Category: English

Of all the contacts on my phone screen, nearly seventy percent were tagged “Vincent – Client.” My fingertip froze on the glass. Moments ago, in the parking garage of St. Jude’s Women’s Center, I had watched my husband, Vincent, carry a pink prenatal bag for another woman, the hospital’s logo burning into my vision. I called his name. He turned, showing no panic, still holding the woman’s hand, and only frowned as if I were an interruption. “Sophia,” he said, his tone more distant than with clients. “What are you doing here?” My eyes were fixed on their entwined hands, on the halo of diamonds glittering on her ring finger. “My annual check-up,” I replied, fighting to steady my voice. He nodded dismissively. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” Then he looked down at her and offered the same gentle smile he once gave me ten years ago. As they walked away, I heard her ask softly, “Who was that?” Vincent’s quiet reply echoed off the concrete walls: “She’s nobody.” He paused, then added, “She can’t hold a candle to you.” The engine started and faded. I stood alone, every ounce of strength gone. 1 A fluorescent light in the garage ceiling was failing, flickering on and off in a frantic, dying rhythm. I don’t know how long I stood there. Three minutes, maybe thirteen. It wasn’t until a black Audi, reversing, nearly clipped me and the driver honked twice that my feet finally moved. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t name the feeling. It wasn’t heartbreak; heartbreak was supposed to ache, but I was completely numb. It was like a machine humming along for a decade, and someone had just yanked the plug. Every gear seized at once. The silence was terrifying. I walked to my car, pulled the door open, sat down, and buckled my seatbelt. Then I opened my contacts again. Mr. Redmond – Dad’s Golf Buddy, Chairman of Redmond Properties. In the winter of 2016, after dinner with my dad at the country club, I had casually placed Vincent’s business card by Mr. Redmond’s hand. “My husband just started his own practice,” I’d said. “If you ever have any legal needs, maybe you could throw some work his way.” Mr. Redmond had smiled and pocketed the card. The following year, Redmond Properties moved its entire legal portfolio to Vincent’s firm. The annual retainer was $1.2 million. Arthur Cole – Mom’s College Friend’s Son, President of Apex Investments. In the summer of 2017, at my mother’s birthday party, I made a point of inviting Arthur and seating him next to Vincent. Six months later, Apex Investments tasked Vincent with the legal due diligence for three major acquisitions. The fee for the largest of those deals was $4.6 million. Mark Marston – Tech CEO I’d met at an industry conference. In 2019, I had dinner with him twice. On the third, I brought Vincent along. Later, when Mark’s company went public, Vincent’s team handled all the legal work. That one deal brought the firm $8 million. I scrolled down, one name after another. Franklyn Bell. David Shaw. Peter Quinn. Behind every name was a dinner, a round of golf, an evening where I had smiled until my face ached. Seventy percent. Seventy percent of his firm’s core clients were people I had brought to him. Today, Vincent Croft stood as a partner in one of L.A.’s top three commercial law firms. He wore $3,000 bespoke suits and spoke eloquently on legal talk shows. Every stepping stone beneath his feet was one that I had laid. And just a few minutes ago, he had told that woman, “She can’t hold a candle to you.” I put my phone away and started the car. As I drove out of the garage, the sunlight stabbed at my eyes, and I squinted. I was home. I put the key in the lock, turned it twice, and the door swung open. The living room was just as we’d left it that morning. His jacket was slung over the sofa, his half-finished coffee sitting on the table. I folded his jacket and hung it in the closet. I took the coffee cup to the kitchen and washed it. Then, I started making dinner. My hands were steady as I chopped the vegetables. Tomatoes into perfect, even cubes. Eggs whisked until frothy. Green onions sliced paper-thin. The oil sizzled in the pan. I poured in the eggs, stirring them with a spatula. Everything was exactly as it had been for the past ten years, on any given evening. At 8:40 p.m., Vincent came home. He’d changed his suit and his tie. “A frittata?” he asked offhandedly. “There was nothing else in the fridge,” I replied. “Get some steak tomorrow,” he said, sitting down and taking a bite. “Okay.” He glanced at me, detecting nothing unusual. Of course he didn’t. My expression hadn’t changed at all. After dinner, he went to his study to work. I cleared the dishes, wiped the table, and scrubbed the last water spot from the kitchen counter. Then I went to our bedroom and picked up my phone. There was a number in my contacts I’d saved six years ago but had never once dialed. Rebecca. My college roommate. After graduation, she’d moved to New York to become a trial lawyer. She had just moved back to L.A. last year to start her own firm. At a reunion last month, she’d complained about how hard it was to find clients, joking that the stress was turning her hair gray. I stared at her number for a long time. I didn’t call. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I wasn’t ready yet. Outside, a string of lights along the distant coastline blinked on. We bought this condo in 2018. The down payment was $480,000, paid for by my father. Vincent said he would handle the mortgage, but after the first year, I was the one making the payments. $3,200 a month. I turned off the lights and lay down in bed. In the darkness, I replayed the scene from the parking garage. He hadn’t said, “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t said, “I can explain.” He had said, “She can’t hold a candle to you.” In front of a total stranger, he had taken ten years of my life, my effort, my everything, and crushed it into dust with seven words. I closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I had to remember to buy steak. 2 The next day, I went to the law firm. It was my Thursday routine, helping Vincent organize client files and coordinate with the administrative staff. No one paid me a salary. Vincent called it being “partners in life and work.” I pushed open his office door. The young woman at the front desk greeted me with a bright, “Morning, Sophia.” I smiled back. Vincent wasn’t in. His assistant, Jenna, told me he was out meeting a client and wouldn’t be back until the afternoon. I sat down in his large leather chair and started sorting through the month’s case files. A stack of invoices sat on the corner of his desk. I picked them up and idly flipped through them. Most were for routine office expenses—printing, couriers, travel. But I stopped on the twelfth one. An invoice from a furniture store. Modern Living Furnishings. The total was $37,800 for one item: a three-seater leather sofa. The delivery address was listed as: The Pacific Crest, Unit 1204, Santa Monica. That wasn’t our address. I took a picture of the invoice with my phone, then placed it back exactly where I’d found it. Next, I opened his laptop and pulled up his email. He never changed his password. It was six digits, our wedding anniversary. In the search bar, I typed “The Pacific Crest.” Three seconds later, four emails appeared. The first: a notification for payment of HOA fees, billed to Vincent Croft. The second: a quote from an interior design company for a full furnishing package. Total price: $186,000. The third: confirmation of a new broadband internet installation. The fourth: a forwarded email. The original sender was a woman named Paige. The message was short. Vince, I went with the cream-colored curtains. Let me know if you like them. An image was attached. Sunlight streamed through the cream curtains, illuminating brand-new hardwood floors. The living room was spacious, with that $37,800 sofa sitting right in the middle. On the wall hung a large abstract painting. I recognized it instantly. It was a print I had helped him pick out at an art fair last year. He told me he loved it. Turns out, he was buying it for someone else. I closed the email client. The screen reverted to the login page. With a single click, I cleared the browsing history. Jenna came in with a cup of coffee. “Sophia, Mr. Croft said a client will be here at three. He asked if you could get the conference room ready.” “Which client?” “Mr. Wallace, from the Wallace Group.” Wallace. I pressed my lips together. “Of course. I’ll get it ready.” I wiped down the conference room table twice, set out eight bottles of mineral water, and calibrated the projector. At ten past three, a man in his fifties walked in. Michael Wallace, Chairman of the Wallace Group. He was a client I had introduced to Vincent at a Chamber of Commerce gala last year. When he saw me, he shook my hand warmly. “Sophia, good to see you. How has your father been?” “He’s doing well, thank you for asking, Michael.” Vincent walked in behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Michael, sorry to keep you waiting.” He glanced at me. “Sophia, could you get us some coffee?” Michael Wallace frowned for a split second. He knew exactly who I was. But Vincent had already started his presentation. I turned and walked to the kitchenette. As I was pouring the coffee, my phone buzzed. It was an alert from a real estate app linked to Vincent’s credit card. “The property you are tracking, The Pacific Crest, Unit 1204, Santa Monica, has completed its title registration.” Property Owner: Vincent Croft. Purchase Price: $1.8 million. One point eight million dollars. I was paying our $3,200 mortgage every month. And he had taken that money and bought another woman a house. The coffee was ready. I carried the tray back into the conference room and placed a cup in front of Mr. Wallace. “Michael, please.” Then I turned, walked out, and gently closed the door behind me. The moment the door clicked shut, I could hear Vincent’s voice, confident, steady, and professional. “Now, Michael, the risk factor in this clause is…” Ten years ago, he couldn’t even draft a simple contract properly. It was my father who had taught him, line by line, how to do it. I stood in the hallway, leaning against the cool wall. The faint sound of traffic drifted up from the street below. I took out my phone and stared at Rebecca’s number for three long seconds. Then I put it back in my pocket. It wasn’t time yet. 3 In the days that followed, I started to notice. It wasn’t that I was actively looking for clues; it was more that things I had been blind to before were now screamingly obvious. The collar of his shirt would occasionally carry the scent of a perfume that wasn’t mine. Nothing expensive, just the cloyingly sweet, fruity kind you smell at department store counters. His arrival time home shifted from 8:30 to 9:30, then from 9:30 to 10:00. The excuse was always the same: “Working late at the office.” On Saturday, he said he was going to play golf, but the clothes in his bag were bone dry when he returned. But the thing that stuck with me the most was small. The milk in the refrigerator. I only drink skim; he drinks whole. Last week, I found a carton of strawberry-flavored yogurt in the fridge. I don’t like strawberry. Neither does he. The next day, it was gone. I didn’t ask. Even if I did, he’d have a hundred plausible excuses. He was a lawyer. Making up stories was his profession. Life went on. On the surface, nothing had changed. I still went to the firm on Thursdays, cooked dinner every night, and paid the mortgage every month. Only one thing was different. At night, I started going through my contacts. Not Vincent’s. Mine. I went through every client’s name, reliving how we met, where we had dinner, what I had said to convince them to give their business to Vincent. On the fourth night, I had a final count. Of the firm’s twelve core clients, eight and a half were mine. Why half? Because one of them was a client Vincent had technically landed himself, but the introductory dinner had been hosted by my father. My father had no idea. He thought it was just a casual get-together with friends. For ten years, I had been his unpaid business development manager. I smiled, made small talk, remembered every client’s wife’s birthday, and knew what grade their children were in. Mr. Redmond’s wife loved a specific type of white tea, so every spring, I would send her a tin of the finest Silver Needle. When Arthur Cole’s mother was hospitalized, I visited her three times, each time bringing her favorite osmanthus cakes. When Mark Marston first moved to L.A., he didn’t know a soul. I was the one who helped him find an apartment, recommended a dentist, and even found the international school his son now attended. Did Vincent know about all this? Yes. And what did he say? “Sophia, you’re a natural at this stuff. You’re better than any business assistant I could ever hire.” Better than an assistant. That’s what I was to him. A useful tool. So useful that he didn’t even feel the need to hide his affair, because tools don’t have feelings. “She can’t hold a candle to you.” He wasn’t insulting me. He was stating what he believed to be a fact. In his world, I truly couldn’t compare. I wasn’t as young. I wasn’t as pretty. I didn’t fawn over him. And as for my network, my resources, my connections? He had long ago claimed them as his own. They were as natural and essential to him as the air he breathed, and who ever stops to thank the air? On Saturday afternoon, Vincent’s mother called. “Sophia, dear, has Vincent been busy lately?” “He has been, Mom.” “Well, you two have been married for ten years now. Isn’t it about time you had a child?” “We’re planning on it.” “You’re not getting any younger, you know. You should hurry up.” “I will.” “I heard a new maternity center opened up near your neighborhood. Do you want me to go take a look?” “That’s not necessary, Mom. We’ll see when the time comes.” After hanging up, I sat on the sofa. The TV was on, playing some legal talk show. On screen, Vincent was wearing a sharp gray suit, sitting on the expert panel. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Comments scrolled across the screen: “Vincent Croft is so handsome,” “So professional and charming,” “Where can I find a husband like that?” I turned off the TV. In the blank, dark screen, I saw my own reflection. Thirty-four years old. Fine lines at the corners of my eyes. Lips a little pale from years of not wearing lipstick. She can’t hold a candle to you. He was right. But do you even know whose ground you’re standing on? Vincent didn’t come home that night. He sent a text: Urgent case at the office. Pulling an all-nighter. I used to reply, Take care of yourself. This time, I sent back a single word. Okay. Then, I dialed Rebecca’s number. It rang three times before she picked up. “Sophia? Why are you calling so late?” “Rebecca,” I said, my voice even. “Your firm. Are you still looking for clients?” There was a two-second pause on the other end. “Always. What’s up?” “I might have a few to send your way.” “…How big are we talking?” “Big enough to set you up for the next three years.” Rebecca went quiet again. “Sophia,” she said, her voice now serious. “Are you sure about this?” I looked out the window at the glittering ribbon of the coastline highway. “Let’s meet next week and talk in person.” 4 I met Rebecca on Tuesday afternoon. We chose a private dining room in a small, out-of-the-way restaurant in Marina del Rey, a place where we were unlikely to run into anyone from our circle. Rebecca was thinner than I remembered from college, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, wearing a tailored navy-blue suit. Her firm, Shoreline Law Group, currently employed six lawyers and mostly handled small-scale cases. “Were you serious on the phone?” she asked, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. “I was.” “How many clients?” “Let’s start with three.” I wrote three names on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. Redmond Properties. Apex Investments. Marston Technologies. Rebecca glanced at the list, and her expression changed completely. “Sophia, the combined annual legal spend for these three is at least twenty million dollars.” “I know.” “And you’re certain you can convince them to switch firms?” I took a sip of my tea. “I personally introduced every one of these clients to Vincent. Mr. Redmond is my father’s golf partner. Arthur Cole is the son of my mother’s best friend. Mark Marston is someone I cultivated a relationship with myself.” “What about their personal relationship with Vincent?” “It exists,” I said, setting my cup down. “But it’s not as strong as he thinks it is.” “Rebecca, do you understand the relationship between a lawyer and a client?” “Of course.” “Most of the time, the client isn’t loyal to the lawyer. They’re loyal to the person who made the introduction.” Rebecca stared at me, slowly lowering her chopsticks. “What’s your plan?” “We take our time. One by one.” I took out my phone and opened a document. “We start with Redmond. His daughter is getting married next month. I’ve already prepared a gift. I’ll deliver it in person and casually bring up the subject of consolidating family enterprise legal services.” “What kind of consolidation?” “I’ll tell him that my family’s trust is restructuring and requires an independent legal team, separate from Vincent’s firm, to avoid any potential conflicts of interest.” “Is that a solid reason?” “It is. Mr. Redmond is a businessman. The words ‘conflict of interest’ are more persuasive to him than any piece of gossip.” Rebecca was silent for a moment. “Sophia, what on earth happened between you and Vincent?” I didn’t answer her question. “Rebecca, all you need to do is be ready to take on these clients. Your team’s work has to be impeccable. No screw-ups.” “You can count on me for that.” “One more thing.” “What is it?” “Until this is done, no one can know that I’m involved. Not even the people at your firm.” “How long will this take?” “Two months.” By the time I left the restaurant, it was already dark. The streetlights stretched my shadow long and thin behind me. Before getting in my car, I glanced back to make sure I wasn’t being followed by any familiar vehicles. Then I drove away. With my hands on the steering wheel, I felt something I had never felt before. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t relief. It was clarity. Ten years of marriage had been like a veil over my eyes, and now, a hand had violently ripped it away. My entire world looked different. On the way home, I stopped at the supermarket and bought two pounds of steak. Vincent had mentioned he wanted some the other day. When I walked in, he was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at me. “What’d you get?” “Steak.” “Good.” He went back to his phone. A notification popped up on his screen. I caught a glimpse of a pink profile picture. I went into the kitchen and put the steak in the fridge. Then I started making soup.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “418524”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was past ten at night by the time I finally left the library and drove home. As I turned onto Oakwood Avenue, a narrow one-way street, headlights blinded me. A sleek black Porsche was barreling straight toward me, going the wrong way. I laid on the horn, hoping the driver would realize his mistake and back up. Instead of stopping, the Porsche’s engine roared. The driver hit the gas and aggressively aimed his grille right at my hood. Blinded by his high beams, I yanked the steering wheel hard, slamming on the brakes. My tires screeched, stopping barely two feet from his bumper. Before I could even catch my breath, the Porsche’s door flew open. A heavyset, bald man stepped out. He was gripping a heavy steel crowbar. “You blind, stupid bitch! Do you have eyes in your thick skull? Learn how to drive!” Panic spiked in my chest. He was completely unhinged. In my absolute terror, my foot slipped off the brake and hovered over the gas pedal. … “Honk at me again! I dare you! Do you not see the badge on this car?” He marched up to my beat-up Honda Civic and kicked the side panel violently. With one swift motion, he swung the crowbar and smashed my side mirror clean off. “A piece of trash Honda trying to block my road. I could total ten of these junkers and pay for them in cash!” His face, heavy with fat and flushed bright red, pressed against my driver-side window. He pounded his meaty fist against the glass. “Back the hell up! I swear to God, I absolutely hate entitled female drivers like you.” He kicked my door again. The deafening thud made my entire body violently shake. Tears of frustration and fear welled up in my eyes. “You’re the one who isn’t looking! Can’t you see the giant one-way sign?” I shouted through the glass. “You were driving on the wrong side! I honked to warn you, and you just flashed your brights and sped up!” “If I hadn’t slammed on the brakes, someone could have died!” “Die then! It’s what you deserve!” The bald guy hammered his fists against my window a few more times. Still unsatisfied, he reached into his car, grabbed a steaming cup of takeout coffee, and hurled it directly at my windshield. The sticky brown liquid smeared across the glass. I flicked on the wipers and fumbled for my phone to call 911. The second the dispatcher picked up, the glass shattered. The steel crowbar pierced straight through the driver’s side window, stabbing brutally into my stomach. Agony ripped through me. I curled inward, dropping my phone onto the floorboard. Choking back a sob, I threw my arms over my head and screamed my location at the fallen phone. “Oakwood Avenue! Third traffic light on the one-way strip. A Porsche driver is attacking me. His plates are…” The man kept swinging. The windshield spiderwebbed into a million jagged lines. The hood of my car was a landscape of deep, brutal dents. Shards of glass sliced into my palms. The sight of my own warm blood made my mind go completely blank. When I looked up and saw him raising the heavy steel bar for another swing at my face, pure survival instinct took over. I needed to reverse. I needed to get away. But my trembling foot missed. I slammed down on the gas. The Honda lurched forward with explosive force. The bald man, trapped right between the two bumpers, was crushed against his own Porsche. A blood-curdling shriek ripped from his throat. It sounded like an animal being slaughtered. “My legs! My fucking legs are broken!” He collapsed onto the asphalt, his previous arrogance entirely vaporized. A crowd had already gathered. An older gentleman standing on the sidewalk started clapping. “Good! You served him right. God, that felt good to watch.” A younger woman rushed over to my window. “Don’t be scared, honey. I’ll testify for you. He attacked you first.” She held up her smartphone. “I got the whole thing on video. He was going the wrong way, running his filthy mouth, and smashing up your car for no reason.” As the adrenaline began to fade, a repulsive stench hit my nose. I recoiled in disgust. “He reeks of liquor.” The woman with the phone pointed at the groaning man on the pavement. “You can smell him from a mile away. He’s completely wasted, throwing a drunken tantrum and treating you like an easy target.” When the cops arrived, the woman practically shoved her phone into the officer’s hands. With the video evidence, the situation was crystal clear. An ambulance hauled the drunk driver away, and the police arranged a ride for me to the nearest ER. On my second day in the hospital, the bald man’s wife called me. She introduced herself as Brenda. She sounded soft-spoken and reasonable, asking if she could visit. Assuming she wanted to apologize, I agreed. She walked into my room carrying a basket of expensive-looking apples. She immediately grabbed my hand, her face a picture of exaggerated sympathy. “Sweetheart, how are you feeling? Seeing you hurt just breaks my heart.” Her warm attitude made me drop my guard a little. I shook my head. “The doctors said the glass didn’t cut too deep. I’ll be discharged in a couple of days.” “Oh, thank God. Since you’re not badly hurt, let’s just get this settlement agreement signed right now.” Her tone shifted slightly, growing a bit more urgent. “My husband Boris is the sole provider for our family. He brings in about eight grand a month.” “Now that both of his legs are shattered, our rent, utilities, and the boys’ private school tuition are all depending on this settlement money.” “Settlement money?” I stared at her, thoroughly confused, and looked down at the document she pushed onto my lap. The very first clause was highlighted. Party A voluntarily agrees to compensate Party B with the sum of one million dollars, exclusive of hospital fees. Under Party B was the name Boris. 2 “A million dollars?” My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. Brenda just waved her hand dismissively. “Honestly, a million is cutting you a deal.” “You broke my husband’s legs. You owe us a decade’s worth of living expenses for my entire family.” She leaned closer. “Considering you’re just a college student, I’m taking pity on you and only asking for a million. Otherwise, the tuition for my kids alone would be way more than that.” As if worried I wouldn’t believe her, she whipped out a crumpled report card. “Both of my boys are Ivy League material. They’ll definitely be getting full rides to the best universities in the world.” “Ivy League? With a 2.0 GPA? Lady, are you drunk too?” I shoved the paper filled with red ink away, offering her a cold, empty smile. “Your husband drove drunk. He drove the wrong way. He publicly demolished my car while bragging that he was rich enough to smash ten of my Hondas and pay for them in cash.” “He was acting like he owned the universe when he was swinging that crowbar. And now you’re sitting here trying to play the sympathy card, expecting me to fund your entire family for the rest of your lives?” Wow. Birds of a feather really do flock together. I grabbed the basket of apples, ready to kick her out. As I picked it up, a vile, rotting stench hit me. Beneath the perfectly polished apples on the top layer, the rest of the fruit was entirely rotten. Some were literally crawling with maggots. “It’s just a trashy little Honda! Why are you being so vindictive?!” Brenda’s polite mask completely slipped. “My man just put a few dents in your car. You crippled him! You turned him into a useless cripple stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life!” Seeing that I wasn’t going to sign, she forcefully shoved a pen into my palm. She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, trying to physically force my hand down onto the signature line. Her violent pulling yanked the IV needle in the back of my hand. Blood immediately started backing up into the tube. I slammed my free hand down on the nurse call button. The pen dragged across the paper, leaving a jagged streak of ink. I grabbed the basket of rotting apples and slammed it directly into Brenda’s face. I ripped her precious settlement agreement in half right in front of her. “Take your garbage paper and get the hell out of my room.” “With the repulsive way you people act, I wouldn’t settle with you if you paid me a million dollars.” “You broke his legs! That million dollars is a debt you owe my family!” The bruised, mushy apples had completely ruined Brenda’s makeup. She frantically wiped her face, getting mashed fruit and wriggling maggots all over her hands. The nurses rushed in with hospital security. They grabbed Brenda, who was still trying to lunge at my bed, and practically dragged her out into the hallway. “Fine, you little bitch! You want to do this the hard way? I’ll show you the hard way!” My phone buzzed with a text from her number. I immediately blocked it and grit my teeth while the nurse reinserted my IV. After I was discharged, I went to the impound lot to take one last look at my totaled car. It was a gift from my dad for my eighteenth birthday. The day I got my license, this was the car I drove. I ran my fingers over the deep, brutal dents in the hood. I uploaded the dashcam footage to my cloud drive, untied the lucky charm hanging from the rearview mirror, and headed to the police precinct to give my official statement. I figured it would just be a formality. The evidence was rock solid. But the moment I walked into the precinct, I saw Brenda. Her frizzy hair was a mess. She slammed a USB drive onto the front desk, her nose pointed up in the air with unbearable arrogance. “Watch this. Ironclad proof. That little tramp provoked him first.” Her so-called ironclad proof was a deepfake video. On the monitor, “my” face was twisted in a grotesque sneer. “I” was violently pounding on the Porsche’s window, revealing a mouth full of rotting yellow teeth. “I can total ten of your junk cars and pay for them in cash,” the fake version of me spat. The AI rendering was terrible. The facial proportions were completely warped. Only someone as delusional as Brenda would think her amateur editing skills were flawless enough to fool law enforcement. “See?! My husband drives a Porsche! A custom paint job alone costs thousands! This psycho woman was trying to smash his windows in. My husband was simply defending himself with that crowbar.” She even pulled out her phone, showing the officer a chat log with some “expert” online lawyer, trying to pressure them. “The legal experts online already confirmed this is textbook self-defense. That bitch deserved to get her car smashed.” She shot me a venomous glare, covering her nose like I was a walking biohazard. The disgust on her face was theatrical. “She reeks of cheap perfume. Just look at the way she dresses. Does that look like a decent girl to you?” “She’s a cheap piece of trash turning tricks. She crippled my husband. If you cops don’t lock her up immediately, what, are you waiting to become her regular customers?” 3 “Ma’am, we deal in actual evidence here. Our tech department ran the video you submitted. It’s heavily altered. The original audio and actions belong to your husband, Boris.” The desk sergeant looked at her with pure exhaustion. “You submitted fabricated evidence, perjured yourself, and publicly slandered another citizen. We are officially placing you under arrest for criminal obstruction and defamation.” “Arrest me? On what grounds?!” The moment Brenda realized she was actually going to be detained, she lost her mind. She started sweeping everything off the precinct’s front desk, screaming at the top of her lungs. “That little whore definitely paid you off! You’re protecting a murderer! You’re bullying a helpless family! Does the law even exist in this country anymore?!” She grabbed a paper cup of water and threw it directly into an officer’s face. When two cops moved to restrain her, she threw herself onto the floor in a theatrical swoon. She threw herself down a little too hard, and the back of her head cracked against the tile floor, drawing a thin line of blood. The second she felt the blood, she started wailing, rolling around on the floor. “I demand to see the captain! I’m taking this to the supreme court!” Her tantrum was a well-oiled machine. It was obvious she had used this exact method to bully people into submission her entire life. Unfortunately for her, she was throwing her fit in the middle of a police precinct, directly under a 4K security camera. No amount of screaming was going to save her from the handcuffs. When two officers hauled her up by her armpits like a dead fish, Brenda actually looked confused. She genuinely seemed baffled that her foolproof strategy had finally landed her in jail. By the time reality set in, she was crying, begging them to believe that someone else gave her the video and she had no idea it was fake. The officer just twisted her arms behind her back. His voice was completely devoid of sympathy. “Too late for that. Enjoy your cell.” They hauled her off to the medical ward to check the cut on her head. I watched the chaotic mess left behind on the floor and sighed. “You might want to book her a psych evaluation while you’re at it.” “She seriously needs her head checked.” Brenda tried to play hardball and ended up deepfaking her way into a jail cell. Now, the son was paralyzed in a hospital bed, and the daughter-in-law was locked in county jail. Boris’s elderly parents panicked. They hired a legal proxy to meet with me, begging me to sign a letter of forgiveness so they could bail Brenda out. “They’re a hardworking family. Boris is in sales. He has to drink with clients to close deals. He just had a little too much that night.” “Brenda is busy with the kids, and Boris wanted to save a few bucks on an Uber. He thought the streets were empty and he knew the neighborhood well. It was just a momentary lapse in judgment.” The slick lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose, his tone deeply serious. “The family is willing to cover the damages to your vehicle. But they ask that you show some grace. Sign the settlement so Brenda can go home and care for her children. And please, drop the charges so Boris doesn’t get a permanent record. It could ruin the kids’ future college applications.” The lawyer was a smooth talker. He booked a table at a high-end steakhouse and ordered their signature dishes just to butter me up. But the moment he slid that exact same absurd settlement agreement across the table, I stood up from my chair. “They owe me for the car and my three days of medical bills regardless of any agreement.” “From start to finish, Boris is at fault. Why the hell should I pay the price for his stupidity?” “You saw the dashcam footage. He literally said I deserved to die. Losing his legs is karma. I am not paying a single cent.” “You’re being incredibly vicious for a young woman. You crushed his legs. Even just out of basic humanitarian decency…” The lawyer furrowed his brow, trying to shame me. I just laughed. “Humanitarian decency only applies to humans. Not rabid animals.” “Being this stubborn isn’t good for your health, kid.” The lawyer sighed heavily, slipping the paper back into his briefcase. He shook his head. “Boris is the golden boy of that family. You turned him into a cripple. Their resentment toward you is massive.” “You ruined their son’s life, and now you refuse to pay a dime. When the payback finally catches up to you, it’s going to cost you a lot more than a million dollars.” The payback arrived faster than I expected. After the incident, my dad called my college advisors to get me a temporary leave of absence. He wanted me to stay home until the legal drama officially concluded. “Boris’s family are the neighborhood bullies. Now that you’ve hurt him, they’re definitely going to come looking for trouble,” my dad warned me. “They already did. One of them is already in a cell.” My dad, Arthur, ran a very popular local deli. Weekends were packed, so I was helping out behind the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the front door swing open. “Welcome! Menus are on the tables, or you can scan the QR code to order.” An elderly woman waddled in. Her face was heavy with loose flesh, a massive knock-off designer bag slung over her shoulder. Trailing behind her were two chubby boys waving plastic action figures around, violently smacking them together. They nearly knocked over a glass bottle of hot sauce on the nearest table. I quickly caught the bottle before it shattered. The old woman’s narrow, beady eyes locked onto me. She flipped aggressively through the menu before pointing a bony, wrinkled finger at my face. “Your sign outside says unlimited soup refills if we order a large bowl, right?” “Yes, ma’am. Free refills on the broth.” The old woman had a dark mole on the corner of her mouth. I remembered seeing the exact same mole on Boris’s face.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “418540”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the city’s elite circles, my brother Danny Sinclair was known for obsessively doting on me. Yet that night, he was holding another girl’s hand, his gaze soft as he guided her to cut the birthday cake meant for me. The girl looked exactly like me—even the burn scar on her wrist was identical. I was about to storm the stage when lines of glowing text suddenly appeared before my eyes: [Look at the adopted stand-in. She doesn’t even realize she’s fake, jealous of the real heiress.] [Spoiler: She’ll go insane trying to win his love. He’ll break her legs and lock her in a psych ward. Total karma.] My blood ran cold. Danny spotted me, immediately shielding the girl. His face hardened as he scolded me for making a scene. He declared Sylvia was his real sister and said he’d explain later. Sylvia. Same face, same scar. I was just a crafted replica. He’d spent millions on this lavish coming-of-age gala for me, yet earlier that day, he’d locked me in a dark room upstairs. I’d smashed the lock, bleeding, and raced into the hall—only to see this. Holding back tears, I gave him a hollow smile. Since the real one was back, the understudy could bow out. I pulled out the limitless black card he’d given me and waved it. “Consider this my final performance fee.” 1 Leaving Danny and the bewildered guests completely frozen in place, I turned on my heel and walked straight out of the grand banquet hall. The mirrored walls of the lobby caught my reflection. The exquisite silk of my designer gown was torn at the seam, the hem dragged with dirt, and my meticulously styled hair had mostly fallen out of its pins. I looked like an absolute wreck. [Wait, what? She’s just leaving?] [Yeah, I was totally waiting for her to throw a tantrum and get humiliated by the male lead!] [This is weird. The villainess isn’t supposed to act like this.] If I hadn’t seen those bizarre, floating comments, I probably would have stormed that stage. I would have stood in front of that towering, three-tiered cake and screamed at the top of my lungs in front of hundreds of aristocrats. I would have yelled that I was the real Sinclair heiress and that the girl beside him was an imposter. And then, just like the floating text predicted, Danny would have shattered my legs and locked me away in an asylum. I quickened my pace. Pushing through the revolving glass doors, a blast of cold, post-rain wind hit my face. I flagged down a passing taxi. “Take me to the nearest luxury shopping district.” As the car accelerated, the blurring city lights outside the window felt like the last eighteen years of my life being rapidly rewound and erased. I pulled out my phone and opened my email. Sitting at the very top of my inbox was an acceptance letter from the Paris Institute of Design. It had been sitting there for exactly seven days. A week ago, when I first received this email, I was ecstatic. I had sprinted straight into Danny’s private study. He was signing documents, not even bothering to look up. “Danny! I got accepted into the Institute in Paris!” The tip of his fountain pen paused. He finally raised his eyes, his gaze as tepid and clear as a glass of water. “Paris.” “Yes! They only accept thirty students globally…” “It’s too far.” He looked back down at his paperwork, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. “I don’t feel safe letting you go abroad alone. I will arrange a prestigious academy for you here in the city.” I stood frozen on his Persian rug. “But…” “Sienna.” His voice was incredibly gentle, yet coated in an irresistible, crushing authority. “Be a good girl. Listen to me.” And I did. I listened to him. I shoved my wildest dreams into the deepest drawer of my desk, brainwashing myself into believing he had his reasons. He was only doing what was best for me. Only now did the ugly truth sink in. He wasn’t afraid of the distance. He was afraid I would escape. How could the perfect replica he spent eighteen years meticulously carving be allowed to leave the stage before the authentic masterpiece was safely brought home? I tapped the screen, hitting the “Accept Offer” button at the bottom of the email. Eighteen years of living as a caged songbird. Deleted with a single click. [Holy crap, she’s actually leaving?!] [Wait, isn’t she afraid her ID is going to be deactivated? Her entire legal identity belongs to the female lead!] [The villainess suddenly grew a brain. I can’t predict this plot anymore.] My fingers subconsciously brushed against the raised, jagged scar on my wrist. I couldn’t remember much of anything before the age of five, but one specific, horrifying memory constantly played on a loop in my nightmares. Danny tightly gripping my tiny, fragile wrist. A small, custom-made iron, glowing red-hot, being pressed directly into my skin. The sickening smell of burning flesh. The white smoke curling into the air. And that agonizing, soul-piercing pain. Every single time the nightmare reached that point, I would wake up screaming. I once asked him about it. “Danny, what is this scar?” He stayed silent for a very long time before pulling me into his chest, resting his chin heavily on the top of my head. “It’s a mark.” “It’s the absolute proof that you are my little sister.” What a beautiful, twisted lie. It wasn’t a special bond. It was a brand. Arriving at the shopping district, I quickly bought a change of clothes. A black oversized hoodie, loose jeans, and a pair of canvas sneakers. Stripping off the blood-stained couture gown, I gripped the handle of my newly purchased forty-eight-inch luggage and headed straight for the bank. Inside the VIP lounge, the branch manager took one look at my limitless black card and treated me with the reverence usually reserved for royalty. “Please withdraw two hundred thousand in cash for me.” The manager blinked in shock for a fraction of a second, but his intense professional training instantly kicked in. “Right away, Miss Sinclair. Please wait just a moment.” [Hahahaha is the villainess afraid the male lead is gonna freeze her accounts?!] [Honestly, you have to respect the hustle. Secure the bag before he cuts her off.] [What is two hundred grand gonna do? That card has a limit of at least a hundred million.] [Yeah, but anything over two hundred thousand requires a three-day advance notice. She’s smart.] I sat on the plush leather sofa, watching the manager disappear behind the vault doors. My phone screen lit up. A text message from Danny. “Where are you.” 2 Three words. No question mark. It was a direct order. I ignored it. Thirty seconds later, a second message appeared. “Come home. Don’t make me worry.” I swiped the notification away and opened my airline app, checking for the fastest flight out of the country. I typed in my ID number. When it came time to input my birth date, my fingers hesitated over the screen. That birthday didn’t belong to me. March 21st was the birth date of the biological Sinclair daughter. When was my actual birthday? I had no idea. Every single birthday cake I ever had was decorated with candles spelling out those numbers. I had closed my eyes and made a wish on those specific candles for eighteen years. And every single year, my wish was the exact same. I wished to be Danny’s little sister forever. The irony was suffocating. I pressed confirm and paid for the ticket. The electronic boarding pass popped up. Flight to Charles de Gaulle, departing tonight at nine-thirty. Direct. Now, I just had to make it onto that plane before my legal identity was completely wiped from the system. An hour later, the bank manager handed me a heavily weighted duffel bag. “Miss Sinclair, would you like me to arrange a security escort for you?” I offered a polite, hollow smile. “No thank you. I have my own security waiting.” Dragging my suitcase out of the bank’s glass doors, the biting autumn wind slipped down my collar. I hailed another cab. “To the international airport.” Once the car merged onto the highway, I powered my phone down entirely and shoved it deep into the hidden compartment of my luggage. [The villainess is leaving so decisively, it actually makes me a little sad.] [Obviously she has to leave now. Once her ID gets flagged, she won’t be able to step foot outside the city limits.] I leaned against the cold leather of the backseat, watching the metal guardrails of the highway blur into a continuous gray ribbon. The sky gradually darkened into pitch black. In the distance, a massive commercial jet drifted down the runway, its navigation lights blinking rhythmically against the night. Inside the terminal, the wait became agonizingly boring. Against my better judgment, I pulled my phone out and turned it back on. The second the screen illuminated, news notifications flooded my screen like an avalanche. #SinclairHeiressFound #StandInSisterKickedOut #HeartbreakForTheFakeSister #ColdBloodedSinclairGroup I tapped on the top trending hashtag. There was a high-resolution photo of me stumbling out of the hotel, wearing that torn, blood-stained dress, bending down to get into a taxi. The caption attached to the photo was pure, inflammatory gasoline. “The real heiress returns and instantly forces the innocent stand-in out onto the streets. Getting kicked out of the Sinclair mansion on the night of her 18th birthday, without even getting a slice of her own cake. The absolute cruelty of the wealthy.” The post had over three hundred million views. My pupils constricted. Who took that photo? Who wrote that incredibly specific caption? I clicked over to the official Sinclair Group corporate account. A freshly pinned PR statement sat at the top of their feed, its phrasing sterile and clinical. “Miss Sylvia Sinclair, who tragically went missing at the age of three, has been safely located. Due to his profound grief over the years, Mr. Danny Sinclair adopted an orphan bearing a physical resemblance to his sister. Now that the true Miss Sinclair has returned, the adopted individual has been appropriately relocated and compensated. We urge the public not to spread baseless rumors.” The comment section was a war zone of public outrage. “Appropriately relocated? You mean thrown out onto the street in a torn dress?” “The real heiress is ruthless. She couldn’t even tolerate a girl who kept her brother company for fifteen years?” “Danny Sinclair is a monster. He raised her like a pet and discarded her the second he didn’t need her anymore.” “My heart breaks for the stand-in. Brainwashed into thinking she was family, only to be kicked to the curb.” My fingers went completely numb. The holographic comments flared to life in front of my face, scrolling frantically. [Here we go! The villainess is making her move!] [Playing the ultimate victim to cyberbully the female lead. This is diabolical.] [I actually thought she changed her ways for a second. Guess a leopard never changes its spots.] [She’s just trying to use public pressure to force the male lead to beg her to come back. Classic manipulation.] I stared blankly at the glowing text. No. I didn’t do this. I didn’t have the time, the energy, or the vast network required to pull this off. A trending topic with three hundred million views doesn’t just spontaneously generate in twenty minutes without a professional, highly paid PR firm orchestrating it behind the scenes. My phone vibrated violently in my palm. A name flashed across the screen. Danny Sinclair. Staring at those letters, it felt like a physical hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. I was terrified to answer. But I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t. He would unleash his private security to lock down the entire city. And then, just like the floating text predicted, my legs would be broken and I would be thrown into a padded cell. I knew Danny better than anyone. To the outside world, he was a refined, elegant aristocrat. But beneath the tailored suits, he was a deeply obsessive, terrifyingly controlling megalomaniac. This PR disaster was currently roasting his entire corporate empire over an open flame. He was absolutely furious. The phone rang for the fourth time. Taking a shaky breath, I pressed accept and held the phone to my ear. “Sienna.” His voice was dead calm. Too calm. It was the eerie, suffocating stillness right before a hurricane makes landfall. “Where are you.” I didn’t speak. “I asked you where you are.” He repeated it, his voice dropping an octave, sounding like a violin string stretched to its absolute breaking point. “The airport.” I didn’t bother lying. It was pointless. If he wanted to find me, his tech team could trace my GPS coordinates in under five minutes. Silence heavy with static filled the line. Then came the strike. “This circus online. You paid someone to orchestrate this?” It wasn’t a question. It was a guilty verdict. Every single syllable sounded like it was being ground between his teeth. My stomach plummeted. Just as I thought. He was entirely convinced I was the mastermind. 3 “It wasn’t me.” “Not you?” He let out a low, humorless scoff. “Then who else could it possibly be? Sylvia?” My heart skipped a beat. That actually wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. “I need you to come back here. Right now.” It was an absolute, unyielding command. “I just told you I didn’t do it.” “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” he cut me off. “Sienna, I know exactly how your mind works.” “You’ve been playing these games since you were a child. Whenever you felt slighted, you never threw a tantrum. You just quietly manipulated things in the dark so everyone else would fight your battles for you.” A bone-deep chill washed over me. So that was how he truly saw me. “This situation has spiraled entirely out of control.” His voice lowered again, thick with the effort of suppressing a violent outburst. “Do you have any idea how Sylvia feels right now? My actual, biological sister?” “She just finally made it home. She hasn’t done a single thing wrong, and the entire country is currently tearing her apart, calling her a jealous, vindictive monster.” “She is only eighteen years old.” Listening to the slow, measured sound of his breathing through the speaker, a bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. He was so deeply heartbroken because she was only eighteen. What about me? I was eighteen too. When he branded my flesh with red-hot iron, I was only five. I glanced up at the digital clock on the terminal wall. My flight was boarding in less than fifteen minutes. “Fine. I’ll come back.” [Wait, what?! Why is she caving so easily?] [Are you kidding me? She’s just going back to beg for forgiveness?] [Hold up, she keeps checking the departure screens. She’s just stalling for time!] There was a fraction of a second of stunned silence on his end of the line. “Are you truly willing to issue a public clarification?” A microscopic trace of hesitation had crept into his tone. He genuinely couldn’t believe I was complying this easily. “I didn’t buy the trending tags, but I will gladly stand in front of the press and clear Sylvia’s name for you.” He didn’t respond immediately. He was carefully calculating whether my promise held any weight. “Which terminal are you in? I will have my security team pick you up.” “That won’t be necessary.” “Sienna Sinclair.” He used my full, fake name. It was the ultimate warning sign. “If you dare try to run…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the sheer, paralyzing threat bled through the receiver, sliding into my brain like a silver needle. I knew exactly what the rest of that sentence entailed. [The male lead is terrifying. Is he raising a sister or a prisoner?] [Run, girl, run!] [She can’t! He’s already on his way. He’s stalling for time too!] [WARNING: System navigation indicates the male lead is less than fifteen minutes from the airport!] Less than fifteen minutes! I violently whipped my head toward the departure screens. Twelve minutes until the gate closed. I could make it. As long as I could drag this out for twelve more minutes, I could vanish into the sky. Suddenly, the overhead PA system chimed. “Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you…” My heart stalled in my chest. “…that Flight AF1502 to Paris has been canceled due to severe weather conditions at the destination. Passengers are advised to proceed to the customer service desks for rebooking. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience.” Canceled. [Canceled?! You have got to be kidding me!] [Even the universe is siding with the male lead. This is way too dramatic. RIP to the villainess.] I practically leaped out of my seat, grabbing my luggage handle and sprinting toward the premium customer service counter. My heart was slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. Rebook. I just needed to rebook any flight. Anywhere. As long as the plane left the tarmac before Danny arrived. I slammed my passport and ID card onto the polished counter. “Rebook me. Any destination in the world. Whatever flight is leaving next.” The ticketing agent jumped slightly at my intensity but maintained her pristine, professional smile. “Right away, ma’am. Please give me one moment to check the system.” Every single keystroke felt like an eternity. “There is a flight to Seoul departing in ten minutes.” “I’ll take it.” The agent swiped my ID card through the reader. She frowned. “I apologize, ma’am. The system indicates your identification profile is currently undergoing a mandatory update. This card has been flagged as invalid.” Flagged as invalid. Those words crashed over me like an avalanche of ice. I stared down at the small plastic card on the counter. For eighteen years, my entire existence in the world was anchored to that piece of plastic. And now, the real Sienna Sinclair had returned. My borrowed life was being systematically deleted from the database. “Ma’am? Ma’am?” The agent looked at me with growing concern. “Your passport is also showing up as…” [It’s over. It’s so over. She literally can’t escape.] [I called it. Her entire identity belongs to the female lead. How was she supposed to run?] [The male lead is probably pulling up right now. Good luck, girl.] I took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly pulled my passport and ID back across the counter. “Never mind. Thank you.” The second I turned around, gripping my luggage handle, my phone illuminated in my pocket. A text from Danny.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “418525”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For our third wedding anniversary, my husband Dominic gave me an unforgettable gift: an admission letter to The Rosewood Institute. It was a place notorious among the city’s elite, a glorified black site where high society sent disobedient women to be broken and tamed. “You have deeply disappointed me, Vivienne,” Dominic said, pinching my chin, his eyes twisted with disgust. “For three years you’ve tried to copy Audrey, yet you still lack even a fraction of her grace.” Audrey was his soft, gentle ideal. I was the untamed one he was determined to break. He was sending me away to learn how to be a good girl. “Go and be rehabilitated. Once you learn to act like her, I might consider bringing you back.” Two large bodyguards dragged me away in the dark. The instructors were brutal, using electric shocks, ice water cages, and solitary confinement to grind down my pride and mold me into a docile substitute. Two weeks later, Dominic came to inspect my progress. I was covered in deep bruises, my eyes hollow. He looked thrilled. “Have you learned your mistakes? Are you a good girl now?” I looked at his handsome face and let out a dry, rasping laugh, tears streaming down my dirty cheeks. “Dominic, you really do look just like him.” He froze, his smug smile faltering. I tilted my head, locking eyes with him. “Who do you think you are? You’re nothing but a cheap stand-in I bought to replace Rowan.” 1 For our third wedding anniversary, my husband Dominic gave me an unforgettable gift. An admission letter to The Rosewood Institute. The place was notorious among the city’s elite. It was a glorified black site, a dumping ground used by high society to break and domesticate disobedient women. “You have profoundly disappointed me, Vivienne.” Dominic pinched my chin between two fingers, applying enough pressure to bruise the bone. His face, so strikingly familiar to the man I actually loved, was twisted with undisguised disgust. “You’ve been imitating Audrey for three years, and you haven’t managed to learn a single ounce of her gentle grace.” He sneered, his eyes raking over me. “Look at yourself. You don’t possess a shred of elegance. You act like an absolute lunatic.” His precious first love, Audrey, was currently tucked against his side. She was wearing a custom haute couture gown I had ordered just last month. Her face was a perfect mask of delicate concern and manufactured pity. “Dominic, please don’t be so harsh with Vivienne. She’s just going through a rough patch.” She turned her big, doe-like eyes to me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Please don’t be mad at him, Vivienne. He’s doing this for your own good. The instructors at Rosewood are highly professional. Once they teach you proper etiquette, he’ll bring you right back home.” “Exactly,” Dominic agreed. The contempt in his voice felt like a serrated knife. “Go there and get thoroughly rehabilitated. Once you’ve learned to be as sweet and obedient as Audrey, I might consider letting you back into my house.” I watched the two of them perform their little duet. It felt like watching a terribly written soap opera. Sweet and obedient? When he pulled me out of the abyss three years ago, he was drawn to my wild, untamable nature. He liked me because my absolute refusal to bow to anyone reminded him of my dead fiancé. And now, he wanted to personally grind those sharp edges into dust. “I’m not going.” I spat the words out, syllable by syllable. A flash of triumphant glee sparked in Audrey’s eyes, but she instantly buried it under a watery, trembling pout. “Vivienne, how can you be so incredibly selfish? Dominic has poured so much time and energy into you. Can’t you just be considerate for once?” “Considerate?” I let out a dry, barking laugh. “You want me to be considerate of the fact that he turned our wedding anniversary into a farewell party for a concentration camp?” “Vivienne!” Dominic roared, his patience entirely exhausted. “It seems you really won’t shed a tear until you see the coffin.” He snapped his fingers. Two massive bodyguards dressed in black stepped out of the shadows, grabbing me roughly by both arms. “Dominic, no!” Audrey made a pathetic, half-hearted gesture to stop them. “She’s going to get hurt!” Dominic pulled her securely into his chest. His movements were sickeningly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence he was inflicting on me. “Audrey, you are simply too kindhearted. You can’t show mercy to a woman who doesn’t know her place.” He looked at me like I was a broken appliance waiting for the scrapyard. “Take her inside. Tell the Headmistress to use the strictest methods available. I want her completely stripped down and rebuilt.” I didn’t waste my energy struggling. Because I knew something he didn’t. The moment he made the decision to lock me in that hellhole, our three-year game of playing pretend was officially over. It was time for the hunter and the prey to switch places. 2 The heavy iron gates of The Rosewood Institute slammed shut behind me, completely cutting off the afternoon sun. Waiting for me in the dim corridor was a middle-aged woman with a face carved from stone. She was the senior disciplinarian. Everyone just called her The Matron. “Number 037. Welcome to your rebirth.” In this place, names did not exist. You were nothing but a barcode. My rehabilitation started the very second my boots touched the floor. Lesson one. Walking. A rigid wooden crossboard was strapped tightly against my spine. The side pressing into my skin was lined with sharp, rusted tacks. If I slouched even a fraction of an inch, the metal bit deep into my flesh. The Matron’s voice hovered right by my ear. “Rule number one. A lady’s spine is always perfectly straight.” My heel caught on the uneven floorboards and I stumbled. A sharp, agonizing sting ripped across my shoulder blades as the tacks dug in. Lesson two. Dining. A bowl of gray, unidentifiable sludge was tossed onto the concrete floor. Right next to it sat a rusted metal dog bowl. “Rule number two. A lady’s appetite is always under absolute control.” The Matron tapped the toe of her sensible leather shoe against the dog bowl. “Eat it from the floor. Or starve.” I hadn’t eaten a single thing in three days. My stomach was a twisting knot of pure acid, but I just knelt there, locking eyes with her in dead silence. My defiance seemed to flick a switch in her brain. “It appears you need a session in the Isolation Tank to reflect on your attitude.” The Isolation Tank was a pitch-black, freezing water cell barely the size of a closet. The filthy, ice-cold water reached right up to my collarbones. Unknown things brushed against my legs in the darkness, biting at my raw skin. I was locked in that freezing void for twelve straight hours. At first, the violent shivering tore my muscles apart. By the end, there was nothing but a cold, heavy numbness. They wanted to grind down my pride. They wanted to shatter my psychology until I was nothing but an empty, obedient puppet. Sensory deprivation, starvation, calculated humiliation. The kind of psychological torture you only ever read about in classified military dossiers became my daily routine. Fifteen days. I honestly don’t know how I survived it. When they finally dragged me out of solitary confinement to prepare for Dominic’s grand inspection, I caught a glimpse of myself in a cracked mirror. My skin was sallow, my cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and my body was painted in a tapestry of deep purple bruises. I barely recognized the ghost staring back at me. The Matron looked at my hollow eyes and nodded in deep satisfaction. “Number 037, remember your place in the world. You are nothing but a shadow of Miss Audrey. A cheap replacement. Your only value on this earth is to mirror her perfection.” She grabbed my chin. “When Mr. Dominic arrives, do you know exactly how to behave?” I forced the corners of my cracked lips upward into a stiff, dead smile. “I know.” I was going to give him exactly what he came to see. And then I was going to make him pay the most catastrophic price imaginable for his blinding arrogance. 3 When Dominic walked into the room, I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the filthy floorboards with a ragged piece of cloth. He stood directly in front of me, looking down from his ivory tower. He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, his Italian leather oxfords polished to a mirror shine. He looked utterly alien standing in this dungeon of filth and despair. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. He looked a little thinner, a faint trace of exhaustion resting between his eyebrows. But the second he saw me kneeling at his feet like a broken dog, that exhaustion melted into a sickening wave of pure euphoria. “Have you finally realized your mistakes?” His voice was dripping with the fake mercy of a benevolent god. “Have you learned how to be a good girl?” I stopped scrubbing. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, I raised my head. I looked at his face. That perfectly structured face I had spent three years and millions of dollars polishing into the masterpiece it was today. And then, I smiled. I smiled until tears spilled over my eyelashes. I smiled until my bruised ribs shook. “Dominic.” My voice was a dry, rasping whisper, yet it rang through the silent room with terrifying clarity. “You really do look just like him.” Dominic’s eyebrows pulled together. He completely missed the context of my words. “What kind of lunatic nonsense are you talking about?” “Nonsense?” I pressed my raw palms against the wet floor and pushed myself up, swaying slightly before locking my knees. I took a slow, deliberate step toward him. I was dressed in filthy rags. I was covered in wounds. Yet the sheer, suffocating gravity rolling off my body forced him to take an involuntary step backward. I leaned in, my lips hovering mere inches from his ear, and whispered. “Who exactly do you think you are?” “Dominic, you are nothing but a prop. A fake, pathetic counterfeit I bought to stand in for Rowan.” Boom. I watched the blood drain from his face in a single, violent rush. His untouchable composure, his arrogant control, completely vaporized in the span of a heartbeat. “What… what did you just say?” I ignored his stuttering shock, letting my mind drift back to the beginning. Three years ago, I found him bleeding out in a filthy alleyway. He had been beaten half to death by loan sharks, curled up next to a dumpster like a stray mutt. And I chose him. Right there on the spot. Not because he had some hidden genius. Not because he was special. I chose him because when he turned his bruised face to drink from a dirty puddle, the stubborn line of his jaw looked exactly like my Rowan. I dragged him out of the gutter. I paid off his debts. I funneled endless resources and capital into his hands, bought him a company, and crowned him as the glittering CEO everyone worshiped today. I dressed him in Rowan’s favorite suits. I made him wear Rowan’s cologne. I bought him Rowan’s dream sports car. I practically held his hand in the boardroom, teaching him how to be as ruthless as Rowan, how to smile over a glass of whiskey with Rowan’s exact effortless charm. He was a fast learner. And a greedy one. He genuinely believed I was just a desperate, lovesick woman who worshipped the ground he walked on. He thought he was the shining sun of my universe. It was hilariously pathetic. He was just a tool I used to look at a dead man’s ghost. He was a low-budget knockoff. 4 “Impossible!” Dominic snapped out of his shock, letting out a raw, cornered roar. “Vivienne, you have lost your damn mind! You’re just spinning these psychotic lies to get back at me!” He reached out, trying to grab my collarbone, but I casually stepped out of his reach. “Lies?” I tilted my head, my smile turning sharp and vicious. “Then tell me, Dominic. Three years ago, who dragged your bleeding carcass away from the cartel’s debt collectors?” “Who handed you your first ten million in startup capital when your own family kicked you out onto the street with absolutely nothing?” “And who fed you every corporate playbook, destroyed your rivals, and physically placed you on that CEO throne?” With every question I fired at him, his face grew a shade paler. Those were the darkest, most humiliating secrets of his past. The dirty stains he could never wash off his tailored suits. He always convinced himself I did all of that because I was blinded by devotion. “You did it because you loved me!” he barked, desperately trying to glue his shattered ego back together. “Love?” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. “Dominic, do you honestly think you’re worthy of that word?” “I was just feeding a stray dog. A dog that happened to share a passing resemblance to someone I actually cared about.” “But now, the dog has forgotten its place and is trying to bite the hand that holds the leash.” My words were dipped in venom, slicing his fragile masculinity into ribbons. “Shut your mouth!” He completely lost his mind, raising his hand to strike me across the face. But his wrist was caught mid-air. Not by me. By Audrey, who had just hurried into the room. She was dressed immaculately, as always. The second she saw the tension, she threw herself against Dominic’s chest, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. “Dominic, stop! Please calm down! Can’t you see her mind is completely broken from the stress? Don’t sink to her level!” She turned to me, playing the heartbroken saint perfectly. “Vivienne, how could you say such vile things? Dominic has given you the world, and you repay him with these toxic delusions?” “Look at that. The dog got backed into a corner and called its little lapdog for backup.” I completely ignored Audrey’s theatrical performance. My eyes stayed dead locked on Dominic. I reached into the pocket of my ragged uniform and pulled out the crumpled admission letter to The Rosewood Institute. While Dominic and Audrey stared at me in absolute bewilderment, I slowly, methodically tore the heavy parchment into tiny, jagged pieces. “Dominic, let me make this official.” “Our little game of dress-up is over.” I reached into the hidden lining of my bra and pulled out a microscopic burner phone I had smuggled in on day one. Right in front of his face, I dialed a number. The line connected almost instantly. “Uncle Robert.” My voice shed the hoarse weakness of a victim and returned to its natural, commanding absolute zero. “It’s time to put the stray down.” “Freeze every single asset under Dominic’s name. Liquidate his accounts and forcefully recall all executive shares of Zenith Corporation.” “You have exactly thirty minutes.” “Drag him out of the clouds and throw him right back into the filthy sewer where I found him.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “418541”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my husband Ethan Morris cheated on me with his secretary Sienna Dawn, he insisted on divorcing me. When the divorce lawsuit began, my first love Adrian Foster offered to be my lawyer. I agreed. Later, Adrian fought tooth and nail to win my divorce case, and I walked away with 50% of Ethan’s assets. On the day of signing, however, I overheard a conversation between Adrian and Ethan outside the door. Ethan said smugly: “Adrian, thank you for pretending to be Lily’s lawyer and helping me hide my assets! If Lily knew that what she got wasn’t even worth one of Sienna’s diamond necklaces, she’d die of anger!” Adrian lowered his voice in warning: “Ethan Morris, I’m not doing this to help you. Everything I’ve done is for Sienna’s happiness. If you ever dare betray Sienna in the future, I’ll make sure you go bankrupt!” My hand trembled on the doorknob, and a sharp pain shot through my chest. I never imagined that both my ex-boyfriend and my ex-husband would betray me for the same woman.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Both men turned around simultaneously, their expressions showing no trace of anything amiss. “Lily, sit over here.” Adrian spoke first, waving me over. With their earlier conversation still echoing in my ears, I clutched my bag tightly and walked toward Adrian. Adrian pulled out a handkerchief and thoughtfully wiped the water stains from my clothes. “I should have picked you up, but my car broke down halfway. It’s pouring outside—you didn’t get too wet, did you?” I shook my head. He explained while pulling out a chair for me. During our four years of college, Adrian had always taken care of me this attentively. Even after our reunion during the past half-year of litigation, he’d continued treating me well. Friends around us would tease him: “Adrian, she’s not even divorced yet. She still has a husband.” Plenty of people mocked him too, bringing up our breakup from back then. “Adrian, why are you still acting like a lovesick puppy? Did you forget how Lily dumped you in college?” But Adrian acted like he didn’t hear them. He’d cover my ears. “I already missed you once.” “This time, I absolutely won’t let myself miss you again.” I thought he still had feelings for me, that he genuinely wanted us to get back together. Now I knew better—I’d been deluding myself all along. The warmth before my eyes was a sweet trap custom-designed for me. Looking at the seat he’d pulled out, I placed my bag there and leaned toward him. “Organize the documents first. Let me take a look.” Adrian nodded, highlighting the key sections of the documents. When he leaned close, he brought with him a crisp, cool fragrance. I tilted my head, listening carefully. From time to time, I’d smile and whisper a few words near his ear. Ethan lounged lazily against his chair back and laughed: “Mr. Foster’s litigation services come with such excellent extras!” I said nothing, simply watching the two men before me quietly. Finding it all utterly ridiculous.

“Sorry I’m late.” Sienna Dawn pushed open the door. This time both men didn’t just turn their heads—they stood up. “Sienna, what are you doing here?” Ethan walked to Sienna’s side, brazenly wrapping his arm around her waist. From the corner of my eye, I saw Adrian’s fist clench tightly. “I was a bit worried about you…” “And this is such a major life event. I thought I should be here with you.” Halfway through her words, Sienna turned to look at me. I smiled faintly and lowered my head, fiddling with the ring on my finger, pretending not to notice. “Who’s the mistress putting on such a touching performance for?” “After Ethan Morris dies, who knows who’ll be lying next to him!” At these words, Ethan’s expression darkened instantly, his smile vanishing completely. “Lily, watch your mouth.” “I know you can’t bear to divorce me—that’s why this lawsuit has dragged on for two years.” “What, having second thoughts now?” I snorted coldly and glanced at Sienna, who wore an aggrieved expression. “Not this time.” “Ethan Morris, you always used to pester me asking about my first love, didn’t you?” “Well, he’s right in front of you now.” I looked toward Adrian, who sat one seat away from me. “You’re Lily’s first love?” “That first love she dated for four years—the one who made such a scene when you broke up?” Ethan spoke rapidly, staring at Adrian with a look that had become very subtle. His words even carried a hint of resentment. Adrian stiffened his spine, looking at me somewhat confused. I spread my hands and smiled. “We’ve been married five years, and you’ve always been a thorn in his side. But I kept my mouth shut—he investigated for five years and found nothing.” Adrian raised his eyes slightly, his gaze flicking toward Sienna. Finally, he nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morris.” Ethan’s face turned extremely ugly, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Adrian. “Stop looking. We’re just ordinary friends now.” “Sign the papers. Don’t keep your true love stuck as a mistress who can’t see the light of day.” I leaned forward to take the documents from Adrian’s hands. The thick stack of papers—I signed through them all in one go. The lawsuit with Ethan had lasted two years. We’d gone through mediation procedures three to five times. Each time, at the last moment, I’d backed out. Not because I loved Ethan so much—I just refused to lose to a woman like Sienna Dawn. The first time I met Sienna was in Ethan’s office. She’d just graduated and was job hunting. A clean, efficient high ponytail, plaid shirt, canvas shoes—her whole being radiated youthful energy. The first time I saw her, I thought of Adrian. Adrian as a college freshman had looked just as plain and simple, seemingly completely out of place in a city like Seattle. But I’d fallen hopelessly for Adrian anyway, chasing him crazily for three months. Finally, with a dark expression, he’d agreed: “Lily, you’re like a sticky plaster I can’t shake off. So annoying.” “Lily, let’s date for one year. After one year, we break up.” Later, we dated for four years. I was the one who initiated the breakup, on the eve of our graduation ceremony, the day before his birthday. Adrian knelt in the rain begging me all night long. I hid in my dorm building and never went down. Back then, everyone on campus said I was heartless, said Adrian had been toyed with by a rich girl and then kicked aside. After we broke up, I never saw Adrian again.

So when I saw Sienna Dawn, my heart inexplicably softened a bit. Ethan was flipping through resumes in front of me, his finger stopping at Sienna’s. “You’ve met this one. HR said she’s decent. But I think she looks pretty unsophisticated. I’m hiring a secretary, not sponsoring a charity case.” Ethan had a vicious tongue. He’d always liked flashy, superficial things—liked beautiful, attractive people. Like me. He’d liked me since childhood. Because I was beautiful and ignored him. That’s why when the Lily family went bankrupt and everyone avoided me like the plague, he came around proposing marriage. I pressed down on Ethan’s hand as he flipped to the next resume. “Let’s go with her. I think she’s good. She looks innocent, and her abilities seem solid too.” To make me happy, Ethan kept Sienna on. Back then, Ethan still found me novel and exciting. Every day, aside from work, he’d cling to me and refuse to let go. After each time, he’d pester me with questions: “What was your college boyfriend’s name?” “How far did you two go? Did he do this with you too?” “Who’s better, me or him?” “Lily, do you still love him?” Ethan was very immature. From the day we got married in a whirlwind, he’d planted a thorn in his heart. Everything he looked at reminded him of Adrian. Everything he did, he had to compare with Adrian. But I never breathed a word. The next time I saw Sienna, she wore a Chanel-style suit and sat outside Ethan’s office. Her exquisite makeup made her look young and beautiful, impossible not to notice. “Miss Lily, Mr. Morris is still in a meeting. Please wait outside for a moment.” Everyone in this building called me Mrs. Morris—only she called me Miss Lily. No one in this secretary’s office would make me wait outside—only she told me to sit and wait. I stared at the red marks on her neck and that expensive necklace. “Miss Dawn has excellent work capabilities.” “You’ve been at Pinecrane for less than half a year, and you can already afford a $100,000 necklace just like that.” “Someone gave it to me.” Sienna’s delicate face instantly flushed red. At that moment, I knew she’d latched onto Ethan. That necklace had been a purchase requirement when I bought a bag before. It had sat unworn in my jewelry box. A few days ago, Ethan had asked me for it. I thought it was for a client. Turned out it was for Sienna. Since marrying me, Ethan hadn’t continued his old ways of sleeping around like the playboy everyone knew him as. He’d stayed faithfully by my side for two years. Counting the days, his patience was probably running out. Someone like him would never stay put for anyone. This marriage, to me, was just decoration—a tool to keep the Lily family from collapsing. So I wasn’t heartbroken. Back then, I was thinking about how to prolong this marriage in name only, or how to get a share of the Morris family assets after divorce. But I never expected it would be Sienna Dawn—the woman he’d initially looked down on. And Sienna, as it turned out, wasn’t content to stay in her lane either. I was at a banquet hosted by the Morris family when Sienna sent me those obscene videos and photos. While dealing with Ethan’s parents pressuring me about having children, I was thinking about how to deal with Sienna. [Miss Lily, I’m pregnant with Mr. Morris’s child.] [Mr. Morris and I truly love each other. Please let us be together.] I pretended not to see it, pretended nothing happened. But I didn’t expect that same night, Ethan would come home dead drunk and confess everything. “Sienna is pregnant. The baby is mine.”

“I want her to keep it.” I stared blankly at Ethan sitting across from me. My mouth opened and closed. My hand resting on my lower abdomen involuntarily twitched. “Have you thought this through?” “If you really have, I’ll make room for her.” Ethan looked up at me in disbelief. Perhaps he hadn’t expected things to go so smoothly either. But his joy was fleeting. He grabbed my hand and demanded: “Lily, have you never loved me? Not even once?” “Are you still hung up on that damn first love of yours?!” “Cheating, divorce—even if I brought her home today to have the baby, you wouldn’t care at all, would you?!” I watched Ethan throw his tantrum, watched him smash an entire cabinet of liquor. I let him pin me down and take what he wanted without restraint, without any resistance. “Lily, could you just… even just a little bit, love me even just a little…” I said nothing. In the days that followed, Ethan often didn’t come home. He brought Sienna to all kinds of occasions. At events where I wasn’t present, Ethan would shield her from drinks, hold umbrellas for her, drive her to and from work—looking exactly like a couple deeply in love. Scandals flew everywhere, and each time I’d step in to smooth things over, buying off those tabloid stories. I sat securely in the position of Mrs. Morris, cleaning up Ethan’s mess. But Sienna couldn’t sit still. Or perhaps it was the baby in her belly that couldn’t wait. “Miss Lily, when will you agree to the divorce?” “I don’t want my child to be called a bastard when it’s born.” I stirred the coffee in front of me, finding it both laughable and pathetic. “Miss Dawn is too naive. Marriages of convenience in families like ours involve too many interests. Divorce isn’t that simple.” “Besides, it’s not that I won’t divorce—it’s your Mr. Morris who refuses.” Perhaps my words hit too close to home. That very night, Sienna attempted suicide. The baby in her belly wasn’t saved. Ethan came home with bloodshot eyes, nearly strangling me to death. “Lily, who told you to go see her!” “Do you know she almost died! Because of what you said, the baby in her belly is gone!” “Lily, do you want a divorce that badly?” “Fine! Let’s divorce!” I only learned later that Sienna had slit her wrists to pressure Ethan into divorcing, resulting in a miscarriage. She said it was me who went to see her. Her words “I love you so much” kept Ethan’s heart captive. Her words “Lily doesn’t love you at all” also severed the last thread of hope between Ethan and me. “Sienna wasn’t actually pregnant.” “She’s just a gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder, staging this whole drama herself.” “Speaking of which, Mrs. Morris is truly magnanimous—ready to divorce just like that. If it were me, I’d make that scumbag and homewrecker miserable for years before I’d be satisfied!” When these words reached my ears, the hand signing the divorce agreement stopped cooperating. “I’m not divorcing anymore.” “Ethan Morris, you’re the one at fault. I want you to leave with nothing.” And so, the lawsuit dragged on for two years. Long enough for Adrian to appear by my side. Actually, I didn’t care how much money I got from the Morris family. I just wanted to spite Sienna. Adrian’s appearance, the trap Adrian set—it suddenly all seemed pointless to me. I couldn’t even be bothered to investigate the relationship between them anymore. “Let’s sign.” I pushed the documents toward Ethan.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383850”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Three days before we were supposed to get our marriage license, a massive fire broke out in the building where Ethan Gray’s startup was located. Ethan and I were trapped in the office on the sixty-eighth floor. While escaping, a load-bearing steel beam overhead came crashing down. I pushed him out of the way and got pinned beneath the debris. A piece of broken rebar pierced straight through my right shoulder blade, less than an inch from my heart. Blood gushed out instantly, staining my white shirt crimson. The thick smoke choked me until I coughed up blood. I looked desperately at the man before me—usually so calm and composed. “Ethan, call 911… or call the rescue team…” My voice was barely a whisper. Every breath sent searing pain through the puncture wound, and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. Just one phone call to give our location, and we could survive. He was about to make the call when his expression changed after seeing a message on his phone. “Sorry, something happened to Vanessa…” Ethan knelt before me, his suit covered in dust, prying my fingers away from his arm one by one. “Chloe, you’ve always been strong. You’ll be fine. Vanessa is different.” Hearing his words, my heart sank bit by bit.

Vanessa Sullivan was Ethan Gray’s wealthy first love from high society. That girl had been pampered her whole life. She never had to support Ethan’s startup by living in a basement for three years eating bread, ruining her stomach, or drinking until she had a bleeding ulcer just to attract investors for him. All she had to do today, when Ethan had finally made it, was shed a few tears to throw him into complete chaos. “Ethan… it hurts so much…” I clutched my wound, trying to grab his pant leg. Ethan took a deep breath and avoided my hand. He fell silent for a moment, then finally took out his phone with only two percent battery left and dialed the number he knew by heart. The moment the call connected, his tense voice instantly became gentle and anxious: “Vanessa, did the power go out where you are? Don’t be scared. Just stay in the apartment elevator and don’t move. I’ll figure out a way to come save you right now.” The phone screen’s faint glow illuminated his sharp features. My heart, in that moment, felt hotter than the flames around us, yet instantly fell into an icy abyss. “Ethan Gray…” I called his name desperately. “I’ve lost so much blood. I’m going to die…” He covered the phone’s mouthpiece, turned his head, and scolded me with furrowed brows: “Chloe, just hang in there! The building fire caused a massive power outage in the area. Vanessa is trapped in her apartment elevator! She was locked in a basement for three days and nights years ago when she saved me—she has severe claustrophobia! Can you imagine how terrified she must be alone in the dark right now?” “But… the rebar went through my bone…” My whole body convulsed with pain, tears mixing with blood as they hit the ground. “Beep—” The phone died completely and went dark. Ethan irritably shoved his phone in his pocket, took off his designer suit jacket, and roughly pressed it against my wound. “Ahhh—!” The intense pain made me let out a piercing scream, and my vision went black. “Stop screaming!” His tone was cold and impatient. “Chloe, you’ve always been sensible and strong. What’s a little pain? You have a strong constitution. You can definitely hold on until the rescue team searches floor by floor. Vanessa’s mental state can’t handle this kind of trauma. I have to go make sure she’s safe.” He stood up, looking down at me from above. “Ethan Gray.” I stared at him intently, using the last of my strength to ask, “What if the rescue team doesn’t come and I burn to death?” His jawline tensed, his eyes completely devoid of warmth: “Are you using these extreme words to force me to give in again? I’m just making the most rational choice. Once I confirm Vanessa is okay, I’ll bring people to save you immediately.” With that, he turned without hesitation, his tall figure quickly disappearing into the smoke-filled corridor. Flames gradually closed in, the surrounding temperature so high it felt like it would melt a person. I lay on the scorching floor, watching the direction he left, the last bit of warmth in my heart completely burned to ashes.

I don’t know how much time passed before the door was violently split open with a fire axe. “There’s a survivor here! Quick! Stretcher!” Blinding flashlight beams shone on my face as several fully equipped firefighters rushed in. Seeing the horrific rebar through my shoulder blade and the huge pool of blood on the floor, even these experienced rescue workers gasped. “The victim has lost massive amounts of blood and is in severe shock! Start cutting immediately, prepare the cardiac stimulant!” The vibration from the saw cutting the rebar made me hurt so much I didn’t even have the strength to scream. In the second before I lost consciousness, I heard a voice come through the walkie-talkie from downstairs: “Captain, we found a male outside the building perimeter trying to force his way into the apartment building across the street that lost power. We’ve detained him…” I closed my eyes, a tear of despair sliding from the corner of my eye. When I woke up again, it was three days later. The smell of disinfectant was pungent. I struggled to open my eyes to see the white ceiling of a VIP hospital room. Hearing the sound, the man sitting on the sofa slowly uncrossed his legs. “You’re awake?” Ethan’s tone was flat, as natural as if he were asking what I had for breakfast. He walked to the bedside and opened a premium thermos on the table, ladling out a bowl of fragrant chicken soup. “This is from that exclusive restaurant you love. I had my assistant wait in line for two hours to get it.” He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and brought it to my lips. “Eat. The doctor said you need nutrition.” “Take it away.” My voice was as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing together, so weak I didn’t even have the strength to turn my head. Ethan’s hand froze in midair, a flash of impatience in his eyes. “Chloe, how long are you going to throw this tantrum?” He set the bowl down heavily on the nightstand, soup splashing out. “I told you, I can’t be an ungrateful person. You’re out of danger now, aren’t you? It’s just some superficial injuries. A few days of rest and you’ll be fine.” A nurse pushing a medication cart walked in just in time to hear this and turned pale with anger. “How can you talk like that as a family member?” The nurse pulled back my blanket and unbuttoned my hospital gown, revealing the horrifying scar with over twenty stitches. “The patient’s wound came within a hair’s breadth of piercing her heart. When she arrived, she was already in severe hemorrhagic shock. We spent a day and night in ICU resuscitation to bring her back! If you’re family, please get it straight—this is a severe penetrating injury, not some superficial wound!” Ethan’s expression instantly darkened, his cold gaze sweeping over the nurse: “This is our family business. It’s not your place as an outsider to interfere.” The nurse was frightened into silence by his terrifying look, her eyes reddening as she changed my dressing. Ethan turned his head, looking down at me from above. “I know you feel wronged. But these past few days I’ve been busy with the company’s post-disaster reconstruction, and I’ve had to take care of Vanessa after her shock. I’m already exhausted. Can you be a little more understanding?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone carrying a patronizing compromise. “The day after tomorrow is the day we agreed to get our marriage license. After we register, I’ll take you to Europe to relax. You can pick out whatever bags you want. Let’s just turn the page on this, okay?” I looked at him quietly, suddenly feeling he was completely unfamiliar. He was used to my five years of unconditional devotion and compliance. He was certain I loved him to the bone, certain I couldn’t leave him. So he could brazenly trample my boundaries, treat my life as worthless, then hand out some cheap material compensation to dismiss me. Just then, his phone rang with a special ringtone. He answered almost immediately, his previously cold voice instantly becoming so gentle it could drip honey: “What’s wrong, Vanessa? Another nightmare? Don’t be scared, I’m coming right over.” After hanging up, he grabbed his coat from the chair without hesitation. “Vanessa’s emotionally unstable. I need to go see her.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and placed it on the nightstand. “This is the marriage health certificate. Day after tomorrow at 10 a.m., I’ll wait for you at the county clerk’s office entrance. Don’t be late.” At the door, he stopped and looked back at me, his tone carrying a warning: “Chloe, don’t disappoint me.” The hospital room door closed. I looked at that red-stamped marriage certificate, and beside it, his blood-soaked shirt from when he pressed it against my wound that day in the fire—now dried and blackened. Using what little strength I had left, I swept both the marriage certificate and the bloody shirt into the trash.

The process of changing the dressing was like slow torture. The gauze tore at my flesh. I broke out in cold sweat, biting my lip hard until I tasted the strong metallic tang of blood. The nurse wiped my sweat with pity, her eyes red: “Your fiancé is too heartless. How could he leave you alone at a time like this to go be with another woman?” I said nothing, just managed a pale, transparent smile. It didn’t matter. I didn’t need him anymore. After the intense pain subsided, I leaned against the headboard and opened my social media. The first post was one Vanessa had just updated. In the photo, she leaned delicately against Ethan’s chest while he looked down cutting her steak, his eyes full of undisguised affection. The caption read: “No matter how terrifying the darkness, as long as you’re here, I’m not afraid of anything.” Below was her own comment: “Some things can’t be stolen through desperate clinging. Those who are favored will always act without fear.” I stared at the screen, my stomach churning with spasms. This was the “emotionally unstable” first love who had been “severely traumatized” according to Ethan. That afternoon, Ethan returned. He pulled out an exquisite velvet box from his briefcase and tossed it onto my blanket. “I’ve had my assistant transfer that hillside villa in the southern district into your name.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, his tone full of arrogant certainty: “Vanessa was badly traumatized this time. Her therapist says she needs long-term companionship. Let’s postpone getting our license the day after tomorrow by a month.” He looked at me as if looking at a subordinate throwing a tantrum. “That villa is worth fifty million. Consider it compensation. We’ve been together this long—you should know how to choose.” I looked at that velvet box and suddenly laughed. “Fine.” I looked at him calmly, my eyes completely emotionless. “I agree to postpone.” Ethan froze. He seemed not to have expected me to agree so readily. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by satisfied approval. “You really are sensible.” He reached out, wanting to pat my head like before. I turned my head away, dodging his touch with disgust. His hand froze in midair, his expression darkening slightly. Just as he was about to lose his temper, the hospital room door was suddenly pushed open. Vanessa entered carrying an enormous fruit basket, wearing three-inch heels and perfect makeup. “Ethan, I knew you’d be here.” She completely ignored me in the hospital bed, walking straight to Ethan and naturally linking her arm through his, pressing half her body against him. “Miss Hartley, I heard you were seriously injured. I came specially to see you.” Vanessa covered her mouth with an exaggerated look of shock and sympathy. “I’m so sorry. Ethan was too worried about me that day during the fire—he probably neglected you. You don’t blame him, do you?” Ethan frowned but his tone was gentle: “Vanessa, your body hasn’t recovered yet. Why did you come out?” “I was worried Miss Hartley might be angry at you because of me.” Vanessa bit her lip pitifully, her eyes instantly reddening. “After all, it’s almost time for you two to get your marriage license.” “Miss Sullivan’s information is really out of date.” I leaned against the pillow, watching her performance coldly. “Mr. Gray just postponed getting the license. He said he needs to leave time to properly accompany you, the psychological trauma patient.” Vanessa’s eyes lit up, a gleam of triumph flashing through them before she put on a look of panic. “Really? Ethan, that’s too unfair to Miss Hartley. She’s been with you for five years after all. Even without credit, she deserves recognition for her hard work. How can you postpone the wedding for me?” Ethan patted her hand reassuringly: “I’ve already given her the villa in the southern district as compensation. She deserves it. You don’t need to feel guilty.” Vanessa let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my God, Miss Hartley, you really hit the jackpot.” She released Ethan and walked to my bedside, looking down at me from above, lowering her voice to a volume only we could hear as she sneered: “But then again, for a gold-digger from the bottom like you, you could never earn this much money in your lifetime. Trading one month’s postponement for fifty million—that’s quite the deal. You might as well give up the position of Mrs. Gray now.” I looked at her utterly fake face, the rage in my heart no longer suppressible.

I grabbed the glass water cup from the table and threw it hard at Vanessa’s feet without hesitation. “Crash!” Glass shattered, water splashing everywhere. “Ah!” Vanessa screamed and collapsed to the floor, tears instantly pouring out like broken pearls. “Chloe, are you crazy!” Ethan flew into a rage, striding over and pulling Vanessa protectively behind him. “Chloe! What the hell is wrong with you!” he roared. I laughed coldly, my chest heaving violently with anger, pulling painfully at my wound. “Good intentions? She came to my hospital bed to show off and called me a bottom-feeding gold-digger—that’s her good intentions?” Vanessa hid behind Ethan, crying pitifully, trembling all over. “Ethan, I didn’t… I just thought Miss Hartley must be happy getting the villa, so I wanted to congratulate her. I don’t know what I said to anger her. Why would she do this to me…” As she cried, she secretly reached out and, while Ethan wasn’t paying attention, viciously grabbed my IV tube hanging by the bedside. She yanked hard. “Hiss—” The needle instantly slid roughly out of the vein in my hand, blood spurting out and dripping onto the white sheets. “You’re asking for it!” I forced myself to sit up despite the searing pain in my shoulder and back. Using all my strength, I slapped Vanessa hard across her pitiful face. “Smack!” The crisp sound of the slap echoed throughout the hospital room. Vanessa’s head snapped to the side from the force, five bright red finger marks instantly appearing on her pale face. She covered her cheek, staring in disbelief. “You dare hit her?!” Ethan completely lost it. Like an enraged lion, his hands clamped around my wrists like iron vises, slamming me back onto the hospital bed. “Chloe, you’re completely unreasonable! When did you become such a vicious shrew!” He pressed down on me from above, the fury in his eyes seeming ready to burn through me. I struggled desperately, my wrists marked with red welts from his grip. “Let go of me! Ethan Gray, you blind bastard!” During the violent struggle, I heard a teeth-grinding tearing sound from my right shoulder blade. Then, excruciating bone-deep pain swept through my entire body. The freshly sutured wound had been forcibly torn open by him. Warm blood instantly gushed out, rapidly staining my white hospital gown and spreading across the sheets in a large, horrifying red patch. Ethan looked down and saw that glaring blood. His pupils contracted sharply, veins bulging on the back of his hand, undisguisable panic and shock flashing through his eyes. “Chloe…” He instinctively released his grip, his voice trembling as he reached to cover my wound. But just then, Vanessa suddenly covered her face, moaning in pain, her body sliding limply downward. “Ethan, I feel so dizzy… I can’t breathe… I’m so scared…” Ethan’s movement froze. Between me, covered in blood, and Vanessa, “on the verge of collapse,” he hesitated for less than a second. “You brought this on yourself.” He abruptly withdrew his hand, issuing a cold order. “When you learn to control your emotions and apologize to Vanessa, then we’ll go get our marriage license.” With that, he scooped Vanessa up in his arms and rushed out of the room without looking back. “Doctor! Come quick and check on Vanessa! She’s fainted!” His frantically worried shouts echoed through the corridor. I collapsed on the hospital bed, watching the blood continuously flowing from my shoulder and back, my vision gradually blurring. With trembling hands, I pressed the call button. Doctors and nurses rushed in. Seeing the bed full of blood, their faces went deathly pale as they immediately wheeled me toward the emergency room. “Patient’s wound torn open a second time, massive hemorrhaging! Prepare blood plasma quickly!” The pain of being re-sutured was even more unbearable than the first time. Without anesthesia, each stitch piercing through flesh felt like slow torture of my soul. After the emergency treatment ended, I lay weakly in the hospital bed, my face paler than paper. I took out my phone and dialed an encrypted international number. The phone rang three times before being answered. “Hello, Grandpa. It’s me, Chloe.” On the other end, an elderly man’s trembling, excited voice came through, filled with incredible joy. “Chloe? You’re finally willing to contact Grandpa! I found out where you were three years ago, but you refused to acknowledge me as your grandfather for that poor boy’s sake, preferring to suffer! Have you come to your senses now? I’ll send the private jet to pick you up right away!” I closed my eyes, tears silently falling and landing on the pillow. “Grandpa, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have run away from home for a man. I shouldn’t have been so foolish. I want to come home.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383851”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

After my rebirth, I saw Simon again, dressed in his signature suit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at me with visible frustration, and casually pushed a bank card across the table. “There’s five million in this card. Consider it compensation for all those years you spent lost out there. I’ve also bought you an apartment in the city center. You should move out today.” “You know Miranda doesn’t like you. Every time she sees you, she ends up in the hospital.” Miranda was the fake heiress who’d been switched at birth at the hospital all those years ago. Simon paused, his expression somewhat unnatural. “If you need anything else, as long as it’s not too much, I can satisfy your requests. But from now on, don’t come back to this house.” In my previous life, I’d refused the money he offered, focused only on winning my family’s love. To please Simon, I’d worked factory shifts to buy him gifts, only to be killed by a drunk driver on my way to see him. When he learned of my death, he felt no sadness—only relief: “That clingy pest is finally dead. I can finally live in peace.” It turned out that the family affection I’d desperately longed for was nothing but a shackle around his neck. This time, I calmly tucked the bank card into my pocket: “Thank you. I have one more condition. Give me ten million, and we’ll sever our relationship completely.”

“What did you say?” Simon looked at me in disbelief. I simply gazed at him calmly and repeated: “Give me another ten million, and I’ll sever ties with you. From now on, I’ll never appear before you again.” “That way, Miranda won’t have to be hospitalized every few days because of me. Ten million in exchange for Miranda’s good health—that’s a bargain, isn’t it?” Perhaps finding my proposal absurd, Simon remained silent for several seconds before speaking: “Do you love money that much? For ten million, you’d give up your own family?” I looked at him and nodded. I did indeed need money. In my previous life, forget ten million—even a thousand dollars would require me, a high school graduate, to work grueling factory shifts for ten days. In this lifetime, family affection meant nothing compared to money. Born again, I only wanted to survive—and to live comfortably and happily. “I just want ten million.” Simon’s chest heaved violently with anger. “I knew it! You’re nothing but a gold digger!” He probably felt ashamed to share blood ties with someone so obsessed with money. “Fifteen million total, right? Sign this voluntary severance agreement, and the money will be transferred to your card immediately.” I picked up the pen and wrote my name—Chloe—on the severance agreement. Under Simon’s complicated gaze, I walked out of the Christopher family mansion, gripping the black card containing fifteen million. “Miss Chloe, Mr. Simon instructed me to take you to your new home.” The driver quickly opened the car door when he saw me emerge. I glanced back. Simon’s silhouette was reflected in the second-floor window of the Christopher mansion. He watched me leave. In my previous life, he’d been just as considerate at first. On my first day moving into his house, he’d already prepared an exquisite room for me: A large wardrobe, flowers filling the room, sheets smoother than my own skin. It was these small gestures of warmth that made me believe this was the family affection I’d longed for. That’s why I’d thrown myself at him like a moth to flame, desperate to please him. But in reality, it was merely politeness on his part. In his heart, his only sister would always be Miranda. Every time Miranda accused me of something, he’d believe her unconditionally. Of course, having died once already, I no longer cared. Snapping back to reality, I politely said to the driver: “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” I pulled out my phone and hailed a ride. Since we’d agreed to sever ties, I wouldn’t use the Christopher family’s car anymore. I didn’t need his so-called consideration, not even a little.

Three days later, at a café. “Miss Chloe, the contract is now in effect. You’re officially a shareholder of Spring Company.” Three days ago, when I’d received that fifteen million from the Christopher family, I’d already decided how to use it. Now, I’d successfully converted it into the equity contract in my hands: Fifteen percent of Spring Company’s shares. Company President Alexander excitedly shook my hand: “Miss Chloe, thank you for your trust. We’ll use this capital where it counts most. I guarantee you won’t lose money on this investment.” I nodded. Of course I knew he wouldn’t let me lose money. Spring Company—the future Spring Group—would become the world’s largest drone manufacturing company, ranking among the Fortune 500. This fifteen million investment would yield returns of a hundred, even a thousand times in the future. “For the follow-up business plan, how about I take you to dinner sometime and explain everything in detail?” Alexander asked sincerely. I shook my head. “Thank you, Mr. Alexander, but dinner won’t be necessary.” “As for business matters, I trust you. Leave professional matters to professionals.” “I invest in people.” I paused, then added: “Besides, I’ll be starting classes soon.” Alexander looked startled: “Classes?” “I enrolled in a finance training program. They teach you how to evaluate projects and calculate return rates.” I smiled: “My foundation is weak. I need to start from scratch.” He studied me for two seconds, didn’t press further, and simply said: “Alright then. You’re welcome to visit the company anytime.” Leaving Spring, I headed straight to the office building where I’d registered for classes. The finance training program was on the twelfth floor. When I pushed open the door, the classroom was already more than half full. As I looked up to find a seat, my peripheral vision caught a familiar face in the front row by the window—Miranda. Two or three girls surrounded her, smiling as they listened to her talk. Just like in my previous life, wherever she went, she was the center of attention. I didn’t look twice. I walked straight toward the back row. But just as I passed by her, she suddenly looked up. Our eyes met. She froze for a moment, then curved her lips into a smile, her voice neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for the people around her to hear: “Chloe? What are you doing here?” “This class isn’t cheap, you know. Simon just gave you some money and you’re already squandering it like this?” I didn’t respond. She frowned slightly, as if suddenly understanding something: “I should have known—poor people have limited horizons. Get a little money in their hands and they don’t know who they are anymore!” “Don’t tell me you think taking these classes will turn you into some sought-after professional?” She laughed lightly, her mockery unconcealed. “But at the end of the day, this is all just theory. Without a family business, all the studying in the world is useless.” “Unlike me—Simon’s already letting me practice real investments at the company. I’m only here to get a certificate.” A girl beside her immediately chimed in: “Miranda, Simon treats you so well.” “Of course he does.” Miranda smiled with her eyes curved, her gaze sweeping over me as if by accident: “Let me tell you, these days, studying theory alone is completely useless.” “Just the other day, there was this PhD graduate from some prestigious school who came to see Simon—what was his name, Sergio something. He begged Simon for investment, acting as submissive as a dog.” “For just five million in investment, he’d do whatever Simon said. Even when Simon scolded him, he had to smile and apologize. What good is a high degree? In the end, he’s still—” I suddenly looked up at her. Five million? Dr. Sergio? Sergio Reyes! It had to be him! I remembered this man. In my previous life, Simon had mentioned him countless times—the investment he most regretted not making. This man he’d treated like a dog would become someone far beyond his reach in the future. The five million investment now. In six years, it would be worth at least fifty billion!

Seeing me suddenly stare at her, Miranda assumed her words had struck a nerve. She sneered: “What? Finally getting it? Realizing that studying theory alone won’t work? You need money in hand!” She closed her book, turned around, and suddenly became generous: “Tell you what—Simon bought you that apartment, right? You living there is just a waste. Sell it to me. I’ll give you five million.” “With that five million, you can actually practice investing!” She smiled sweetly, but her eyes were full of condescending charity. I understood. She just didn’t want me living in the apartment Simon had prepared. She didn’t want me to have any connection with Simon whatsoever. But it suited me just fine. “Sure,” I said with a smile. Miranda froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily. But soon, she smiled again: “Great. Send me your account information.” My phone buzzed. Five million deposited. I looked at that number, about to thank her, when I suddenly heard— “Idiot!” Miranda burst out laughing: “I told you—you’re poor with limited vision and don’t understand investing, and you still don’t believe it.” “Did you research the location? Do you know how much this apartment will be worth in a year?” “Six million!” “A 120% return rate in one year—that’s real investing!” “You don’t even know to hold onto the most profitable real estate. Give you all the money in the world, and it’ll just go down the drain!” The people around her joined in mocking me. But I simply looked at her calmly. Of course I knew the apartment would appreciate in a year. But six million would be its peak price. In the future, the real estate market would crash. The longer people held onto these properties, the more they’d lose. Sergio Reyes’s project, on the other hand, had the most promising future. It would yield returns of a hundred, even a thousand times. And my most important task right now was: finding Sergio Reyes. “Class is starting.” Just then, the class bell rang at the perfect moment. Everyone stopped talking and returned to their seats. The teacher walked in—a middle-aged man wearing black-framed glasses. He spoke quickly and flipped through his PowerPoint slides just as fast. I put away my thoughts, opened my notebook, and started listening attentively. Honestly, much of it was still too advanced for me. IRR, valuation models—they sounded like gibberish. But I wrote down every word, circling anything I didn’t understand to look up after class. During the entire two-hour class, I didn’t lose focus for a second. When the bell rang, I’d already filled six pages of notes. The moment I looked up to rest, I suddenly noticed someone standing at the door. Sergio Reyes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383852”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

When I was eight months pregnant, I lost my footing and tumbled down the stairs, ending up in the hospital. While waiting for a family member to sign for emergency surgery, My husband Nathan’s voice came through the phone, sounding anxious. “I can’t make it. I’m busy being the groom at Winnie’s wedding—her fiancé bailed on her again. Just find someone else to sign.” This was the second time I’d lost a child, and once again, I’d missed the critical window for surgery. I handled the funeral for my baby alone. Nathan still didn’t show up. When people asked where the father was, I replied gracefully that he was too busy with work to get away. In the family group chat, someone posted a video of Nathan and his secretary kissing passionately, unable to break apart. “Mr. Cooper and Miss Johnson are perfect for each other—childhood sweethearts, a match made in heaven.” Winnie Johnson said, “Stop joking around, everyone. Zoe is in this chat too.” Nathan replied casually, “Today is Winnie’s and my wedding day. Let’s not talk about unpleasant things!” On their wedding night, I stormed into the room with police officers. “I’m reporting him for marriage fraud, stealing my assets, and deceiving my feelings!”

A crowd of people surrounded them, egging them on to kiss passionately. I pushed open the door with police officers in tow, and immediately saw Nathan’s face covered in lipstick marks, completely lost in the moment. When Nathan caught sight of the police, his expression darkened, his tone dripping with hostility. “What’s the meaning of this? We’re having a good time, and you bring people to cause trouble? Are you deliberately trying to ruin my happiness?” “Are you sick or something? Can’t stand to see me happy, so you pick this exact moment to mess with me?” An officer stepped forward, his tone serious. “Someone has reported you for marriage fraud. We’re here to verify the situation.” Winnie pulled the blanket tightly around herself, her voice sickeningly sweet, her eyes full of provocation. “How could you file a false police report? You’re a lunatic with severe depression and mental instability. Who would believe anything you say? Have you ever told the truth in your entire life?” “I bet you’re just jealous that Nathan and I are getting married, aren’t you? Driven mad with envy.” Nathan expertly took Winnie’s hand, slipping a card into it discreetly, his face plastered with a fake smile. “Officers, don’t listen to her nonsense. This woman is a stalker who’s been following me around. She saw I was getting married and deliberately came to make trouble. You can’t believe a word she says.” He patted the officer’s arm. “Sorry you had to come all the way out here in the middle of the night. There’s money on this card—use it however you want. Consider it a token of my appreciation.” I clutched the marriage certificate and our wedding photo in my pocket, about to pull them out to expose their lies. Suddenly, Nathan’s grandmother struck me hard on the back with her cane, making me stumble forward. “You’ve ruined such a good day! You’re nothing but bad luck. You can’t give the Cooper family children, so why can’t we let someone else?” “You occupy the position of Mrs. Cooper but can’t even produce a child, and you still have the nerve to make a scene here.” Nathan’s grandmother pointed her finger at my nose, her tone full of disgust. “You’re being completely selfish. I watched Winnie grow up—she’s sensible and sweet, much more suitable for the Cooper family than you. You two should divorce immediately. Don’t hold Nathan back, and don’t prevent the Cooper family from continuing the bloodline.” I turned to look at Nathan. He stood behind his grandmother, head lowered, not saying a word the entire time. He had no intention of defending me whatsoever. Nathan’s grandmother left holding Winnie’s hand. As Winnie passed by me, the provocation in her eyes overflowed. After they left, Nathan slowly walked over, putting on a guilty expression as he took my hand. “Zoe, I know it was wrong of me not to be by your side when our child died. I shouldn’t have left you to face all this alone. Please don’t be angry with me.” He pressed a black card into my palm; the warmth from his fingertips made me sick. “Take this card. Find a nice place to lay our child to rest. Buy whatever you want on my card. Don’t make things hard on yourself.” He reached out to wipe the tears from my eyes, but I dodged sharply. The guilt on his face froze for a moment before he quickly covered it up. “Grandma wants us to divorce, but I won’t do it. I love you.” “Don’t overthink it. Winnie and I are just fake married. I couldn’t just watch a young girl get left at the altar and have people gossip about her, could I? Be the bigger person. Don’t stoop to her level, and don’t make me lose face in front of everyone, okay?” I gripped the black card, then touched the photo in my pocket, feeling nothing but disgust and mockery. His professed love, his guilt—it was all just to keep me in line, to prevent me from making this public.

Before leaving, he ordered me not to wear mourning clothes outside—said it looked inauspicious. He gave me a perfunctory kiss on the forehead. I ignored his words. I walked out of the hotel lobby wearing those very clothes, watched by everyone. At my child’s grave, two small headstones stood side by side—everything I had lost. My first child was only five months along when a car accident caused massive hemorrhaging, and I missed the critical window for treatment at the hospital. I was in that car. So was my child. And so was Winnie Johnson. When Nathan arrived at the scene, he only had eyes for Winnie. He rushed over, scooped up that woman, and ran toward the hospital without even glancing at me or our child. We were left in that freezing car, waiting for rescue that might never come. My child grew cold in my arms, bit by bit. On the way to the hospital, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. In the end, we couldn’t save the baby. I pounded on Nathan’s chest with all my strength, each blow using every ounce of my power. I demanded to know why. Why didn’t he save his own flesh and blood? Why did he only have eyes for that woman? Nathan frowned and sighed. “Zoe, don’t be jealous over nothing. Winnie and I grew up together. I only see her as a sister.” “The situation was urgent. I heard you and the baby calling for help, so I figured you were both alive and could wait for other rescue. But Winnie was unconscious and silent. She’s an only child. I couldn’t let her parents lose their only daughter.” I found it laughable. Simply put, in his heart, my child and I couldn’t even compare to an outsider. He slapped himself while talking, looking pained and remorseful. Seeing him like that hurt and filled me with hate, but I couldn’t bear to scold him anymore. I didn’t even have the strength to blame him. Nathan comforted me, saying we could have another child to make up for the loss. I crouched in front of the headstones, talking to my children for a long time. I had failed to protect them. By the time the sky began to darken, I dragged my heavy body home. As soon as I entered the courtyard, I saw a pile of things burning—all my children’s belongings: toys, clothes, and the little blankets I had carefully prepared. Winnie stood to the side, directing servants to throw items from the nursery into the fire one by one, a smug look on her face. I rushed forward and slapped her hard across the face, my voice trembling with cold fury. “Who gave you the right to dispose of my children’s things without my permission?” Winnie covered her face, sobbing. “Nathan asked me to help you move past the grief of losing your child. I did this for your own good.” “Out of sight, out of mind—it’ll keep you from dwelling on it.” Looking at her fake, affected expression made my stomach churn. She threw the birth photos I’d taken of my children into the fire. The photos were instantly consumed by flames. “That little thing is dead and gone. I’m helping you with exposure therapy so you don’t fall back into severe depression, have a mental breakdown, slit your wrists, and play the victim to get Nathan’s sympathy.”

I grabbed my child’s photo from the fire with my bare hands and raised my hand to slap her again. Before I could say anything, Nathan appeared from behind, grabbed my collar, and yanked me backward. “The moment I’m not around, you target Winnie like this. Who gave you the nerve? Look at yourself—what makes you think you’re worthy of touching even one hair on her head?” Winnie spoke up to explain. “Nathan, don’t blame her. I should have told her before disposing of those useless things. She was right to slap me twice. If she’s still not satisfied, she can slap me as many times as she wants. I won’t blame her.” Nathan softened his tone and quickly walked over to Winnie. His hand gently touched her face, his voice full of affection—completely different from the disgust he showed me. “You’ve always been too soft. You’re born to be bullied. I’ve told you before—if someone hits you, hit them back. But you never listen. Now look what’s happened—any random person thinks they can push you around.” Nathan turned and shouted at a bodyguard. The guard immediately stepped forward and pinned me down. My knees hit the ground. Looking up, I could see Nathan holding Winnie’s hand, his eyes dark and menacing as he stared at me. “She hit you, so you hit her back. Hit her hard. Don’t be afraid—I’m here. I’ll teach you how to deal with this kind of bitch.” He controlled Winnie’s hand and slapped it hard across my cheek. The burning pain spread from my face to my temples. He was about to do it again when Winnie pulled her hand away, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Nathan, forget it. Hitting her hurts my hand. She’s not worth dirtying my hands over.” Nathan immediately took her hand with concern and shouted at the servants. “What are you standing around for? Get some ice packs for her hand!” Then he glanced at me with even more disgust and ordered someone to drag me to the basement and lock me up. For a full day and night, they gave me nothing to eat and didn’t give me my psychiatric medication either. My condition developed after losing my first child, compounded by prolonged work stress. Without my medication on schedule, I became dizzy and disoriented. My whole body went weak. My mind was filled with images of my children. The sound of high heels clicked on the basement stairs. I didn’t need to guess—it was Winnie. She stood before me with an air of superiority, like a peacock, playing with my pill bottle in her hand. “I came specially to bring you your medicine. Looking at you now, you must be suffering, right?” Winnie sneered. “You need to apologize for those two slaps yesterday. If I’m satisfied, I’ll give you this medicine. Otherwise, you can wait here until the pain drives you insane.” I bit my lip, tasting blood in my mouth. “In your dreams!” I gathered all my strength and lunged forward to grab the pill bottle, but lacking the strength, I lost my balance and fell onto Winnie. My hands clutched desperately at her arms, my only thought to get the medicine back. Winnie screamed in fright and pushed hard against me. I held on tight, refusing to let go.

“Are you crazy? Murder is illegal!” Nathan kicked me away. My back slammed hard into the wall as he pulled Winnie into his arms. He turned to face me, his voice full of reproach. “Don’t push it. I tolerated you bullying Winnie once, but that doesn’t give you the confidence to do it a second time.” I was busy dry-swallowing the pills I’d managed to grab. After regaining normal consciousness, I slowly stood up, supporting myself against the ground. My eyes reddened as I caught sight of their intertwined fingers. This man now looked at me with eyes devoid of any light—only darkness remained. That night, to more conveniently take care of Winnie, Nathan let her move into our master bedroom and banished me to the guest room. Through the door, I could clearly hear him going downstairs in the middle of the night to cook her a midnight snack. I stuffed earplugs in my ears and forced myself to close my eyes and sleep. The next morning, I opened the door and came face to face with Winnie. She said flatly, “I couldn’t get used to the pillows here last night. Luckily Nathan let me sleep on his arm. He barely got any rest all night.” She added sweetly, “He even got up early this morning to make me oatmeal.” I looked toward the kitchen at Nathan wearing an apron—a sight I’d never seen before. Too unfamiliar. I had never once seen him voluntarily cook during my pregnancy. I didn’t stay for the so-called breakfast. I went straight to the office and found an intern sitting at my desk. HR told me, “Mr. Cooper adjusted your position. He thinks your mental state isn’t suitable for continued work and wants you to rest properly.” Even the project I’d worked on for a full year had been handed over to Winnie. I left the company carrying a cardboard box, didn’t linger, and went straight to print out the divorce agreement I’d prepared in advance. I went home, walked into the study to find Nathan. He looked up, saw the document in my hand, and didn’t even open it to check the contents. “Zoe, I’m glad you’re willing to ask me for things. If your health isn’t good, just rest at home.” “Leave the rest of the project to Winnie.” He thought I was asking for the house or money. He picked up a pen, signed decisively, and handed it back to me. His face showed relief. “You finally understand my intentions. As long as you don’t make a fuss, I’ll give you whatever you want.” I didn’t say another word to him. I took the signed divorce agreement and left home alone, went to the airport, and bought a ticket to the Maldives. Before the plane took off, Nathan’s call came through. I looked at his name flashing on the screen, didn’t hesitate for a second, and threw my phone straight into the trash. When I reached my destination, I looked out at the endless sea. Nathan—I never wanted to hear his voice again for the rest of my life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383853”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Billionaire Ethan Foster used his own body to shield me from an out-of-control car. He lay in a pool of blood, his suit soaked in red. “Lana, now you owe me a life.” “You’ll never be able to repay it in this lifetime.” He was the youngest person to take control of the Foster family—a man who held power over life and death, noble yet cold-hearted. But for me, he’d eat street food with me in run-down neighborhoods. After we married, he tattooed my name over the scar on his collarbone, calling it his badge of honor, something he’d remember forever. Until that day when I came home early and pushed open the master bedroom door. He had a woman pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, biting her earlobe as he laughed softly. “Baby, don’t bite so tight.” The man who once risked his life for me was making another woman cry in my bed on our wedding anniversary. I didn’t cry. I didn’t make a scene. I just silently removed the ring from my finger. “Ethan Foster, I don’t want you anymore.”

The instant I opened the door, the intimate atmosphere inside came to an abrupt halt. Ethan’s movements froze. When he saw it was me, he withdrew his hand from the woman’s body. “What brings you here today?” A strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, turning my gaze elsewhere. I knew he was protecting that woman. My eyes stung with tears. With a sharp smack, I slapped Ethan’s hand away and stubbornly turned my head, finally getting a clear look at the woman. Crimson lips, dressed in red—she was like a gorgeous rose, beautiful but thorny. I knew her. Vivian Lee, who’d joined the company just three months ago and became Ethan’s personal secretary last month. People had already reported to me that Ethan had been treating a young woman very specially lately. Back then, I firmly believed that Ethan, who cherished me like his own life, would never betray me. But before long, more and more incidents reached my ears. Until a friend sent me a video of Ethan beating someone up. In the chaos, I still heard it clearly. Someone had been making toasts, and when it was Vivian’s turn, she refused to drink. The person said a few unpleasant things, and Ethan went crazy. That night I sat alone until late, waiting for him to come home. Under my interrogation, Ethan explained that it just reminded him of the past. Back when Ethan and I got together, he lost his family’s support. To secure investments, I accepted everyone who came, drinking until I had a stomach hemorrhage. Even when people said disgusting things, I still had to smile and apologize. “Lana, do you know how much it hurt me to watch you smile and apologize to those people for my sake?” “I just saw her as you from back then.” “I should have done this long ago!” Hot tears slid down my neck. Held in Ethan’s embrace, I trembled for a moment, my emotions in chaos, with no energy left to dwell on it. Until I accidentally learned that the friend who sent me the video had been badly dealt with, and the assistant who’d reported things to me had been fired. That’s when I knew—Ethan had really fallen for her. “Miss Anderson, long time no see.” “I was just giving Mr. Foster a report.” “Got a bit close.” “I hope you don’t misunderstand.” “I’ll go back to work now.” Vivian wore a proper smile on her face, but her eyes were full of provocation. Before leaving, she thoughtfully closed the door. “When did you arrive?” Faced with Ethan’s probing question, I got straight to the point. “When you were biting her earlobe.” The man who’d always presented himself as gentle in front of me showed a cold expression for the first time. “Wouldn’t it be better to pretend you didn’t know?” “You’ve always been smart.” “Why are you being foolish now?” He sighed, his tone full of annoyance. Annoyed that I didn’t follow his wishes and pretend nothing had happened.

Before, I trusted him because he’d truly risked his life for me. Now that I’d seen it with my own eyes, I had no interest in playing dumb and humiliating myself. “Being foolish?” I looked up, forcefully suppressing the hidden pain in my heart, my tone cold and hard. “At least I’m smarter than when I chose you all those years ago.” At those words, Ethan’s expression darkened sharply. His large hand came toward me. I turned my head to avoid it and stepped back. “It’s either me or her.” “Make your choice.” He’d never considered giving up Vivian. Five years together, three years of marriage—he knew my vulnerabilities better than anyone. When I was fifteen, my father had an affair. From then on, my parents fought constantly. Eventually, my father couldn’t take it anymore and left home. My mother fell into depression, warning me never to trust love. In the end, she jumped from a building right in front of me. Once, to open my heart, he’d been willing to risk his life to save me. Now he wanted me to share him with another woman. This fickleness shattered the last bit of fantasy in my heart. I bit my lip hard, struggling to calm my burning eyes. I refused to show any weakness. “I’ll send you the divorce papers.” “Remember to sign them.” Propping up my crumbling body, I wanted to leave this place of heartbreak. Behind me, Ethan’s cold laugh came, piercing through me like ice. “Divorce?” “Lana Anderson, have you forgotten?” “You still owe me a life.” How ridiculous. His life-risking sacrifice had now become chains binding me. I forced out a bitter smile, concealing all emotion. I turned to face him, yielding nothing. “I was deliberately targeted because of you, drank until I had a stomach hemorrhage.” “Doesn’t that count as repayment?” Unfortunately, those closest to us always know exactly how to hurt us most. With just one sentence, Ethan completely broke through my defenses. “If it weren’t for you, would I have ended up in that situation?” “Back then, if my brain hadn’t been damaged, I wouldn’t have fallen for you.” “I’d have more than just today’s achievements!” Perhaps remembering those difficult times, he suddenly stepped forward and gripped my shoulder, using enough force to crush bone. “And everything you wear, use, and live in—which of it wasn’t given by me?” His large hand lightly patted my face. Humiliation surged through me.

His half-exposed chest came into view. On his collarbone, the scar tattooed with my name was particularly glaring. Back then, he said he wanted to cover my guilt, so he tattooed my name over it. Looking at it now, it only felt like mockery. “I’ll return all of it to you.” My resolve to divorce became even firmer, my tone decisive. “Return it with what?” Enraged, Ethan leaned down close to me. The scent of Vivian’s perfume mixed with his, choking me with disgust. “Stay here, continue being Mrs. Foster, behave yourself.” “Isn’t that good enough?” “Behave myself and watch you sleep with her?” “Be driven crazy by you and end up like my mother?” I shook off his hand, my fingertips trembling with cold. “Ethan Foster, I find it disgusting.” The word “disgusting” made Ethan explode in rage. He gripped me so hard my hand ached. Unprepared, I was dragged into the lounge and pinned against the door. “Disgusting?” “Who was it that held me and cried, saying she’d never forget me for the rest of her life?” That was my heartfelt confession when he lay in the ICU between life and death, and I knelt by his bedside. “What else was I supposed to do?” I forced back the tears in my eyes with a cold snort. “If I didn’t say that, would your parents have let me go?” To get this divorce, I was willing to let Ethan misunderstand. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you!” Ethan’s pupils shook. Clearly, he couldn’t believe it. “Does it matter whether it’s true or not?” Ethan’s eyes flickered, then he began to deflect. “She and I are just playing around.” “If you don’t like it, I’ll fire her.” Whether these words were sincere or not, I no longer had the energy to care. I just wanted to leave. A knock sounded at the door. Vivian’s affected voice came through. “Mr. Foster, the documents are here.” “They need your signature.” Ethan frowned. As if deliberately avoiding suspicion, his tone was impatient. “Leave them on the desk.” “But Mr. Foster, the documents are urgent…” Seizing the opportunity, I deliberately rammed into the scar on Ethan’s collarbone. He groaned and loosened his grip, letting me rush out. At the door, Vivian’s eyes were full of triumph, though she pretended concern. “Miss Anderson, did you argue with Mr. Foster again?” “He’s busy.” “You should be more understanding.” I ignored her and walked straight toward the exit. Ethan followed closely, shouting sternly to his security. “Stop her!” The guards immediately blocked my path. I turned back, heart filled with despair. “You’re going to imprison me?” “I don’t want to force you, but you’re not being good.” “When you come to your senses, I’ll set you free.” He said it as if I were the one who’d wronged him. “Come to my senses about swallowing my anger?” I laughed bitterly and left him with harsh words. “Even if you lock me up for a lifetime, I’ll never come back to you.”

At this moment, Vivian tried to grab me. I shook her off violently. “Get lost!” “With me gone, it’ll be easier for you to take my place.” Vivian staggered back with the force, her eyes instantly red and looking very wronged. “Miss Anderson, I know you didn’t mean it…” Without thinking, Ethan supported her and frowned as he scolded me. “Lana Anderson, don’t go too far!” This act of protection completely severed my last thread of hope. I looked at the security guards, my tone numb. “If you’re going to imprison me, hurry up.” “Don’t waste my time.” After being brought back to the villa, I walked into the bedroom myself, locked the door, and refused to see anyone. Unfortunately, my documents and phone were confiscated. I became an isolated island, able only to bite my lip hard in the deep of night to keep tears from falling. Whenever I remembered my mother’s warnings, I felt I deserved this fate. One morning, Vivian’s delicate laughter drifted up from downstairs. I watched coldly from the balcony as they walked side by side. I don’t know what she said, but Ethan lowered his head with a gentle smile. The necklace at his neck was inadvertently revealed. My hands hanging by my legs trembled. I remembered something. “Ethan, man, you’re really twisted.” “To save Vivian, you could pretend for so many years.” Marcus Wright’s voice came from the phone. He was Ethan’s best friend. Who would have thought— “What Ethan has is deep devotion, okay?” “If it weren’t for me, how could he have possibly taken that car for that bitch!” “If I hadn’t gotten sick and needed her bone marrow, Ethan and I wouldn’t have wasted all these years!” Ethan didn’t speak, but it seemed like a tacit acknowledgment. Just two short sentences, and I pieced together the truth. All his deep affection was just for my bone marrow. What he cared about was always me as Vivian’s donor. This realization completely shattered me. I finally remembered why I felt Vivian looked familiar when I first saw her. When Ethan was in a coma, his mother took me to pray at churches. A priest told us that great merit was needed to save him. Right then, the hospital called to say my bone marrow matched a patient. For that slim hope, I resolutely donated my bone marrow. Three days later, Ethan woke up. At the time, I thanked the heavens and didn’t notice that during his recovery, Ethan would always smile at a fellow patient. Looking back now, that person was Vivian. “You married her out of guilt back then.” “Now it’s exposed and she wants a divorce.” “Wouldn’t it be better to part on good terms?” Marcus asked my question. My heart instantly lifted. Unfortunately, Ethan didn’t answer. Vivian’s harsh mocking laughter answered for me. “Of course it’s because of me.” “This illness could relapse anytime.” “Naturally, it’s better to keep her as a blood bag!” As she spoke, Vivian changed her tone and acted cute with Ethan. “Ethan, her wanting a divorce now isn’t really working out.” “Women need to be coaxed.” “Vivian, don’t push your luck after getting a good deal!” “Exactly.” “If you weren’t so arrogant, she’d still be in the dark.” “How would she be demanding a divorce!” Loud laughter rang out. My already hollow heart no longer felt pain. What truly sent me into the abyss was what Vivian said next. “If she really divorces, how can I torture her?” “How can I avenge my mother?!” Who was Vivian’s mother? What deep grudge existed between us that made her hate me so much? Unfortunately, they quickly changed the topic. This question remained tightly wound around my heart, keeping me awake at night. From that day on, Ethan changed his approach. Every day when he came home, he’d knock on the door. His tone shifted from initially forceful to pleading. “Lana, let’s open the door and talk.” Knowing he was just putting on an act, I never responded. I just stared at the night sky, calculating how to escape. He cared so much about Vivian that he’d set up such an elaborate scheme for her. The villa’s security was impenetrable. Breaking out by force was impossible. I could only wait for him to let his guard down. On the fourth night, shortly after he knocked, there was commotion downstairs, followed by the sound of a car engine. I lifted the curtain and saw his car drive away. Half the guards at the entrance were also gone, and security had noticeably loosened. I held my breath and tiptoed out of the bedroom, pressing against the wall toward the servants’ passage. Ethan had once mentioned there was a back door there that many people didn’t know about. Just as I was about to reach the passage, Vivian’s delicate laugh came from behind. “Where do you think you’re going?” I froze completely. Turning around, I saw her with servants, smiling triumphantly. So today’s opportunity was just a game Vivian had designed to toy with me. In desperation, I rushed forward and grabbed her, gripping a candlestick I’d taken, pressing the sharp end against her face. “Don’t come any closer!” “Come closer and I’ll kill her!” Blood immediately seeped out. No one dared move. I took the chance to retreat. But before I could exit the passage, sharp pain struck the back of my head. My vision went black, and I lost consciousness completely. When I woke again, a suffocating sensation came over me. I saw Ethan with bloodshot eyes, gripping my collar tightly. “Where’s Vivian?” “Where did you take Vivian?!” I was stunned. Vivian was gone? Seeing me dazed, the enraged Ethan just waved his hand and shoved me down. “Talk!” “Or I’ll make you pay with your life!” “I don’t know!” Intense pain struck. I coughed up blood, reaching out my hand, but I couldn’t stop his movements. My hair was violently yanked, my head slammed against the wall. Blood immediately streamed down my forehead.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383854”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The day the special police raided the scam operation, I was sitting on a small stool memorizing fraud scripts. Captain Luke Reynolds snatched the phone from my hand, his voice sharp with anger. “You could come and go freely. You even had your phone. Why didn’t you call the police?” I clutched my fraud notebook tightly to my chest and shook my head blankly. “Call the police? So you could send me back home? But Captain, even breathing is a luxury there.” Luke stood frozen in place. Since I was twelve, my grandmother had installed tiny cameras in my room — by my bed, at my desk, even in the bathroom — so she could monitor me around the clock. Every time I showered, I watched that little red light blinking, and I could barely breathe. I cried and begged my mother for help, but she only said: “Evelyn, I work so hard to make ends meet. Your grandmother only does this because she cares about you so much.” When I was sixteen, I saw a guy with bleached hair on the street and walked straight into that scam den. I couldn’t stand another second in that suffocating house.

When Luke grabbed the notebook from my arms, my instinct was to lunge forward and bite his hand. Two young officers held me back. I kicked my legs, eyes locked on that blue-covered notebook. “Give it back! It’s mine!” Luke flipped open the notebook and stopped. He turned page after page. There wasn’t a single fraud script inside. Just locks. All kinds of locks. Padlocks, deadbolts, security locks, combination locks. Each one had detailed cross-section diagrams with the internal mechanisms labeled. Even the number of pins was clearly marked. He closed the notebook, glanced at me, and shoved me into the back seat of the police car. The moment the door shut, my eyes swept across the corner of the ceiling. A small black sphere with a red light on top. A dashcam. I pressed my back against the car door, curled into a ball, and my teeth started chattering. “What’s wrong with her?” The young officer driving glanced at me in the rearview mirror. Luke turned around and frowned. “Turn off that dashcam in the back.” “But regulations —” “Turn it off.” The red light went out. My teeth kept chattering, but my body slowly relaxed. At the station, a short-haired female officer poured me a cup of hot water. Luke sat across from me, flipped through a file, and looked up. “Your family reported you missing. Did you know that?” I didn’t respond. “You were cleaning at that operation. You had freedom of movement. Why didn’t you think to call the police?” “What would you have done if I had?” “Sent you home, of course.” “I didn’t want to go home. Why would I call?” Luke’s pen stopped. “You can charge me with fraud,” I said. Luke put down his pen and reopened my file. After flipping two pages, his finger stopped on one line. “Evelyn Carter. Social Security number marked deceased.” He turned the file around to show me. “Two years after you disappeared, your legal guardian applied for a declaration of death.” “Legally, you’re already dead.” I looked at that line and smiled slightly. “Being dead is nice.” “What do you mean?” “Dead people don’t get watched.” Luke didn’t press further. He had the female officer take me to a single rest room. The room was small — one bed, one table, one incandescent bulb. The first thing I did after entering was stand on a chair, take off my jacket, and cover the smoke detector on the ceiling. That round white thing looked too much like a camera. After covering it, I climbed down from the chair and sat on the cot for a while. Then I lay down. The ceiling was stark white. Nothing there. No red lights. No reflective circles. No pinholes hidden in stuffed animal eyes. This was a clean room. Though it was a police station rest room, I slept soundly. In the hallway, Luke watched through the one-way glass as I curled up on the bed. He stayed silent for a long time. “Contact her family. Pull the police reports from back then.” Officer Foster acknowledged on the other end of the line. Luke glanced once more at me sleeping behind the glass and lowered his voice. “And find out when her family filed that death declaration.”

The next day, the station brought in a psychological evaluator. Dr. Morgan was a woman in her early forties wearing gold-rimmed glasses. She seemed kind. She pulled a voice recorder from her bag and placed it on the table. There was an indicator light on top of the recorder. When she pressed the switch, it lit up. Red. My stomach clenched violently. I vomited the oatmeal I’d eaten for breakfast all over the floor. Dr. Morgan jumped, quickly offering tissues. I pushed her hand away and dry-heaved several times. Tears streamed down my face. Luke heard the commotion and pushed through the door. He glanced at the recorder on the table with its red light and reached over to turn it off. “Put away anything with indicator lights.” Dr. Morgan opened her mouth but said nothing. She packed the recorder back in her bag. Luke pulled a pen and a palm-sized notebook from his pocket and set them on the table. “Nothing is watching you now.” He sat across from me. “You can talk.” I wiped my mouth with a tissue and stared at the table for a long time. “What do you want me to say?” “Start from the beginning.” I closed my eyes and began to remember. On my twelfth birthday, my grandmother gave me a teddy bear. Brown, palm-sized, fluffy, very cute. I slept with it for three days. On the fourth night, when I rolled over, my arm bumped the bear’s head. In the darkness, I saw the bear’s right eye flashing. Blinking red light. I took the bear to my desk lamp and dug the eye out with my fingernail. A pinhole camera, lens pointed right at my bed. Holding the now one-eyed teddy bear, I ran downstairs barefoot. My grandmother was sitting in the living room watching TV. “Grandma, what is this?” She glanced at the camera in my hand. Her expression didn’t change at all. “Your father’s dead, your mother’s not home. I’m an old woman who can’t keep an eye on you. What’s wrong with installing something to watch you?” I said I didn’t want it. She ignored me and changed the channel. I called my mother. On the other end, my mother’s voice was exhausted and tearful. “Evelyn, do you know how hard I work to support this family?” “You’re your grandmother’s only granddaughter. What’s wrong with her watching you? Can’t you understand what I’m going through?” I told her my grandmother had installed a camera in my room. My mother was silent for two seconds. “She’s old and worried about you. Don’t fight with her. I’m begging you, okay?” The call ended. The next day, the teddy bear’s eye was replaced with a new one. Still red. Luke’s pen stopped on the notebook. “And then?” Then there were more and more. One in the pencil holder on my desk. One on top of the wardrobe. One behind the alarm clock on my nightstand. One above the door frame. Every time I found one, I destroyed it. My grandmother just replaced it with a new one, hidden in a more concealed spot. The winter I turned fourteen, while showering, I happened to look up at the exhaust fan. Through the gaps in the metal blades, something was reflecting light. I stood on the wet bathroom tiles, completely naked, staring at that reflection for a full minute. Then I grabbed the showerhead and smashed it. The next day when I came home from school, my bedroom door was gone. The bathroom door was gone too. Even the door frames had been removed. The doorways gaped open. My grandmother stood in the hallway leaning on her cane. “You love smashing things? Fine. I removed the doors so you can’t close yourself in and do god knows what.” From that day on, I changed clothes, showered, and used the toilet without any doors. I tried using a shower curtain. My grandmother had someone remove the curtain rod. I tried blocking with a chair. My grandmother had all the chairs removed from my room. When I was fifteen, my uncle’s son Dylan came to stay during summer vacation. He was a year younger than me. He brought four or five male classmates. That afternoon I was changing out of my school uniform in my room. The doorway was wide open. I faced away from the hallway, moving quickly. Laughter echoed from the corridor. I turned around. Dylan was holding my grandmother’s phone, the screen showing a live surveillance feed. Four boys crowded behind him, watching together. “Hahaha, look at her.” I rushed over to grab the phone. Dylan shoved me away hard. He was half a head taller than me. The push sent me crashing into the door frame. The back of my head hit hard, raising a bump. I got up and went to find my grandmother. “Grandma, Dylan used the surveillance to watch me change.” My grandmother was in the kitchen making chicken soup for Dylan. She didn’t even turn around. “What’s there to see on a worthless girl like you?” “If you had half your cousin’s promise, would I need to watch you like this?” I said I’d call the police. When the cane came down, I didn’t dodge in time. Three strikes across my back. My clothes tore. Blood seeped through. My mother called that evening. I thought she’d stand up for me, but instead she said: “Evelyn, Dylan’s still young and doesn’t know better. Don’t hold it against him.”

She cried on the phone. “Do you know how hard it is for me out here alone? I’m so grateful your grandmother helps me take care of you.” “Just endure it. Once Dylan gets into college, things will get better.” But he wasn’t my brother. He was my uncle’s son. My uncle was my grandmother’s youngest son, her precious baby. And my father was the eldest son. An unwanted eldest son who was now dead. When I was sixteen, I found a waterproof camera in the bathroom drain. This time, I didn’t smash it. I started secretly saving money, skimming from my lunch money — one dollar, two dollars — hiding it in the lining of my backpack. I saved for two months. One hundred forty dollars. But my grandmother found the hidden compartment. That night, she locked me in the basement. All four walls of the basement were covered with screens. More than a dozen screens of various sizes — some old phones, some tablets. Every screen was playing surveillance footage. My room, my desk, me changing clothes, me using the toilet, me hiding under my blanket crying at night… Four years of footage, all there. My grandmother locked the basement door. From outside the iron door, her voice leaked through the gap. “You were born a Carter, you’ll die a Carter. Don’t even think about escaping my grasp.” I stayed in that basement for three days. Surrounded by images of myself. Countless versions of “me” staring at me from the screens. When I was released on the third day, I’d vomited six times. For the next month, I dry-heaved at the sight of anything reflective. Luke’s notebook was filled with writing. He never looked up. “Did your mother know about all this?” “She knew everything.” “What was her attitude?” “When she wiped the blood off me, she’d cover my mouth so I couldn’t cry out loud.” “She’d say, ‘Just endure it. Once Dylan gets into college, things will get better.’” When I was sixteen, my grandmother sent me to the store to buy eggs. When I reached the intersection, a guy with bleached hair shoved a flyer into my hand. “Health and wellness seminar. Free attendance, plus free eggs.” The back of the flyer had an address. Very remote. I held it and looked for a moment. The guy walked toward a white van parked by the roadside. The windows weren’t tinted. I could see the seats inside from outside. I scanned the interior. No cameras, no red lights. “Where’s this seminar held?” The guy turned back with a grin. “Get in the car and you’ll see. Real close.” I knew this was probably a scam. Those days, fraud operations were all over the TV news. But I turned and looked back the way I’d come. The doorless room, the basement plastered with screens, the waterproof pinhole in the bathroom… and my grandmother’s voice that rang out every morning at six sharp. “Evelyn, get up. I’m watching you.” Without hesitation, I got in the van. From that day on, I became one of them. Ironically, I finally had a room with a lock. I still remember that afternoon, holding the key to the storage room, standing at the door for a long time. Then I inserted the key and turned it. The bolt clicked out. I crouched on the floor, hugging my knees, and cried for a full hour. For the first time in four years, I had a door I could lock from the inside. Luke suddenly interrupted me. “Is that why you stayed at the scam operation?” I didn’t answer. I just lowered my head and looked at my fingers. “Mr. Reynolds, do you think the people at that operation were bad?” “Yes.” “They’re bad people. But those bad people gave me a lock.” “My own grandmother wouldn’t even give me a door.” Luke didn’t ask anything more. He picked up the peeled apple from the table and handed it to me. “Evelyn, no one will ever take your door away again.” I took the apple and bit into it. Suddenly, the door was pushed open. Officer Foster stuck his head in halfway, his expression grim. “The family’s here.” “Causing quite a scene outside.”

I heard crying from the hallway. “My granddaughter! My poor granddaughter!” It was my grandmother. Her legs didn’t work well, so she sat in a wheelchair, pushed by a caregiver. My mother followed behind, wearing a black cotton jacket, her face bare. They started crying as soon as they entered the station lobby. My grandmother’s crying was loud wailing, with slapping and shouting. My mother’s crying was silent, wiping tears, shoulders shaking. Several young officers on duty all looked over. “Don’t worry, we found the girl. That’s good news.” My grandmother grabbed the female officer’s hand. “I’ve been looking for her for four years!” “Her father died young. I’m just an old woman who raised her, and she just…” Halfway through, she clutched her chest, unable to breathe. The caregiver pulled out quick-acting heart pills and shoved them in her mouth. My mother dropped to her knees with a thud. “Officers, please, I’m begging you to let me see my daughter.” “I dream about her every night.” The officers who didn’t know the truth got teary-eyed. Someone went to open the interrogation room door. The moment the door opened, my mother rushed in and hugged me. Her arms locked around my back, her face buried in my shoulder. “Evelyn, my Evelyn, I finally get to see you.” All the officers nearby were wiping tears. How touching. But only I knew that the second she hugged me tight, her right index and middle fingers dug into the soft flesh at my waist. Her lips pressed against my ear, her voice masked by her crying. Only I could hear it. “If you say anything wrong, I’ll deal with you properly when we get home.” My body went rigid. Exactly the same feeling as when I was twelve. My grandmother’s wheelchair was pushed in front of me. She reached out her hand, trembling as she touched my face. In everyone else’s eyes, this was a white-haired old woman caressing her long-lost granddaughter. But I could feel her fingers searching through my clothes. From the collar to the back of my neck, from the roots of my hair to behind my ears. She was looking for bugs, for recording devices. She knew these things all too well. After finishing her search and finding nothing, her fingers stopped on my cheek, the pressure suddenly increasing. “If you don’t want to actually become a corpse… play dumb.” She released her hand, slowly lifted her face, tears streaming down as she turned toward Luke standing in the doorway. “Officer, this child isn’t mentally well. I need to take her home.” Luke stood in the doorway without moving. His gaze swept across my face and caught the two white fingerprints on my cheek. Then my mother pulled a medical record from her bag and handed it to Luke. “This is Evelyn’s psychiatric evaluation. Severe schizophrenia, diagnosed two years before she disappeared.” “No matter what she’s said, it can’t be taken seriously.” Ha. You’re really in a hurry. You don’t even know what I said, but you’re already rushing to discredit everything I’ve told them. Luke took it and flipped through two pages, glanced at me, and said nothing. My grandmother chimed in from the side. “We’ve already contacted a psychiatric hospital. She can be admitted today.” A white ambulance was parked outside, with two orderlies in blue uniforms waiting in the hallway. I clutched the table leg tightly. “I’m not going back! I won’t go back even if you kill me!” My mother lunged over and grabbed my arm. “Evelyn, you’re having an episode. Listen to me…” Two young officers who didn’t know the situation started to help. “Don’t move.” Luke stepped between me and that mother-daughter pair. “She’s a key witness in a major criminal case.” “No one’s taking her anywhere.” My grandmother’s face darkened. “She’s my own granddaughter. I have guardianship!” Luke slapped the medical record on the table. “The hospital that issued this record — Grace Recovery Hospital — had its license revoked three months ago for selling fake diagnoses.” “This thing is just a piece of waste paper to me.” My grandmother’s mouth twitched. Luke pulled out another paper from the file. “Also, Evelyn Carter is twenty years old, a person with full civil capacity.” “More importantly…” “Her Social Security number is marked deceased.” “You have no legal basis whatsoever to take away a dead person.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “383855”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster