silver Vow guards assigned to my protection fell into step behind me without a sound. My communication crystal pulsed once at my wrist. A message from the temple’s bonding ritualkeeper. “Princess Elaria, the ceremony is only days away. Have you chosen the design for the Sacred Vow Scroll?” Those outside the temple called me Princess Elaria of Marenthia. Only my family and the man I was supposed to bond with called me Elara. Before I could answer, another message bloomed inside the crystal. “Or perhaps your sister could choose. Her taste is exquisite.” The corridor was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. One breath after another, like I was counting something. What was I counting? How many times I’d been forgotten in this love? I touched the crystal and let three words form in the light. “Let her choose.” I meant it. Rosalind would pick something. Caelan would agree with her in the end anyway. The reply came almost instantly. “Understood, Princess.” I stared at those words and could practically picture the ritualkeeper exhaling in relief. Every choice the bride made was always changed afterward. Easier to let my sister decide from the start. Before I could lower my hand, the crystal started pulsing again. Over and over. Miles was pushing portraits into the shared bonding crystal — the council thread that linked the whole wedding party. I opened one. His composition was flawless. The afternoon light landed perfectly on their faces. Caelan stood tall in the deep indigo robes of the High Priest, the silver embroidery along his shoulders catching fire in the sun. The two of them looked like a sacred painting come to life — the High Priest and the woman about to stand beside him before the Eternal Flame. I had poured everything into this bonding, as though doing so could prove that I was not always the one who got forgotten. I never imagined that, in the end, I’d still be the one pushed out of the frame. The crystal flared, dimmed, flared again. Images kept blooming in the shared light. I didn’t answer. No one noticed. I dismissed my escort at the temple gates and walked alone down the long white road toward the small dwelling I kept near the outer sanctum. A folded note had been left beneath my desk. Seven days until the Bonding. I picked it up, crushed it in my hand, and dropped it into the brazier by the threshold. The little flame swallowed it without a sound. The way everyone else, it seemed, had learned to swallow the silence of me.

The next morning, I checked my communication crystal. The the council thread had 99+ unread pulses. Rosalind had tagged me once, in a voice imprint. I tapped it. “Elara, I changed the ceremony hymn. The one you picked was too gloomy. A bonding should feel lighter.” Caelan’s reply came right under it. “Agreed. The original hymn doesn’t fit the occasion. Half the temple will be there. Pick something lighter.” The original hymn didn’t fit? I had spent a whole month choosing it. It was the song my parents had played at their bonding. Hearing it always made my eyes burn. They had died far too young, and I had wanted them to be present in some small way. Caelan knew that. So did Rosalind. And they still called it gloomy. Rosalind kept going in the thread. “Elara never likes making decisions. We can just choose these things for her.” Caelan replied with one word. “Agreed.” I stared at it without moving. Messages streamed past, one after another. No one noticed that I was in the thread. No one noticed that I was silent. I had no role in my own bonding. I opened my private thread with Caelan. The last exchange was still from yesterday’s fitting. I had written, I’m a little nervous. He had sent back a small glowing rune — the temple version of a pat on the head. After that, nothing. He hadn’t even reached out privately after I left early to ask what was wrong. The only thing he’d done was tag me in the council thread later that night. “What happened? Got too nervous and slipped out early?” No one answered. No one cared. Rosalind posted a portrait with the caption, Elara, today’s fitting was perfect. The vestment is officially confirmed! And just like that, it was forgotten. They went back to discussing flowers, scrolls, and altar arrangements. Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t just unnecessary. While I was packing, Rosalind suddenly called through the crystal. When I answered, someone was applying her makeup. “Elara, you’re moving way too slow. The makeup team still isn’t confirmed, so I booked one myself. I’m testing them out for you first.” I listened at Rosalind in front of the mirror and wanted to say something. But I no longer knew what. Two weeks ago, I had told her my closest friend would handle my bridal adornment. But my voice never seemed to reach her. She just made every decision for me. Had I never pushed back? I had. It always ended with the same line. “Elara, you’re the older one. Don’t make a big deal out of this.” Miles had known me longer than anyone. He always took her side. Then Caelan stepped into my life and chased me with everything he had. The High Priest the whole continent feared used to walk me home through the dark and tell me my quiet, dreamy ways were lovely. I thought he liked me that way. But after he met Rosalind, his preferences seemed to shift. Without realizing it, he started saying that women should be lively. Decisive. One day, I finally said it. “Can you stop being so close to Rosalind? You need better boundaries with her.” I thought he’d understand. Instead, he laughed, ruffled my hair, and brushed it off. “Boundaries? Once we’re bonded, Rosalind will be part of the temple family too. Do you want me to treat her like a stranger?” I went quiet. Of course I didn’t want them at each other’s throats. But the words You’re the older one, so you should be more understanding had pressed down on me for years. For the first time, they were heavy enough to suffocate me. They had all forgotten I was only two years older than her. I wanted someone to ask me, Do you like this? But no one ever cared.

I sent word to my capable subordinates and told him I was leaving the house that day. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve lived there more than four years.” Four years. When Caelan and I first started seeing each other, he had wanted me to move into the temple’s inner sanctum — a heavily warded compound where only his most trusted clergy lived. Rosalind said I should keep some private space before the bonding and suggested I live alone. So I rented this little dwelling near the outer sanctum, hoping I’d see Caelan more often. He agreed. Every now and then, he’d slip away from his Silver Vow escort and stay the night. These rooms had held the sweetness of our early love. Then the arguments. The silences. The countless times he left in a hurry because of temple business. But now I had finally hit the end of it. “Yes,” I said. “I’m leaving today.” The subordinates sighed and told me to leave the rune-key under the threshold stone. I had barely closed the connection when the door opened from outside. Caelan and Rosalind walked in, laughing together. Rosalind glanced back at him with a smile. “You promised that once my lease ends, I can stay at the inner sanctum for a few weeks after the bonding. I want the chamber with the bay window in the east wing. And I want the drapes changed to pink.” I stood in the middle of the room, sure I had heard her wrong. She said it so naturally. As if she had every right to decide how long she’d stay and how our future home would look. Caelan didn’t object. He smiled indulgently. “As long as Elara doesn’t mind.” “Elara always looks after me. Of course she won’t mind.” Something tightened in my throat. “What if I do mind?” The room went silent for two seconds. Rosalind stared at me. Maybe it was the first time I had ever truly refused her. Before she could say anything, her eyes were already turning red. Caelan’s tone sharpened with reproach. “What’s gotten into you, Elara? You’ve always given her whatever she wanted. Now you’re going to make an issue out of one room?” “I’m not making an issue out of it.” “Then what are you saying?” He frowned. “Her lease is ending. She’d only stay a few weeks. She’s your sister, not some stranger we need to guard against. The sanctum is huge. What difference does one more person make?” “That’s supposed to be our home after the bonding. The home of the future lady of Solyne.” I looked at him. “Which one of us is bonding with you?” That shut Caelan up. Rosalind’s voice came out soft, eyes wet. “Elara, I just wanted to be close to you. If you don’t want me there, forget it. I won’t move in.” Caelan turned on me with that same reproachful look. “See what you’ve done? One sentence, and you’ve hurt her this badly. She’s your sister. Can’t you think about how she feels?” “And who thinks about how I feel?” I lifted my head. “You personally pulled her into the temple’s outer ministry and approved a stipend far above everyone else at her level. She barely has to worry about anything. What about me? All I have is—” “Enough.” Caelan’s expression changed. “Be reasonable. She’s your sister. I only look out for her because of you. Do you really have to be this petty?” Petty. That word again. I smiled and stopped speaking. Rosalind tugged at his sleeve. “Caelan, stop. Elara’s probably just in a bad mood.” He patted her hand, then softened his voice toward me. “Elara, I’ve already decided. It’ll be good for Rosalind to stay with us. The two of you can keep living close to each other.” I nodded. Agreed. It was their home, after all. I would never live there. Caelan relaxed. Rosalind dabbed at the corners of her dry eyes and smiled again. I turned back to my packing. Behind me, Rosalind asked, “So I really can change the drapes to pale pink?” Caelan laughed softly. “Whatever you like.”

That afternoon, I went to the Temple of Solyne, the seat Caelan ruled. On the surface, the great spire housed the outer ministry, the relic vaults, and the council chambers. Everyone on the continent knew what it really was. I packed the access rune to the inner sanctum, the key-sigil to Caelan’s private chamber, and several scrolls concerning the temple’s outer affairs that he had asked me to organize. At the reception desk, the attendant straightened the moment she saw me. “Princess Elaria. Shall I notify the High Priest?” “No.” I set the bag on the desk. “Just give him this.” Then I turned to leave. As I reached the dark-runed staircase, Caelan’s voice drifted through a half-open door. Two Silver Vow guards stood outside, and I slowed without meaning to. “You want me to take you to your bridal manicure on the seventh day?” My fingers stiffened. A moment later, his amused voice carried through the doorway. “All right. I’ll take you. I’ll explain it to Elara.” I gave a bitter smile. I had already decided to let go. What was I still hoping for? Before the bonding, Caelan and I had planned one thing we never managed during our years together — to watch the sunrise above the cliffs. He had been postponing it since winter, always saying he was busy and we’d go next time. We had finally chosen this seventh day. Now he had postponed it again. But this time, I didn’t care. I pushed through the great temple doors and traveled straight back to Hartwell, the small coastal town in Marenthia where I had grown up. The next morning, I was cleaning the old house my parents had left me there. Lady Mirelle and Lord Theron lived nearby, and Mirelle came over early. “Elara, take a break.” I shook my head and told her I was almost done. Mirelle took my hand and patted it gently. “All these years, you’ve always been the one expected to be the older one. Expected to give in. You’ve suffered far too much.” She sighed, like she was turning over years of memories in her mind. “Rosalind may have been adopted by your parents, but you always treated her like your own sister. You gave her everything. That child never learned when to stop taking.” She wiped the corner of her eye. “The ministers and other dukes all knew. But they were afraid you’d feel uncomfortable, so no one dared say anything.” “Now you’re both grown. You’re about to start a family of your own. I thought you’d finally be free of looking after everyone else.” I smiled but said nothing. After a while, I said, “Aunt Mirelle, you and Uncle Theron should move in. An empty house doesn’t stay in good shape for long.” Mirelle looked startled. “What do you mean, empty? You’ll still come back after the bonding.” She smiled. “I know you and Caelan will live at the inner sanctum, but you’ll need somewhere to stay when you visit.” I agreed. But I kept insisting they move in. Mirelle thought I was only being polite and refused several times. I didn’t explain. I only thought that once I left, I might not come back for many years. That evening, Caelan arrived for the pre-bonding family dinner as arranged. Three Silver Vow carriages stopped outside. His guards stayed at the entrance. Rosalind stayed at his side like the hostess. They both looked surprised when they saw me. “Elara, what are you doing here?” Caelan asked, as if I had no reason to be there.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260707DhbrVSJnCl 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni194208”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

Two months ago I left Patrick Pelletier. Tonight he’s standing at my register, buying condoms for other girl. He doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about it. He pulls a box off the shelf, holds it up between two fingers, and turns to the girl hanging off his arm. “There’s like ten kinds, baby. Which one feels best? You pick.” The girl blushes hard. Stares at the boxes. Doesn’t say a word. Patrick laughs, low and mean. “Right. My bad. We never used these when it was you and me. You wouldn’t know.” I keep wiping down the counter. I don’t look up. He leans on the register. I can feel his eyes on me, that lazy, amused look I used to die for. “What about you, sweetheart? Got a recommendation?” I freeze for a second. Just one. Then I reach behind me, pick a box, and slide it across the counter. “This one. Thinnest we carry. Goes on smooth, feels like nothing. Girls love it.” Patrick’s smile thins out. “You sound experienced.” “I get by.” He picks up the box, turns it over in his hand, eyes locked on mine. “You and your new boyfriend go through a lot of these, then?” The brunette on his arm laughs — sharp, ugly. She looks me up and down like I’m something stuck to her shoe. “Look at her clothes, babe. Whole outfit’s, what, twenty bucks? Her and her broke boyfriend can’t afford the good brand. They’re probably using the cheap stuff that breaks halfway through.” Patrick’s watching my face. Waiting for me to crack. I don’t. I just smile, polite as a hostess. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ve tried every brand on this shelf. They all hold up.” His hand goes still on the box. His jaw locks. “Cute,” he says. Quiet. Cold. “I’ll take this one. If it’s not as good as you say — I’ll be back.” He drops a black card on the counter. I ring it up. He doesn’t break eye contact once. The bell over the door rings. They’re gone. I exhale. Turns out, the condoms really were good. Because for the next seven nights in a row, Patrick walks into my store at exactly 11 p.m. and buys another box. Same brand. Same brunette on his arm. Every. Single. Night. By night four, my manager Rita can’t keep it in anymore. “Sweetheart, I have been in this business twenty years. I have never seen a man go through a box of these every single night. That is some Olympic-level stamina.” I keep scanning barcodes. “And the car, Cara. Did you see the car? Phantom. Blacked out. Plates aren’t even real. That’s mob money, honey. Old mob money. The kind you don’t ask questions about.” “Mm-hmm.” “Lucky girl, that one. Designer head to toe. Earrings probably cost more than my house.” She squints at the security monitor. “Y’know, she looks familiar. I swear I’ve seen her somewhere.” She turns to me, eyes narrowing. “Cara. Honey. Tell me she’s not someone you know.” I keep my eyes on the register. “She’s nobody.” Rita doesn’t buy it. She bumps my hip with hers. “C’mon. Spill. Were they together before? Was she your friend? Roommate? Sister? Give me something.” “There’s nothing to give.” I close the drawer. Take a breath. “Rita. Can I take a couple days off this week? I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.” She blinks. “Sure, baby. Of course. The dad going with you?” I shake my head. “Going alone.” She sighs, long and tired. “Every appointment, you go alone. Whoever this man is, honey — he’s a piece of trash.” I press my lips together. I don’t argue. Because she’s right. And because the man she’s calling trash just walked out of my store with his new girl, a fresh box of condoms, and absolutely no idea what I’m carrying under this cheap uniform. His baby. Eight weeks along.

It’s a stupid story. The kind that sounds made up. The brunette on Patrick’s arm? Her name’s Chiara Conti. She was my roommate in college. And four years ago, she stole my face. Not literally. She just took every photo off my social media — the candid ones, the blurry ones, the ones where my hair fell over my eyes just right — and used them to bait a rich boy online. A very rich boy. She bragged about him every night in our dorm. Said he was loaded. Said he was obsessed. “He sent me money again. Like, ten grand. I haven’t even spent the last one. So embarrassing.” She’d stretch out on her bed, scrolling. Eyes flicking up to make sure I was listening. “Don’t be jealous, Cara. I know you’re on financial aid. But some of us just get lucky, you know?” After that, everything she owned got upgraded. Designer bags. Red bottoms. Dinners that cost what I made in two weeks. Her mystery boyfriend had bad insomnia, she said. Real clingy. Needed her on the phone every night till dawn. So every night she’d lock herself in the bathroom, voice gone soft and breathy, giggling for hours. I slept four hours a night, if I was lucky. I was on three jobs. My parents had split when I was nine. Both remarried. Both forgot to remember me. I paid my own tuition. I bought my own instant noodles. One morning I tried to sneak out for my 5 a.m. shift, careful not to wake anyone. Chiara sat up in bed and threw a pillow at my back. “You’re so dramatic, Cara. Some of us are trying to sleep. If you’re that broke, just drop out and find a sugar daddy. God knows it’d be less annoying than this.” I didn’t answer. I had a bus to catch. The job that morning was at a coffee shop two miles from campus. A man came in. Ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. Sat in the corner and watched me. He was — okay, I’ll just say it. He was beautiful. Black coat, amber eyes, jawline like a weapon. Half the girls in the shop were filming him on their phones. When I brought him his coffee, he slid a hundred-dollar tip across the table and grinned, slow and lazy. “Long shift, baby?” I blinked. “Why are you up this early pulling shifts? I send you plenty of money. You need more? Just say the word.” I stared at him. “I’m sorry — what?” His smile flickered. He pulled out his phone, opened his camera roll, and turned the screen toward me. It was full of pictures of me. Hundreds of them. “You’ve got that little mole right under your ear, baby. That’s you. Don’t act like you don’t know me. You call me daddy every night.” I almost dropped the tray. “That’s my face. But sir — I have never seen you before in my life.” His smile died. We sat down. We pieced it together. Within twenty minutes we’d figured out exactly what Chiara had done. He looked like he was going to put his fist through the wall. Then he looked at me, really looked, and the anger melted into something else. Something sharper. Hungrier. He held out his hand. “Patrick Pelletier. And whoever the hell you actually are — I want to know you.” I should’ve walked away. I knew the last name. Everyone in this city knew the last name. The Pelletiers don’t run a company. They run the city. Patrick was the old Don’s only son, and the only son meant heir. Heir meant blood. Blood meant rules — alliance marriages, no outsiders, no civilians. But he leaned across the table and lowered his voice, and his eyes were doing that thing. “Stick with me, sweetheart. Life gets a hell of a lot easier.” God help me — I let it. I was so tired. I was so tired of being tired. I said yes.

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260707ySvem5360W 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni001904”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I’m to marry the most powerful man in the realm in seven days. He still doesn’t know I take my tea without honey. At my final gown fitting, my sister said she wanted to help me choose. I stepped out of the dressing chamber and saw her fastening the family crest brooch on my betrothed Lord Ashford’s ceremonial cloak. Gabriel Ashford. The Duke who commands the King’s armies. The man whose name makes envoys from every rival kingdom lower their eyes. I had just opened my mouth to say “Let me,” when the seamstress smiled and curtsied to her. “This way, my lady bride.” Gabriel didn’t correct her. The black-armored knights standing at the door kept their gaze forward. Margot only smiled shyly and leaned into him. Behind me, Soren, my childhood friend, brushed past with his quill and ledger. He’s the chronicler the Ashfords hired to record the wedding for the family annals. I stood frozen, like a stranger who’d walked into the wrong room. Page after page in his ledger, every line about Margot and my betrothed. Margot at the mirror. Margot laughing. Margot at Gabriel’s elbow. Not a single line about me. The bride. Margot spoke as easily as though she were the one getting married. “Elara, hand me that bouquet.” When Gabriel noticed I hadn’t moved, he came over and gently took the flowers from my hands. Those eyes, the ones that had made grown lords kneel, softened a little. “Elara, what are you staring at? Go choose the wax seal for the invitations. I’ll join you when Soren is finished.” Soren glanced up from his ledger. “Elara. Out of the way. I can’t see them from here.” I moved without a word and stood in the corner. In that moment, I understood how unwanted I was. If this wedding had no need for me, then I wouldn’t be there. … I quietly lifted my cloak from the bench and pushed open the door. The bell above it chimed once. No one called after me. I looked back. Margot was twirling before the mirror. Gabriel stood behind her, adjusting the sash at her waist. Soren dipped his quill. “Yes. Hold there. Just like that.” His pen flew across the page, line after line. I turned and walked out. When I climbed into my carriage, the two black-cloaked knights of my escort fell in behind me without a sound. A folded note waited on the seat. From the wedding herald. My lady, the day approaches. Have you chosen the wax seal for the invitations? Before I could answer, another arrived. Or perhaps your sister might choose. She has such a good eye. The carriage was silent. So silent I could hear my own breathing. In and out, as if I were counting something. What was I counting? How many times I’d been forgotten in this betrothal. How many times overlooked. I wrote three words back. Let her decide. I meant it. Gabriel would listen to her in the end anyway. The reply came at once. As you wish, my lady. I stared at the words and pictured the herald exhaling in relief. Every choice the bride made was undone afterward. They were tired of redrafting parchment. Easier to let my sister decide from the start. I hadn’t yet folded the note when more arrived. Soren had sent copies of his day’s pages around to the wedding party. One after another. I unfolded one. His hand was clean and lovely. Every line described the way Margot had moved, the way Gabriel had looked at her. A betrothal record fit for the King’s own archives. The future Duchess of Ashford and her husband. I’d poured everything into this wedding, as though it could prove I wasn’t always the one who got forgotten. I never imagined that in the end, I’d still be pushed outside the frame. The notes on my lap lit and dimmed in the lantern light as more arrived. I didn’t answer. No one noticed. I dismissed my escort at the castle gate and walked alone to my chambers in the east wing. Pinned to my looking glass was a slip of parchment, in my own hand. Seven days until the wedding. I peeled it off, crushed it in my fist, and dropped it into the hearth.

I don’t open my eyes till past noon. A stack of sealed letters waits on my writing desk. I count them. Easily a hundred. All from the wedding council. Only one is addressed to me. Margot’s seal. I break the wax. Elara, sweetheart, I had the musicians swap out that ballad you picked. It was such a downer—nobody wants to cry at a wedding! Trust me on this one. xx M. Underneath, in Gabriel’s slanted black hand: Agreed. The other one didn’t suit. Didn’t suit. I chose that ballad. I spent a month on it. It was the song they played at my parents’ wedding. They died too young. I wanted them there in some small way. Gabriel knew that. Margot knew that. I open the next letter. Margot, again, copied to the whole council: You all know how Elara gets with decisions—she’ll fuss for weeks and still hate it. Just let me handle the rest, darlings. Saves everyone the headache. Gabriel’s reply is one word. Agreed. I stare at it. I do not move. Letter after letter. The whole council chattering past me on parchment. No one notices the bride is reading. No one notices the bride hasn’t said a word. I open the small box where I keep Gabriel’s private letters. The last one is from yesterday. I’m a little nervous, I had written. Don’t fret. I have it in hand, he wrote back. That’s it. Nothing since. Not a single line asking why I left the fitting early. Just one casual note pinned to the council scroll that night: What was that about, Elara? Nerves got the better of you? No one answered. No one cared. Margot sent a sketch around with a sweet little ribbon. Fitting went perfectly! Gown’s done. And that was that. Then they were back to flowers and seals and chapel banners. I’m not just unwanted. To be unwanted, you’d have to have been there in the first place. I’m folding a cloak into my trunk when a maid raps at the door. Lady Margot is asking for me. I go. She’s at her vanity. A painter is already working on her face, brushing rose powder across her cheekbones. “Elara, finally.” She doesn’t turn around. “You take forever with everything. The bridal painter still wasn’t sorted, so I just—handled it. I’m letting her practice on me first. You’ll thank me.” I look at her in the mirror. I want to say: I told you two weeks ago. Lady Helen is already on the road from Ravensbrook. She’s painting my face. I want to say: Did either of you, even once, ask if I wanted any of this? I don’t. What would be the point. Have I never asked before? Never been hurt? Never pushed back? I have. The answer is always the same. You’re the older one, Elara. Be the bigger person. Soren grew up in my nursery, not hers. He still takes her side. Every time. When Gabriel courted me, he told me my quiet ways were lovely. That he liked a girl who didn’t chatter. I believed him. Then he met Margot. Suddenly a girl ought to be lively. Ought to know her own mind. One night I finally said it. Could you not be quite so close with her. He laughed. He brushed his knuckles down my hair. “She’s family, Elara. You want me at war with my own sister-in-law?” I went quiet. Of course I didn’t want that. The eldest bears a mother’s burden. Those words have been on my shoulders since I was sixteen. That night, for the first time, I couldn’t breathe under them. She’s only two years younger than I am. I wanted sweets too. I wanted someone to ask me, just once, do you like this one? A line of sun comes through the window and falls across the stone floor. I remember the gardens, the games of pretend-bride. After everyone ran inside for supper, I was the one who stayed behind to gather the petals back into the basket. No one ever helped. No one ever asked if I was tired.

I send word to the steward that I’m vacating my chambers in the east wing today. The old man looks up from his ledger, surprised. “Truly, my lady? Four years you’ve kept these rooms.” Four years. When Gabriel and I first became betrothed, he wanted me to move into Ashford Keep with him. Margot said it wasn’t proper, living together before the wedding. I agreed. I wanted a place that was mine. So I took chambers in the east wing of the royal palace, near the council halls where Gabriel spent his days. Close enough to see him often, I thought. He approved. He’d come some nights. Stay till morning. These rooms have seen all of it. The early sweetness. The arguments. The long silences. His back disappearing through the door, again and again, summoned away. “Yes,” I say. “Today.” The steward sighs and tells me to leave the key in the gatehouse. I’m barely finished folding the last gown when the door swings open without a knock. Gabriel walks in. Margot trails behind him, laughing at something he’s said. She turns and beams up at him. “You promised, remember? The bridal suite at Ashford Keep, the one with the window seat. It’s mine. And I’m having the curtains changed to rose pink.” I freeze in the middle of the room. I must have misheard her. She says it the way you’d ask for sugar in your tea. As though moving into my marriage bed was something already decided. As though my home was already half hers. Gabriel doesn’t correct her. He smiles. That soft, indulgent smile. “As long as Elara doesn’t mind.” “Elara adores me. Of course she won’t mind.” Something inside my throat comes loose. “And if I do mind?”

The room goes silent for two seconds. Margot blinks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever told her no before. She hasn’t said a word yet, but her eyes are already shining. Gabriel’s voice cools. “What’s the matter with you, Elara? You give her everything. You always have. And now you’re going to make a fuss over a bedroom?” “I’m not making a fuss.” “Then what is this?” He frowns. “She’s your sister. It’s not as though I’m letting a stranger move in. The keep has thirty rooms. One of them sitting empty doesn’t bother anyone.” “It’s our bridal chamber, Gabriel. Is she the one walking down the aisle with you?” That stops him. Margot’s eyes spill over. Right on cue. “Elara, I only wanted to be near you. Forget I asked. I won’t come.” Gabriel turns on me. “Look at her. One word from you and she’s in tears. She’s a young girl. She’s your sister. Could you not be cruel for once?” “And who’s kind to me?” I lift my head. “You found her a position at court. A stipend. A title. She wants for nothing. And what about me? All I have left is—” “Enough.” His face hardens. He takes a step toward me. “Listen to yourself. She’s your sister. The only reason I lift a finger for her is you. And this is how you thank me? By being small?” Small. There it is. I smile a little. I don’t say anything else. Margot tugs at his sleeve, voice gone soft and careful. “Gabriel, leave it. She’s just tired.” He covers her hand with his. His voice gentles. “Elara. It’s settled. Margot will be good for you. You won’t have to be apart from her.” I nod. Fine. It’s their home. Not mine. I’m never going to live there anyway. Gabriel exhales. Margot dabs at her eyes and gives him a small, brave smile. I turn back to my trunk. Behind me, her voice again. Sweet now. Light. “So I really can have rose pink curtains?” Gabriel laughs. “Whatever you want.”

Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260707V7ulFv2m5j 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni299635”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix

I had spent the last month at a private hospice care center, sleeping by my terminally ill mother’s bedside. I was dying to get back home. I couldn’t wait to surprise my five-year-old daughter, Lily, at our suburban mansion. But the moment I pushed the front door open, my mother-in-law, Beatrice Carter, looked at me and frowned. “Olivia? Isn’t it the weekend? Why are you back here tutoring so early?” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I froze. I am Georgina. Since when did I become Olivia, our daughter’s college-student tutor? Before I could process this, my husband Anthony came downstairs, holding Lily in his arms. I rushed toward him like a drowning woman grabbing a lifeline, waiting for him to laugh and end this sick joke. Instead, Anthony gently pulled Lily back, shielding her from me. He looked at me with a soft, patronizing scold. “Olivia, we’ve talked about this. Please stop touching my wife’s personal belongings. Why are you wearing Georgina’s slippers again?” My eyes followed his gaze. There, walking out of the kitchen, was the real tutor—Olivia Bennett. She was wearing my silk pajamas, holding a warm cup of tea. My daughter, Lily, ran to her, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Mommy!” she chirped. Horror washed over me in waves. Anthony walked up to me and patted my shoulder with a sigh of pity. “Olivia, I get it. You come from a poor background, and you want a shortcut in life.” “But Georgina is the love of my life. Stop playing this pathetic imitation game. You don’t need to come in for tutoring tomorrow. You’re fired.”

“Anthony, what the hell is wrong with you?” I stared at the face I had loved for seven years. It felt completely unrecognizable. My blood ran ice-cold. His eyes were dead. No guilt. No nervous laughter of a prankster caught in the act. He was looking at me like I was a delusional stranger causing a scene in his house. “Olivia, my patience has limits,” Anthony said. He pulled his sleeve out of my grip and casually ironed out the wrinkles with his hand. He turned, took the warm tea from Olivia’s hands, blew on it gently, and held it to her lips. Olivia took a sip, looking up at him with a shy, blushing smile. That was my gesture. The exact angle of her head, the curve of her lips—it was a carbon copy of me. My stomach churned. I bolted toward the console cabinet in the corner of the living room. “You want to play this game? Fine! Let’s look at the paperwork!” I slammed the drawer open. “Our marriage certificate is right here. It has my name on it. Georgina Williams!” My fingers brushed against the familiar leather folder. I grabbed it and whipped it around, holding it high in the air. Beatrice let out a harsh laugh, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “This girl is gold-digging mad. Rummaging through our house, pretending she’s the lady of the manor. Pathetic.” I ignored her. My hands shook as I flipped open our wedding album clipped to the certificate. The moment my eyes hit the page, my knees buckled. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor. In the photo, Anthony was smiling warmly in his black tuxedo. But the woman leaning against his shoulder, glowing in her white wedding gown, was Olivia. And printed clearly in elegant cursive on the certificate below was: Georgina Williams. “No… this is impossible,” I whispered, rubbing my eyes until they burned. This couldn’t be real. Just yesterday, Anthony and I were on FaceTime. He was whining about how he couldn’t sleep without me in our bed. How could my identity, my husband, and my daughter be stolen overnight? I snapped my head up, glaring at Olivia. “What did you do? You are Olivia Bennett!” “I hired you six months ago to tutor Lily in French!” Olivia shrank back, hiding behind Anthony’s broad shoulders. “Anthony… is Olivia okay? Has the stress from college finally broken her mind?” her voice trembled, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Anthony wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.” Then, he turned to me. His eyes were pure steel. “Olivia, you stole my wife’s clothes, forged documents, and now you’re threatening her in our own home.” Anthony pulled out his iPhone, his thumb sliding across the screen. “I tried to give you some dignity because you were good to Lily. But since you want to act crazy, I’m calling the police.” The police? He was going to arrest me for trespassing in my own home? The sheer absurdity of it drove me mad. I scrambled across the floor, lunging toward Lily on the sofa. “Lily! Look at me! Look at Mommy’s eyes!” “I’m your mommy! I’m the one who reads you bedtime stories every single night! Have you forgotten?” I reached out to hold her. But Lily shrieked as if she were looking at a literal monster. She kicked her legs, dodging my hands. “Go away! You’re not my mommy! You’re a bad woman!” She was only five. The terror and disgust in her eyes were real. She couldn’t fake that. She ran to Olivia, burying her face in Olivia’s silk pajamas, sobbing loudly. “Mommy, I’m scared! Make the bad lady leave!” Olivia scooped Lily into her arms, crying tears of motherly devotion. “Shh, baby. Mommy’s here. I’ll protect you.” Watching them, my heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. Beatrice marched over, grabbed me by my collar, and dragged me toward the front door. “Get out! Do we need to wait for the cops to throw you in a cell?” “What did our family do to deserve a psycho stalker like you?” I thrashed wildly. “Let go of me! I bought this house! This is my home!” Anthony walked over. One by one, he pried my bleeding fingers off the doorframe. His grip was gentle, almost polite. But his words were poisoned daggers plunged straight into my chest. “Olivia, here is your final paycheck for the month.” “If you ever step foot on this property again, or harass my wife, I will make sure you never find a job in this city again.” A thick stack of hundred-dollar bills slammed into my face, scattering across the wet concrete. The heavy oak door slammed shut in my face. The warm lights and happy laughter of my family were locked away. I sat on the freezing stone steps, shivering violently. This wasn’t a prank. This was a calculated, cold-blooded conspiracy to erase me from existence.

The night wind cut through my thin pajamas as I wandered down the dark, tree-lined streets of our gated community. Occasionally, a car drove past, its headlights illuminating my pathetic, shivering figure. Calm down, Georgina. Think, I told myself. If they managed to wipe every trace of me from the house, the rest of the world couldn’t have gone crazy too. I reached into my pocket. Thank God. Before leaving the hospice, I had slipped my phone and my wallet into my pocket out of habit. I pulled out my driver’s license. Under the dim glow of a streetlamp, my pupils dilated in shock. The photo on the card was definitely me. But the name printed next to it read: Olivia Bennett. The date of birth, the address—everything belonged to that broke college student. My hand shook, and the card clattered onto the asphalt. How? My wallet never left my side. When did they swap my ID? I grabbed the card, my heart hammering against my ribs, and dialed my mother’s primary care physician, Dr. Evans. The phone rang for a long time before a sleepy voice answered. “Hello, Dr. Evans. It’s Georgina,” I gasped, trying to keep my voice steady. Silence stretched for two seconds. Then, Dr. Evans spoke, his voice laced with confusion. “Olivia? Why are you calling this late?” “Mrs. Williams was discharged this afternoon. Georgina took her home hours ago.” Olivia. Even he called me Olivia. The world spun around me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. “Dr. Evans, listen to my voice! I am Georgina!” “I’m the one who paid for her chemotherapy! We discussed her surgical options just last month!” The doctor sighed, his tone turning annoyed. “Olivia, have you been drinking? Every time Georgina came in, she was accompanied by her husband, Anthony.” “Anthony signed all the financial paperwork. You’re just the tutor. Stop calling me with this nonsense.” Click. They hadn’t just stolen my life. They had rewritten everyone’s memories. But how? That was impossible. It defied all logic. Unless… A terrifying thought crossed my mind. I sprinted to the main road, hailed a taxi, and gave the driver the address of the company I built from scratch—Aether Technologies. Even if Anthony bought off the hospital and my home, Aether had hundreds of employees. Someone had to recognize their CEO! The skyscraper was still glowing with lights at 2:00 AM. I burst through the glass doors of the lobby. The night receptionist immediately stood up. “Olivia? What are you doing here at this hour?” Her voice was sweet, but it felt like a sledgehammer to my chest. I ran to the desk, slamming my hands down. “What did you just call me? Look at my face!” “I am Georgina Williams! I built this damn company!” Terrified by my crazed look, she took two steps back. “Olivia, stop playing around.” “Mr. Carter announced at the company-wide meeting this afternoon that you were let go from tutoring Lily. He explicitly blacklisted you from entering this building.” As she spoke, her hand snucked under the desk, pressing the silent security alarm. I bypassed the desk, running toward the elevators. “I need to see Anthony! I want to see the corporate registry! I am the majority shareholder!” Within seconds, three burly security guards tackled me to the ground, pinning my arms behind my back. “Let me go! You blind fools! I’m the one who pays your salaries!” I screamed, my hair tangled, looking like a literal lunatic. The head of security looked down at me with disgust. “Olivia, Mr. Carter was kind enough to fund your college tuition and give you a job.” “And this is how you repay him? Trying to steal his wife’s company? Get her out of here before I call the cops!” They dragged me out of the lobby and threw me onto the cold, wet pavement. My knees scraped against the asphalt, blood seeping through my pajamas. I looked up at the massive neon sign of Aether Technologies. I designed that logo myself on the night Anthony proposed to me. Now, it felt like it was mocking my stupidity. I had lost everything. My name, my family, my money, my business. In a matter of hours, I had been completely erased from the world. I curled up under the streetlamp, tears finally spilling over. Why? Why did Anthony do this? If he fell in love with Olivia, he could have just asked for a divorce. I would have walked away. I was never a beggar for love. Why use such a sick, elaborate scheme to skin me alive? As I drowned in despair, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a calendar notification: [Tomorrow, 10:00 AM: Replace smart vacuum filter.] My eyes snapped open. My heart skipped a beat. The smart vacuum! To keep an eye on Lily while she played in the living room, I had secretly modified the camera on the smart vacuum cleaner. It didn’t run on our home Wi-Fi. It bypassed the main network, connecting to a private cloud server I had set up during my college coding days. An account Anthony didn’t even know existed.

With trembling, frozen fingers, I walked into a 24-hour convenience store and paid to use their guest computer. My hands shook so violently I kept mistyping the encrypted URL. Enter. The screen refreshed. The private cloud storage opened. Inside were thousands of photos of Lily and me, along with digital logs of my entire life as Georgina. No Olivia. Only me. I covered my mouth, tears dripping onto the keyboard. I wasn’t crazy. I was Georgina Williams. I quickly clicked on the hidden security footage folder and pulled up the live playback from this afternoon. The camera angle was low, gliding across the living room floor, but the audio was crystal clear. Anthony was lounging on our Italian leather sofa. Olivia was curled up in his lap. “The look on her face when she walked in was priceless,” Olivia giggled, tracing circles on Anthony’s chest. “The neurotoxin we slipped into her coffee really did its job, didn’t it?” Anthony smirked, taking a sip of red wine. “Keeping her doped up and exhausted at her mom’s bedside for a month was the easy part. It gave us all the time we needed to swap her documents and reprogram the smart home.” Olivia laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Her mother’s doctors were so easy to buy. A little cash, some deepfake videos, and they actually believed I was Georgina visiting her.” “Though, that Dr. Evans guy cost us a pretty penny to sign off on the fake medical records.” Anthony pinched her chin, his eyes dark with greed. “Who cares about a few thousand dollars when we’re about to take 100% control of Aether Technologies?” “Once she goes fully insane and we lock her up in an asylum, all her shares legally transfer to me. We’ll be billionaires.” My jaw clenched. So my mother’s sudden illness was their doing. The hospital staff and my employees had been manipulated through bribes and deepfakes. They didn’t just want my money. They wanted to drive me to actual madness so they could lock me away forever. I won’t let you, I thought, a cold fury replacing my despair. This video was concrete evidence. If I could get the physical SD card from the smart vacuum, I could go straight to the federal authorities. I logged out of the cloud and wiped the computer’s browsing history. I checked the clock on the wall. 2:00 AM. At this hour, they would be sound asleep. I took a cab back to the estate. Avoiding the main security gate, I scaled the fence from the woods behind the property. I crept into the garden and reached under a terracotta pot for the spare house key. I had hidden it there years ago, a habit Anthony always called “tacky.” Click. The side door swung open. The mansion was pitch black and silent. The only sound was the rushing of my own blood in my ears. Barefoot, I slipped onto the hardwood floor. Guided by muscle memory, I crawled under the living room sofa. My fingers brushed against the cold plastic shell of the smart vacuum. Holding my breath, I popped open the bottom latch and pulled out the micro SD card. Got it! With this, Anthony and Olivia were going to prison. I clenched the tiny card in my fist and turned to leave. Snap— The massive crystal chandelier above flooded the living room with blinding light. I winced, shielding my eyes. “Looking for this, Georgina?” My body froze. I slowly opened my eyes. Anthony was standing at the top of the grand staircase in his silk pajamas, swirling a glass of Merlot. He was looking down at me with a sickening smirk. Behind him stood Olivia, holding an iPad, a smug smile plastered on her face. “You… you were awake?” I stammered, stepping back, hiding my hand behind my back. Anthony walked down the stairs, step by slow step, his eyes locked onto my arm. “Did you really think your little DIY camera hack went unnoticed?” He opened his left hand. Lying in his palm was an identical micro SD card. My mind went completely blank. “Did you honestly think you could outsmart me in my own house?” Anthony chuckled. With a flick of his fingers, he snapped the card in half and threw the pieces onto the floor. He leaned in close, his breath smelling of expensive wine. “Do you want to know why everyone played along so perfectly this past month, Georgina?” He snapped his fingers. Olivia turned the iPad around, facing the screen toward me. “Did you really think this was just about a simple betrayal?” Anthony whispered. “Welcome to your very own, custom-made, real-life Truman Show.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435688”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After I caught Ethan cheating with my intern, Chloe, things went wild. In the heat of the moment, she fell and got seriously hurt. Because of that accident, Chloe lost her ability to have children, and I was sent to prison for two years. But Ethan’s torture didn’t stop there. The day I was released, he drove to the prison entrance, planning to drag me straight to Chloe to beg for her forgiveness. Only, he never saw me. He only saw the other inmates walking out of the iron gates. As the crowd thinned out, Ethan grew impatient. He grabbed a random woman by her arm and demanded, “Where is Elena?” It had been nearly six months since anyone had uttered that name. The woman looked at him in shock. “Elena?” “She passed away from an illness six months ago.” Ethan didn’t believe her. His grip tightened, his voice dripping with sheer disdain. “What did Elena pay you to make up this pathetic lie?” The woman, already annoyed at being grabbed by a stranger, scoffed. She violently shook off his hand. “You are freaking crazy.” She walked away, and Ethan didn’t chase her. He clearly didn’t take her words to heart. He just sneered. “Using death to hide from me? Pathetic. I will find you, Elena.” With that, Ethan got into his sports car. The engine roared, and I found myself sitting in the passenger seat beside him—as a ghost. As the streets outside became familiar, it hit me. Ethan was heading to my apartment. I let out a bitter, silent laugh. When it came to me, Ethan had zero trust. Two years ago, he refused to believe I was innocent. Now, he refused to believe I was dead. But I was truly dead. I couldn’t even defend myself anymore. A sharp ringtone broke my train of thought. Ethan picked up a FaceTime call. Chloe’s face popped up on the dashboard screen. Before I died, she had been transferred to a branch office in another city. Every time Ethan went to visit her, I was locked inside his villa. It had been two years since I last saw her. She no longer wore those cheap, faded clothes from when we first met. Now, she was draped in Chanel and Cartier, her cheeks rosy. Clearly, Ethan had been taking great care of her. “My transfer is finally over, babe!” Chloe squealed through the screen. “No more long-distance!” Ethan smiled warmly. “You worked so hard these past six months. Let me take you out for a fancy dinner when you get back.” “What’s your flight number? Let me book the ticket for you.” Chloe looked like the happiest girl alive. “No need, silly! You always treat me like a baby. Focus on driving, okay? I have a client meeting in a bit.” “Alright. Take care, and make sure you eat properly…” Ethan’s voice was incredibly gentle. I used to hear that same voice years ago. I thought I had numbed myself to this pain. Yet, my ghostly eyes still welled up. The car stopped outside my old apartment building. Ethan jumped out of the car. Within two minutes, he was at the lobby. By some twisted fate, he ran right into my sister, Lily, who was walking downstairs. I hadn’t seen Lily in six months. I stared at her, taking in every detail. She no longer looked pale and exhausted like she did before my death. She wasn’t crying her eyes out anymore. Indeed, she was doing much better without me dragging her down. When I was sick, Lily was the one who stayed by my side through the chemotherapy. She watched me wither away and die. Seeing Ethan now, the hatred in Lily’s eyes was blinding. But remembering my dying wish—for her to live a life free of hatred—she tried to walk right past him. But Ethan blocked her path. “Where is Elena? How long is she going to hide?” Lily ignored him, but then Ethan barked, “Tell her to get the hell out and apologize to Chloe!” That was the breaking point. Lily snapped her head back, her body trembling with rage. “How dare you even speak Elena’s name? If you hadn’t sent her to prison without a second thought, she wouldn’t have died!” “And besides, the only one who needs to apologize is you—the cheating bastard!”

Ethan froze. Maybe Lily’s words brought back the memory of the day I caught them. Catching him was an accident. That day, I was folding his laundry when I found a bright red lipstick stain on his collar. Lily saw it too. We had grown up together, relying only on each other. She couldn’t stand seeing me get hurt. She immediately hired a private investigator. When we got the hotel room number, Lily tried to calm me down. But all my sanity evaporated the moment I pushed that hotel door open. Two naked bodies were tangled on the bed. The girl was Chloe—the intern I had mentored like my own family. My mind went completely blank. I grabbed a heavy vase from the entryway and threw it at them. “How could you do this to me?!” I screamed. Ethan shielded Chloe with the duvet. His eyes held no guilt. Only fury. “Elena, what the hell are you doing here?” “I should ask you that!” I cried, my voice breaking. “You met Chloe through me! You knew she was my intern!” “You knew I treated her like a little sister! How could you both do this to me?!” Ethan choked on his words. Chloe quickly slipped on her robe and got on her knees in front of me. “I’m sorry, Elena. I know it’s wrong, but I love Ethan…” Before she could finish, my palm slapped hard across her face. “How dare you, Chloe! After everything I did for you!” The next second, Ethan lunged forward and slapped me across my face. The force of his blow sent me spinning. My cheek burned. I stared at him in utter disbelief. “You… you hit me for her?” Ethan and I had been together since college. After he took over his family’s firm, he took me to every gala to make me feel secure. When I had a high fever, he stayed up all night at my bedside. We never had major fights, and in our three years together, he had never laid a hand on me. For a split second, regret flashed in Ethan’s eyes. But it was gone instantly. He grabbed Chloe and walked out, leaving me with cold, brutal words. “You have no right to judge me, Elena. Not after your cozy pictures with your ex-boyfriend got leaked all over Snapchat.” He was talking about the photos. I had met up with my ex-boyfriend, Leo, just to discuss a business project. Someone took photos and used AI to make them look incredibly intimate. The moment those photos leaked, the design firm was filled with nasty rumors. Everyone called me a slut. I had asked Ethan if he believed me. He nodded back then. Even when I noticed him avoiding physical contact with me afterward, I still chose to trust him. But the truth was, he never believed me. His affair with Chloe was just his sick way of getting revenge. I laughed. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Just like Lily was doing right now. “You cheated on her for ‘revenge.’ You didn’t believe a word she said. You sent her to prison and ended up killing her!” Lily screamed at Ethan. “You were the one who ruined everything! Why is she dead while you get to live perfectly fine?!”

Ethan frowned, his voice cold. “You two really went all out with this lie just to avoid saying sorry, didn’t you?” “I thought two years in prison would teach her a lesson. I guess she’s still as manipulative as ever.” Lily knew exactly what he was referring to. She wiped her tears and stood up for me. “Elena never lied to you! The design portfolio Chloe used to win the Grand Plaza bid? Those were Elena’s original designs!” That happened so long ago. I thought I had forgotten the pain, but hearing it again made my chest ache. Back then, Ethan’s parents found out about the affair and forced him to apologize to me. They made him promise to cut ties with Chloe. I knew I shouldn’t have forgiven him, but I couldn’t let go of our years together. So, I accepted his apology. After that, Ethan really did stop seeing Chloe. I thought we could go back to the way we were. But reality slapped me hard. To get promoted to Senior Designer, we had to submit an original portfolio. I spent six months in the studio, drawing, rendering, and revising. But right before the submission deadline, the HR manager told me Chloe had already submitted an identical portfolio under her name. I lost my mind. I cornered Chloe in the office. I threw the printouts at her face. “Is this how you build your career, Chloe? Stealing my work?!” Chloe squeezed out fake tears. “Elena, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My fists clenched. “You are my intern! Who else had access to my desk and laptop?!” “I didn’t do it! You’re just projecting your anger because of Ethan! But Ethan and I are over!” Before I could reply, Ethan’s voice cut in from behind. “Elena, have you not had enough?” “I cut ties with her. Why are you still bullying her?” “I’m not!” I protested. “She stole my—” “Enough!” Mr. Davis, the managing partner, walked in. After hearing both sides, Mr. Davis looked at me. “Elena, where is your proof? Can you prove these files are yours?” I had the raw CAD files on my USB drive. But before I could even grab it, Ethan spoke up. “I can prove it. I saw Chloe working on these designs at my place.” Ethan was a major shareholder of the firm, and everyone knew we were engaged. With him backing Chloe, no one believed me. Chloe walked away scot-free, while I was fired for “academic fraud and malicious slander.” I remember standing in the pouring rain that day, screaming at Ethan. “Why are you doing this to me?! What did I do wrong?!” Ethan looked at me like I was trash. “Your mistake was stealing Chloe’s work and playing the victim.” That was the moment I realized Ethan trusted Chloe more than me. I became the most hated person in the industry. Lily was the only one who believed in me. And now, two years later, she was still the only one defending me. But Ethan still didn’t believe her. Lily had no strength left to argue. She looked at her watch and made up her mind. “You want to see her so badly, don’t you?” “Come with me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435689”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Wyatt was bankrupt. He owed two million dollars, and his creditors had supposedly broken his leg. To keep him alive, I worked five jobs a day. I even signed up for shady, underground medical trials and sold my blood plasma twice a week. He used to hold me, sobbing, swearing that once he got back on his feet, he’d make me the happiest woman alive. Until today. Outside the VIP wing of a private hospital, I saw the man who was supposed to be paralyzed in bed. He was wearing a bespoke Tom Ford suit, looking incredibly handsome as he gently helped the city’s richest heiress out of a car for her prenatal checkup. The bankruptcy was a lie. The shattered leg was a lie. The only thing real was how he had drained me dry, body and soul. I didn’t make a scene. I simply turned around and handed all his dirty secrets to Gabe, the most powerful, ruthless billionaire in New York. “Mr. West,” I said, looking into his cold eyes. “Want to make a deal? I’ll help you destroy him.” I didn’t even flinch when the needle pierced my vein. The nurse drawing my blood looked at me like I was a crazy person. “Miss Roxy, this is your third time donating plasma this month. If you keep this up, you’re going to collapse.” “Just do it. I need the cash,” I said, my voice dry and raspy. As the bright red blood flowed through the tube and into the bag, my vision blurred, dark spots dancing before my eyes. To get the thousand-dollar compensation for this experimental drug trial, I had signed a waiver releasing the clinic of all liability. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Wyatt. “Roxy, they’re here again,” Wyatt whimpered, his voice shaking violently over the line. “They said if they don’t get the money today, they’re going to break my other leg…” “…I’m so scared. Please, save me…” In the background, I could hear the terrifying sound of furniture being smashed to pieces. I bit my pale lip so hard it almost bled, forcing down the dizziness as I tried to soothe him. “Don’t worry, Wyatt. I got the money. I’m transferring it to you right now. Lock the door and don’t go outside.” After hanging up, I immediately transferred the $3,000 I had just earned into his account. This was the third month of Wyatt’s “bankruptcy.” Three months ago, his tech startup collapsed, leaving him with a two-million-dollar debt. The loan sharks had tracked him down. Right in front of me, they had brutally shattered his right leg with a metal pipe. That day, covered in blood, Wyatt had shielded me with his body, screaming, “Don’t touch her! I’ll pay you back! Every cent!” Because of those words, I willingly threw myself into this bottomless pit. I quit my decent corporate job. I loaded pallets in a warehouse by day, took night shifts at a diner, and spent my weekends selling blood and testing experimental drugs. I turned myself into a mindless, money-making machine. All because of what Wyatt had promised: “Roxy, once I get through this, I’m going to give you the most beautiful wedding in New York.” After the blood draw, I braced myself against the wall and slowly stumbled out of the clinic. It was pouring outside. I couldn’t even afford an Uber, so I pulled my cheap jacket tightly around myself and walked toward the subway. As I passed the city’s most exclusive private maternity hospital, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb. The door opened, and a large black umbrella was raised. Under the umbrella stood a man in a perfectly tailored designer suit. He stood tall, walking with a perfectly steady, confident stride as he carefully helped a pregnant woman out of the backseat. “Slow down, Wyatt. The baby is kicking,” the woman giggled, her face radiant with happiness. The man wrapped his arm tenderly around her waist, whispering in her ear, “Careful on the steps, sweetheart. Today is our baby’s first 4D ultrasound.” A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, lighting up his face. I froze in the pouring rain, the blood in my veins turning to ice. It was Wyatt. The same Wyatt who, just thirty minutes ago, had been sobbing on the phone, screaming that he was being beaten by loan sharks. The Wyatt who was supposed to be paralyzed in our damp basement apartment. He didn’t need a wheelchair. His legs were perfectly fine. He was wearing a suit that cost more than my annual rent, sporting a Patek Philippe watch, gently escorting another woman. I stood there like a hollow doll, staring at the happy couple. I recognized the woman. Chloe Monroe. The sole heiress to the massive Monroe empire. A true princess of New York high society. Suddenly, things clicked. I remembered how Wyatt had started wearing a subtle, expensive cologne recently. He told me he used it to cover up the smell of his pain-relief patches. But now, even through the heavy curtain of rain, I could smell the scent of his new life—expensive, exclusive, and built entirely on lies. I didn’t rush over to scream at him. I was too exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy for anger. I just stood in the rain, watching them walk through the revolving glass doors of a world I could never enter. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A Snapchat message from Wyatt. “Roxy, got the money. The guys left. My leg hurts so bad, I miss you. Can you come home early tonight?” Looking at the text, I suddenly started to laugh. I laughed until my tears mixed with the rain, washing down my face. Roxy, you are a complete, utter fool.

It was late at night when I finally returned to our damp, dark basement apartment. As soon as I pushed the door open, the heavy, medicinal smell of cheap ointment hit my nose. Wyatt was lying on our worn-out single bed, his right leg encased in a thick plaster cast. His face looked incredibly pale. Hearing the door, he turned his head with difficulty, his eyes instantly filling with worry. “Roxy! Oh my god, you’re soaked! Go take a hot shower before you catch a cold.” He struggled to sit up, groaning in pain before falling back onto the mattress. What a brilliant performance. If I hadn’t seen him earlier, I would have truly believed he was on the verge of death. I walked over and stood by the bed, looking down at him. “Does your leg still hurt?” I asked softly. “It does,” he said, reaching out to grasp my hand, his eyes red. “But now that you’re here, the pain is gone.” “Roxy, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today. You saved my life.” I looked down at his long, clean fingers. These same hands had been wrapped around Chloe Monroe’s waist just hours ago. With a cold shudder, I yanked my hand back. Wyatt blinked, sensing the sudden shift in the air. “Roxy? What’s wrong? Are you just exhausted?” “Wyatt,” I said, staring directly into his eyes. “Were you home all day?” His eyes flickered for a fraction of a second before he nodded without hesitation. “Of course. How could I go anywhere with this leg? If you hadn’t sent that money, those thugs would have killed me.” “Is that so?” I walked to the foot of the bed. Before he could react, I raised my foot and slammed it down with all my might onto his “shattered” right leg. “Ahhh!” Wyatt let out a blood-curdling shriek, curling into a ball. “Roxy! Are you insane?!” he roared, sweat pouring down his face from the pain. I watched him coldly. “The cast is fake, isn’t it? Just stuffed with foam.” “Because if your leg was actually broken, my kick would have snapped the bone right in half.” Wyatt’s face drained of all color. He stared at me, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. “I saw you today, Wyatt. Outside the Presbyterian Maternity Clinic.” I stated the facts calmly, as if I were telling someone else’s story. “The suit looked great. The watch was stunning. And Miss Monroe’s bump is really starting to show, isn’t it?” Silence, heavy as death, filled the room. The pain and helplessness on Wyatt’s face began to fade, replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer. Now that his cover was blown, he didn’t bother pretending anymore. He ripped the fake cast off his leg and stood up. He towered over me, any trace of the gentle boyfriend completely gone from his eyes. “Since you saw us, there’s no point in hiding it,” he said, casually straightening his collar. His tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Chloe and I are getting engaged next month. She’s four months pregnant.” I felt my heart shatter into a million jagged pieces. “So the bankruptcy was a lie? The debts were a lie?” My voice trembled despite my best efforts. “The bankruptcy was real,” Wyatt said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. “But I don’t owe any money to loan sharks. Those guys were just actors I hired.” “Why?” I screamed, my eyes burning with tears. “Why would you do this to me?” “Because I needed the fucking cash!” Wyatt snapped, raising his voice. “My company went under. I was broke! If I wanted to be with Chloe, I needed money to present myself as a successful entrepreneur!” “If I didn’t play the victim, would you have worked yourself to the bone to give me every cent you made?” I stared at the man in front of me, utterly horrified. Was this really the boy who used to write me love letters on our college campus? “Don’t look at me like that, Roxy,” Wyatt sneered, blowing a cloud of smoke in my face. “Let’s be real. You’re an orphan with no family, no connections, and a useless degree. What could you possibly offer me?” “Chloe can give me the life I want. She can save me twenty years of hard labor. I just made the smart choice.” “And what about me?!” I gestured to my exhausted body. “I worked five jobs for you! I sold my own blood!” “I turned myself into a ghost for you! Wyatt, do you even have a soul?!” “Nobody forced you to do that.” Wyatt let out a harsh laugh, pulled his wallet from his pocket, and threw a credit card right at my face. “There’s $50,000 on this card. Consider it compensation. Take the money and get out.” “And don’t ever show your face in front of Chloe or me again. Your cheap, ghetto vibe will only embarrass me.” The plastic card struck my cheek, stinging sharply. I looked at the card on the floor, and suddenly, a laugh escaped my lips. I bent down and picked up the card. Wyatt’s eyes flared with disgust. “That’s more like it. I knew you’d be reasonable. At the end of the day, girls like you are always about the money—” Slap! I swung my arm and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had left. The impact spun his head around, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Keep the fifty grand,” I spat, throwing the card back into his bleeding face. “You’ll need it for your funeral.” I turned on my heel and walked out. “Roxy! Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Wyatt screamed behind me, his voice cracking with rage. “Who the hell do you think you are? Without me, you’ll be starving on the streets in a week!” I didn’t look back. I pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the endless, dark night.

I had nowhere to go. I wandered the streets of Manhattan all night until the sun began to rise. My phone was completely dead. I found a public restroom, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman in the mirror. For three years, I had sacrificed my pride, my health, and my life for Wyatt. And it had all been a lie. I couldn’t just let this go. I walked to the diner where I used to work and borrowed a charger from my former boss. The moment my phone buzzed back to life, dozens of missed calls and text messages flooded the screen. They were all from Wyatt. None of them were apologies. They were all threats. “Roxy, take the money and keep your mouth shut.” “If you dare say a word to Chloe, I will make sure you never get a job in this city again.” “You’re just a cheap girl who sells her blood. You think you can fight me?” Reading his venomous words, a strange, icy calm washed over me. I dialed a number. “Hey, Jax. It’s Roxy.” Jax was a street-smart guy I’d met during my late-night shifts. He knew everything about everyone in the underbelly of New York. “Hey, Roxy. What’s up?” “I need you to dig up some dirt on someone. Wyatt Thorne.” “I want his bank statements, call logs, and business transactions for the past three months. I’ll pay whatever it takes.” “Consider it done, sweetheart.” After hanging up, I used the last few dollars in my pocket to rent a computer at an internet cafe. I began searching for any news regarding Wyatt and Chloe Monroe. The news of the Monroe heiress’s engagement had already taken New York by storm. In the articles, Wyatt was painted as a brilliant, self-made young entrepreneur, a rising star in the investment world. I scoffed. A rising star? He was just a parasite feeding on women to climb the social ladder. Two days later, Jax sent me a file. As I scrolled through the documents, the blood drained from my face. Wyatt hadn’t just conned me. He had ruined his mentor, Arthur. Arthur was a legendary figure in the financial world. He had taken Wyatt under his wing, mentored him, and even invested his own retirement savings into Wyatt’s startup. But Wyatt had cooked the books, embezzled all of Arthur’s money, and framed the old man for the fraud. Arthur had suffered a massive stroke from the shock and was now lying in the ICU, in a vegetative state. And those “loan sharks” who had broken Wyatt’s leg? They weren’t actors. They were Arthur’s former employees—people who had lost their life savings because of Wyatt’s greed. Desperate, they had confronted Wyatt. To get them off his back, Wyatt had intentionally provoked them, letting them injure his leg slightly. The cast was fake, but he used the incident to police-report them, putting them behind bars. He had used the money I earned with my blood to pay off the victims’ families and buy their silence. That absolute bastard. My hands shook violently as I bit my lip, tasting copper. I wasn’t just a fooled girlfriend. I had unwittingly become an accomplice to a monster. I took the files and went straight to the hospital. Outside Arthur’s ICU room sat an elderly, white-haired woman. It was Beatrice, Arthur’s wife. She looked as though she had aged ten years overnight, staring blankly at the heart monitor inside. I walked over and knelt directly in front of her. “Beatrice… I am so, so sorry…” I pressed my forehead against the cold tile floor, tears streaming down my face. Beatrice gasped. Recognizing me, she began to tremble, stood up, and slapped me hard across the face. “Get out! How dare you show your face here! You’re with that monster, Wyatt!” “You destroyed Arthur! You destroyed our family!” I didn’t move. I let her strike me. “Beatrice, I didn’t know… I swear to God I didn’t know he was stealing from Arthur…” I sobbed, pouring out the entire truth. I told her about the clinical trials, the plasma donations, how I was conned, and how I finally discovered his secret. Beatrice collapsed back into her chair, covering her face as she wept bitterly. “Oh, Arthur… how could you trust such a snake…” I wiped my tears, pulled a checkbook from my bag, and handed her a cashier’s check for $10,000. It was all the money I could max out from my credit cards over the last forty-eight hours. “Beatrice, take this for Arthur’s medical bills.” “I swear to you, I will make Wyatt pay. I will make him return every single cent he stole from you, with interest.” Leaving the hospital, I stood on the busy New York street, my eyes cold as ice. Wyatt, you think marrying into the Monroe family will protect you? I am going to strip you of everything. I will make your life a living hell.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435690”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The person who turned me into a mute was now sitting in a rehabilitation center, pretending to have aphasia. Alexander handed me a tablet. On the screen was our shared case file. He said, “She’ll pay for everything she did to you. Every last bit of it.” I believed him. Until the middle of the night, when the steady beeping of the monitors woke me up. His side of the room was empty. The tablet was still on the bedside table. On the screen was Allison’s latest medical report. Alexander Sterling has arrived at the rehabilitation center and is reviewing Allison Brooks’ speech and language assessment. Below it was an automatically transcribed voice recording. Her voice came in broken fragments, trembling with grievance. “I… I can’t… speak…” “They’re… making me apologize…” “Only… Alexander… is patient enough… to wait… while I try…” I turned off the screen. During the day, I couldn’t speak either. I needed someone willing to wait for me, too. But in my hospital room, there was no one left except me.

Evelyn’s POV Six months after the heavy stage lighting crashed onto my head, my biggest fear wasn’t the chronic migraines. It was the fact that although I recognized every single word in the dictionary, I could no longer string them into a complete sentence. And the irony? The very person who did this to me was currently pretending to have the exact same trauma at the rehab center. Alexander had promised me. He held my hand and swore that Allison would pay for what she did. He said he would make her give everything back. When I first woke up from the coma, Alexander was sitting right by my bedside. His eyes were bloodshot. The moment he saw me open my eyes, he slammed his hand onto the call button to summon the doctors. Then, he leaned over, his breath warm against my cheek. “Evelyn, can you see me? Can you hear me?” I wanted to scream his name. Alexander. But my throat felt like it was blocked by wet cement. The first syllable managed to escape, but it sounded cracked, broken. The remaining letters caught at the back of my tongue. No matter how hard I pushed, they wouldn’t come out. Alexander’s expression immediately darkened. The medical team rushed in, crowding around the bed. A specialist handed me a tablet with a simple question written on it. I stared at the words. What is your name? I knew the answer. I knew every single letter. But when I opened my mouth, the sounds came out scrambled, chopped into pieces. The more I forced it, the more my voice failed me. In the end, I was just gasping for air. No words. Just empty, pathetic puffs of wind. Alexander squeezed my hand. His palm was ice cold. “Run the scans again,” he ordered the doctors, his voice dangerously low. “Do every single test. From scratch.” The report was on his desk by evening. The impact had damaged the language center of my brain. The recovery timeline was unpredictable. In the short term, I couldn’t handle complex communication. More importantly, I was in no condition to deliver a public speech. When I read the words public speech, my heart stopped. My fingers clawed into the bedsheets. The Legacy Foundation Board Meeting was in exactly one month. It was my late mother’s seat on the board. I had spent half a year preparing for this presentation. I was supposed to stand before the trustees and reclaim my family’s legacy. But now, I couldn’t even say Alexander’s name. Alexander slammed the medical report onto the table. “Keep treating her,” he barked. “Don’t you dare write her off yet.” The doctor hesitated before speaking up. “Mr. Sterling, the Board cannot postpone the confirmation hearing any longer. If Miss Carter cannot speak, her uncle will claim the seat by default.” The hospital room fell dead silent. I stared at Alexander’s tense back. My throat burned as if it had been scraped with sandpaper. Six months ago, the day before the dress rehearsal, Allison had texted me to meet her backstage. She said she had some urgent budget sheets to show me. But the moment the staff stepped out, Allison unlatched the heavy background metal frame. The heavy steel structure crashed directly onto my head. I woke up in the ICU, covered in blood, with a fractured skull and a broken voice. Allison had only gotten a tiny scratch on her arm. Yet, she immediately claimed she had a concussion. She claimed she had post-traumatic aphasia. She even lied, saying she was only trying to warn me about the loose equipment. Alexander didn’t believe her back then. He personally initiated the legal investigation, the settlement negotiations, and demanded a public apology draft from her legal team. Every single therapy session she attended, every dollar she paid in compensation, and every draft of her apology had to be logged in a shared file. Alexander tapped the tablet screen and placed it in front of me. It was our shared Snapchat and iCloud folder. Her therapy updates, payment receipts, and the apology drafts were updated in real-time. “She will pay back every single thing she owes you, Evelyn.” Alexander sat on the edge of my bed, kissing my knuckles. “The Board meeting will not be canceled. I will help you practice. I’ll stand right beside you when you deliver that speech.” I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say okay. But all that came out of my mouth was a faint, pathetic squeak. Alexander pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair. “Shh. Don’t rush,” he murmured. “Take your time.” When I closed my eyes that night, I genuinely believed he would stay by my side forever. But at 3:00 AM, I woke up. The seat beside me was empty. I reached for the tablet on the nightstand. The screen was still open on the shared iCloud file. Allison’s rehab log had just been updated ten minutes ago. The nurse’s note read: Alexander Sterling has arrived at Pinecrest Rehab. He is currently reviewing Allison Brooks’s vocal test results. Beneath that, there was an audio transcript of Allison’s voice. “I… I can’t say it… Everyone is forcing me to apologize… Only Alexander… is patient enough to listen to me…” I stared at the glowing screen. I couldn’t talk today either. I also needed someone to be patient with me. But my hospital room was empty, save for the rhythmic, lonely beeping of the heart monitor. Alexander never came back that night. I flipped the tablet face down, my fingers pressing so hard against the screen that my knuckles turned white.

Evelyn’s POV The next morning, Alexander returned. He was carrying a box of speech therapy flashcards. The nurse mentioned I had woken up several times during the night and barely slept. Alexander walked over, felt my forehead for a fever, and then spread the cards on the overbed table. “I got you a new set of training cards. Let’s try these today.” I stared at the colorful flashcards. My stomach twisted. In Allison’s rehab log last night, the exact same brand of flashcards had appeared. According to the log, Alexander had personally asked the therapist to bring them, and he had spent half an hour practicing with Allison. Now, he was offering me the leftovers of his patience. I looked up at Alexander, wanting to ask if he had brought these from Allison’s room. But before the first syllable could form, my throat locked up. Alexander seemed to read my mind. “I only went to the rehab center last night to force her to sign the apology agreement,” he said, pulling out a card. “I wasn’t there to comfort her, Evelyn.” I slowly nodded. Nodding was so much easier than speaking now. Alexander held up a card and guided me through the short sentence, word by word. I focused on the line. On the first try, my mind jumbled the third word. On the second try, I managed the beginning, but the last two words blurred together, turning into a slurred mess. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Alexander slowed down his voice. “It’s okay. Let’s do it again.” I followed his lead, my fingers trembling with frustration. Before Alexander could say anything else, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen but didn’t pick up. But I caught the preview of the Snapchat notification. Pinecrest Rehab: Allison Brooks is requesting a co-signature on her daily speech evaluation log. The atmosphere in the room instantly froze. Alexander turned his phone face down on the nightstand. “Let’s focus on your cards first.” But the preliminary board review was scheduled for this afternoon. This was my first time leaving the hospital wing. A nurse pushed my wheelchair into the executive conference room. Alexander was supposed to accompany me. He even had his coat on. But the moment the elevator doors opened, his phone rang. It was Pinecrest Rehab again. The therapist on the line said Allison was having a “panic-induced vocal block” and was refusing to sign the final apology draft. If she didn’t sign it today, the legal acknowledgment would be delayed. Which meant my board confirmation would be postponed too. Alexander held his phone, his brows furrowed in a deep, tense line. I sat in my wheelchair, clutching the printed speech draft he had edited for me. He leaned down, his eyes filled with apology. “Go up first, Evelyn. I’ll handle this and come right back.” The elevator doors slowly slid shut. I watched his face get sliced in half by the metal doors, until only his promise lingered in the empty air. “I’ll be right back.” Inside the conference room, three board trustees were waiting. My draft lay on the mahogany table. The leather chair next to me was empty. That was where Alexander was supposed to sit. The lead trustee flipped through my file and looked up. “Miss Carter, we may begin.” I pressed my fingertips against the paper. The first sentence was slow, but I got through it. By the second sentence, my grammar scrambled. By the third, I was just repeating the same syllable over and over, trapped in a loop of my own broken voice. The secretary stopped typing. The trustees exchanged low, worried glances. I gripped the paper, my knuckles white, and tried one more time. Still, nothing but broken sounds. The lead trustee closed his folder with a heavy sigh. “Let’s call it a day, Evelyn. Once your speech therapy stabilizes, we will schedule another review.” I sat there, a high-pitched ringing echoing in my ears. I didn’t cry. I just stared at the empty chair beside me. Alexander never showed up. By the time the nurse wheeled me back to my room, the sun had already set. The room was pitch black. No one was there. I opened the shared iCloud folder. Allison’s profile had just uploaded a new update. The note read: Alexander Sterling has revised Allison Brooks’s recovery plan. The therapist is instructed not to put too much pressure on her. Focus on basic emotional stability first. The words felt like a slap in the face. When Allison couldn’t speak today, Alexander made the entire medical team wait for her. When I couldn’t speak today, Alexander was nowhere to be found. I took a screenshot of the update, saved it to my private vault, and cleared the notification. Late at night, Alexander finally returned. He was holding the signed apology document from Allison. Seeing that I was still awake, he immediately rushed to my side. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to miss it. Her legal team was threatening to block the whole process. I had to resolve it personally.” I shook my head, trying to say it’s fine. The word it’s died in my throat. Alexander mistook my silence for heartbreak. He reached out to pull me into his arms. “We can reschedule the preliminary review,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of it.” My gaze fell on the document in his hand. The cover page had Allison Brooks printed in bold letters. Following my gaze, Alexander quickly flipped the document face down on the table. “It’s just paperwork, Evelyn.” I nodded slowly. Then, I closed my eyes and turned away from him. That night, I didn’t touch the speech draft again.

Evelyn’s POV The next day, Alexander rescheduled my speech training. He cleared out the small meeting room next to my ward, leaving only the head trustee and my speech therapist. The draft sat on the desk, alongside a version Alexander had marked with red ink to show me where to pause and breathe. When I sat down, the first thing I did was look at his phone. He got the hint. He turned it face down on the desk. “I’m not taking any calls today,” he promised. “I’m staying right here with you.” The way he said it made it sound like he was doing me a massive favor. I remained silent. I looked down at the paper. On the first run, I choked halfway through. My tongue felt heavy, completely disconnected from my brain. I knew the next word was legacy, but my lips refused to form the ‘L’ sound. Alexander didn’t rush me. He just sat there, waiting quietly. On the second run, I managed to get through most of it. The therapist nodded encouragingly. “If we keep this level of stability, the Board confirmation is still highly possible.” Possible. That word gave me a tiny spark of hope. My tense shoulders relaxed slightly. Once the training ended, the therapist and the trustee left the room. Alexander stayed behind, sliding his chair closer to mine. I pointed to the sentence where I always got stuck, signaling him to help me practice it again. Alexander leaned in, breaking the sentence down into single words, teaching me the pronunciation as if I were a child. I repeated after him. The first time, the sound broke. The second time, it was jumbled. But on the third try, I got it out. A complete, perfectly clear sentence. My eyes welled with tears. My fingers pressed into the paper so hard they left indents. Alexander whispered, “You’re going to take your mother’s seat, Evelyn. No one can steal it from you.” I opened my mouth, wanting to repeat those words. But before I could speak, a frantic knocking disrupted us. Alexander’s assistant pushed the door open, his face pale. “Mr. Sterling, there’s an emergency at Pinecrest. It’s Allison.” My hand was still resting on the page I had just mastered. The assistant explained that Allison was supposed to record her video apology today. But she had a breakdown during the recording, knocked over a heavy medicine cart, and injured her head again. The clinic was demanding Alexander’s presence immediately to sign a liability waiver. Otherwise, Allison’s family threatened to sue us for harassment and pressuring a brain-injured patient. Alexander’s face turned incredibly cold. “Call our lawyers.” But the assistant didn’t leave. He lowered his voice. “She keeps screaming your name, sir. She says you’re the only one who knows she isn’t faking it.” The room fell into a suffocating silence. Alexander looked back at me, his eyes pleading for understanding. I pushed the draft toward him. I can still practice. Please stay. But Alexander was already standing up, grabbing his coat. “I need to put out this fire, Evelyn. I’ll be back as fast as I can to finish practicing with you.” I wanted to tell him not to bother coming back. I wanted to tell him to stay. But both thoughts clashed in my throat, leaving only a broken, choked gasp. Alexander leaned down and gave me a quick, comforting hug. “Don’t worry. Your board confirmation will happen.” Then, he turned and walked out. Only after the door clicked shut did I notice his phone, which he had left face down on the table, was buzzing relentlessly. Missed call after missed call from Pinecrest Rehab. I was left alone in the cold meeting room. I picked up my draft. But when I tried to read the sentence I had just mastered, my voice cracked. The words were gone. I opened the shared iCloud folder. Allison’s profile had already updated with a new medical log. There was no mention of her knocking over a cart. It only said: Alexander Sterling is en route. Therapists and legal counsel are waiting at the entrance. Beneath that, there was a screenshot. It was the schedule for my Board confirmation meeting. Allison had typed in the notes: Evelyn’s confirmation can only go smoothly if Alexander settles my case first. I stared at the schedule, and slowly, I folded my speech draft into a small, tight square. Alexander didn’t return until past midnight. I was still awake, sitting in the dark with the folded paper on my lap. The moment he walked in, he started explaining. “Allison’s head injury caused a major legal dispute. If I hadn’t gone, all our previous progress on her lawsuit would have been thrown out.” I listened quietly, my hand resting on the folded draft. Very slowly, with immense effort, I asked, “Does… my… confirmation… have to… wait… for her… to finish?” I had to pause three times just to get those words out. Alexander fell silent for a long moment. “Legally, the two cases are linked,” he said softly. “But I will handle it, Evelyn. Trust me.” I nodded. Then I placed the folded paper into my bedside drawer. Alexander reached out to stop me, but the drawer was already shut.

Evelyn’s POV After Alexander left again, I stayed up until the early hours of the morning. I kept pulling the draft out of the drawer and shoving it back in. The edges of the paper were now frayed and wrinkled, mirroring my broken, useless voice. The shared iCloud log updated three times before dawn. Allison’s status changed from Refusing to cooperate to Requires 1-on-1 counseling, and finally to Completed preliminary vocal test, accompanied by Alexander Sterling. The final note read: Alexander Sterling suggested postponing the public video apology to ensure Allison Brooks is emotionally stable first. I stared at those words. He had waited for me like that once. But every time Allison had a crisis, he dropped everything to run to her. I shut down the tablet and pressed the call button for the nurse. The nurse rushed in, shocked to see me out of bed. “Miss Carter, you can’t leave the hospital. Not without Mr. Sterling’s permission.” I shook my head, my throat tight. I forced out two words: “Pinecrest… Rehab.” The nurse understood and immediately called Alexander’s assistant. When the assistant arrived, he looked incredibly stressed. “Miss Carter, Mr. Sterling explicitly said you must rest.” I simply handed him the tablet with Allison’s updated log. The assistant looked at the screen, fell silent, and finally sighed. He arranged a car to take me to Pinecrest. When the car pulled up to the back entrance of the rehab center, the sky was still a dark, dusty gray. Only a few windows in the building were lit. The assistant wheeled me down the quiet hallway, stopping right outside the evaluation room. The door wasn’t fully closed. Through the crack, I heard the therapist’s voice. “Miss Brooks, please read the apology script from the screen.” Allison read a few words, then stopped, clutching her head as she sobbed. “I… I can’t… My head hurts…” Alexander stood beside her. His voice was cold at first. “Keep reading.” Allison looked up at him, tears streaming down her pale face. “Every time I open my mouth… I see her falling… covered in blood… I’m so scared, Alexander…” The therapist tried to prompt her again, but Alexander raised his hand. “Give us a moment. Everyone, out.” Soon, only Alexander and Allison were left in the room. Through the gap in the door, I saw Alexander pick up a printed document from the desk. My heart shattered. I recognized that paper. It was my marked-up speech draft. The one he had spent the afternoon editing for me. The one with all my personal breathing marks and highlighted sentences. Alexander pulled out a page and set it in front of Allison. “Follow this rhythm. Read it slowly.” My grip on the wheelchair handles tightened until my fingers went numb. That page contained the exact sentence I had finally managed to read fluently yesterday. Allison couldn’t do it. She suddenly grabbed Alexander’s sleeve, resting her forehead against his arm. Alexander didn’t pull away. He lowered his voice, his tone incredibly gentle. “Breathe. Just match the pauses.” Allison leaned into him, her shoulders shaking. Alexander held her, comforting her, without calling the doctors back in. I wanted to push the door open and scream. But my throat couldn’t produce a single sound. The assistant standing behind me saw the draft in Alexander’s hand too. His face went pale, and he looked away. Inside the room, Allison finally managed to read the sentence smoothly. Alexander handed her a glass of water. Allison looked up, her voice sweet and fragile. “If Evelyn finds out I used her speech script, she’s going to hate me even more.” Alexander was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Let’s just get through the apology process first.” He didn’t deny it. He didn’t tell her she shouldn’t have touched my script. He didn’t say a word about my feelings. I let go of the wheelchair handles and gestured to the assistant to wheel me away. Back in my hospital room, I dumped all the pages of my draft onto the bed. One page was missing. The page with the sentence I had finally mastered. I stacked the remaining pages, put them into a clean manila envelope, and sealed it. A new notification popped up on the tablet. Allison Brooks has passed the first stage of her vocal evaluation. Note: The patient was highly cooperative and emotionally stable during Alexander Sterling’s presence. It is recommended that Mr. Sterling remains present for future sessions. I swiped the notification away and shut down the screen. The room was dead silent. The sound of the manila envelope sliding into my bag was incredibly quiet, but to me, it sounded like a door slamming shut forever.

Evelyn’s POV The Board of Trustees moved up the emergency review meeting. This time, I didn’t need to deliver the whole speech. I just had to show up and answer a few direct questions from the committee. Alexander rushed back to my ward early in the morning, holding a fresh printout of the speech and a voice recorder. “I’m going to be with you the entire time today, Evelyn,” he promised. I noticed a faint smell of clinical disinfectant on his coat sleeve. I didn’t ask about Pinecrest. There was no point. As long as Allison kept playing the victim, Alexander would always find a logical, noble reason to run to her. The drive to the corporate headquarters was dead silent. Alexander kept glancing at me, but I kept my eyes on the window, clutching the voice recorder in my palm. As we walked down the hallway outside the boardroom, I heard some board members whispering. “She can’t even get a full sentence out. Why are we keeping her mother’s seat for her?” “Did you see the leaked rehab logs? Alexander is treating Allison like a fragile glass doll.” “He’s basically doing damage control for her. If Evelyn fails the presentation next month, the Sterling Group is going to look ridiculous.” I froze near the entrance. I wanted to defend myself. I wanted to tell them I was fine. But my voice caught on the very first sound. Seeing me, the whisperers immediately shut their mouths. That mocking silence hurt worse than their words. Alexander stepped up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder and glare sweeping over the executives. “Anyone who has an issue with Miss Carter’s status can submit their resignation today.” The executives’ faces turned pale. Before they could apologize, Alexander cut them off. “Did I stutter? Get out of my sight.” Once the meeting started, the head trustee flipped open my file. “Evelyn, your current medical status makes a live presentation highly risky. We suggest submitting a written report and letting a proxy read it for you.” Alexander immediately rejected the proposal. “Absolutely not.” The trustee frowned. “Alexander, if she has a vocal block during the live broadcast, the legacy seat will be suspended by the regulators.” “Then give her one last chance to prove herself,” Alexander said, his voice firm and unyielding. “Her mother built this foundation. No one is taking her seat before she gets to speak.” I sat beside him, my fingers squeezing the voice recorder. I wanted to say I can do this. But it felt like my throat was filled with dry sand. The boardroom was locked in a tense standoff. Eventually, the committee agreed to give me a final, one-month extension. After the meeting, Alexander wheeled me into the private lounge. For the first time, I turned on the voice recorder and slowly spoke a short sentence into it. It took every ounce of my energy, but I finished it. Seeing this, the tension in Alexander’s shoulders finally broke. At that exact moment, his assistant knocked and walked in, holding an urgent legal document from Pinecrest. “Mr. Sterling, Allison’s family is claiming that our aggressive legal pursuit caused her mental distress. They want you to sign a liability waiver now, or they will halt the public apology process.” Alexander grabbed the folder, his face turning incredibly dark. I looked up at him, still holding the voice recorder. Alexander put the file down on the table. “I’m not going today.” The assistant whispered, “Sir, if you don’t go, they will withdraw her apology draft. Without that, Evelyn’s board confirmation next month will lack the necessary legal clearing.” Alexander’s jaw clenched. I placed the voice recorder on the table and slowly pushed it toward him. I gestured for him to go. Alexander stared at me, his eyes filled with pain. “I’ll be back as soon as I sign it.” I didn’t nod, and I didn’t shake my head. I just put the recorder back into my bag. After Alexander left, I sat alone in the quiet lounge. The executives he had kicked out earlier were still lingering in the hallway. Soon, rumors about how Alexander was “covering up my incompetence” began to spread on the company’s internal Snapchat channels. Someone posted a screenshot: She can’t even speak, but she’s still holding onto the legacy seat. Alexander is doing all the heavy lifting behind the scenes. I stared at the screen, then turned my phone face down. The shared iCloud log updated again. Allison’s nurse had typed: Alexander came back to protect Evelyn’s board seat. He really has no choice but to handle my issues. I stared at the text. For the first time, I didn’t take a screenshot. I simply turned off my phone. I waited in that room until the sky turned black. Alexander never came back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435691”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster