Category: English

After I angered my stepbrother, my own sister locked me in the sterilization cabinet. My stepbrother, Denis, was torturing a kitten, holding a lighter to its tail. When I screamed at him to stop, my sister, Joelle, decided I was the one who needed to be punished. She shoved me into the industrial-sized sterilization cabinet in our utility room and chained it shut. “Go in there and wash out that filthy mouth of yours!” she’d snarled. “Is this what they teach you at that fancy school? To be so cruel to your own brother?” The heat inside the cabinet was unbearable. I was being boiled alive. My skin blistered and broke as I screamed and begged for mercy, but all I got was her cold, dismissive voice through the thick metal door. “If you can’t even handle a little discomfort, what makes you think you’re worthy of being my brother?” Then she left. She turned her back on me and went to coddle Denis. I could feel my own flesh cooking, the chemical, fishy smell of the sterilizing agent choking me, filling my lungs. A week later, they returned from their vacation. And they finally remembered me. “Now that he’s had time to cool off, I suppose I can let Finn out.” She didn’t know that my body had already rotted away, fused to the metal walls. I was never getting out. 1 “That little brat hasn’t bothered me for days. Looks like he’s finally learned his lesson,” Joelle mused, her fingers tracing the delicate bracelet Denis had given her. A faint smile played on her lips. “He tried that hunger strike nonsense on me before, threatening to disown me. I just locked him in his room for three days, and he came out crying and begging on his knees.” “For him to be quiet for a whole week…” The bodyguard standing beside her shifted, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “Miss Vance… sir… he’s… I think he’s still locked inside.” Joelle’s hand froze. A flicker of unease crossed her features, but it was quickly replaced by her usual mask of indifference. “It’s good for a boy to face a little hardship.” The bodyguard’s face went rigid. After a moment of hesitation, he tried again. “There’s… there’s been no sound from in there for a long time. Maybe you should… open it and check?” Joelle shot him a look as cold as ice. “I said it’s fine!” “He’s just playing games. Trying to manipulate me. The moment I go to check on him, he’ll start his act all over again.” The bodyguard’s words died in his throat. Just then, Denis walked in from the garden. Hearing Joelle, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned his head on her shoulder. “You’re the best sister in the world,” he said, his voice sweet and innocent. Joelle’s expression softened instantly. She smiled and ruffled his curly hair. “You little fool. You’re the only brother I’ll ever need.” Denis looked up at her, his eyes wide and guileless. “I won’t let you protect me forever. I’m going to grow up fast and be the one to protect you.” “Good boy,” she cooed. “I knew you were worth it.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s all my fault. Finn must think I stole your love away from him. That’s why he hates me so much.” Joelle patted his shoulder comfortingly. “He’s just petty and small-minded. It has nothing to do with you.” “It’s been a week, though,” Denis said, his voice laced with false concern. “You should let him out. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson by now.” If I had been alive to hear those words, I would have lunged at Denis, ready to tear his mask away. And then Joelle would have punished me for it. But now, I felt nothing. Because I was already dead. In the final, agonizing moment, as the heat melted the last of my flesh, my soul finally broke free from that steel coffin. I watched as my own body, charred and unrecognizable, remained fused to the interior. The heavy iron chain was still wrapped around the door, secured with a massive padlock. There had been no escape. At first, I had thrown myself against the door, screaming, begging. When that failed, I had curled into a corner, trying to shield myself from the searing UV lamps. But it was a 360-degree sterilizer. There was nowhere to hide. My skin peeled away in sheets. The pain… it was unimaginable. I made one last, desperate attempt, hurling my body against the door with all my remaining strength. That’s when I heard Joelle’s voice, muffled but clear. “Can’t take it anymore?” “Denis was so traumatized by your vicious words that he threw himself into the freezing fountain pool. He has a raging fever, it almost turned into pneumonia.” “Today, I’m going to teach you the lesson our dead parents never could.” I cried. I apologized for things I had never done. I would have said anything to make her let me out. But the heat was relentless. It cooked my flesh until it slid from my bones and sizzled on the hot floor below, turning to a bloody slurry. My arm was already stripped bare, a skeleton’s limb. Just before I lost consciousness, I heard her command to the bodyguard. “Get the chains. Lock it tight.” “No one opens this without my permission. This time, he needs to learn his lesson. For good.” Despair, absolute and final, consumed me. I heard the rattle of the chains as they were wound around my tomb. And I felt the cold grip of death tighten around my throat. 2 “Go unlock the cabinet for Finn,” Joelle ordered coolly. “Tell him if he doesn’t want this to happen again, he’ll come and apologize to Denis properly.” The bodyguard opened his mouth, then closed it again. He simply bowed and left the room. Denis tugged at Joelle’s arm. “Sister, once Finn apologizes, let’s just forget about it. You should be nice to him, so he doesn’t feel left out.” He added, his voice a soft whisper, “If he leaves, you won’t have any family left.” A look of contempt flashed in Joelle’s eyes, but she smoothed it over with a fond pat on Denis’s head. “It would be better if he left. A person with such a vile mouth doesn’t deserve to be my brother.” “If it weren’t for the horrible things he said to you, you wouldn’t have gotten so sick. Denis, you’re just too kind, too soft-hearted. That’s why he’s always bullying you.” A fire of rage burned in her eyes, but it vanished the moment Denis looked at her, as if she were afraid the very heat of her anger might harm him. I thought being dead meant I couldn’t feel pain anymore. But watching this, an old, familiar ache returned, and ghostly tears fell from my eyes. A week ago, for Joelle’s birthday, I had bought her a little orange kitten, a surprise. But I found Denis in the garden, holding a lighter to its tail. He’d looked up at me with a smirk. “Don’t think that just because you found a cat that looks like her old one, you can win her back from me.” I had flown into a rage, shielding the terrified animal and screaming at him. Joelle had walked in at that exact moment. Denis immediately burst into tears and threw himself into the icy fountain in the courtyard. It was the middle of winter. He was wearing a thick, absorbent cotton jacket, and he sank like a stone. When they pulled him out, he was pale and barely breathing. “Sister,” he’d gasped, his voice a faint whisper. “If Finn can’t accept me… if he wants me to die… then I will.” “My only regret is that I won’t get to protect you. You have to take care of yourself, sister. In the next life, I want to be your brother again.” That day, Joelle canceled everything. She carried Denis to the hospital in her arms, not even bothering with an umbrella as the cold rain soaked her to the bone. In the end, Denis was diagnosed with an acute case of the flu. I stood outside the hospital room, watching her clutch his hand, her voice a desperate plea. “Denis, please. Please get better. Don’t leave me all alone…” It was laughable. My own sister, my flesh and blood. A powerful, commanding woman who ran a corporate empire, now acting out a deathbed drama over a common cold with a complete stranger. It was only when she was dragging me by the hair, shoving me into that sterilization cabinet, that I finally understood. In her heart, Denis was her only brother. And I… I was nothing. “How could I have a brother with such a filthy, disgusting mouth?” she’d screamed at me. “Denis almost died! Even when he recovers, he’ll be weak for a long time!” “I’m telling you, Finn, don’t think for a second that just because we share the same blood, you can do whatever you want!” “You’ll stay in there until Denis is better. You’ll stay in there until you learn to be sorry!” And to make sure I learned my “lesson,” she had the bodyguard chain the door shut. And now, only because Denis was in a good mood, she was deigning to let me out. She didn’t know. I was never getting out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393448”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It happened on game night. The words tumbled out of Sheldon’s mouth, a casual, devastating confession: “It feels so good to be a dad.” The room went dead silent. The cheerful buzz of a moment ago evaporated, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension. Every eye in the room darted not to him, but to me. In their gazes, I saw no shock. Only a pained, unspoken pity. In that instant, I knew. They all knew. I was the only fool left in the dark. My hand trembled as I set down my wine glass, fighting to keep my composure. My voice was barely a whisper, but I forced the question out. “How many months?” Sheldon snapped back to reality as if waking from a dream, scrambling toward me. In his panic, he knocked over a bottle. It shattered, and he stumbled right over the shards, his bare feet instantly slick with blood. He didn’t seem to notice. He wrapped his arms around me, his body shaking. “Penny, the baby was an accident! I swear!” The words pierced my heart like a shard of glass from the bottle he’d just broken. “So it’s true… you cheated,” I breathed, the reality of it suffocating me. I pictured those same arms holding another woman, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I shoved him away, hard, and ran. Sheldon chased me to the door, but his phone rang. He stopped, answering it instantly. Even from a distance, I heard the cloying, sweet voice on the other end. “Sheldon… the baby misses you…” A bitter acid rose in my throat. I fled faster into the cold night. I don’t know how long I ran, the frigid wind a brutal shock against my thin sweater. I finally stumbled into a department store, desperate to buy a coat. A sales associate stared at me, her expression hesitant. “Excuse me… are you Penny Vance?” Before I could answer, a nearby shopper scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Please. It’s just a look-alike. Sheldon Vance worships his wife. You think he’d let the real Penny run around in this weather, freezing in a thin sweater, buying her own coat?” I managed a bitter, hollow laugh. I paid for the coat and walked out in silence. On the massive screen blanketing the side of the building, a replay of Sheldon’s recent TV interview was broadcasting to the entire city square. On camera, his voice was thick with emotion, his eyes glistening. “This year marks a decade with my wife. Ten years ago, when I had nothing, she stood by me. She even… she even lost our first child to save my life…” He choked back a sob, his gaze fixed on the camera as if he were looking right at me. “Penny is the one and only love of my life. In three days, I’m throwing her the wedding of the century, a renewal of our vows, so the whole world can witness how much I adore her.” Passersby stopped to watch, their faces soft with admiration. They praised him, calling him the poster boy for devoted husbands. Yes, everyone thought Sheldon Vance loved me to the bone. Until today, I thought so too. How could a man who loved me so much possibly cheat? I wandered out of the mall like a ghost, my mind numb, and then I saw it. Sheldon’s car, parked by the curb, waiting. I stood there, the wind whipping at me, a war raging in my chest. My feet slowed, a toxic, treacherous hope blooming within me. What was I even hoping for? That he was here for me? That this was all some horrible misunderstanding he could explain away? I hated myself for that flicker of weakness. I didn’t know if I could face him, but I couldn’t run anymore. Taking a deep breath, I started toward the car, each step a crushing weight on my heart. Just then, he got out. He didn’t come to me. He walked briskly to the passenger side and opened the door. A young woman, visibly pregnant, hopped out with a youthful bounce. The snow was thick on the ground, and she grabbed his arm, whining playfully. Without a second thought, Sheldon scooped her halfway into his arms, carefully shielding her designer shoes from the slush. “Thank you, Sheldon. You know how much I hate the cold.” For ten years, Sheldon had been an iceberg to every woman but me. He said it was to make me feel secure, to prove his love was undivided. His warmth, he’d always said, was reserved for me alone. Now, here I was, shivering in a thin coat, while he doted on another woman. I just watched, my stare so intense he finally felt it. His head snapped up. Our eyes met across the snowy street. His first reaction was a flicker of panic, his eyes darting away. The woman in his arms suddenly seemed to be a hot iron he couldn’t drop fast enough. He set her down and rushed toward me. He cupped my face with his hands, his thumbs stroking my frozen cheeks, his expression a mask of pure concern. “Penny, God, you’re freezing.” The worry in his eyes was so real, so familiar, that for a split second, my resolve wavered. But then I saw her, standing behind him. The woman with the swollen belly, one hand cradling it protectively, her head tilted in a look of blatant challenge. She was a living, breathing reminder that my life was a joke. I pulled away from Sheldon’s touch, taking two steps back. It felt like I was using my last ounce of strength to ask the question. “Who is she?” In that moment, I gambled everything—our ten years, our history, my entire heart—on his answer. It was my final, desperate bet. If he just denied it. If he would just look me in the eye and tell me that child wasn’t his, I would have believed him. I would have erased this entire nightmare and taken him back. But a soft, distinct sob carried across the cold air from the other woman. It was the sound of my last hope shattering. A pained look crossed Sheldon’s face. He let out a heavy sigh, and the words that destroyed my world fell from his lips, heavy and clear. “The baby… is mine.” My hand reacted before my mind could, slapping his away. My nails dug into my own palm, drawing blood. “Penny!” He grabbed my hand, prying my fingers open, his face a mess of panic and pain. “Hit me, scream at me, do anything, but please don’t hurt yourself.” He was almost begging. I remained silent, the agony in my chest too vast for words. Seeing my stony expression, he suddenly raised a hand and slapped himself across the face. Twice. Hard. Red welts bloomed instantly on his cheek. That’s when the girl, Emma, rushed forward, placing herself between us, shielding him. Her voice trembled, but her words were firm. “Miss Vanderbilt, my name is Emma. Sheldon and I… we were both victims in this. Please, don’t blame him!” Her eyes were wet with tears, but she stood her ground like a loyal protector. Sheldon’s face hardened. His voice was ice. “Penny is my wife. You will address her as Mrs. Vance.” Emma flinched, but her chin lifted with defiance. “Mrs. Vance, you’re a woman. You should understand. I’m only twenty-two. If it wasn’t for Sheldon’s mother… I would never have wanted to keep this baby!” Her words hung in the air. Sheldon’s gaze, which had been locked on me, flickered involuntarily toward Emma. And in that split second, as his focus shifted from me to her, I knew. It was over. 2 In the end, Sheldon had his executive assistant take Emma home. He drove me. The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating. He finally broke it, telling me the story. It happened last year, at the company gala. A competitor had drugged his drink. Emma, an intern, had “accidentally” wandered into his suite. He paid her a substantial sum for her silence afterward and had never seen her again. He never imagined she would get pregnant. And when his mother found out, she was adamant about keeping the child. I knew his mother’s stubbornness all too well. Shortly after we were married, we were in a horrific car accident. The car plunged into an icy reservoir. In the chaos, Sheldon shielded me with his own body. Shards of glass were embedded in his back, and his legs were pinned by the crushed seat. He fought through the pain to wake me from my unconscious state, urging me to escape first. But how could I leave him? I stayed, holding his head above the frigid water, trying to keep his wounds from being submerged. By the time the rescue team arrived, I had been soaking in that bone-chilling water for what felt like an eternity. Sheldon recovered quickly. I, on the other hand, lost our baby in the aftermath and was told that carrying another to term would be nearly impossible. From that day on, Sheldon’s love for me seemed to deepen into something sacred. He said we had faced death together, that nothing could ever tear us apart. His mother, however, never forgave my inability to give her a grandchild. Now, faced with this unexpected heir, I could easily imagine the lengths she would go to protect him. In the car, Sheldon reached for my hand, his voice thick with guilt. “Penny, it was a terrible mistake, an accident…” I looked him straight in the eye and asked the only question that mattered. “The baby, or me? You have to choose.” He fell silent. His silence was an answer louder than any confession. It was a hammer blow to my heart, an invisible wall slamming down between us. I knew, in that moment, that our marriage was broken beyond repair. I pulled my hand from his grasp and stared out the window at the glittering city lights. Our love had burned brightly for ten years, but like the fading day, its grand finale had finally arrived. When we got home, he gently took my arm. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “It’s late and you’re cold. Let me make you some soup to warm you up. I don’t want you to get a stomachache.” I said nothing, walking straight to our bedroom and locking the door behind me. A few moments later, a soft knock. “Penny? Please let me in. Just let me hold you. I’m so worried about you.” I pulled the covers over my head and willed the world away. When I woke up the next morning, my gaze fell on the calendar. A huge red circle was drawn around today’s date. My eyes burned with fresh tears. Today was the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death. Before she passed, she’d made me promise that on this day, I would visit her with my husband and children. When I told Sheldon about it years ago, he took it to heart. He’d made this calendar himself, marking the date with that big, bold circle. “Penny,” he’d said, his voice filled with a joy that felt so real, “the fact that you want me to meet your mother means everything to me. I’d move heaven and earth to be there. I’d crawl there if I had to.” Now… I wasn’t so sure. I stared at the closed door. It suddenly swung open. Sheldon stood there, looking haggard, his eyes bloodshot. “You had a key. Why didn’t you come in last night?” I asked, my voice cold. He gently tucked the blanket around me. “You wouldn’t have been able to sleep. I’m fine, I can handle one sleepless night.” A pang of grief hit me, and the words tumbled out. “Do you remember what day it is?” Sheldon looked at me, his expression serious. “Penny, how could I forget? It’s the day we visit your mother. I would forget anything in the world before I forgot this.” We got ready to leave. Just as we were about to walk out the door, his phone rang. His body went rigid. I could see the panic flash in his eyes as he answered. He didn’t put it on speaker, but I heard her cry clearly. “Sheldon! I fell! My stomach—it hurts so much! Help me!” He turned to me, his face a mask of desperation, his eyes pleading. “Penny, I’ll just go check on her. I swear, I’ll be right back. I promise I’ll make it.” He turned and ran. I lifted a hand to wipe my eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling. I went to the cemetery alone. I stayed until dusk, talking to my mother for hours, the silent gravestone a better confidant than my husband had been. When I returned home, I started packing. It was late, past midnight, when Sheldon finally came back. He wrapped me in his arms from behind, burying his face in my hair, murmuring “I’m sorry” over and over again. I let him hold me. I didn’t say a word. In his arms, our world felt cleaved in two. His embrace was warm and familiar, but my heart had never felt so cold, so distant. 3 The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating an empty space on the bed beside me. Sheldon was gone. A wave of nausea and unease washed over me, and I drove myself to the hospital. When the doctor laid the positive pregnancy test results in front of me, I started to laugh, a broken, hysterical sound that was drowned out by my own tears. The doctor watched me with sympathetic eyes. “Are you a single mother?” she asked gently. “Have you decided if you’ll be keeping the baby? Given your medical history, carrying this pregnancy to term will be extremely difficult.” I couldn’t answer. I left the hospital in a daze and drove to the first apartment Sheldon and I had ever shared—our pre-marital love nest. But when I stepped inside, my blood ran cold. Emma was there. She looked at me, her expression a mix of feigned timidity and blatant provocation. “Well, well. Did you come here to secretly record me, sister? Hoping to get something you can use to drive a wedge between me and Sheldon?” She pulled out a small electronic scanner and insisted on sweeping it over my body. I let out a cold laugh. “You’re the one making threats in the shadows. What right do you have to accuse anyone else?” Once she confirmed I wasn’t wearing a wire, her timid mask dropped. “So what if I am?” she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “Your husband still wants me. You’re going to lose, and I’m going to win.” She flung the door open wider, gesturing around the apartment with a triumphant sweep of her arm. “I heard this was your little love nest. So romantic,” she purred. “But Sheldon’s mother said it was the perfect, quiet place for me to rest during my pregnancy, so he let me move in. You’re not mad, are you?” She trailed a hand over a sleek, modern armchair. “He was so worried I might bump into the old furniture and hurt the baby. So he had every single piece replaced. All in my favorite style, of course~” My eyes scanned the room. It was completely unrecognizable. A bitter bile rose in my throat, choking me. Memories flooded back, sharp and painful. The day he proposed, Sheldon had gotten down on one knee right here, in this room, and placed the only key in my hand. “Penny,” he had vowed, “no one else will ever step foot in this apartment. This place holds the memory of our love. It’s our world, just for the two of us.” This place was supposed to be our sanctuary. And he had handed it over to another woman. All the strength drained from my body. I sagged against the doorframe, the world tilting around me. Emma watched me, her eyes gleaming with a sick mixture of jealousy and hatred. I was helpless, drowning in a sea of despair in the very place that was supposed to be my safe harbor. “So how much longer are you going to cling to the title of Mrs. Vance?” Emma taunted, her voice sharp. “Can’t you see how much Sheldon adores me and our child? Can’t you see he’s already chosen us?” Cling? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I felt hollowed out. Suddenly, my eyes darted to an empty corner of the living room. My mother’s portrait. It was always there. Now, the space was bare. “Where is my mother’s portrait?!” My voice cracked, rising with disbelief and panic. Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that morbid thing? Sheldon tossed it out, of course.” My glare was so intense that she finally, reluctantly, retrieved the framed photo from a closet. Then, right in front of me, a cruel smirk spread across her face. With a flick of her wrist, she let the frame drop. It hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crash, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces. I stared, frozen in a state of pure, unadulterated rage. But Emma was already collapsing to the floor, clutching her stomach and letting out a theatrical wail of pain. “Aah! My stomach! It hurts!” Her cries were a distant buzz in my ears. I lunged for the floor, desperately trying to gather the shards of my mother’s photo. Just as my fingers touched the broken glass, the door burst open and a furious roar filled the room. “Penny, why would you push her?!” I looked up from the floor, my hands bleeding, to see Sheldon. He hadn’t even looked at me. His eyes were locked on Emma. In a flash, he was scooping her into his arms and rushing out of the apartment. I stared down at my bloody hands, at the wreckage of my mother’s face on the floor. Our ten-year marriage wasn’t just a joke. It was a tragedy. I slowly, mechanically, began to clean up the mess. Soon after, his mother arrived. She stormed in and slapped me, hard, across the face. “You barren hen! If anything happens to my grandson, I will make you pay!” Sheldon, who had returned, quickly stepped between us. He finally rushed to my side, gently unwrapping the clumsy bandages I’d wrapped around my fingers and meticulously disinfecting the cuts. Seeing his mother was about to start another tirade, Sheldon said curtly, “She’s going into labor.” His mother’s face changed instantly, and she hurried out. Once she was gone, Sheldon watched me, his expression cautious. He chose his words carefully. “Penny, I know Emma is young and she upset you, but you shouldn’t have pushed her.” “I pushed her?” The words were incredulous, empty of feeling. “It’s okay, it’s okay. She won’t hold it against you,” he said, and though he didn’t say it outright, his words were a clear defense of her. He had already chosen a side. A profound exhaustion washed over me. I had no energy left to argue, to explain. In the contest between me and Emma, he had already chosen to believe her. Ten years of marriage meant nothing against a woman he’d known for less than a year. I watched him as he carefully tended to my wounds, his focus clearly elsewhere. I remembered the flicker of joy in his eyes when he’d said she was in labor.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393464”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

This weekend, my husband and I were invited to a charity auction. During the bidding, my husband’s secretary and I both set our sights on the same oil painting. Just as I was preparing for a fair contest, my husband publicly signaled his unlimited support for his secretary, effectively declaring he would outbid anyone for her. “Jeannie,” she sneered, “you’re nothing but a pet my family keeps on a leash. What right do you have to compete with me?” As the other guests began to drop out of the bidding, I snapped my fingers at the auctioneer. “Whatever Mr. Posehn is offering,” I said, my voice ringing clear, “I’ll bid… one dollar more.” 1 A hush fell over the room as every guest turned to stare at me. A moment later, it was broken by a wave of derisive laughter. “Is this woman out of her mind? She’s bidding against her own husband. Does she have money to burn?” “It’s not just that she’s lost her mind—she never had one to begin with. A mere trophy wife daring to challenge Vincent Posehn in public. She has no idea who she’s dealing with.” “I heard before I came that Mr. Posehn picked up a pretty little thing years ago and has been keeping her at home. I never thought I’d actually see her in person.” As the murmurs grew louder, Vincent’s face grew darker. He shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me as his voice boomed across the hall. “Jeannie, put your hand down this instant! Do you hear me?” He was practically seething. “You’re spending my family’s money! How dare you compete with me?” I leaned back in my chair, my expression a mask of calm, and met his furious gaze. “Vincent, I am, for better or worse, your wife. A little respect wouldn’t kill you.” My eyes narrowed. “Why should I have to give up something I want for someone else?” My voice dropped, taking on a steely edge. “And for the record, I have never spent a single dime of your family’s money. Don’t you dare suggest otherwise.” Vincent’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. “Jeannie, have I not told you to call me Mr. Posehn in public? You are nothing but a pet on our payroll! We have no real relationship!” I let out a soft sigh, my eyes locked on his. “So, Mr. Posehn, are you truly going to fight me over this… for your little secretary?” The truth was, I’d sensed something was wrong the moment I walked in. As Vincent’s wife, I should have been seated beside him. Instead, I was relegated to a forgotten corner. I had swallowed my pride. After all, old Mr. Posehn, Vincent’s father, had always been kind to me, even inviting me to play chess with him from time to time. A good woman should know when to tolerate her husband’s foolish ego. But I never imagined that my seat would be occupied by Vincent’s secretary, Jenna. A fresh college graduate whose only remarkable quality was her youth. And yet, here was my idiotic husband, ready to go to war for her. The thought sent a blaze of anger roaring through me. But the so-called rising star of the business world was too self-absorbed to notice. He continued his tirade. “Who the hell do you think you are, Jeannie? I don’t need your permission to do anything. You’ve spent years eating our food, living in our house. What could you possibly have to fight me with?” His voice rose to a fever pitch. “I’m not afraid to tell you right now, I am buying this painting for Jenna!” Before I could even react, the secretary herself couldn’t resist chiming in. She shot me a look dripping with provocation. “Miss Chevalier, I suggest you just give up. If you make Mr. Posehn unhappy, your life might become… difficult.” She paused, a malicious grin spreading across her face. “A trophy wife should know her place, don’t you think, Miss Chevalier?” Jenna’s words drew another round of laughter from the surrounding tables. Even the auctioneer on stage couldn’t hide a smirk. I, however, simply waved a dismissive hand and let out a cold laugh. “So, what I’m hearing, Miss Jenna, is that you’re determined to go against me today?” Jenna’s smile turned wicked, her eyes filled with contempt. “Miss Chevalier, it’s not that I’m trying to be cruel. But you’re a housewife. You don’t even have a job. How could you possibly compete with me? Mr. Posehn has made a patronage pledge—the sky’s the limit. Do you have that kind of money to follow?” I slowly lifted my head and offered her a serene smile. “You’re wrong, Jenna. You and I are nothing alike.” My voice was soft, but it carried across the silent room. “I don’t need a man to buy me things.” Her statement was met with a fresh wave of mockery. “My God, the nerve of this girl. She probably wouldn’t have even gotten through the door if not for Mr. Posehn.” “Exactly! She’s only here because she married into the Posehn family.” “Who would even bother with her if not for him? Auctioneer, just call it. Let’s not waste any more of our time.” The taunts swirled around me, but they didn’t touch me. Because every word I said was the truth. If I wasn’t trying to save Vincent a shred of dignity, I could have stood up and announced that the Posehn Corporation itself belonged to me. Seeing my silence, the secretary grew even bolder. “See? I told you. A woman with no power should just stay at home. Now you’ve made a fool of yourself.” Before Jenna could finish, I slowly raised my bidding paddle. “Who said I was backing down?” My voice was a silken threat. “It’s just money. Darling, that’s the one thing I have plenty of.” 2 Every eye in the room was now fixed on me. Even the auctioneer on stage was frozen, unsure of what to do next. He probably knew I didn’t have the money, but professional courtesy dictated that he couldn’t drop the hammer as long as there was an active bidder. Vincent’s roar echoed through the hall. “Jeannie! You’re really determined to make an enemy of me today, aren’t you?” I shot a glance at the smug secretary standing beside him and answered with cold, hard finality. “Yes.” The single word hung in the air. Vincent bellowed, his voice raw with fury. “Fine! Fine! Let’s see just how much money you have to fight me with!” He thrust his paddle into the air without a moment’s hesitation. “Ten million dollars!” Anyone familiar with auctions knows that a patronage pledge is a point of no return. You either see it through to the end, or you declare financial ruin. If Vincent was willing to gamble his entire company for a secretary, then I was more than happy to play along. “Ten million… and one dollar.” My voice was calm. Heads snapped in my direction. I could read the ridicule on their faces; they were all waiting for the punchline to this spectacular joke. No one here knew I was the silent force behind the Posehn Corporation. Years ago, when the Posehn family was on the brink of bankruptcy, its patriarch, Arthur Posehn, had appeared on my doorstep late at night, clutching a marriage contract, begging me to save his family. To repay a debt owed to a previous generation, I had gritted my teeth and married his son, Vincent. But this man, my husband, had never shown me an ounce of respect. He humiliated me daily, and now he dared to pledge his fortune to another woman right in front of my face. It was a slight I simply could not swallow. “You bitch, do you even have the money to back that up?” Jenna’s voice was shrill now, her composure cracking as she saw me stand my ground against her boss. “This is a high-end auction, not a flea market! Don’t say I didn’t warn you—if you can’t pay up, you’ll go to jail!” I looked up at her and smiled sweetly. “Jenna, whether I have money or not is none of your concern. I’d be more worried about your boss if I were you. There’s no backing out of a game like this.” My words seemed to ignite the last of Vincent’s restraint. He shot to his feet, paddle held high. “How dare you lecture my people, Jeannie? You want to play? Let’s see what you’ve really got in that purse of yours!” He roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandeliers. “I’ll raise it another ten million! Twenty million total!” A collective gasp went through the room. This was a charity auction, after all. The items were valuable, but none were worth tens of millions. The painting in question was the work of a child, not an old master. “Mr. Posehn, how generous!” I said, clapping slowly as I rose to my feet. “On behalf of the children in underprivileged communities, I thank you.” I paused, a slow smile spreading across my lips. “But… since this is for charity, more is always better, isn’t it?” As the room watched in stunned silence, I slowly extended a single, elegant finger. “Twenty million… and one dollar.” 3 No one in that room could have predicted I would dare to defy Vincent so brazenly. The looks they gave me were a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. Every person here was a titan of industry. Vincent himself had only earned a seat at this table because of the Posehn Corporation’s recent meteoric rise. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he was enjoying this. He relished the opportunity to put me in my place. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “Let me be clear. While this woman is legally my wife, she and I have no real connection. If she is unable to produce the funds later, the Posehn Corporation will not be held responsible.” I almost laughed out loud. “Vince, I wouldn’t be so quick to cut ties,” I said, my voice dangerously sweet. “After all, you’re the only one here who made such a grand patronage pledge. If you can’t pay up, you might find yourself begging me to bail you out.” My words were a direct challenge. The secretary, Jenna, couldn’t stand it. She shot up from her seat. “Jeannie, are you daydreaming? You, a mere housewife, presuming to compare yourself to the entire Posehn Corporation? You’re delusional.” I just shook my head, my composure unshaken. “It might be hard for you to believe right now, but it’s the truth. If you don’t believe me, by all means, let your Mr. Posehn test that theory.” Jenna raised an eyebrow, a sneer twisting her lips. “Fine. Let’s see. A woman who doesn’t even know her own worth has no business acting so high and mighty in front of me.” I didn’t let her words faze me. In fact, I felt a strange sense of calm. “I’m sorry, but we’re not the same. I, Jeannie Chevalier, have never needed a man’s money to buy anything I want.” As soon as I spoke, the guests who recognized me from past events started whispering again. “Please, anyone can talk big. If she were that powerful, why would she be content as a housewife?” “Exactly. Mr. Posehn is a rising star with a net worth in the hundreds of millions. What is she?” “She’s nothing but a clown, desperate for attention. Let’s just ignore her.” I slowly rose to my feet, my gaze sweeping across the entire room. “Everyone, listen closely,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “It’s not just the Posehn family I look down on. It’s every single one of you in this room.” I may not be a businesswoman, but I know how to be a decent human being. From the moment I entered this hall, these so-called titans of industry had been more interested in kissing up to Vincent than in the charity they were supposedly here to support. My declaration made me the target of everyone’s fury. Even the auctioneer had had enough. “Ma’am, we do not welcome people like you at this event.” I slowly tilted my head, looking up at the stage. “Oh? And what kind of person am I? Please, do tell.” Before the auctioneer could answer, Jenna stormed onto the stage and snatched the microphone from his hand. “Jeannie Chevalier, you are a nobody!” Her voice, amplified by the speakers, filled every corner of the room. The business magnates rose to their feet, applauding in agreement. Even Vincent, who had been silent for some time, watched me with a look of malicious glee. Seeing the scene before me, I had a moment of stunning clarity. The decision I’d made to save the Posehn family all those years ago had been an act of monumental foolishness. I remained silent for a long moment. Jenna, thinking I was finally intimidated, raised the microphone again. “Hey, you! Now you see why Mr. Posehn doesn’t want you sitting next to him, don’t you?” She leaned into the microphone, her voice rising to a triumphant shriek. “Because… you’re not worthy!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393481”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eight years into our marathon of love, Ava Harrison said she was finally ready to announce our engagement to the world! Overjoyed, I called my mother, telling her to come to the city for our engagement party. To ensure she wouldn’t be looked down upon by my future in-laws, my mother took out all her savings to buy an exquisite, custom-tailored silk dress and got ready with the utmost care. But when the moment of the announcement arrived, Ava stood on the banquet stage, her arm intimately linked with her male assistant, Ryan. “Tonight, besides celebrating a major new project for the company, I have another wonderful piece of news to share,” she announced, her voice ringing through the hall. “I have decided to marry… Ryan!” As her words fell, every head in the room turned to me. Their eyes were filled with mockery, pity, and contempt. My mother, confused, stood up and asked, “Marcus, didn’t you say tonight was your engagement party with Ava?” I looked at Ava, hoping for an explanation from her own lips. But in the next second, her voice cut through the air, cold and sharp. “A country bumpkin thinking he can marry a princess. Utterly ridiculous.” 1 After she spoke, Ava didn’t spare me another glance. She and Ryan descended from the stage, mingling warmly with the guests who were now laughing at my mother and me for not knowing our place. I was left standing there, paralyzed by grief, while my mother began to blame herself. “Son, is it our fault? Did we hold you back? Is it because of your humble beginnings that they look down on you?” I wanted to comfort her immediately, to tell her no, that even though we came from the countryside, we had built our own wealth with our own two hands and were no less than any of them. But suddenly, my mother clutched her chest and crumpled to the ground, her face so pale it trembled. As she fell, she accidentally bumped into a woman in a tight black dress standing behind her. It was Ryan’s sister, Chloe. “Hey! You old hag! How dare you bump into me and spill wine all over me!” Chloe’s face was a thundercloud. When she looked down at my mother, her voice was pure venom. “Oh, it’s you, the pathetic pauper!” “What, your son isn’t good enough to marry my sister-in-law, so now you’re playing dirty behind her back?” “Do you have any idea how expensive this dress is? It was custom-made for me by Ava herself! You’ve ruined it! You’re going to pay for this!” Before I could stop her, Chloe slapped my mother across the face. “Chloe, stop it!” “I’ll pay for the dress, but my mother didn’t do it on purpose. You apologize to her.” The commotion we were making was loud enough to attract Ava’s attention from across the room. She stormed over with security guards in tow, her face dark. Without even asking what had happened, she began to yell at me. “Marcus, must you ruin everything for me?” “This was supposed to be a perfect evening, and you’ve completely destroyed it!” In her rage, Ava threw the contents of her wine glass in my face. Seeing this, my mother’s self-blame only intensified. She tried to stand up to apologize for me, but the pain in her stomach was so severe she couldn’t even speak. “Ava,” Chloe whined, “it was his mother! She threw wine on me on purpose and said my brother stole you from him!” Hearing Chloe’s blatant lies, my anger boiled over. “You’re lying—” “Apologize!” Ava roared, cutting me off. We had done nothing wrong. We would not apologize. Right now, my only concern was my mother. I knew her chronic stomach condition was flaring up; I had to get her to a hospital. Seeing that my mother had no intention of apologizing, Ava’s fury reached its peak. She ordered the security guards to seize me, trying to force my mother to apologize to Chloe. “Marcus, make your mother apologize to Chloe right now! Everyone is watching!” “Are you determined to humiliate me?” “Ava, my mother’s stomach condition is acting up! Tell them to let go of me! I need to take her to the hospital!” Ryan sauntered over, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, what a coincidence. No stomach problems before, no stomach problems after, but the moment she’s asked to apologize to Chloe, she suddenly has a flare-up. You must think we’re idiots.” “So that’s it! You’re just trying to make a scene!” I started to explain, but Chloe interrupted me. “Since she won’t apologize, let’s just give her a taste of her own medicine.” She suddenly produced a pair of scissors and started walking towards my mother. I struggled frantically, terrified, but I couldn’t break free from the guards’ grip. 2 SNIP! Chloe snipped at the silk of my mother’s dress, tearing at the fabric with her hands. “Ava, make her stop!” This humiliation was worse than death for my mother. She cried and struggled, but she was in too much pain to even resist. In that moment, I felt a profound despair. I had wanted her to come here and celebrate, to be happy. I never imagined she would be subjected to such casual, brutal cruelty. Ava Harrison, I was so wrong about you. A crowd was gathering, but Ava just watched, unmoved. She even leaned back into Ryan’s arms, ignoring my desperate calls. My mother, overwhelmed with shame, gave me one last, deep look, and then the pain became too much, and she fainted. Perhaps sensing the icy chill that emanated from me, Ava finally pulled away from Ryan. She glanced down at my unconscious mother and told Chloe to stop. I kicked the guards away and rushed to my mother’s side. I touched her face, my hands trembling with fear, terrified that something was terribly wrong. I scooped her into my arms and ran. Ava chased after me, blocking my path. “Marcus, I had my reasons for what happened tonight.” “Take Mom home first. I’ll come back later and explain everything.” As Ava turned to leave, I called out to her. “Ava, I don’t care what your reasons are. My mother has fainted. We don’t have a car. You need to drive us to the hospital. Now.” All I wanted was for my mother to be safe. Nothing else mattered. Ava seemed about to agree, but Ryan walked over and wrapped his arms around her. “Ava, don’t go,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me to face all these guests alone.” Ryan’s plea was all it took. Ava chose to stay. No matter how much I begged, she turned and walked away. Since she was so cold, so indifferent, I stopped begging. I carried my mother out into the night. We were on a hillside, and it was hard to find a taxi. By the time I finally flagged one down and we reached the hospital, my mother had stopped breathing. The doctor said she was brought in too late. If we had arrived just a little earlier, they could have saved her. That night, I held my mother’s body and cried until dawn. Looking at the regret etched on her peaceful face, my own guilt was a crushing weight. I know you can’t turn back time, but I wished with all my soul that I could. Just then, Ryan updated his social media. It was a picture of him and Ava, exchanging engagement rings, locked in a passionate kiss. “I finally get to marry the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world!” I saw that Ava had liked the post, giving her silent approval. My heart turned to ash. I took the matching ring she had given me years ago and threw it out the window. Then, I left a comment under Ryan’s post: “Wishing you a happy marriage and a long life together.” After that, I turned off my phone. I handled my mother’s funeral arrangements alone, then took her ashes back to our hometown to be buried. Once everything was settled, I returned to the city. There were still loose ends to tie up. When I turned my phone back on, I saw hundreds of missed calls from Ava. My messaging apps were flooded with her texts. I deleted them all. The moment I was done, Ava’s call came through. 3 “You finally turned your phone on! I was starting to think you were dead!” Even through the phone, I could feel Ava’s nervous excitement, and beneath it, a hint of relief. When I didn’t speak, she softened her tone. “My engagement to Ryan… it was because he helped me land a huge project. His only condition was that I agree to an engagement.” “Don’t worry! It’s just an engagement. We’re not actually getting married.” “So you don’t need to be angry anymore. You’re such a jealous one.” I gripped my phone so tightly the veins on the back of my hand bulged. That project—I was the one who had secured it. The client had insisted on a drinking contest with hard liquor. I drank with them until my stomach felt like it was bleeding, but I got the contract signed. While I was recovering in the hospital, Ryan had swooped in and claimed the project as his own. I never had a chance to set the record straight because Ava had announced she was going public with our engagement, and in the excitement, I’d forgotten all about it. What infuriated me even more was that if she had agreed to Ryan’s demand, why didn’t she tell me sooner? I never would have brought my mother to that party. Now, after my mother’s death, I’d had a few days to think. A lot of things had become painfully clear. “Ava, it doesn’t matter. Even if you do marry him, I have no objections.” Ava’s voice immediately rose, her tone sharp. “Marcus, don’t push your luck. I’m not playing these games.” “And stop with the sarcasm. If you don’t, I might just make this engagement real, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” Regret? I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. The biggest regret of my life was ever being with you. It cost my mother her life. “Fine. I’ll support you completely. I won’t stand in your way.” “And now, I’m breaking up with you.” Ava was stunned into silence. This was the first time since we’d met that I had spoken to her with such coldness, the first time I had ever suggested breaking up. Suddenly, Ryan’s voice, smug and close, came through the phone. “Ava, can you bring me my underwear from the bed? I’m completely naked over here.” “You don’t expect me to walk out like this, do you?” I had already guessed they were living together. This casual, intimate request only confirmed it. I could hear Ava walking over, the rustle of fabric, and then Ryan’s playful voice again. “Why don’t you help me put them on, Ms. Harrison?” Ava agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Then, her voice turned cold as she spoke into the phone. “Marcus, you want to break up? Fine. I’ll grant you that wish.” “But you remember this. When you come crawling back, full of regret, I won’t take you back—” I hung up before she could finish. I didn’t need to guess what they would do next. But for the first time, I felt no pain, no heartbreak. Ava never returned to the home she once claimed was her sanctuary. She used to be so clingy. When I cooked, she would wrap her arms around my waist from behind and wait for her meal. Now, when I looked at the kitchen, all I saw was a cold, empty space. The laughter and joy that once filled it were gone, vanished without a trace. Ava, I’m giving up on you. I rolled up my sleeves and began to purge every trace of her from my life. When I was done, I took a shower and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next day at the office, my colleagues looked at me strangely. 4 “Director Cole, you’re finally back!” “You’re still calling him Director? Be careful Director Pierce doesn’t hear you. He’ll have you fired. Didn’t he warn us?” “Marcus’s just Ryan’s assistant now. You should get his title right.” Hearing these whispers, I realized that Ava, for Ryan’s sake, had demoted me without my consent. She had given Ryan my position and made me his assistant. A rage unlike any I had ever felt before surged through me. I stormed into the conference room where Ava was leading a meeting. I dragged her out into the hallway. “What is the meaning of this?” Ava bit her lip and pulled her hand away, unable to meet my eyes. “I just think Ryan is a better fit for the position.” I laughed, a strangled, incredulous sound. From the day this company started, I had worked like a dog for her, tirelessly building the business. Where was Ryan then? He was nothing but a useless parasite who relied on women to get ahead. And now she wanted me to be an assistant to that waste of space? Was he even worthy? If it hadn’t been for her, I would have accepted a high-paying position at a major corporation years ago. But I turned it down to help her build her dream. And for what? So Ryan could reap the rewards. “Come on, it’s not so bad being Ryan’s assistant.” “How about this? When things slow down, I’ll go back to our hometown with you to see Mom. I’ll apologize to her.” I stared at her as she prattled on, and the woman before me became more and more of a stranger. The love I once felt for her scattered like stardust, gone forever. “Ava, my mother is not fortunate enough to receive a visit from you.” “And when I said I was breaking up with you that night, I meant it. And my resignation, right now, is also real.” Ava froze, then her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Marcus, how long are you going to keep this up?” “I’m not keeping anything up. I’ve just seen things more clearly. Isn’t it better for me to get out of your way?” Ava’s face flushed with anger. Just as she was about to speak, Ryan walked out. “You can’t leave yet. The project is secured, but someone still needs to manage it.” “If you walk out, I’ll fire every single employee who came up with you.” “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see them all unemployed, would you?” I narrowed my eyes, my gaze sharp and dangerous as I looked at Ryan. “And you? Do you agree with this?” I said, my words directed at Ava. She didn’t speak. Her silence was a clear endorsement of his threat. In that second, my heart turned completely to ash. For the sake of my colleagues, I swallowed my pride and stayed. Seeing me relent, Ava smiled, relieved. “That’s better. Just work hard under Ryan. When he gets promoted to manager, I’ll give you your director position back.” “Come on, don’t be angry. I’ve already had a designer create a new custom dress for Mom. I’ll give it to her myself.” After that, Ryan treated me like a dog. One moment he was demanding coffee, the next he was forcing me to give him a massage. When Chloe came to visit, she would join in, ordering me around as well. I kept telling myself to stay calm, not to be impulsive. Because I was secretly contacting the company that had tried to recruit me years ago. I recommended all my former colleagues to them. If Ava didn’t appreciate their talent, I would find them a better stage on which to shine. The other company, recognizing their skills, agreed without hesitation. After I had arranged everything, I received a video call from Ryan. The moment I answered, the sound of grotesque, labored breathing filled my ears. On the screen, Ava had shed her usual icy demeanor. She was writhing beneath Ryan, lost in a shameless act of passion. Strangely, I felt no anger. Looking at her, I felt only a profound sense of calm. It was as if she were a complete stranger. Ryan had sent this to provoke me, to make me lose control and cause a scene, to make Ava hate me even more. But he miscalculated. At that very moment, I was sitting in an airport lounge, about to embark on a journey I had long dreamed of. I blocked and deleted all of Ava’s contact information. By the time Ava and Ryan returned to the office, her new assistant, Chloe, ran up to her. “This is bad, Ava! Marcus and all his people just quit! They didn’t even take their final paychecks!” “And the client for the new project is here. He’s saying he’ll only continue to cooperate if Marcus is managing the project.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393499”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Young goddess, are you certain you wish your thread to be cut from the Moirai’s Tapestry? Once the shears fall, you must enter the cycle of rebirth. There is no turning back.” The Acolyte of the Fates was stunned, but he recorded my plea nonetheless. “In seven days, you will pass through the Chasm of Lethe,” he said without looking up. “After that, the name Elara will cease to exist.” “Wait,” he paused, his eyes widening in shock. “Your name is Elara?” Everyone in the Underworld knew that Hades, the King of Shades, had a wife he had cherished for a thousand years. Her name was Elara. I nodded calmly. Only by having my life-thread rewoven could I ensure that he would never find me again. 1 When I walked out of the Hall of Fates, the realm of Hades was being transformed. In just a few hours, the usual gloomy, damp chill had vanished. The dark halls were draped with garlands of pomegranate blossoms, their deep red a startling blush of life in the land of the dead. A newly arrived shade, looking bewildered, asked another, “Is there some kind of celebration? Is Lord Hades taking a new queen?” A passing Fury shot her a disdainful look and scoffed, “You’re so clueless. Our Lord Hades has been married for an eternity! He and his queen have been devoted for nearly a thousand years. In a few days, it will be Lady Elara’s birth anniversary. Lord Hades has been planning the feast for ages!” I walked past them, a silent sigh escaping my lips. Everyone in the Underworld knew that the current king, Kaelen, valued his wife more than his own immortal life. Once, when I had fallen gravely ill, Kaelen had ventured into the River Lethe itself, sacrificing half his divine power to retrieve a single, frozen bloom from its banks to use in my cure. Even before he became the ruler of this realm, he had died for me in the mortal world. After his death, his soul descended here, but he refused to drink the waters of oblivion. He just stood stubbornly by the Stygian Path, waiting. When others asked him why he wouldn’t move on, he would say, “I’m waiting for Elara. In life, I was her man. In death, I am her shade.” Decades later, when my soul finally arrived, Kaelen had already become the formidable King of the Underworld. He welcomed me with the grandest ceremony the realm had ever seen. From then on, every soul and spirit, from the lonely shades in the Asphodel Meadows to Charon himself, envied our divine romance. During countless nights of intimacy, Kaelen would whisper in my ear, “Elara, we will be together for all eternity, our souls forever entwined.” I never doubted his sincerity. It’s just that sincerity can be so fleeting. A month ago, I discovered that Kaelen was hiding another woman—a nymph—in a secluded corner of his domain. Every time he claimed he had “duties to attend to,” he was actually going to be with her. Unbeknownst to me, that nymph had already begun to occupy most of his time. I gave a bitter smile, tuning out the Fury’s gushing account of my “perfect” life with Kaelen, and walked away. Back in our Asphodel Pavilion, I took out a mortal writ of severance. Stroke by stroke, I wrote down my name. Even though Kaelen, as a god, was not bound by such mortal contracts, I followed the old customs. Since I was the one breaking our vow of eternal companionship, this was my final tribute to the love we once shared. Just as I finished the last stroke, a gust of wind swept through the room. Kaelen was back. He smiled, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his voice laced with fatigue. “Elara, my love, what are you writing?” The hand holding the quill trembled slightly. I feigned composure and quickly covered the writ with a fresh sheet of papyrus. Kaelen sensed something was amiss. “I’m sorry, Elara,” he coaxed gently. “There were some unruly souls causing trouble on the Stygian Path. I had to deal with them, so I’m late.” I didn’t expose his lie. I had just come from the Stygian Path myself; it was perfectly calm. He smiled, pulling out a hairpin carved from obsidian and starlight, and gently combed through my long hair. His voice was so soft it could drown a soul. “Don’t be upset, Elara. Let me do your hair for you, shall I?” I remained silent, feeling him lean in to style my hair. In that instant, a faint scent of jasmine washed over me. I turned my head slightly and saw it—a small, red love bite on his collar. Nothing grew in the barren lands of the Underworld but asphodel. Where would the scent of jasmine come from? Kaelen must have traveled to the mortal realm, gathered a large bouquet, and used it to win another’s favor. He had probably just climbed out of that nymph’s bed. My gaze darkened. The real agony was realizing that the moments I thought were filled with happiness were, for him, moments of betrayal. The line between true and false happiness is so hard to discern. Kaelen, oblivious to my turmoil, gently inserted the hairpin. His eyes were full of adoration as he praised me sincerely, “Elara, your skin is fairer than moonbeams. So beautiful.” I forced a smile, covering his eyes with one hand while folding the writ of severance with the other and handing it to him. “A gift for you,” I said. “Just promise me you’ll wait seven days to open it.” Kaelen smiled, taking my hand and agreeing instantly. “Of course. Anything for you, Elara.” I looked into his smiling eyes, thinking to myself: in seven days, the name Elara will be gone from this world forever. 2 The next day, Kaelen cleared his schedule, eager to take me to see fireworks in the mortal realm. The world of the living was vibrant and bustling. A rare spark of excitement lit up my face. If it hadn’t been for Kaelen, I never would have stayed in such a desolate place… but now, it no longer mattered. Kaelen shielded me as we walked through the crowded streets, frequently turning to adjust the hairpin in my hair. A little girl selling flowers ran up to us, her face bright with a smile. “Mister, buy a bouquet for this pretty lady! May you two be happy together forever!” I froze, about to refuse, but Kaelen was already smiling and picking out flowers. After careful consideration, he decided to buy her entire basket. “Wait.” I snapped out of my daze and stopped him. Kaelen looked at me, his eyes full of warmth. “What is it, Elara? You don’t like them?” I nodded, my voice flat. “I don’t like jasmine.” His expression froze instantly, his pupils contracting. He looked… unnatural. He forced a stiff smile. “Elara, I thought jasmine was your favorite. Why the sudden change…?” A sharp pain pierced my heart. Once, to make me happy, he had commanded an entire mortal courtyard to bloom with jasmine just for me. Now, to please another woman, he traveled to the mortal realm to bring her bouquets of it. In that moment, I desperately wanted to ask him: when he gave her jasmine, did he feel even a flicker of guilt? Before I could speak, a young, handsome acolyte rushed out from behind Kaelen and slammed into me. I had no time to dodge and was knocked to the ground. My ankle twisted, swelling instantly. My hands were scraped. The hairpin tumbled out and landed crookedly on the pavement. The acolyte shot me a triumphant glance before turning to Kaelen. “My lord! There are rogue titans stirring in the deepest pits of Tartarus! You must go at once!” Kaelen frowned, a bolt of dark energy shooting from his hand towards the acolyte. But as he recognized the face, he abruptly withdrew the attack. My gaze faltered. I knew this “acolyte.” It was the nymph, Lyra. She was disguised as a man, but it only accentuated her fair, jade-like skin. Kaelen looked at me with a pained expression as he helped me up. “Elara, you go on ahead. I’ll take care of this…” Hearing his words, I hid my injured hand behind my back and answered flatly, “It’s fine. I can go back by myself.” He tenderly wiped a smudge of dirt from my face, then turned and snapped at Lyra, “Be more careful. If you ever harm Elara again, I will have your immortal soul!” He glanced at me guiltily again, then bent down to retrieve the hairpin. Before he could, a group of laughing children ran past, and the hairpin vanished into the crowd. A flash of annoyance crossed Kaelen’s face. He was about to search for it himself when Lyra tugged on his sleeve, her voice soft and cloying. “My lord, we’ll be too late…!” She wasn’t even bothering to disguise her feminine voice anymore, her expression a blatant provocation. Kaelen frowned and roughly shook her hand off, his tone turning to ice. “If you don’t vanish from my sight, I will unmake you.” He channeled his power, and in an instant, her exposed arm turned red and swollen. A flicker of defiance crossed her face, followed by a pout. She turned and left. Once she was gone, Kaelen’s expression softened. “Elara, you look around. I’ll be right back.” I nodded numbly. He lovingly stroked my hair one last time, then ordered two of his guards to stay and find the hairpin. “This hairpin is a symbol of my vow to Elara,” he said, his voice cold. “It must be found.” Listening to his passionate words, I scoffed inwardly. His heart had already changed. Why pretend to care? As his figure disappeared, I silently followed him. I watched as he caught up to Lyra and pulled her fiercely into his arms. His voice was a low growl. “You should not have appeared in front of Elara.” 3 The nymph, still disguised, her eyes red-rimmed, lightly beat against Kaelen’s chest. “I only went to see you because I missed you so much. How could you be so cruel?” “Look,” she pouted, holding up her swollen arm, “don’t I look… alluring in this uniform?” A sliver of sheer, translucent fabric was visible at her cuff. Kaelen’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes darkening. “Want to see what I’m wearing underneath? I know you’ll like it,” she purred. He grabbed her arm, his eyes now clouded with desire. “Don’t tell me… it’s a mortal’s silken finery.” She giggled, burying her head in his chest, cooing, “You’re so wicked!” Laughing and teasing, they disappeared into a secluded pavilion. Their entangled silhouettes danced on the window screen. I stood outside, listening to the sounds of their passion. I watched Kaelen repeatedly kiss her injured hand. A searing pain shot through my own ankle. I looked down to see it swollen beyond recognition. I had already decided to be reborn, to forget. But at this moment, my heart was filled with a bitter ache. A single tear traced a path down my cheek. The soft moans from inside grew louder. I clamped my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t block out the sound. It seeped into my mind, a sharp knife twisting in my heart. I forced myself to limp away, ignoring the agony. My hair was a mess. The hairpin was gone, my ankle was sprained, and I looked utterly pathetic. I desperately told myself this was the last tear I would ever shed for him. When I stumbled back to the Asphodel Pavilion, Kaelen’s two guards were waiting, holding the hairpin. My eyes fell on it, and I suddenly remembered the day Kaelen had proposed. His face had been flushed, but he had looked at me with such sincerity. “Elara, I will be good to you for all of eternity.” I had looked at him, and my heart had soared. From that day on, he had devotedly fulfilled his promise. In the end, he had even died to protect me. Now, the hairpin was still as beautiful as ever, but the man who had made the vow was a stranger. I shook my head, and when I spoke, my voice was steady again. “I don’t want it anymore.” I didn’t want the hairpin, the symbol of our vow. And I didn’t want Kaelen anymore. I fell into a restless sleep, and it was only then that Kaelen returned. He moved quietly, carefully slipping into bed beside me and pulling me into his arms. I kept my eyes closed. He took my cold hands in his and murmured an incantation, warming the room with the very heat of the Phlegethon, the river of fire. In my drowsy state, I felt him almost reverently tuck my cold hands into his own embrace to warm them. A wave of sleepiness washed over me, and I finally drifted off. When I woke up, the space beside me was empty. A handmaiden approached. “Lord Hades has been very busy,” she explained. I nodded, indifferent. Whether he was truly busy or off with Lyra, it no longer mattered. I spent the next few days clearing out the pavilion. Kaelen had given me many things. A lantern that held a captive star, custom-blended incense that smelled of forgotten memories, a lover’s knot woven from my own hair… I packed them all into a box and cast it into the fires of the Phlegethon. As the flames died down, Kaelen pushed open the door. “Elara, what are you burning?” I smiled. “Nothing. Just some useless old things.” He nodded, glancing around the now-empty room. “I’ll find you some new treasures to entertain you in a few days.” I didn’t answer. In a few days, I would be completely free, no longer waiting for him in this dull, lifeless realm. Time was short. I made sure to burn everything. Coincidentally, my birth anniversary and the day my thread was to be cut from the loom were the same.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393520”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

We were on the set of a celebrity talk show, my ex and I. The host posed a dramatic question to the panel. “If you knew you were about to die and could only leave one letter, what would you write?” I paused, then wrote down three wishes on the card provided. When it was my turn to share, I read them aloud. “First, I hope everyone forgets me—” A sharp, derisive laugh cut me off. Mario Atkinson’s face was a mask of icy contempt. “Aren’t you full of yourself, Cora?” he sneered. “Who do you think is going to remember you? Who gives a damn if you live or die?” I managed a patient smile and said nothing. He didn’t know. This letter wasn’t a prop for a game. It was my last will and testament. 1 The taping was halfway through, and by now, everyone was used to Mario’s constant digs at me. After his latest barb, the host just laughed it off, smoothing things over with practiced ease. “Mario, always the comedian, hahaha.” He then turned to me, his voice gentle. “Cora, would you mind sharing the rest of your letter?” I nodded, my expression carefully neutral. “My second wish is to find a new home for Mochi. And the last is to donate my entire estate to charity.” Sensing the unspoken question, I quickly added, “Mochi is my calico cat.” The other guests nodded in understanding. More accurately, Mochi was our cat. Mario’s and mine. I’d found him on a rainy day, a tiny, shivering thing following my every step. I couldn’t leave him. My work kept me on the road, so when I was away, Mario would look after him. He claimed to hate pets. He’d pinch his nose while cleaning the litter box, muttering under his breath the whole time. But no one took better care of that cat than he did. He’d spend hours researching the best food and a fortune on toys and treats. When we fell apart, he left Mochi with me. As I finished speaking, Mario, right on cue, went in for another kill. He let out a cold, merciless laugh. “Cora, with a list that detailed, you’d better actually be dying.” The other guests had given vague, sentimental answers. Mine, by contrast, was unnervingly specific. The atmosphere turned thick with tension. The host froze, unsure how to salvage the moment. It was Liam, the actor sitting next to me, who broke the silence. “Mario,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Maybe try to keep it classy. We’re on camera.” He then smoothly passed me a bottle of water. I took it, my movements slow. Liam and I had just starred in a hit drama together, and the entire internet was “shipping” us. The studio encouraged us to play it up for the publicity, so I didn’t refuse his gesture of support. Mario’s gaze, however, was fixed on the water bottle in my hand, his eyes burning holes into it. Just as I braced myself for another cutting remark, he lowered his gaze and said something strange. “I’m thirsty.” For a beat, I was confused. Then, I offered him the bottle. He took it, but he didn’t drink. He just toyed with it for a moment before casually tossing it into a nearby trash can. His eyes, full of malice, flicked to Liam. “Sorry,” he said, the word dripping with venom. “I don’t drink that brand.” It was the ultimate power play, a move only someone like Mario could get away with. Backed by the immense wealth of the Atkinson family, he was untouchable. The host, wiping sweat from his brow, cautiously tried to steer the show back on track. “Mario, would you mind showing us what you wrote?” For the first time all night, Mario smiled, looking surprisingly agreeable. “Of course.” But when the camera zoomed in on his card, the host’s breath caught. Mario’s bold, aggressive handwriting filled the screen. Everyone stared, stunned into silence. He had written: “Before I die, I have to take Cora with me.” He smirked, reading the words aloud with a swaggering arrogance that filled the studio. The others looked at me with pity. But my face remained a calm, placid mask. It was only natural that Mario Atkinson hated me. After all, the way I had broken up with him was unforgivable. 2 Mario was fiercely possessive. My career as an actress, however, made intimate scenes with co-stars unavoidable. The show with Liam had a kiss scene. When Mario found out, he went ballistic. He demanded we go public with our relationship, right then and there. But we were in the middle of a massive publicity campaign for the show, centered on my on-screen romance with Liam. From a professional standpoint, it was the worst possible time. I told Mario we had to wait, at least until the show’s run was over. His eyes were bloodshot. He gave me a long, deep look, then turned and walked away without another word. I got swamped with work. By the time I had a moment to breathe and tried to call him, I found he’d blocked me on everything. He refused to see me, vanishing for days. The next I heard of him was a single post on his social media. 【My girlfriend, @CoraScott.】 Those four words nearly crashed the internet. But I didn’t know about it at the time. The day he posted it, I collapsed on set. I woke up a day later in the hospital. “Ms. Scott,” the doctor said, his eyes full of a terrible pity. “I’m so sorry. It’s late-stage cancer.” The words didn’t register at first. There was no screaming, no hysterical crying. Just a profound, hollow silence in my head. Before I could fully process it, my phone rang. My agent. He’d been trying to reach me for two days, afraid to bother Mario, and was now unleashing his fury on me. Why did I go public? I had to deny it, immediately, do damage control. He ranted for half an hour. I didn’t hear most of it. I just kept murmuring, “I’m sorry,” and “I understand,” like an automaton. After I hung up, I sat on the edge of the hospital bed for a long time. This was the moment I should have been calling Mario. Explaining that the show with Liam was filmed two years ago, before he’d even moved back to the country. Explaining that I loved him, truly loved him, and had never crossed a line with anyone else. Explaining that yes, I wanted to tell the world I was his. But now… none of it mattered. How long does someone with late-stage cancer have? Six months? A year? It was all too short. And so, Mario, I can’t drag you down with me. As the last rays of sunset streamed through the window, I finally moved. My fingers found my phone, and I responded to his post. 【This joke isn’t funny, @MarioAtkinson.】 Within an hour, my reply had over a million shares. My fans flooded his comments. Do you have any idea how disgusting this is? Spreading rumors like that! Get out of the industry, you creep. As if our Cora would ever look at you. You got called out. How embarrassing for you. This is sick. Trying to force a woman to be with you? Pathetic. Overnight, he became a laughingstock. Rumors swirled that his family, ashamed of the scandal, was threatening to cut him off. Through it all, Mario said nothing. I expected him to release our old photos, our text messages, anything to prove his innocence. But he did nothing. He just took the abuse, the endless tide of hatred, all of it, alone. Then, he sent me a voice message. For the first time, the proud, arrogant Mario Atkinson sounded… broken. “Cora,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with panic. “Do you love me? Just tell me.” A sob caught in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the bitter taste of unshed tears. It took a long moment before I could type a steady reply. 【Not anymore.】 He never messaged me again. A man as proud as Mario would never beg. And just like that, without another word, we were over. 3 By the time I came back to myself, the host had managed to wrap up the segment. After a thirty-minute break, we started the second game: Truth or Dare. No one in this industry has a perfectly clean slate, so the “truth” questions were always carefully softball. I was relieved. But during the game, Isabelle, another actress on the panel, kept taking subtle jabs at me. We had a history. We’d competed for the same leading role once, and she’d lost. She’d held a grudge ever since, “accidentally” liking negative posts about me and then offering flimsy, insincere apologies. I was too focused on my work to care. Her antics always felt more pathetic than threatening. Until now. I lost a round, and she looked at me with undisguised malice. “Cora, truth or dare?” “Truth,” I said calmly. Her smile widened. She had been waiting for this. “So, what’s the real story? You and Mario. Was it ever a thing?” The host went strategically silent. Every eye in the room darted between me and Mario. Everyone knew the story. It was Mario’s great public humiliation, the one topic that was absolutely off-limits. And she had just thrown it onto the table. Mario didn’t look angry. His fiery gaze was locked on me, waiting. I lowered my eyes, saying nothing. “Don’t want to answer?” Isabelle taunted after a moment. “Fine. The penalty is ten shots of tequila.” She was determined to corner me. Just then, I looked up, my nails digging into my palms, and forced a light, easy smile. “No,” I said, my voice clear. “We never dated.” A collective gasp went through the room. Mario’s face darkened. A chilling smile touched his lips as he immediately backed me up. “That’s right.” “As if I would ever be with someone like Cora.” But in the next second, his knuckles went white. The wine glass in his hand shattered, the sound echoing in the silent studio. Shards of glass bit into his flesh, staining his hand crimson. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t so much as frown. The room erupted in panicked shouts for a medic. The day’s filming was abruptly cut short. Most of the cast rushed over to check on Mario. But a deep, aching pain was spreading through my body, draining me of all strength. I went back to my room, took my medication, and fell into a heavy sleep. 4 At four in the afternoon, a staffer woke me. We were all gathered together and informed that we would be responsible for making our own dinner. “I hear Cora’s a fantastic cook,” Mario said, his eyes glinting with malice. Of course. It was always about me. I instinctively looked up, my gaze falling on his bandaged right hand. I felt a small flicker of relief. He could still move it. The cut wasn’t too deep. At his comment, the other guests turned to me. “Well then, we’re counting on you for dinner!” Isabelle chirped. “Thanks, Cora!” “I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I’ll stay out of the way.” “I think I see a guitar over there, I’ll go check it out.” In less than a minute, I was alone. I sighed and started preparing a meal for a dozen people. It was a lot of food. At one point, I turned my back for a second and a pan burst into flames. Before I could panic, Liam appeared out of nowhere and swiftly covered it with a lid. “I can’t cook,” he said with a gentle smile, “but I can definitely wash and chop vegetables. Just tell me what you need.” My eyes stung. “Thank you,” I said, my voice thick with gratitude. With Liam’s help, the work went much faster. Two hours later, the last dish was done. As I carried it to the table, I noticed Mario standing in the shadows, his expression unreadable as he watched me. I had no idea how long he’d been there. The illness had left me so deeply tired. I didn’t have the energy for another confrontation. I just averted my eyes and walked past him. At the dinner table, he started in on me again. He took a bite of food, then immediately spit it out. “So, the ‘great cook’ thing was just another one of your personas, Cora?” he asked, a mocking smirk on his face. For some reason, I just felt weary. How could he not know my cooking? He was the one who used to beg me to cook for him every time he had a day off. He was the one who would always clean his plate, down to the last grain of rice. I looked him straight in the eye, and a genuine, brilliant smile spread across my face. “It’s okay,” I said, my tone as casual as if I were discussing the weather. “If all goes to plan, this will be the last time you ever have to eat my cooking.” The ugly smile froze on his lips. For once, Mario Atkinson was silent. I don’t know what he was thinking, but for the rest of the meal, he ate with a strange intensity. No one else saw it, but under the table, his left hand was trembling uncontrollably. I’d only had a few bites when a wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom, retching over the sink. I saw the tell-tale red in the basin and frantically washed it away. When I came out, I ran right into Mario. He stared at my pale face, his expression complicated. “Are you sick?” he asked. A mischievous impulse took over. I leaned in and whispered, “I’m pregnant.” His pupils constricted. He stammered, “Is it… mine?” I laughed softly. “I’m kidding.” “Cora!” he roared. Ignoring his fury, I turned and walked away. Back in my room, I locked the door, and the last of my strength gave out. I collapsed onto the bed. It was a good ten minutes before I could push myself up to take my medicine. Just as I swallowed the last pill, my phone pinged. A message from my mom. 【Honey, why did you send me so much money? Is something wrong?】 My eyes burned. I buried my face in the pillow and typed back. 【Everything’s fine.】 【I’m just heading out of town for a long shoot. It’s going to be a while. Take care of yourself, Mom.】 She didn’t suspect a thing. 【Okay, sweetie. I’ll put this in a savings account for you. By the way, I mailed you some of my homemade nougat. It should be there soon. You know how your blood sugar gets low. Keep some with you.】 She went on and on, fussing over me. To every instruction, I replied with a simple, “Okay.” Years ago, she had left my abusive father with nothing but me. She’d since remarried and built a new, happy life. I couldn’t bear to be a burden to her again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393536”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In the fifth year of my marriage to Paul, I discovered he was secretly planning to divorce me for another woman. And I, fool that I was, still loved him. So, on the very day he was about to serve me the papers, I beat him to it. I handed him the doctor’s confirmation of my pregnancy. That night, Paul stood on the balcony and chain-smoked until dawn. The next day, he broke up with the girl. This fragile peace lasted until I was six months pregnant. That’s when the girl showed up at our front door, a wedding invitation in her hand. “Mr. Crawford,” she said, her voice trembling, “my wedding is tomorrow. If you ask me to stay, just say the word, and I’ll call the whole thing off for you.” With that, she dropped the invitation and fled in a storm of tears. Paul shot up from his chair, ready to chase after her. Watching his back, the back of a man about to abandon me, I clutched my aching belly and my voice cut through the air. “Paul, if you walk out that door today, I’m going to the hospital to have an abortion.” He froze for a heartbeat. But only a heartbeat. Then, he walked out anyway. … I first realized Paul was planning to divorce me when the corporate lawyers started hounding me with paperwork. Changing the company’s legal representative. Switching the corporate bank accounts. He was even trying to offload our properties, selling them at suspiciously low prices. The company’s finances told a similar story. An enterprise that had been thriving just six months ago was now bleeding money, month after month. His excuse was a constant stream of business trips, disappearing for weeks at a time. He claimed the company was in crisis, and he was desperately trying to turn things around. I never called him on his lies. I never told him I’d seen the viral clip of them—him and his precious girl—kissing passionately at a sold-out pop concert. It had even made the rounds on a “CEO scandals” trending list. Why did I stay silent? Why did I endure it all? Because I still loved him. Five years of dating, five years of marriage—you don’t just sever a decade of your life because of an affair. It’s not that simple. So, I pretended not to notice the love bites on his neck when he came home. I ignored the cloying scent of a perfume favored by younger women clinging to his clothes. I even feigned ignorance when he moved into the study, sleeping in a separate bed, refusing to even touch me. I didn’t want a divorce, but he clearly did. As fate would have it, the lawyer he hired to draft the divorce papers worked for a firm I had secretly invested in. So not only did I know how much he agonized over the decision, how stressed and irritable he’d become, but I even knew the exact day he planned to give me the papers. To save our marriage, I took a desperate step. I went through a round of IVF. The night before he was set to end our life together, I called him, insisting he come home. He was clearly annoyed. The dinner I’d cooked for him had to be reheated three times by our housekeeper before he finally deigned to walk through the door. He didn’t even glance at the food on the table. Seeing me on the sofa, he just gave a cold, dismissive nod and disappeared into his study. Two hours later, after a long shower, he finally emerged. “You said you had something to tell me,” he said, his tone clipped and hard. It was the same voice he used with his employees. “What is it?” I didn’t say a word. I just calmly handed him the papers from the clinic. “I’m pregnant. Two weeks.” Paul’s breath caught in his throat. The veins on the back of the hand gripping the report bulged. I knew why this was such a shock. My mother had died in childbirth with my younger brother, and I had seen enough of women sacrificing everything for a marriage. From the very beginning of our relationship, I’d made it clear: I was child-free by choice. I would never have children. Back then, blinded by love, Paul had agreed without a second thought. But after we married, as the years passed, he started bringing it up more and more. Each time, I refused, even lashing out at him for breaking his promise. And now, here I was, handing him proof of a pregnancy. He took several deep, shuddering breaths, as if trying to reclaim his sanity. “Thank you,” he finally managed to say. “Thank you for being willing to do this… for me.” He stood up so abruptly that his knee slammed into the corner of the coffee table. Clutching the report, he stammered, “Sorry, this is just… it’s a lot to take in. I need a minute to process.” He fled back into his study, the door slamming shut behind him. It was only when the echo of the slam faded that I noticed the fruit fork in my hand. I’d been gripping it so tightly it had broken the skin of my palm, a single drop of blood blooming like a dark flower in my glass of water. 2 That night, the faint smell of smoke crept into my room. It was enough to tell me that Paul had probably been on the balcony all night, chain-smoking. The two rooms were close, but not that close. For the smell to be that strong, he must have gone through pack after pack. The next morning, I received a call from HR. Paul’s new secretary had resigned. And just like that, the business deals he was trying to unload were reversed, and the company began to operate normally again. The day I got the news, I lay in bed, my hand resting on my still-flat stomach, and cried until my pillow was soaked. Somehow, against all odds, I had saved our once-beautiful love from ending in a storm of cold calculation and betrayal. After that, Paul slipped back into the role of the loving husband he used to be. He accompanied me to every prenatal check-up. He spent weeks meticulously researching and selecting the best postpartum recovery center. He bought mountains of baby supplies, enough to last until our child was ten. He did everything a father-to-be should do. But he never moved back into our master bedroom. He still slept in the study. And he never, not once, initiated any physical intimacy. I even caught him once, late at night, watching videos and looking at photos of her on his phone while he pleasured himself. The absurdity of it was almost laughable, a bitter, stinging irony. Which brings us to now. To the girl, Jessie, brazenly showing up at our villa. She’d tossed her wedding invitation at me like a gauntlet, spewed some nonsense, and then run off. And Paul’s first instinct wasn’t to explain or reassure me. It was to chase after her. Even when I called out, forbidding him to leave, he just turned on me, his face a mask of pain and frustration. “Ava, I’m already trying to make this work! What more do you want from me?” he roared, his voice cracking. “She’s getting married tomorrow! Can’t I even say goodbye?” I looked at the sharp furrow of his brow, the undisguised disgust in his eyes. I wiped away a tear that had escaped without my permission. “No, Paul, you can’t. If you go after her today, I will abort this child.” His whole body went rigid. He stared at me, his eyes burning into mine. After what felt like an eternity, he exploded in a torrent of frustrated rage. “You are a truly vicious woman, Ava Jiang.” Vicious. The word struck me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless and numb. Was I vicious? For the sake of this marriage, to keep him, I had played blind. I had betrayed my own deepest convictions, enduring a belly bruised black and blue from IVF injections, all to give him the child he wanted. I had fought so, so hard to keep him. And in his eyes, all of that just made me… vicious. Tears streamed down my face like a torrential downpour. But my tears, and the child in my womb, were not enough to hold him back. He kicked the sofa in a fit of raw impatience. “Fine! Go to the hospital! Have your damn abortion! I’m going to her, and nothing you do can stop me!” And with that, he was gone, chasing after her like a reckless twenty-year-old, a desperate, frantic blur leaving my life. Watching him disappear, my fingers trembled as I dialed 911. He had made his choice. Now, it was time for me to make mine. I would abort the child he’d longed for, and then I would burn his entire world to the ground.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393553”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My only friend was from another world. Her mission here, she said, was to save me. She believed in me, protected me, and poured everything she had into helping my husband claim the imperial throne. In the end, she found a love she believed was true, a man she would die for. This world, she told me, had finally given her a home. She wanted to stay. But then I came galloping back from the frontier, riding my horse to its death. All I found was her body, pale and frail, lying cold as ice in a lonely jade coffin. Beside it, her husband stood frozen, a silent statue of a man. Her young son whispered with relief, “Good. I never wanted a crazy woman for a mother anyway.” My gaze fell upon the woman standing beside them, dabbing at false tears. And I thought, I don’t have to pretend anymore. After today, they would learn what a real monster was. 1 When Marcia slit her wrist, there was no hesitation. The physician who examined her said the gash was terrifyingly deep—a wound inflicted by someone with no will to live. A normal person, he’d whispered, could never be so cruel to themselves. Especially not Marcia, who was always so afraid of pain. She was the kind of girl who’d cry over a paper cut, milking it for one of my honeyed cakes. I stared down at her in the jade coffin. Except for the stark pallor of her skin, she almost looked alive. Her beloved husband, Adrian, stood beside the coffin. At his side was a woman in a delicate pink dress, her hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy who looked so much like Marcia it made my heart ache. I let my eyes travel over this pretty little scene, and I finally understood why Marcia had lost all hope. The woman in pink stepped forward and dipped into a flawless curtsy. “Your Majesty, I wish you peace.” I stared at her, my eyes cold, letting her hang in that uncomfortable bow. I watched the muscles in her thighs tremble. My lady-in-waiting moved without a word. A sharp crack echoed as her boot met the back of the woman’s knee. She crumpled to the floor with a pathetic thud, and only then did the knot in my brow begin to loosen. “Aunt Serena!” two voices cried out. The boy, Noah, rushed forward to help her up, but he froze when he saw the look on my face. Adrian simply stared at the coffin, lost to the world, oblivious. It was Serena who saved herself. Without a word of complaint, she lowered her head to the floor. “A thousand years to Your Majesty,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It was this humble woman’s ignorance. I beg the Queen’s forgiveness.” My eyes narrowed. She was clever, this Serena. She knew I was a storm of rage, and that no words, especially from Adrian or his son, could calm me. Their pleas would only fuel my fire. Submission was her only weapon, a clever way to corner me. Marcia never stood a chance against her. I took two steps forward, my silk slippers, embroidered with shimmering thread, pressing down on the fine fabric of her dress. A servant silently placed a chair behind me. I took Serena’s wrist in my hand. A circlet of shimmering green jade graced her skin. It wasn’t a priceless treasure, but I knew what it was. It was the prize Marcia’s seven-year-old son, Noah, had won at the Royal Academy. He had boasted to all his friends that he would win it for his mother. It was I who had instructed the headmaster to ensure Noah won that prize. And now, it was on another woman’s wrist. My fingers closed around the jade. With a sharp, brutal tug, I ripped it from her arm. “My hand slipped,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “You mustn’t blame me.” Two raw, red marks bloomed on her pale skin, angry and vicious. “This servant wouldn’t dare,” she choked out, biting her lip, looking every bit as pitiful as her name suggested. Marcia would have fallen for that act. Whenever she was angry with me, I would put on the same face, and her resolve would melt. I could coax anything from her then. But who was Serena to me? My hand drifted to her earlobe, where a pair of magnificent pearls dangled. They were my wedding gift to Marcia. I ripped them free without a shred of mercy. Blood streamed from the torn flesh. Noah could no longer contain himself and fell to his knees beside her. “Auntie Brenda, please! I gave them to Auntie Serena! Mother said I could! Please don’t hurt her!” I toyed with the blood-streaked pearls, my expression placid. “And what if I decide to punish her anyway?” Without Marcia, Noah was nothing more than a piece of flesh in my eyes. I had rarely spoken to him with such chilling coldness. He stumbled forward, grabbing at the hem of my gown, trying to win me over with the childish charm that always worked before. My eyes flashed. A guard stepped forward, his blade a silver blur, aimed for Noah’s arm. “What filth dares to touch the Queen!” I turned away from the terrified boy, his face a mask of white, and gestured for my guards to take Marcia’s coffin. As if waking from a trance, Adrian drew his sword, blocking their path. “No one will take Marcia from me!” Adrian was a high-ranking official, a close confidant of the Emperor, William. My guards hesitated, unwilling to harm him. Fine. I would do it myself. My own sword lunged for his heart, without a flicker of doubt. But in the instant before the steel met his skin, a heavy blow struck the back of my neck. Darkness swallowed me whole. 2 It was William. Though the servants wouldn’t dare say it aloud, there was only one person in the entire empire who would lay a hand on me. He didn’t have the courage to face me himself. He sent an imperial decree instead, posthumously naming Marcia a Grand Princess. I shredded the decree with the golden hairpin he had given me. The palace staff knelt in a silent sea around me. The Serene Palace was deathly quiet until William finally arrived. “Brenda,” he said, his voice strained. “Marcia is gone. If you are not satisfied, I can grant her even greater honors.” “How about I kill Serena,” I replied sweetly, “and you can grant her the title of Empress?” William fell silent. “I want them to join Marcia in death.” “That’s impossible.” “Fine.” My answer was so swift it caught him off guard. He looked up, startled. “What did you say?” “I said, fine.” I would do it my way. I forbade anyone from holding a memorial for Marcia—none of them were worthy. Then, I sent my people to the Adrian’s estate to reclaim everything that had ever belonged to her. Adrian met them in the courtyard, sword in hand. Serena knelt beside him, biting her lip, a silent, suffering statue. I merely lifted a hand. My guards swarmed in, pinning Adrian to the ground. His knees slammed onto the marble floor with a sickening crack. He had knelt before me just like this once, years ago, when he begged for Marcia’s hand. I had discovered their secret affair and, to protect Marcia’s reputation, forbade them from seeing each other. So Adrian knelt before the entire court, pleading for me to approve their marriage. Without my blessing, not even his deep friendship with William could secure him an imperial decree. Back then, I had asked Marcia, “If you marry him, you can never go back.” A blush crept up her cheeks. “Brenda, he swore he would have only me for the rest of his life. I want to try.” “And if you’re wrong?” “Then I’m wrong.” Marcia, for all her gentle looks, was fiercely intelligent and stubborn. I knew that better than anyone. Her decision to leave this world was as absolute as her decision to choose Adrian had been. She used to teach me when we were young. “The greatest victory is not won on the battlefield,” she’d say, “but in the mind.” 3 I was only eight years old then. My half-sister, the daughter of my father’s mistress, had stolen a brocade robe—a final gift from my deceased mother. I went to my father. “A wildcat tore the robe,” he told me. “Father will buy you a new one.” Later, passing my half-sister’s courtyard, I heard her showing it off to the other girls, bragging about the magnificent fabric, the exquisite embroidery, the precious gems sewn into the collar. As they gasped in admiration, I walked into their circle, scissors in hand. I pinned her to the ground and shredded the robe right off her body, slicing it into ribbons. When my father arrived, my half-sister had forgotten how to cry. She only stared in terror until she saw him, then she started screaming for help. I stood over her, holding the blood-tipped scissors, and looked my father dead in the eye. “A wildcat tore my robe,” I said calmly. “Remember to buy me a new one, Father.” Perhaps my gaze was too serene, too unnerving. He forgot to scold me. I walked away through the path the silent, stunned crowd made for me. The next day, an identical robe was delivered to my chambers. I heard my half-sister’s mother had to empty her entire savings to pay for the physicians. I never saw her near my side of the estate again. Whispers about me spread through the capital. They said I was cruel, bloodthirsty, a monster who stalked the night. It was then that Marcia appeared in my life. The daughter of the Minister of Rites pushed me into a lake. I clawed my way back to the bank, grabbed her by the hair, and threw her in. She nearly drowned. The Minister went to the Emperor himself, demanding my father punish me severely. The Emperor asked for witnesses, but no one dared speak for me. Except for Marcia. “It was Lady Eleanor who accosted Lady Brenda first,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “If there is to be punishment, it should be delivered equally.” The Emperor, upon learning the truth, did not punish me. Instead, he ordered the Minister of Rites to better discipline his own child. Before, my only solution was to destroy anyone who wronged me. But Marcia taught me something new. Don’t ruin yourself just to punish someone else, she’d say. It’s not worth it. The goal is to make them suffer while ensuring they can never blame you. I warned her to stay away. “I’m poison,” I told her. Marcia just smiled. “Don’t worry. I brought the antidote.” After that, whenever I made a mess, Marcia was there to clean it up. The whispers stopped. No one called me a monster anymore. Instead, they saw a poor, motherless girl, bullied by her stepmother and half-sister. I once asked her why she helped me. She joked that with my status and name, I was destined to marry into the royal family, and she wanted to hitch her wagon to my star. I didn’t believe her. It wasn’t until my engagement to the Crown Prince, William, was announced that she told me the truth. She was from another world, she confessed, sent here to save me. Without her intervention, I was on a path to destroy the entire dynasty. But now, my life was on the right track. It was time for her to leave. To return to her world, she said, her physical body here had to die. She spoke of her home with such love. I couldn’t force her to stay. It was Adrian who convinced her. And at the time, I was happy for them. But I never imagined there would be a Serena. 4 Marcia’s death had indeed shaken Adrian, but his grief was a fleeting storm. Soon enough, he would forget his sins and resume his brilliant, glittering life. But my Marcia would be buried in the cold, lonely earth. I would not allow it. With Adrian forced to kneel in his own courtyard, my men brought out the wedding robes he and Marcia had worn. “These were Lady Marcia’s wedding garments.” I idly examined my fingernails. “Burn them.” “This is the furniture Lady Marcia purchased.” “Smash it.” “This is…” I made Adrian, Serena, and Noah watch as I systematically erased every trace of Marcia’s existence. Noah was still too young to understand, but Adrian’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. He growled like a caged animal. “Stop it! Stop! Marcia will come back! She’s just angry with me, that’s all… just like all the other times…” I clicked my tongue. Who was he trying to fool? My soldiers were efficient. Soon, the entire estate was stripped bare. Without Marcia’s dowry, the house was just an empty shell. This family had drunk her blood and then driven her to a cliff’s edge. I closed my eyes, a slow smile spreading across my lips. “Since you two are so deeply in love, I shall grant you a boon. I hereby decree that Serena is your lawful wife. From this day forward, Noah is her son.” Serena’s eyes lit up with disbelief and joy. As she was about to prostrate herself in gratitude, Adrian finally spoke. “I will have only one wife in this life—Marcia!” But Noah had already scrambled to Serena’s side, his voice ringing with delight. “Mother! I finally get to call you my mother! I never liked that old tigress anyway.” He then turned to his father. “Dad, didn’t you always say Auntie Serena was the kindest woman in the world?” Adrian’s face went white. He had no answer. I let out a soft laugh and left behind the royal decree of marriage. Weren’t they soulmates? Well, now they had their wish. No need to tarnish Marcia’s name any further. As I left, I tossed a single sheet of paper at Adrian’s feet. Two words were written on it, stark and clear: Decree of Severance. “Adrian,” I called back, “you are not worthy to share her grave.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393571”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I bought my family’s lives with my divorce. Three souls—my parents and my brother—spared from damnation in exchange for my freedom from the Lord of the Underworld. I thought we’d live out our days in peace. I was wrong. That’s when the real daughter came home. Sylvia, a gifted psychic, declared that our family’s fortune depended on one thing: a posthumous wedding between me and the ancient spirit, Old Man Hemlock. My parents and brother, mesmerized by her promises, turned on me. They performed a vicious ritual, transforming my living body into a human marionette. With a dowry of trillions in soul coins and an escort of a thousand minor ghosts, they shipped me off to the Underworld. They just never expected who would be officiating the ceremony. My ex-husband, the Lord of the Underworld himself. 1 “Don’t be dramatic, Chloe. Don’t you see this is for the best? Marrying you off to Old Man Hemlock is the only way the family can secure its place in the Capital!” “Sylvia is the Void Master’s prized apprentice. You’ve seen her powers. We can’t ignore her vision.” “Old Man Hemlock is an influential figure down there, a gatekeeper of mortal wealth. He specifically requested you, Chloe, with your unique, cold-yin aura. Our hands are tied.” My parents and brother had me bound to a crucifix. My body was a canvas for Sylvia’s dark art, plastered with sigils she’d painted on cursed parchment. Then, following her direction, they inserted a needle and pumped a necrotic mark directly into my heart. Finally, they slit the arteries in my wrists and ankles, draining my veins dry. For forty-nine days, I was left to air-dry, my body slowly hardening, my skin turning taut and pale like treated leather. I was becoming a puppet. My lips were cracked and dry, but I fought, my voice a ragged whisper. “You’re being scammed. Old Man Hemlock is nothing. He’s just a bootlicker for one of the Judge’s clerks, a sycophant with no real power.” My previous marriage to Nyx, the Lord of the Underworld, had meant a brief residency in his realm. I’d never met this Hemlock, but I’d heard the whispers. He was once a weasel, a conniving spirit whose only talent was flattery. I even remembered the Judge complaining about him, unable to pin him down for any real offense, forced to tolerate his presence. Tying the family’s fate to a creature like that was a death sentence. My mother sighed, her eyes a venomous mix of pity and contempt. “We invested so much in you, Chloe. We hoped you’d climb the social ladder, marry into a powerful family, and lift us all up. But you were a disappointment. If it weren’t for Sylvia arranging this match, our family would be destined for ruin.” I shook my head, the movement stiff and jarring. I wanted to scream that Sylvia was the source of their ruin. Her dabbling in forbidden arts had upset the cosmic balance, and to save her own skin, she’d redirected the karmic backlash onto her closest kin. It was I who had defied the Underworld’s laws, trading my marriage and my future with Nyx to save their ungrateful lives. But before I could speak, Sylvia pierced my lips with a needle and red thread, sewing them shut. Pain, white-hot and absolute, shot through me. Tears blurred my vision. She chanted a quick, sharp incantation, and the red thread vanished, leaving my lips sealed as if they had never been parted. No matter how hard I tried, no sound could escape. And then, my mouth moved, but the words weren’t mine. “Mom, Dad, brother… for the future of our family, I am willing to marry Old Man Hemlock. Don’t worry about me. Just focus on building your wealth and living the good life you deserve!” My own eyes widened in horror. For a moment, my family looked just as stunned. Sylvia, standing beside me, simply smirked. “Old Man Hemlock is a man of tradition. He dislikes taking a bride by force. He wants a wife who will bring him happiness,” she explained, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “So, I’m sorry, sister. The role of the marionette suits you perfectly.” She then turned to my family. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure my sister is a most willing and obedient wife. Old Man Hemlock will be very, very comfortable.” Relief washed over their faces. My father couldn’t stop praising Sylvia’s brilliance. My brother beamed, proud to have such a powerful true sister. And my mother took Sylvia’s hands, her eyes filled with adoration. “You’ve worked so hard all these years, learning these difficult arts. Once we’re established, once we’re truly wealthy, we’ll make it all up to you.” Sylvia’s response was a masterclass in feigned humility. “As long as I can be with you, my family, I would do anything.” 2 Sylvia’s goal in turning me into a marionette was simple: total control. She’d already stolen my voice. Now, she was coming for my body. One by one, she pressed silver needles into my limbs. They slid beneath my skin, leaving no mark, drawing no blood. They navigated my desiccated veins, pierced my marrow, and latched onto my nerve endings. The agony was a silent scream that threatened to shatter my soul. And then, it was over. A moment ago, I was a heap on the floor. Now, with a flick of Sylvia’s fingers, I rose to my feet. My expression was serene, my posture graceful. I faced my family not with agony, but with the joyful anticipation of a bride-to-be. “Mom, Dad, brother… thank you for raising me these twenty years. I will repay your kindness. I promise I won’t be a burden to you anymore.” No matter how fiercely my mind rebelled, my body was no longer my own. Seeing me so docile, my family was overjoyed. “Chloe, Old Man Hemlock will be good to you,” my father said with a reassuring nod. “He’s an older man; he’ll know how to dote on you. Just be sure to serve him well,” my mother added. “It’s time for you to grow up, Chloe,” my brother chimed in. “When you get to his estate, don’t be willful.” Sylvia’s fingers danced in the air, and I responded to their silent commands. “Yes. Chloe will be good.” Under Sylvia’s direction, my brother procured my dowry: trillions in soul coins. My parents commissioned the finest artisan of paper effigies, who worked for seven days and seven nights to craft a magnificent eight-bearer palanquin and a bridal gown of fiery red paper. Sylvia, for her part, used her psychic abilities to summon an entourage of a thousand minor spirits to escort me to my doom. April 4th. A day of remembrance for the living, but a most auspicious time in the Underworld, when the gates between realms swing wide open. With Sylvia at my side, I was placed in the palanquin. The procession began, a thousand spirits hauling chests overflowing with soul coins, a macabre parade marching toward the path to the Underworld. The air filled with the discordant wail of horns and the clash of gongs. It was a ghastly celebration. My brother, usually so stingy, had shed his miserly ways. He walked alongside, handing out red envelopes of spirit money to any ghouls or specters we passed, buying good fortune. My parents waved goodbye from the threshold. I couldn’t fight, I couldn’t scream. The only sign of my dissent was the silent tears that streamed down my face. Sylvia noticed and dabbed at them with a handkerchief. “What’s there to cry about?” she cooed. “Your very essence, that cold-yin aura of yours, destines you for a spirit marriage. Old Man Hemlock is a fine catch, all things considered. You’re going to a life of comfort. Left to your own devices, a body like yours would eventually be devoured by some malevolent entity. Really, you should be thanking me for finding you such a perfect match.” Old Man Hemlock. The spirit of a wretched weasel. Not only was his appearance said to be grotesque, but he was rumored to have a penchant for tormenting female ghosts. If I had known this was my fate, I never would have divorced Nyx. Nyx… for all his faults, at least he was devastatingly handsome. To save my family, I had defied the Lord of the Underworld himself. What a fool I’d been. I should have listened to Nyx and let these vipers face their damnation. But it was too late for regrets. “Who dares block the path?” a familiar voice boomed from ahead. My heart seized. Through the swaying curtains of the palanquin, I saw the figure barring our way. Not a man. A ghost. And not just any ghost. It was Gabriel, Nyx’s most trusted right hand, the Judge of the Dead. 3 “Your Excellency! Judge Gabriel!” Sylvia exclaimed, her composure instantly shifting to one of deep reverence. She hurried forward. “My sister’s wedding procession. We meant no offense.” She quickly ordered the spirits to move the palanquin to the side. “Please, Your Excellency, after you.” Gabriel’s brow furrowed slightly. “A bride for the Underworld?” he asked, his voice low and resonant. Sylvia nodded eagerly. “Indeed. A match arranged by a medium in the mortal realm for Old Man Hemlock.” Gabriel’s expression darkened. “A ghost marriage? It’s been years since one of those was sanctioned… Are you certain the bride in that palanquin is a willing participant?” The custom of ghost marriages was ancient, but it had all but ceased three years ago. After his divorce, Lord Nyx had become volatile and unpredictable, and he’d refused to officiate any new unions. The few that had taken place were illicit, secret affairs, conducted far from his sight. But Sylvia was prepared. She produced a black, official-looking document—a marriage certificate, already bearing the Lord of the Underworld’s seal. “As you can see, Your Excellency, the certificate is in order. It only needs the bride and groom’s signatures after the ceremony.” Gabriel took the dark booklet, his eyes narrowing as he read it. “So, it’s that old weasel Hemlock.” Somehow, the pathetic creature had managed to sweet-talk Nyx into granting him a sanctioned certificate. It was baffling. Gabriel handed the document back to Sylvia with a faint, dismissive sniff. “If the Lord himself has approved it, it’s not my place to delay the happy couple. Proceed.” He stepped back, clearing a path on the spectral bridge. A triumphant smile flashed across Sylvia’s face. She thanked the Judge profusely before leading the procession forward across the bridge. Trapped inside the palanquin, I struggled with all my might to make a sound, any sound, to alert Gabriel to my presence. Gabriel, it’s me! Don’t you remember? I’m the former Lady of the Underworld! Gabriel, three years ago, when you broke Lord Nyx’s favorite chalice, I took the blame for you. Don’t you remember? But no matter how frantically I screamed in my mind, my lips remained sealed, my body still. Just as the palanquin was about to pass him, a chilling voice cut through the air, emanating from just behind the Judge. “Wait.” That voice… it struck my heart like a bolt of lightning. Instantly, the entire bridge erupted in a bloom of blood-red spider lilies, their petals unfurling from the spectral mist. The spirit bearers shivered, a wave of primal fear that I felt in my own petrified core. I suddenly remembered that Nyx was utterly incapable of managing his own affairs. Wherever he went, someone had to be at his side. That person used to be me. After our divorce, someone else must have taken my place. Looking at the sea of spider lilies, a flower he grew only for me, I knew who it had to be. His most loyal servant, Judge Gabriel. “Lord Nyx! You’re here as well!” Sylvia’s voice was a choked gasp of shock. Every spirit in the procession, a thousand strong, dropped to their knees, prostrating themselves. The palanquin, abandoned, crashed onto the bed of crimson flowers. “We did not mean to disturb you, my Lord! We beg your forgiveness!” Sylvia bowed her head, yanking my brother down to his knees beside her. My brother, his face a mask of confusion, stared at the impossibly handsome man before him. There was a flicker of familiarity, but he couldn’t place him. Seeing Sylvia’s terror, however, he knew to be cautious. Nyx’s eyes, long and sharp, scanned the scene with an air of bored amusement. “It’s 2025. Are we still doing ghost marriages with this level of tack? This palanquin looks like something out of a bad horror movie.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “A result of mortals watching too many period dramas, I suspect.” Nyx’s gaze drifted lazily until he flicked a finger. The black marriage certificate flew from Sylvia’s hand and into his. He toyed with it for a moment. “Three years,” he mused. “It’s been too quiet around here. Since I’m the one who issued this license, I might as well witness the ceremony. And let it be known: the moratorium is over. Tell all those who have been waiting to get their unions certified.” Gabriel’s eyes widened. “My Lord, you’re sanctioning ghost marriages again?” Nyx scoffed. “If I don’t, the entire order of this realm will fall into chaos.” Gabriel hesitated, then asked quietly, “My Lord… have you moved on?” Nyx’s brow snapped into a frown, and he ignored the question completely. Gabriel, realizing his misstep, fell silent. “Let’s go,” Nyx declared, striding forward. “I could use a drink.” He led the way, with Gabriel a step behind. The spirit bearers scrambled to lift the palanquin, following Sylvia and my brother as they hurried to keep pace. 4 Sylvia, ever the schemer, had already sent a spirit ahead to warn Old Man Hemlock of Nyx’s impending arrival. The procession resumed its clamorous, grotesque celebration. As for me, I stared out at the endless carpet of spider lilies, my vision blurring with unshed tears. Three years ago, because I loved them, Nyx had magically bonded the seeds to his very being. Ever since, wherever the Lord of the Underworld walked, spider lilies bloomed in his wake. “This flower is so morbid,” he’d complained, even as he wove the spell. “Obsessed with death. What’s to like?” I’d sniffed. “I just like them. You wouldn’t understand my sorrow.” He’d pulled me into his arms. “Sorrow? I give you the finest things in this realm. What sorrow could you possibly have?” I miss my home, I’d told him. The Underworld is your home now, he’d replied. And for a time, I had tried. I had tried to make this place my home, to make him my home. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Soon, the procession arrived at the gates of Old Man Hemlock’s estate. He stood there waiting, a large red flower pinned to his chest, his face stretched into a wide, toothy grin. The moment he saw Nyx, his smile froze. He and his entire staff of ghost servants dropped to their knees. “All hail the eternal Lord Nyx!” Nyx ignored him completely, striding into the main courtyard and settling into the seat of honor. Gabriel followed, issuing a crisp order. “Get on with the ceremony. The Lord is thirsty.” Hemlock scrambled to his feet, ordering servants to bring wine. With Nyx present, the traditional rituals—carrying the bride over a brazier of coals—were forgotten. He just wanted to get this over with and appease the Lord. He hissed at Sylvia to lead me inside to the bridal chamber. My brother, however, was looking displeased. “This Hemlock grovels before a mere Judge,” he muttered to Sylvia. “Is he really powerful enough to help our family?” Sylvia shot him a sharp look. “Are you having second thoughts about marrying Chloe off, brother?” He shook his head. “No, I was just thinking… wouldn’t it have been better to marry her to the Judge? Or better yet, this Lord Nyx? Imagine the power our family would have then!” Sylvia sneered. “Take a good look at our dear sister, brother. Do you honestly think a man like Lord Nyx would even glance her way?” He grumbled under his breath. “Besides,” she added, “the Lord of the Underworld already has a wife.” “A wife? But I heard they divorced years ago.” “They did,” Sylvia confirmed. “But everyone in the Underworld knows he’s never taken another. He’s waiting for her to come back.” My brother chuckled. “Huh. The great Lord is a romantic.” Listening to them, a wave of despair washed over me. Nyx would never wait for me. He hated me. Hidden beneath a red silk veil, I allowed Sylvia to lead me into the courtyard. To appease Nyx, Hemlock wanted to skip straight to the consummation, ordering Sylvia to take me directly to the bridal chamber. But she couldn’t move me. I planted my feet beside Old Man Hemlock, fighting with every ounce of my will against the silver threads that controlled me. I knew, with chilling certainty, that if I didn’t get help now, I would be lost forever. Sylvia’s fingers twitched, her voice a strained whisper. “Sister, what are you doing? We’re going to the bridal chamber!” I clenched my teeth, my whole body trembling with the effort of resisting her. She began muttering incantations, her power pulling against my own desperate struggle. The two forces tore at me, a silent, agonizing war within my own skin. Sweat beaded on my brow, and dark, bruise-like blotches began to appear on my neck. After a minute that felt like an eternity, I lost. My body betrayed me, my feet beginning to move in the direction of the chamber. At the main table, a servant presented wine to Hemlock, who personally carried a cup to Nyx. Nyx sipped it, his expression flat. “This bride of yours, Hemlock. What’s her story?” Hemlock, sweating, offered a half-truth. “A fated connection from the mortal realm, my Lord. A love match, I assure you.” Nyx had long ago forbidden forced ghost marriages. Hemlock wouldn’t dare tell the truth. “Is that so? Then let’s see the license signed before any… festivities… commence.” Hemlock froze. Gabriel smirked coldly. “What’s the matter? Afraid the bride won’t sign?” The old weasel looked panicked until Sylvia shot him a reassuring glance. She took the marriage certificate and a pen, holding them out to me. “Sister, sign your name.” Nyx’s sharp, cat-like eyes were fixed on me. Driven by the silver threads, my hand began to write. The first part of the name appeared. Sy— Nyx raised an eyebrow. “Her name is Sylvia…” My hand continued to move. The rest of the name flowed onto the page. 5 Sylvia. The name on the certificate was Sylvia. “How utterly, painfully common,” Nyx murmured, a hint of disdain in his voice. My eyes burned with tears. How could it be her name? “Why did it write your name?” my brother whispered urgently to Sylvia. She pursed her lips. “I’ll explain later.” He couldn’t possibly know that Sylvia was the one Hemlock had originally wanted. I was just the scapegoat. After Hemlock scrawled his own name on the document, Nyx pressed the unique seal of the Underworld onto it, making the union official. “Thank you, my Lord! All hail the eternal Lord Nyx!” Hemlock and his followers fell to their knees once more. “The marriage is witnessed. You may attend to your… duties.” Nyx placed his cup on the table and rose to leave. “I’m tired.” As he passed me, he paused, his gaze sweeping over my veiled form. Gabriel sighed softly. “She does have a slight resemblance to the former Lady… My Lord, perhaps you’d like to see the bride’s face?” Nyx scoffed. “A passing resemblance is all. Any mortal woman who would willingly marry that weasel holds no interest for me.” “As you say,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head. But as they took a few steps toward the gate, Nyx stopped dead. He turned his head, his eyes landing on my brother, who stood beside Sylvia. “You,” Nyx said, his voice low. “I’ve seen you somewhere before.” My brother swallowed hard, frozen. Sylvia, quick-witted as ever, jumped in. “This is my brother, my Lord. He has a rather common face… You honor him with your notice.” Nyx’s brow furrowed. “Her brother?” A look of dawning horror crossed Gabriel’s face as he, too, seemed to remember something. With a flick of Nyx’s eyes, a gust of wind snatched the red veil from my head, sending it fluttering down to land on the spider lilies. My face, streaked with tears and etched with despair, was revealed to all. “Chloe!” The name was a raw cry torn from his throat. Gabriel stared, his eyes wide. “My Lady!” The crowd murmured in confusion, but Nyx was already moving, appearing before me in a blur of motion, his eyes glowing like embers. “When,” he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper, “did you change your name?” I wanted to explain, to tell him everything, but I couldn’t. I could only let more tears fall, praying he would see that something was terribly wrong. “We had an agreement,” he hissed. “We were never to see each other again in this life. What is the meaning of this?” He demanded an answer I couldn’t give. More accurately, an answer Sylvia couldn’t give. She was too stunned, too slow to react to the catastrophic turn of events. “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot,” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “Today is your wedding day. Your wedding to this… weasel. After throwing me away without a second thought, you choose to marry this thing?” He gritted his teeth, his crimson eyes burning with a rage so intense it felt like it could incinerate my very soul. “Have you lost your mind, or have you just gone blind?” My body trembled, but it was Sylvia’s fear I was feeling. My lips moved, forming her terrified words. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, my Lord…” Nyx’s hand shot out, his icy fingers closing around my throat. “You don’t know, or you’re pretending not to know? Are you truly going to marry this pathetic creature today?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393592”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Jenna Reed, St. Jude’s new intern, boasted a miraculous gift—performing surgeries without anesthetic, leaving patients pain-free. The truth? She was a parasite, funneling their agony into me. As her fame grew, patients paid fortunes for her procedures while I endured the consequences. Phantom pains left me bedridden, my body failing—hair falling out, bones protruding, every movement agony. When the hospital fired me over complaints, I confronted her. They all pitied me, thinking me insane. Jenna just snapped on gloves, coldly dismissing me: “Save the drama, Claire. I’m prepping for a brain resection.” Five minutes later, a vessel burst in my brain. I died instantly. Then—I woke up. Back on the day Jenna became a star. This time, I paid my way to the front of her line. “I’d like your ‘painless’ procedure too,” I said steadily. … “Are you kidding me, Claire?” Jenna Reed, the hospital’s brand-new intern, looked me up and down with a sneer that sent a chill crawling up my spine. I forced myself to meet her gaze, refusing to flinch. “I have stomach problems,” I said, my tone even. “I was hoping to experience your famous painless gastroscopy. Is that a problem?” On her very first day at St. Jude’s, Jenna had made the audacious claim of performing painless procedures. To prove it, she’d done a bone marrow aspiration on a walk-in patient, right there in the open. She used no anesthetic, and her technique was horrifyingly clumsy—a textbook example of what not to do. I watched, my heart pounding, but the patient didn’t so much as wince. Moments after she finished, a lightning bolt of pain shot through my own right femur. I collapsed, my leg refusing to hold my weight. Jenna, seizing the opportunity, took over all my scheduled surgeries for the day. That was the day she became a legend. Her rise from intern to chief resident was faster than a rocket launch. But while she was being celebrated, I was in a hospital bed, being ripped apart by waves of agony. One moment, it was my leg. The next, a stabbing pain in my heart, followed by the searing burn of a perforated stomach. I had always been the hospital’s rising star, a pillar of the surgical department. When the hospital director, Dr. Finch, heard I’d collapsed, he came to examine me himself. The results? Nothing. Every test came back clean. Dr. Finch’s face went cold. “Claire, I know we’ve been loading you up with work lately, but that’s because we believe in you,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment. “To think you’d fake an illness and push your responsibilities onto an intern… You’ve let me down. You’ve let us all down.” I tried to speak, to defend myself, but a sharp, cutting pain seized my throat. I glanced at the surgical schedule. At that exact moment, Jenna was performing a laryngoscopy on a patient with severe throat inflammation. There’s no such thing as a coincidence that perfect. The connection was undeniable, but in my previous life, no one—not my colleagues, not the patients—had believed me. A dark resolve settled in my heart. This time, I wouldn’t make a sound. I would play the long game, uncover the truth, and avoid the same fate. As I expected, Jenna refused to perform the gastroscopy on me. She let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Claire, let’s be honest,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “We both know you’re not here for a check-up. You’re here to steal my technique.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “If you want to waste time, be my guest. But every minute we stand here is a minute another patient has to wait. Their pain will be on your head.” Her words were a spark in a tinderbox. The other patients who had paid a fortune for their appointments turned on me. “You’re a doctor!” one man shouted. “You’re always telling us to ‘tough it out.’ Why can’t you handle a little discomfort?” “You must make a good living,” another sneered. “If you want a painless scope, pay for a capsule endoscopy. Stop wasting our time!” Suddenly, a middle-aged woman lunged forward, and the sharp sting of a slap exploded across my cheek. CRACK. “My son has been clutching his chest in agony all afternoon!” she shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “If anything happens to him, I’ll hold you personally responsible!” Her violence broke the dam. The crowd surged forward, a wave of fists and feet. While they were distracted, Jenna coolly ushered her first patient into the operating room. A moment later, an excruciating pain erupted in my chest, as if a pair of forceps were stabbing me again and again. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor, my head cracking against the leg of a chair. Warm blood streamed down my face. The sight of my own blood made the mob recoil. “Look at her, faking an injury! She has no shame!” “We just pushed you! We didn’t touch your chest! Don’t you dare try to pin that on us!” Just as the world began to fade to black, I heard a little boy’s voice ring out, clear and bright. “Mommy, Dr. Reed is amazing! I didn’t feel a thing, and the pain is all gone!” The crowd immediately swarmed around Jenna, showering her with praise, leaving me forgotten on the cold floor. As patient after patient went into her room, new agonies bloomed across my body until, finally, I surrendered to the darkness. I woke up in a quiet hospital room. My best friend, Gloria, was sitting by my bed, her face etched with worry. “Your phone,” I rasped, my first thought a desperate one. “Give me your phone.” Gloria had also been one of Jenna’s patients today. It was all part of my plan. Knowing Jenna would never let me observe her, I had asked Gloria to go in my place, a tiny spy camera hidden on her person. The footage on the phone made my blood run cold. Gloria didn’t have a serious condition, just a sprained ankle from a few weeks ago. Jenna didn’t bother with an X-ray or even a basic examination. She went straight for acupuncture. But she wasn’t using proper needles. My temples throbbed as I watched her grab a thick suture needle and start jabbing it into Gloria’s foot. She was hitting all the wrong points, a chaotic, reckless assault that could cause permanent nerve damage. It was pure malpractice. I struggled to sit up, but my right ankle was completely numb and useless. When I tried to move it, a fire shot up my leg, leaving the whole limb tingling and dead. I grabbed Gloria’s hand. “What did you feel when she did that? Does your foot still hurt?” Gloria sighed, a look of bewilderment on her face. “That’s the crazy part. It was a huge needle, but it was like my foot was completely numb. I felt zero pain. And she didn’t even touch the spot that was actually sprained. But here’s the thing, Claire… my ankle is completely healed. The pain is gone.” I sank back against the pillows, my body feeling like a collection of broken parts. I forced my mind through the haze of pain, piecing it together. Jenna could somehow transfer a patient’s pain, and even the post-operative side effects, directly to me. The damage she inflicted on my body was real, but it was invisible to any medical scanner. And because I was her… her vessel, she couldn’t perform any procedures on me. That’s why she had refused. My mind reeled. How could something so bizarre, so monstrous, be real? Then, another thought struck me, a desperate gamble. I dragged myself out of bed and went straight to Dr. Finch’s office to submit my resignation. He stared at the letter on his desk, his fingers drumming a slow, angry rhythm on the polished wood. After a long silence, he looked up, his eyes filled with a deep, profound disappointment. “You’re quitting because I accused you of faking an illness? Or is it what Jenna said? That her promotion threatens you, and this is your way of blackmailing me?” Without another word, he stamped the papers and waved a dismissive hand. “Get out.” That same day, the hospital’s official social media page posted an article. It was a glowing announcement, congratulating Jenna Reed on her promotion to Vice President of Surgical Operations. The comments section was a flood of praise for her, peppered with insults aimed at me. Someone even posted a video of me collapsing at the clinic. “What kind of doctor stoops this low?” the caption read. “She’s so desperate for patients she’d sabotage someone else’s treatment!” Overnight, I became a pariah. The internet wolves descended, calling me unethical, incompetent, a jealous hack. My phone number and home address were leaked. I received a deluge of hate mail, death threats, even photoshopped images of my own tombstone. I had no choice but to move in with Gloria. My reputation was in ashes, but I couldn’t afford to care. Staring at the new surgical schedule Gloria had smuggled out for me, my palms began to sweat. Tomorrow, Jenna was scheduled to perform a gastric suture on a patient. I was no longer an employee. I was no longer even in the hospital. Let’s see if you can reach me now, Jenna. The next day, Gloria set up the camera, pointed at a live feed of the local news channel covering the hospital. I sat on the bed, my eyes glued to the clock, waiting for 10 a.m. When the alarm blared, nothing happened. Tears of relief streamed down my face. I had found it. The medium for the transfer had to be my physical presence in the hospital. I was free. But my relief lasted only five minutes. Then, the agony hit. A convulsion wracked my body. My stomach felt like it was being roasted over hot coals, a searing, fiery torment. I could feel the phantom needle piercing my flesh, the pull of the thread. A cold sweat beaded on my forehead, and the pain was so intense I didn’t even have the strength to scream. A moment later, blood welled up in my throat, and I choked, spitting a crimson spray onto the bedsheets. Gloria rushed to my side, forcing a painkiller into my mouth, but it was useless. It was like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol. The torture lasted for thirty minutes before it began to subside, leaving me a trembling, hollowed-out wreck. I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat anything. The nausea was overwhelming. Just then, a notification popped up on Gloria’s phone. A top local news story. [Medical Miracle: Patient Eats Minutes After Stomach Surgery! A Genius Is Born!] The patient, a middle-aged man, looked euphoric. There he was, on camera, not a hint of discomfort on his face. He even grabbed two bottles of hard liquor and chugged them down for the reporters. “Dr. Reed is a living saint!” he boomed, his face flushed with excitement. “No anesthesia, and I didn’t feel a thing! Any other surgeon would have me on a liquid diet for months, but Dr. Reed said if I mess it up, she’ll just fix me again, pain-free! Now that’s a doctor who serves the people!” Watching the news, a bitter chill of hopelessness washed over me, wrapping me in a shroud of despair. Why? I wasn’t in the hospital. How could she still be doing this to me? My body was too weak to move, so I had Gloria arrange a video call with a journalist. I had chosen her carefully. Her name was Isabelle Vance. Years ago, she’d gone undercover in a human trafficking ring to expose them. She had even gotten herself committed to a psychiatric ward to uncover patient abuse. She was relentless in her pursuit of the truth. Over the call, Isabelle studied my pale, haggard face, her brow furrowed. “So, you’re claiming that Dr. Jenna Reed is using some kind of… supernatural means to transfer her patients’ pain onto you, all to build a reputation as a medical genius?” She replayed the video of me convulsing in agony, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Finally, she nodded. “I can’t stand by when someone’s life is being destroyed for another’s gain,” she said, her voice firm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m on your side yet. I will help you find the truth, but I reserve the right to believe you might be setting her up.” That was all I needed. I was running out of time. In two weeks, Jenna was scheduled to perform the brain tissue resection on the billionaire’s daughter. If I hadn’t found the truth by then, I would die all over again. Tears of raw fear streamed down my cheeks, my body shaking uncontrollably. I saw a flicker of sympathy in Isabelle’s eyes before she ended the call without another word. The days bled into one another until it was the night before the big surgery. Isabelle was now a true believer. She had hired an informant to pay the exorbitant fee for one of Jenna’s procedures and had watched from Gloria’s apartment as the surgery began. The moment the informant’s minor procedure started—a simple suture for a deep cut—I had screamed out in pain as faint, bleeding pinpricks appeared out of thin air on my own arm. But we were no closer to understanding how. We couldn’t find the mechanism, the key to stopping it. Despairing, I told Gloria to start looking into funeral plots for me. Hearing this, a look of fierce determination hardened Isabelle’s face. The next morning, she marched into the hospital with a camera crew, broadcasting live. “Dr. Reed!” she called out, her voice projecting through the crowded lobby. “A medical gift like yours should be shared with the world! By monopolizing this technique, how many people are being denied a chance at a painless recovery?” Her words struck a chord. Other doctors were resentful that their own waiting rooms were empty. Patients were frustrated that only the wealthy could afford a spot in Jenna’s schedule. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Isabelle had given them a voice. “That’s right! This is a public hospital, for the people! How can you be so selfish?” “Is the billionaire’s daughter’s life more important than my grandfather’s? What are you trying to say?” Trapped, Jenna’s eyes shot daggers at Isabelle, but with the billionaire himself standing nearby, she forced a strained smile. “This technique was taught to me by my mentor. I… I don’t know how to teach it.” “Then let us record it,” Isabelle countered smoothly. “Let the other doctors learn by observing.” Jenna was cornered. Everyone was watching, and even the billionaire chimed in. “She’s right, Dr. Reed. A breakthrough like this should benefit everyone.” Through gritted teeth, Jenna nodded. Isabelle called it ‘recording a lesson,’ but the moment the camera was in the operating room, she started a live stream. The world watched as Jenna prepared for surgery. She didn’t even sterilize her scalpel. Dr. Finch and the billionaire both flinched. And then, her next move made jaws drop across the globe. She sliced open the girl’s scalp. As she did, a splitting agony tore through my own head. I stared at the screen, my vision blurring, forcing myself to focus on her hands. As she reached for the resection tool, I saw it. The one tiny detail I had ignored from the very beginning. I finally knew. I knew how she was transferring the pain. The truth had been right in front of me the whole time.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393610”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel