Category: English

9:00 PM. My husband, his hands slick with oil, was carefully shredding the chicken he’d slow-cooked for me for four hours. His phone rang. I picked it up and put it on speaker for him. “…Professor?” A timid female voice came through the receiver. My heart seized. 1 I held the phone for my husband, Lucas, in silence. “What is it?” he answered coolly, not forgetting to tear off a few of the tenderest strips of chicken and offer them to my lips. “Is our meeting still at the same time tomorrow, in your office?” “…Yes.” Perhaps finding her too long-winded, Lucas impatiently took off his gloves, grabbed the phone, and switched off the speaker. His brow furrowed. “Don’t contact me after work hours again. My personal time is for my family.” After hanging up, he put his arm around me and led me back to the dining room. I watched him arrange the food on the plates, unable to stop myself from asking, “Who was that?” He seemed thoroughly annoyed by the call. “A new assistant at the office. Fresh graduate, still learning the ropes.” I nodded and said no more. … There were two unwritten rules at his company. One: No one was to disturb Lucas after work. Two: No one was to call Lucas “Professor.” These unspoken rules had been passed down for so long that no one dared to break them. Until today. Both were broken by the same person. I lowered my gaze, staring blankly at the thin film of oil on the surface of my chicken soup. 2 In our four years of marriage, Lucas had never been anything but attentive to me. Even if I just needed a tissue, he was there in a second, always putting me first. The rule about not contacting him after hours was because he wanted to be with me. For the past two years, his company had been focused on a major urban renewal project. I was worried about distracting him, so I often insisted we work in separate rooms. He’d be in his study, and I’d be in the bedroom with a book. Usually, it wouldn’t be more than twenty minutes before he’d gently push the door open and lean against the frame, looking at me with a pitiful expression. “Kayla, I haven’t seen you all day. Are you really going to make me stay in there all by myself?” Last year, on his birthday, I went to his office to surprise him. On the way, I swerved to avoid a drunk driver and ended up in a frozen river. Lucas went mad, pushing through the crowd and jumping into the water to find me. His hands were torn to shreds by the ice as he searched for over two hours in the sub-zero water. I had already been rescued and taken to the hospital, but he ended up in the ICU for three days with hypothermia and developed chronic joint pain from it. There were countless stories like this, too many to tell. Because of all this, I had never once doubted Lucas’s love for Kayla. For thousands of days and nights, he had been true to his wedding vows: to love me as he did at the beginning, to love me to the bone. Which is why even the smallest deviation now set off alarm bells. What was strange about that phone call wasn’t her gender or her tone. It was the word “Professor.” That was the one title Lucas despised. He never allowed anyone to call him that. Not even me. 3 When we were in graduate school, despite Lucas having the top academic record in our department, he was passed over for national awards. His spot for the doctoral program was given to someone else. Even his mentor, who had promised him a teaching position, went back on his word. He had spent all his free time running data for his department, only to end up with nothing. Lucas said none of that mattered. The hardest part, he said, was graduating after more than a decade of study and not even having enough money to bury his parents together. Back then, I gave him my spot for a university teaching position. Later, when his research paper was stolen by a senior colleague, when he was denied a promotion, when he was drinking himself sick day and night trying to land a project, I stepped in and got him a job at my uncle’s company. He fought his way to the top, to the position he holds today. I will always remember the look on his face when he talked about how much he hated the word “Professor.” It was a symbol of all his humiliation, his failures, his exploitation. So, no matter how close we were, I never called him that. But the woman on the phone just now had said it so naturally. And Lucas’s response had been so casual. It was as if he didn’t care anymore… or maybe, he only made an exception for certain people. It made my fierce protectiveness of him seem like a fool’s errand, a one-sided joke. 4 Doubt began to fester, and I decided to go to his office. The most corrosive thing in a marriage is baseless suspicion, and I didn’t want to plant a seed of doubt in our happy life. I had only been there a few times, so the receptionist didn’t recognize me. I called Lucas’s secretary, Mark. Mark rushed down with two other employees to greet me. “Mrs. Thorne, why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I would have come down to get you.” He took the dessert box from my hands and held the elevator door for me. I laughed. “Do I need to file a report with you just to pop by the office?” “Of course not, Mrs. Thorne! You’re joking.” The three of them, laden with my things, escorted me past the general administrative office. The door was ajar. It was afternoon tea time, and the sound of cheerful chatter drifted out. I slowed my steps, feigning a casual interest in Lucas’s new assistant. “Has the training for the new hires started yet?” “It began last month.” “How many assistants did you hire?” Mark thought for a moment. “Just one, a woman. Graduated from H University, very capable. Mr. Thorne’s plan is to train her and eventually move her into the secretarial pool.” I lowered my eyes, my mind racing. This matched what Lucas had told me perfectly. Was she really the one? 5 The door behind me suddenly opened, and a group of bright, young women came out, surrounding one in the middle. “Chloe, you’re so lucky! I can’t believe Mr. Thorne didn’t dock your pay.” “I know, right? You have no idea how scared we were that day.” “I was so freaked out I skipped lunch. Now I’m suddenly craving hot pot.” “Hehe… me too!” The slightly younger face in the center blushed, speaking in a coy tone. “Oh, you guys, please, spare me…” Her voice died when she saw me. The women who knew me immediately flocked to my side. “Kayla! What are you doing here?” I smiled and had Mark distribute the desserts to the surrounding colleagues, then led the chattering flock to the break room. The one unfamiliar face stood by the door, hesitant to approach. I beckoned to her. “I’m Kayla Thorne. You must be the new assistant, right?” I handed her a matcha pandan roll. “How are you settling in?” She pursed her lips and took a few quiet steps closer. I kept my smile warm and inviting. Perhaps it was the relaxed atmosphere, or perhaps the dessert was to her liking, but the young woman soon opened up. “Everything’s been great…” she said, her head slightly bowed. “It’s just… I’m still in that student mindset, calling everyone ‘Professor.’ Last month… I slipped up and called Mr. Thorne that. He was furious.” Her eyes welled up, her voice choked. “I really thought I was going to be fired… I’ve been so scared of running into him in the elevator that I’ve been taking the stairs to the 32nd floor every day…” 6 The atmosphere froze. The women exchanged glances, stealing peeks at my expression. I was silent for a few seconds, then stood up and bent down to meet the new assistant’s eyes. “Let me apologize on Lucas’s behalf, okay?” Her eyes widened, and a tear rolled down her cheek. I could imagine Lucas’s anger. He had a reputation for being cold and distant at the office, and she had crossed a major line. How could a fresh graduate handle that? “It’s not your fault if you didn’t know. Lucas won’t hold it against you,” I said, gently stroking her hair with a smile. “I used to take the stairs all the time when I worked here. It was great for losing weight.” The others chimed in. “No wonder you’ve gotten so thin, Chloe!” “I’m starting tomorrow!” The HR manager, whom I knew best, put an arm around her shoulder and winked. “You don’t know, do you? Mr. Thorne is famous for how much he adores Kayla. With her in your corner, you have nothing to worry about.” … I knew in my heart: Chloe wasn’t the one who had called. If she had made that mistake, she would have been gone long ago. Besides, Lucas’s calm demeanor on the phone was nothing like the rage Chloe described. Lucas was a surprisingly good liar. A sense of foreboding washed over me. My intuition told me his relationship with the caller was not so simple… My eyes scanned the room. Several of his most trusted female executives were here. Could it be one of them? 7 “Oh!” A woman near the coffee machine accidentally knocked over a cup. Dark brown liquid streamed down the white cabinet door. “I’ll go get the cleaner.” Soon, a woman in a uniform entered. Her head was bowed low. She didn’t look at anyone as she came in, silently mopped the floor, and then crouched down to meticulously wipe away the remaining stains. After she left, the chatter started up again. “Hey, how did you get her to come?” “I just happened to see her by the elevator and brought her over.” “That’s weird. Last time I asked her to wipe down a cabinet, she didn’t even look up and just said it wasn’t her job.” “But I see her on this floor all the time. If it’s not her job, what is she doing here?” I swirled the cup in my hand, my face impassive, but my heart was sinking. This woman… I knew her. I just never expected to see her here again. 8 Her name was Ivy. Lucas had hired her to clean our home. He said she was a neighbor who had helped him when he was a child. Her family was poor, and she had developed a chronic illness after giving birth that prevented her from doing heavy labor. He thought giving her some light work at our house would help her make ends meet. I readily agreed. Someone had to do the work; why not do a favor for a friend? There was nothing special about Ivy. She was plain, small, and dressed simply, her hair always pulled back in a low ponytail. She was like a blank wall, unremarkable, easy to overlook. She didn’t call me “Mrs. Thorne” like everyone else. Instead, she uniquely called me “Miss Kayla.” What was strange was Lucas’s attitude toward her. He was usually home after she had already left. On the rare occasions they crossed paths, Lucas would act as if he didn’t see her, his expression cold. Ivy would keep her head down, silent, exposing a smooth, white, and fragile-looking nape. Once, as she was crouching to wipe the floor, I caught a glimpse of several faint, brownish scars beneath the half-open collar of her shirt. 9 That night, lying in Lucas’s arms, I broached the subject carefully. “Are you and Ivy not on good terms?” He was silent for a moment, then answered with a question. “Why do you ask? Was she rude to you?” I laughed at his overreaction. “Why so defensive? Isn’t she your neighbor? Why does she look like she’s afraid to even look up at you?” His expression was flat, his fingers toying with a strand of my hair. “We haven’t been in touch for a long time. Besides, seeing her just reminds me of the past. It’s… unpleasant.” I tilted my head to look at him. “But you said she helped you when you were a kid.” “Back then,” he said with a hint of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “she was only a few years older than me. How much could she really help? It was all just trivial, depressing stuff.” I knew he had suffered a lot as a child, often going days without a proper meal. He had been so small in junior high that he was shorter than a fifth-grader. My heart ached for him. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can find her another job.” “Hah,” he scoffed. “What else can she do besides sweep floors?” He snuggled closer, his voice muffled against my neck. “Kayla, why do you keep bringing her up? I missed you so much…” I smiled and soothed him. Later, I noticed that Ivy would often clean the master bedroom without permission. Lucas was very territorial, and he always took care of the master bedroom himself. I mentioned it to her twice, and she quietly agreed to stop. But every time I returned from a business trip, I would find subtle changes—the creases in the sheets, the angle of the rug, even the arrangement of things in the walk-in closet. At the same time, the housekeeper privately told me she thought Ivy was pregnant. I was planning to arrange for her to take maternity leave. Before I could bring it up, Lucas fired her. When I asked why, his face was a cold, emotionless mask. “Why keep someone who doesn’t know her place?” “I sent her somewhere else.” So, he had sent her to work at his company. 10 Because of my surprise visit, Lucas left work an hour early, saying he wanted to take me to a new fusion restaurant in the suburbs. I leaned against the car window, watching the shadowy trees recede in a blur. I could feel his intense gaze on my back. I changed my expression and turned to look at him. He took my hand and kissed it gently. “How was your visit to the office today?” “It was nice. The people in the admin office are as friendly as ever.” He grinned. “That depends on who they’re talking to. Who would dare to neglect the boss’s wife?” “The new assistant is still young. Don’t be so hard on her all the time.” He sighed in mock exasperation. “Alright, alright. I’m just paying a bunch of divas. You’re so gentle. If you come by more often, you’ll just make me look like an even bigger tyrant.” I lowered my head and smiled, then paused before speaking again. “I… saw Ivy today.” Lucas glanced in the rearview mirror, his expression unchanged as he grunted in acknowledgment. “Did she contact you?” I turned to look at him. “A while ago,” he said, his tone flat as he steered with one hand. “Said she got scammed out of her money and couldn’t make ends meet.” The car turned a corner. He added, “I remembered you telling me to be more lenient with her, so I had Mark find her an easy job.” I felt a twinge of concern. “Does she still… affect your mood?” He didn’t answer. He stopped at a red light and turned to look at me quietly. The soft glow of dusk streamed through the windshield, bathing his handsome face in a mixture of light and shadow. He lowered his head and gently stroked the simple band on my ring finger. Then he looked up, his gaze full of a profound devotion, as if in all of time and space, he could only see me. Then he said, “As long as you’re here, it doesn’t hurt.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392940”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After I turned myself in to the police for my crime, my fiancé, Mark, rushed over, furious. “You didn’t steal anything,” he demanded. “Why did you confess?” I just shrugged. I was ready to do the time. In my last life, Mark’s childhood sweetheart, Stella, came back to the country and started causing trouble everywhere. First, she shoplifted from a mall. Then she dined and dashed at a restaurant. Finally, she ran a red light and killed someone with her car. When the mall manager, the restaurant owner, and the victim’s family all came to me, I was baffled. Why were they blaming me for things Stella had done? Later, when they accused me in front of the police of theft, skipping out on a bill, and a fatal hit-and-run, I finally understood. They had mistaken Stella for me. But Stella and I looked nothing alike. I demanded they review the security footage. The footage showed that the person stealing, dining and dashing, and committing the hit-and-run was, in fact, me. Words meant nothing against video evidence. The victim’s family, mad with grief, stabbed me to death on the spot. To my dying day, I never understood why, in every single piece of footage, Stella’s crimes were pinned on me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Stella stole from the mall… 1 “Melody, what the hell are you doing? You didn’t do anything wrong! Why did you turn yourself in and say you stole something?” I looked up at the familiar, furious face of my boyfriend, Mark. Faced with his questions, I just gave him an innocent look. “Mark, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.” “You have to own up to your mistakes. It’s a good citizen’s duty to admit when they’re wrong and change for the better. How can you tell me to take back my confession?” In the interrogation room, the police officer frowned at Mark. He rapped his knuckles on the table. “Sir, your thinking is very dangerous right now.” “There is security footage proving Ms. Melody Reid took bread from the supermarket, and she has confessed to the crime. With both physical and testimonial evidence, how can you try to persuade her to evade responsibility?” The officer’s righteous words made Mark’s face twist with anger. He stared at me in disbelief, pounding on the glass partition of the room. “Melody! Are you insane?” “You have millions in your account, and you’re stealing a two-dollar loaf of bread? Are you sick?!” But no matter what he said, I just kept my head down, pretending not to hear. Mark was beside himself with rage. He yelled at me one more time, “Melody, I’m asking you one last time, are you coming out of there with me or not?” “I’m telling you now, my parents will never let a woman with a criminal record into our family!” But faced with his threat, I just shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. “Mark, even if you say that, I can’t leave.” “If your parents won’t accept me as their daughter-in-law because I had the courage to admit my mistakes, then I guess we just weren’t meant to be.” My words completely disgusted him. He had nothing left to say to me. With one last furious glare, Mark turned and stormed away. Watching him leave, I let out a sigh of relief. In my last life, Mark’s childhood sweetheart, Stella, had returned from abroad. The moment she was back, his world revolved around her. Ten years of knowing Mark, and Stella made me look like a joke. We were already talking about marriage, but seeing how devoted he was to Stella, I wasn’t one to cling. I was ready to step aside and let them be together. But right then, Stella was caught stealing, dining and dashing, and even killing someone in a hit-and-run. Trying to be reasonable, I told Mark that Stella should turn herself in to get a lighter sentence. But he just looked at me like I was crazy. “What are you talking about, Melody? You’re the one who did those things. What does it have to do with Stella?” I was about to ask him what he meant when the mall manager, the restaurant owner, and the victim’s family all found me, accusing me of theft, skipping out on a bill, and a hit-and-run. I thought they had the wrong person. Stella and I looked nothing alike. I patiently explained, but the three victims pulled out security footage. The person in the videos, committing all those crimes, was clearly me. I had no way to defend myself. The victim’s family, having lost their only son, was mentally shattered. They stabbed me over a dozen times right there. After I died, I couldn’t figure out how every single piece of security footage—from the mall, the restaurant, the street—all clearly showed me as the culprit. Faking one video might be possible, but faking so many would be incredibly difficult. So, what went wrong? Reborn into this life, I was determined to uncover the truth. I was held at the police station for three days. After three days of counseling and education, they let me go. The first thing I did with my phone was search the local news, just as I remembered from my last life. Sure enough, Mark’s sweetheart, Stella, had committed all the same crimes. But unlike the panic I felt last time, I was completely calm. I’d been locked up for three days. The person in the security footage couldn’t possibly be me this time, right? But I was wrong. I had only taken a few steps from the police station, stopping to buy a bowl of soup from a street vendor, when a group of angry people surrounded me. The man in the lead raised his hand to slap me. “Melody Reid, we finally found you!” “You ran a red light and killed my son! I want you to pay with your life!” The others chimed in. “You stole luxury goods from our store and damaged mall property! You’re not getting away with this without paying ten thousand dollars!” “You dined and dashed at our restaurant! The bill was $888.88! Pay up!” One of the victims, afraid I would deny everything, even started a livestream, pointing their camera right at me. “Everyone, take a look! This is the deadbeat, Melody Reid, who owes money and a life!” Faced with their accusations, a question flashed in my mind. Why, after I had been locked in a police station for three days, were these people still coming after me? But unlike the panicked, frantic me of my past life, I was incredibly calm. “I think you have the wrong person,” I said, unhurriedly. “The person who did those things is named Stella, not Melody Reid. If you don’t believe me, check the security footage.” “We knew you’d say that!” one of them sneered. “We came prepared so you can’t deny it when we hand you over to the police!” They all pulled out their phones and played the footage. The person in the videos, committing all those crimes, was still me. The livestream chat exploded with comments. [Wow, it takes all kinds. I’ve never seen a thief so brazenly accuse someone else.] [Not only does she refuse to admit her crimes, she tries to pin them on someone else. Why doesn’t this woman just die?] Seeing this, my heart sank. Before I was taken into custody, I had considered the possibility that Mark and Stella wouldn’t give up, that they would still try to frame me. But I hadn’t expected the worst-case scenario to still happen. My silence was taken as guilt, as if their accusations had hit their mark. The restaurant owner shoved his bill in my face. “You bitch! You eat at my place, then you smash my plates and bowls! How can you be so disgusting?” “The bill is $888.88, and the damage to the tableware and lost business comes to $200. You owe me $1,088.88 in total!” The mall manager, with a salesclerk in tow, stepped forward, frowning. “You took a popular handbag from a luxury boutique. That bag alone is worth ten thousand, thirty with the required extra purchases. Add in the damage to mall property, and you owe us forty thousand dollars. Pay up!” The parents of the hit-and-run victim were the most emotional, pointing a finger at my nose and screaming curses. “The police station is right across the street! If you don’t give us an explanation, I’ll have the police arrest you and see you get the death penalty!” I took a deep breath. “I really didn’t do any of these things. The person who did is named Stella. I know her. She’s my ex-fiancé’s childhood friend. If you don’t believe me, I can have her come here for a confrontation. Also, I’ve been at the police station for the past three days. I…” Before I could finish, Mark and his darling Stella rushed over, interrupting me. The moment he saw me, Mark raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Melody, I’m breaking off our engagement!” “I knew you were getting out today, and Stella was kind enough to come with me to pick you up. But you dare to slander her like this?” “You make mistakes and refuse to admit them. I don’t have a fiancée like you. You’re not worthy of our family!” Stella looked at me, her eyes red. “Melody,” she choked out, “I know you’ve never liked me because I’m Mark’s childhood friend.” “At home, you’d break a plate and say I did it. You’d pinch the neighbor’s kid and say I hit them. To keep the peace between you and Mark, I always just took the blame!” “But you can’t… you can’t accuse me of something like this! This is a matter of life and death!” With that, she pushed Mark away, taking several steps back to create distance between them. “Mark, if being your friend means I have to endure these false accusations and slander, then maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore!” “I can’t stand being pointed at and judged all the time! I have to bow and apologize for things I didn’t do, and sometimes I even get hit! I can’t take this kind of treatment anymore!” Her words were like a spark in a tinderbox. The crowd erupted. They all turned on me, their eyes filled with condemnation and hatred. Someone even picked up a rock and threw it at me. I couldn’t dodge in time. The rock grazed my cheek, breaking the skin and drawing blood. The crowd froze for a second. The livestream chat paused. But after a brief silence, they surged forward again, fists raised, demanding an explanation. Just then, the police noticed the commotion and sent a patrol unit over to investigate. When the lead officer, Officer Davis, saw me, he paused. “Melody? You just got out. Shouldn’t you be heading home for a shower instead of standing out here?” His words silenced the crowd. Seeing Officer Davis, a dark glint appeared in my eyes. I saw the flash of panic on Mark’s face and deliberately spoke loudly. “Officer Davis, since you’re here, I’d like you to be a witness for me!” “A witness for what?” he asked, confused. Under everyone’s gaze, I lowered my head, my shoulders trembling as tears streamed down my face. My voice was filled with anguish. “I just got out of the station, and I was surrounded by this mob. They’re saying I did a lot of terrible things and that I have to pay.” “I told them it wasn’t me, but they showed me security footage, and the person in it is me.” “But they might not know, but the entire police department knows! I’ve been locked in a holding cell for the past three days! How could I possibly have been out here?!” Officer Davis paused, then confirmed my words. “That’s right. You’ve been in custody for the past three days and have been a model detainee. You never caused any trouble. We were even going to recognize you as a model prisoner.” Hearing this, the business owners were stunned. The livestream viewers were shocked. “So, after all that, they got the wrong person!” “These businesses are so irresponsible! They came here all aggressive without getting their facts straight! I saw some of them get physical. The poor girl’s forehead is bleeding!” I looked at the business owners and the victim’s family earnestly. “Now do you believe me? I really didn’t do any of the things you said, because I’ve been locked up in the police station the whole time.” They hesitated, looking from the security footage to me and back again. “But the person in the footage is you. The cameras can’t be wrong, can they?” A bystander chimed in. “Maybe they can be! She said she was at the police station, and the station’s security footage has to be real!” At everyone’s request, the police brought out their equipment and examined the footage on the spot. But when the results came in, everyone was stunned again. Even Officer Davis’s eyes widened in shock. The footage from the business owners’ phones was completely authentic, with no signs of tampering whatsoever. Now it was the online viewers’ turn to explode. “What is going on? The police have to investigate this thoroughly! We can’t let an innocent person be framed, and we can’t let a guilty person go free!” Just then, Mark, who had regained his composure after seeing the footage confirmed as real, exchanged a look with Stella and stepped forward. “The bad guy is Melody!” he shouted. “She’s a terrible person! She could sneak out of police custody to commit crimes!” “We just checked! There’s a small alley behind the police station, a blind spot for the cameras! Melody must have escaped through there!” “And her dad’s a locksmith! Who knows if she learned the trade from him? She could have easily picked the lock while the guards were asleep and snuck out to do bad things!” All eyes turned to me, filled with suspicion. Even Officer Davis began to doubt me. Mark smiled triumphantly. “Officer, you have to arrest her! She killed someone! She has to pay with her life!” The victim’s family chimed in emotionally, “Yes! I want her to pay for my son’s life!” The crowd grew rowdy again. Eyes filled with scrutiny, contempt, doubt, and disgust lingered on me. I trembled under the weight of their negativity. But I wasn’t scared. I was thrilled. Because… I had anticipated this moment.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392957”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My sister took credit for a rescue I performed and was adopted by a wealthy family from the city. I studied hard, got into college, and graduated, eager to reunite with her. But she locked me in a basement and starved me to death. “Only when you’re dead,” she’d said, “will the credit for that rescue truly be mine. Go to your grave with that secret, dear sister.” What she didn’t know was that I had already reconnected with my billionaire biological parents. I never wanted a share of that glory. I opened my eyes and I was back at the moment of the rescue. 1 “Help… help me…” The moment my eyes opened, I saw a middle-aged man struggling in the lake, his body slowly sinking. The familiar scene, my own thin, frail body—I knew I had been reborn. Without a second thought, I plunged into the water, swimming with all my might toward the drowning man. I knew who he was. A wealthy tycoon from the capital, Ashton Stark. He was here sketching and had accidentally fallen into the lake. In my previous life, I was the one who saved him. But while I was gone changing my wet clothes, my sister seized the opportunity to claim my heroic deed as her own. We were both orphans from the same home. To repay the favor, Mr. Stark adopted my sister, Maya, and took her back to the city with him. I hadn’t cared then. I believed an older sister should always yield to the younger one. I let her take the credit and even wrote her many letters after she left, all of which went unanswered, disappearing into a void. It wasn’t until my junior year of college, when I found my real parents, that I went to the city to see her, worried she wasn’t doing well. Instead, I walked straight into my own grave. I still remember the bone-chilling cold of the basement, the utter despair of being trapped with no one to call for help. And outside the iron door, Maya’s cold laughter. “You came looking for me because you wanted to tell Dad the truth about the rescue, didn’t you? Well, too bad! The credit is mine and mine alone!” “As for you, you can take that secret to your grave!” Only in my dying moments did I understand. Maya had never seen me as a sister. She despised me, looked down on me, saw me as a stain on her life that had to be erased. Since I’ve been given a second chance, I’m taking back all my kindness. As for all the evil she did in my last life, I’ll be returning it to her twofold in this one. Right now, I was only twelve. Saving a grown man nearly depleted all my strength; I almost drowned myself. After finally dragging Mr. Stark ashore, I gritted my teeth and performed CPR, pressing on his stomach until he coughed up water. Once I was sure he was breathing, I collapsed beside him, gasping for air. That’s when Maya ran over. Back then, she wasn’t Maya Stark. We both used the director’s surname. I was Chloe Reed, and she was Maya Reed. Maya was two years younger than me. She covered her mouth in feigned shock. “Chloe, you saved someone?!” I was too busy catching my breath to answer her. Her gaze fell on Mr. Stark, sizing him up before she recited the exact same lines as in my past life. “Chloe, your clothes are soaked. You should go back and change. I’ll watch him for you.” She wanted me out of the way so she could take the credit when he woke up. This time, I wouldn’t let her have her way. 2 “Maya,” I said, my voice weak, “I’m too tired to walk back. Could you get me a towel?” “Oh…” Maya was clearly reluctant. She tried to change the subject. “Chloe, who is this man? He’s not dead, is he?” Who he was didn’t matter. What mattered were his expensive clothes and the gold watch on his wrist. I knew what Maya was thinking. Just then, Mr. Stark groaned and began to stir. An idea sparked in Maya’s mind. She rushed to the lake, splashed water all over herself, and then ran back to help Mr. Stark sit up. Her small face was a mask of concern. “Are you alright? You nearly drowned! It’s a good thing I saved you!” I watched her performance with cold detachment. I’d missed this scene in my past life; I had to get a good look this time. She was a natural. Her hair was soaked, her expression flawless. “I wanted to call 911 for you, but your phone is waterlogged, and I don’t have one…” She lowered her head, her voice dropping to a pitiful whisper. “Our orphanage is nearby. Why don’t I take you there to rest for a bit?” I had caught my breath. I got up and helped Mr. Stark from the other side, adding, “Yes, you can change into some dry clothes at the home. You don’t want to catch a cold.” Mr. Stark looked between the two of us. “You two saved me?” Maya gritted her teeth. She desperately wanted all the credit, but I was still here. She had no choice but to nod. “Yes, we pulled you out of the lake together.” “Thank you. You’re my saviors!” Mr. Stark thanked us profusely as we helped him towards the orphanage. On the way, Maya was eager to impress him, fawning over him constantly. She asked if he was tired, offered him a piece of candy, playing the part of the innocent, sweet child to perfection. I remained silent, only offering a kind smile whenever he looked my way. When we reached the orphanage and the director took over, Maya and I both breathed a sigh of relief. But it wasn’t long before the director called us back. I knew the moment had come. The adoption. Since Mr. Stark already had a son, he could only adopt one more child. So the director asked us, who wanted to be adopted? Maya immediately rushed forward and hugged Mr. Stark’s leg. “Mr. Stark, please adopt me! I’ll study hard and be a good girl. More than anything, I want a family!” Mr. Stark looked at me. I lowered my head, my voice filled with sadness. “Then you should adopt Maya, Mr. Stark. She always says the orphanage is a horrible place. This is her chance to leave.” I turned to walk away, but “accidentally” stumbled and fell. The director rushed over to help me up. “Chloe, what’s wrong with your leg?” I whispered, “Mr. Stark is so tall and heavy. I used up all my strength saving him. I haven’t recovered yet.” “Oh, that’s not right!” I feigned panic and quickly added, “I mean, Maya and I saved Mr. Stark together! We swam in the lake and pulled him out together!” The director, always straightforward, blurted out, “Since when does Maya know how to swim?” In that instant, Mr. Stark’s face darkened. In my past life, worried about Maya, I had thoroughly investigated Mr. Stark. I knew he was a kind and upright man who couldn’t stand lies and deceit. Now that her lie was exposed, how could she possibly be adopted? Sure enough, Maya’s face fell. She stared at me, her almost-crying face filled with venom. I just raised an eyebrow at her. It’s just acting, isn’t it? I can do that, too. 3 In the end, Mr. Stark adopted me. But he also promised to sponsor Maya, covering her living and educational expenses, and even offering her a job in the future. It was a happy ending for everyone—except Maya. Soon, Mr. Stark’s assistant arrived at the orphanage to handle the paperwork. It was time for me to leave. The director and the other children came to see me off. Maya, feigning reluctance, clung to my hand. She stared at me, her grip tight. “Sister, I never knew you were this kind of person. Willing to abandon even me just to escape this dump.” I smiled faintly. “I just told the truth, Maya. And I never knew you were the kind of person who would lie about saving someone just to be adopted by a rich man.” “You…” She gritted her teeth and huffed, her fists clenched. “So what if you’re adopted? Mr. Stark is sponsoring me, too. Sooner or later, I’ll come find you!” “You’re just moving to a big city. You probably won’t even be able to adjust. You’ll be sent back in a few days!” “Did you hear me? You…” She was still shouting, but I had already turned my back on her, leaving her with a dismissive wave. The road ahead was long. I was curious to see how she would navigate it this time. I went to the capital with Mr. Stark and changed my name to Chloe Stark. Mr. Stark’s wife had undergone a hysterectomy after a difficult birth, so they only had one son, a year younger than me, named Leo Stark. On my first day at the Stark’s, Leo threw a snake on my bed. But I just grabbed the snake and threw it right back in his face. After that, Leo never dared to mess with me again. He obediently called me “sister.” Now, I had the perfect conditions I never had in my past life. I transferred to a top junior high school, had a private driver, and caring adoptive parents. I was like a newly sprouted sapling, greedily absorbing nutrients and growing. In my past life, I hadn’t found my biological parents until my junior year of college. At this point, they were still abroad, so I wasn’t in a hurry to reconnect. With the memories of my past life and the hard work of this one, I quickly became the top student in my school, a position I maintained until high school graduation. My adoptive parents adored me, and even Leo genuinely accepted me as his sister. I remembered my adoptive mother divorcing my father during my high school years in my past life, but in this life, they were exceptionally loving. Our family of four lived a peaceful and warm life. After the college entrance exams, I chose a local top university and visited my family regularly. Life was orderly and on track. Until the summer before my sophomore year. I went home to visit my parents for the weekend and saw a long-unseen figure in the living room. Maya was wearing a delicate slip dress, her face lightly made up. She greeted me with a provocative tone. “Sister, long time no see.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392973”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The senior trip after graduation was where I met Ethan. It was like lightning striking kindling. I fell for him so hard it was almost a death wish. And it was, in a way. It ended when he threw a positive pregnancy test in front of my father. “Mr. Albright,” he’d said, his voice cold and steady, “your daughter is pregnant. The child is mine. And I’m leaving her.” Just like that, Ethan Thorne vanished from my world. It turned out our entire relationship had been nothing but a means to avenge his first love. After that day, my father died. My mother lost her mind. Ten years later, I met Ethan again. 1 I’ve been drinking. Come get me. Got two friends with me. The text was from Marcus. Okay, I typed back, adding a string of hearts and kissing emojis. Marcus is in his forties, but his needs are still… intense. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be coming home tonight. After telling Leo to finish his homework and put himself to bed, I left. Leo is nine now. He’s a good boy. He can sleep at home alone, make his own breakfast, and get himself to school without me. I couldn’t find a parking spot near the hotel. Marcus’s phone was off. I had no choice but to park on the street and walk to the address he’d sent. I heard his booming voice before I even reached the entrance. “Stunning, right? Great body, never complains. Eight grand a month. Cleaner than a hooker, less hassle than a girlfriend. And she comes whenever I call, faster than an Uber.” I pretended I hadn’t heard him talking about me. “Marcus,” I said, my voice even. He spun around. Seeing me standing there, a flash of discomfort crossed his face. He cleared his throat and made the introductions. “This is my old friend, Ethan Thorne, and his fiancée, Rachel.” He gestured toward me. “And this is… my, uh… friend, Valerie Albright.” “A pleasure, Miss Albright.” Ethan shook my hand, his grip firm and polite. Rachel just snorted, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The official girlfriends and wives—they always looked down on me. I never thought I’d see Ethan again in this lifetime. Ten years had stripped away his boyishness, replacing it with the polished confidence of a successful man. In those first few years, I used to fantasize about this moment every single day. How would I react? Would I be incandescent with rage? Would I hate him so much that I’d slap him, or sink my teeth into his flesh? But time and hardship have a way of sanding down all emotion. Seeing him again, all I could manage were two quiet words. “Hello.” 2 They had all been drinking heavily. The car filled with the sour stench of alcohol. On the way over, I’d already stopped to buy three bottles of yogurt drinks and some hangover pills. “See? My Valerie is so thoughtful,” Marcus boasted to Ethan. I’d been with Marcus for three years. He wasn’t a bad man, just had a big mouth. He owned a small advertising agency. He liked to call himself a CEO, but he wasn’t rolling in money. Being able to keep me for eight thousand a month was a point of pride for him. I didn’t see it as an insult. I never got angry about it. In the rearview mirror, I saw Rachel frown, her hand pressed against her stomach. At a red light, I handed her a disposable heat pack. “This might help.” It was only then that Ethan seemed to notice his fiancée’s discomfort. He asked her what was wrong, then had me stop at a pharmacy to buy her some medicine. Rachel’s house was the closest, so she was the first one out. Maybe it was the heat pack, but the initial hostility in her eyes was gone. She thanked me politely and said goodbye. She was pretty, the kind of girl you could tell was raised in a good family. The fact that we dropped her off in a gated community of civil servants’ homes only confirmed it. With just the three of us left in the car, Marcus started getting handsy. He was always like this after a few drinks, acting as if no one else could see, his hand creeping up my thigh. Ethan’s phone rang. “Yeah, I know. Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up, his voice apologetic. “Marcus, my old man wants me to come over. Would you mind if your friend gave me a ride?” He seemed to know, with absolute certainty, that Marcus wouldn’t come along. When we reached Marcus’s apartment complex, he pulled me into a hug, his hands roaming over my body one last time. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he whispered in my ear, his hot breath making me flinch. I couldn’t tell if it was because of Marcus, or the impending solitude with Ethan. 3 On the way to Ethan’s family home, he was silent for so long I almost forgot he was in the back seat. The truth is, I knew where the old house was. We had once kissed in front of its ivy-covered iron gate, a desperate, breathless tangle of limbs. He had cupped my face in his hands. “Valerie, can you feel how much I like you?” If it was all an act, why were his eyes filled with starlight? It was a real loss to the world of theater that he hadn’t pursued a career on the stage. A soft chuckle came from the back seat. “Valerie, are you really this cheap? You graduated from a top-tier prep school. Go ask your classmates if any of them would be caught dead earning less than twenty grand a month. And you sell yourself for a measly eight?” I didn’t say anything. What was there to say? That thanks to him, my father, upon learning of my unwed pregnancy, had gone out drinking, stumbled into traffic, and been killed? That my mother, unable to bear the shock, had lost her mind? That I had never made it to my first day of college, my admission rescinded? He would be thrilled to know all that. He hated my family that much. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. When I didn’t respond, Ethan kicked the back of my seat. “Say something, damn it!” Fearing an accident, I pulled the car over to the side of the road. “Ethan,” I said, my voice weary, “what do you want me to say?” 4 The soft click of the door closing still woke Leo. I looked up to see him standing by his bedroom door, clutching a fruit knife, his small body tense and alert. A wave of sorrow washed over me. While I was beneath another man, while I was at the hospital with my mother, this was how my son spent his nights—alone and terrified. “Mom!” A smile broke across his face, and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around my waist. For so long, I thought of Leo as the symbol of all my suffering. If my father hadn’t died, my parents would have surely taken me to a clinic to end the pregnancy. But he was gone. Both my parents had lost their own parents early in life and had no siblings. If it hadn’t been for my father’s students, his funeral would have been a desolate affair. After the funeral, my mother started talking about suicide constantly. In her lucid moments, she would beat me, screaming that I was a shameless whore who had killed my father. Soon, her lucid moments became rarer. She ran out of the house and attacked a neighbor. We paid a hefty sum in medical bills, and with what little savings we had left, I admitted her to a psychiatric hospital. There, she was diagnosed with kidney failure. During a brief period of clarity, she learned of her diagnosis. Not wanting to be a burden, she threw herself from a window. She survived, but she was paralyzed from the waist down. There was no one to take me to get an abortion. Anyone reading my story up to this point would probably scoff. “She was eighteen, a legal adult. Couldn’t she have gone by herself?” The me of today wants to scoff at the me of back then, too. But the truth is, I couldn’t. I was too scared. Before I met Ethan, the most embarrassing thing I had ever done was take off my shirt for a physical exam before my final exams. I didn’t know how to walk into a women’s clinic and tell a doctor I was pregnant. I couldn’t imagine the look in their eyes. Would they hand me a form for a family member to sign? I had no family. On TV, miscarriages seemed so easy. A fall, a cold drink. I threw myself down the stairs, I punched my own stomach, I swallowed a whole bottle of herbal laxatives. Nothing worked. Every morning, I would tell myself, tomorrow. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Those days passed in a blur of caring for my mother—feeding her, cleaning her, enduring her beatings and curses when she was lucid. I was miserable, but the days flew by. And so, Leo grew inside me. I was so thin the pregnancy barely showed. It wasn’t until my father’s colleague, my high school homeroom teacher Mrs. Gable, came to visit my mother that anyone noticed. Mrs. Gable thought I was only five months along and was preparing to take me to a clinic. An examination revealed I was already eight months pregnant. Leo was born weighing only four pounds, small and fragile as a baby bird. Mrs. Gable cried. “Valerie, don’t you know? You’ve ruined your life.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392990”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 To seize my place as the future Crown Princess for my illegitimate half-sister, Evelyn, my three older brothers stopped at nothing. My eldest brother, Damon, deliberately unleashed his prized tiger, which tore half the skin from my face, leaving me disfigured. My second brother, Julian, secretly allowed bandits into our estate. They severed the tendons in both my hands, ensuring I could never hold a quill again, my talents forever wasted. My third brother, Adrian, bribed a debauched nobleman to violate me, shattering my reputation and my purity. Evelyn successfully took my place and became the Crown Princess. Only after their goal was achieved did my three brothers remember me. “Don’t worry, Alice,” they promised, “we’ll make it up to you. We’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” I clutched the marriage contract just delivered to me by the crippled Lord Chancellor, and answered calmly, “That won’t be necessary. Your repentance is a burden I can no longer bear.” It took me three days to legally sever all ties with them. Then, without a backward glance, I stepped into the bridal carriage. Later, I heard my three brothers turned the capital city upside down, even posting a bounty, just to bring me home. But what did it matter? I was no longer connected to them in any way… … In the training grounds, my eldest brother, Damon, was personally training a tiger cub. He was the most renowned beastmaster in the Kingdom of Veridia, training animals exclusively for the royal family. But now, he stroked the cub’s head, his face full of tender hope. “Pip,” he murmured, “you must be a good boy, so you can protect Evelyn when you’re grown…” Tears streamed down from under my mask, seeping into the unhealed wounds on my cheek. The stinging pain was sharp and deep. I had always wanted a tiger cub of my own, but Damon had always scolded me for my impropriety, saying that the tiger was the king of beasts, a companion fit only for a king. I used to think he was just a stickler for rules, afraid I would bring trouble upon myself. Now I knew the truth: for the person he truly cherished, he was more than willing to bend those rules. Seven years ago, after my mother passed away and my father brought his mistress and her illegitimate daughter, Evelyn, into our home, the brother who had once adored me became a stranger. His eyes saw only Evelyn; his trueborn sister had ceased to exist. I walked over to Pip and stroked his soft, downy head. “Brother,” I asked, my voice low, “do you remember that I always wanted a tiger cub, too?” Damon saw me and recoiled as if from a monster. He snatched Pip into his arms, his eyes wary. “Alice, what are you trying to do? This is a wedding gift for Evelyn. Don’t you dare think of taking it!” His distrust wasn’t new. Seven years ago, when Evelyn first arrived at our estate, she had deliberately paraded in front of me in her new, fine clothes, a clear provocation. I paid her no mind, simply ordering my handmaiden, Lyra, to escort her out. But Evelyn tore her own dress, slammed her head against a stone table, and accused me of attacking her. When Damon arrived, he saw only her pathetic, tear-streaked face. She shrank into his arms like a frightened fawn. “Brother,” she whimpered, “Lady Alice said I was a bastard, unworthy of such fine cloth. She had her maidservant tear my clothes from my body…” Damon had always been simple-minded, believing only what he saw with his own eyes. He refused to listen to my explanation, slapped me hard across the face, and our relationship has been cold ever since. In his mind, I was a jealous shrew who wanted everything for herself. It was true seven years ago, and it was true now. I had tried to prove my innocence countless times over the years, only to be met with disgust and dismissal. Every word from my mouth was, to him, a lie. Now, on the verge of leaving forever, I had finally found peace with it. You can’t force affection, and a heart won by deceit will never be true. My goal today was simple: to sever our ties, not to reconcile. Damon looked at the disownment writ I had prepared and sneered. “A highborn lady with such a petty heart. You’re nothing like Evelyn, so gracious and understanding. Having a sister like you is my greatest shame.” I touched the cold, unfeeling mask on my face, as if tracing the ruined flesh beneath. “And having a brother like you,” I said with a self-mocking laugh, “is mine.” I had always adored Damon, hanging on his every word, never once contradicting him. Even after the tiger mauled me, I never directly accused him. This was the first time in my life I had shown him such insolence. He couldn’t stand it. He grabbed me by the throat, his eyes shot with blood. “You brought this on yourself, Alice! The day you commanded that cub to attack Evelyn, you should have known this day would come!” I was suddenly thrown back to a summer when I was eight. Evelyn had dragged me into the tiger enclosure to play. I tried to stop her, warning her of the danger, but she was determined to touch a cub that was teething. The startled cub pounced, scratching her face. When Damon rushed in, she pointed at me and screamed that I had ordered the attack. Without a single question, he locked me in an empty tiger cage and starved me for three days and three nights. The memory was a heavy stone in my chest, crushing the air from my lungs. Eager to be free of this place, I pushed through the pain. “Since you hate me so much, Brother, then sign the papers. Then Evelyn can be entered into the family archives as your trueborn sister…” “Fine! A venomous creature like you was never worthy of being my sister anyway!” Damon snatched the quill from a servant and scrawled his name. He threw the document in my face. “Don’t you regret this! Who would want you, looking as you do now? What good is cutting ties? You’ll still have to live in this house, eating our food, using our resources!” I picked up the writ, folded it carefully, and tucked it into my sleeve. “You needn’t worry, Lord Damon. Alice will not be a burden.” His eyelashes fluttered. He took a step closer, his voice a low growl. “You call me Lord Damon?!” I stepped back, maintaining the distance between us. “Our ties are severed. It is only proper.” He trembled with rage, his jaw tight. “Good! Very good! Let’s see how long your pride lasts. Don’t come crawling back to me!” I won’t, I thought. In three days, I will leave this house and never return. Regret, hardship… whatever comes next, it will be mine alone to bear. 2 The next day, I entered the study of my second brother, Julian. After our father, the Duke, passed away, Julian, as the most learned and promising son, inherited his title and became the new Lord Chancellor. Years in the royal court had taught him a composure Damon lacked. He didn’t react to my unannounced entry, his eyes remaining on the document he was writing. A single, perfunctory question drifted from his lips. “Are your hands any better?” I looked at my hands. Though the wounds had healed, they could no longer hold a quill. “Much better,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping me. “Thank you for leaving me with at least some ability to function.” Julian, pleased by my lack of hysterics, offered a small, satisfied smile. “Now, this is how a lady of a great house should behave. Alice, don’t blame me for my harshness. Evelyn suffered so much in her youth. Her skills in poetry, painting, and politics are no match for yours. If we hadn’t helped her this time, I fear she would have chosen a life of lonely spinsterhood after losing the Prince…” I gazed at the painting of orchids I had gifted him, which hung on the wall. A wave of sorrow washed over me, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. “And what about me, Brother? My engagement is ruined. What am I to do? Live out my days as a lonely spinster?” He saw my tear but mistook it for an accusation. The flicker of guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by annoyance. “Alice, I was trying to spare you some dignity. You know full well how you came by that engagement to the Prince! Evelyn was the one who saved him. You shamelessly stole the token of affection the Prince left for her, which led him to propose to the wrong sister! You owe her this!” At the Midsummer Festival when I was ten, I pulled a boy my age from the river. Before he lost consciousness, he pressed a jade pendant into my hand. I didn’t know he was the Crown Prince, who had snuck out of the palace to see the festival, so I casually left the pendant on my dressing table. Evelyn’s mother, while pretending to bring me medicine for a cold, saw it. After making inquiries, she returned with Evelyn and accused me of theft. They described the pendant’s design and the events of that day with perfect accuracy. My father and brothers naturally believed them. But when the Prince came to formally propose, he ignored the pendant. Instead, he closed his eyes and gently took my hand. “It was her,” he declared. “This is the hand that saved me. I would not mistake it!” The Prince’s validation did not clear my name. It only made my father and brothers despise me more, convinced I had used some dark art to bewitch him. From that day on, Julian lost all faith in me and sided completely with Evelyn. He held fast to our father’s last words: “You must help Evelyn reclaim the marriage that is rightfully hers!” “Alice, if you have a shred of conscience left, you will wish Evelyn nothing but happiness!” Julian’s sharp words pulled me from my reverie. I no longer had the will to argue. I nodded meekly. “I understand.” I took down the orchid painting. “This was my finest work. Let it be a wedding gift for the Prince and Evelyn. Since you never truly liked it anyway…” A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, but his proud, stoic nature wouldn’t allow him to show it. He looked down. “Do as you wish. As long as you don’t cause any trouble for Evelyn.” I placed the disownment writ on his desk and offered him the quill. “Sign this, Brother, and I guarantee I will never disturb Evelyn again.” He looked up sharply, his voice laced with anger. “Are you threatening me?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. Julian hesitated, then snatched the quill and signed his name. “You said it! Don’t you dare go back on your word!” I folded the document and glanced one last time at the decree he was drafting. “Lord Julian,” I said, “reducing taxes by thirty percent will certainly help the common folk, but it will be a great burden on the royal treasury. A ten percent reduction, coupled with incentives for cultivating fallow land, would be a more sustainable path to prosperity.” His eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth twitching into an appreciative smile. “Alice, you truly have a gift for governance. It’s a shame your heart is so twisted. Stay by my side. Be my advisor. As for this disownment writ… I’ll consider it a childish tantrum.” I shook my head calmly. “Thank you for the offer, Lord Julian, but my nature would only vex you. I will not offer my counsel again. Consider this last piece of advice a repayment for your years of care.” Julian sighed. “Very well. We will speak again when you have come to your senses and changed your ways.” You won’t have time to wait for that, Brother, I thought. In two days, we will part ways, forever.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393008”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, Julian, is a name whispered in awe in the halls of science. During an interview about his life, the topic turned to his relationships. He stated, coolly: “I do not believe I am a suitable partner.” “Under no circumstances would I ever place sentiment first.” “I am only willing to dedicate my finite time to the pursuit of infinite science.” After the program aired, he was met with a chorus of praise for his fearless dedication. I, however, quietly folded away my latest medical report. I had cancer. Terminal. The days he would spend in London, accepting his award, would be my last on this earth. 1 The last thing I remember before my consciousness faded was the blinding glare of the surgical lamp. And when my spirit detached, able to see the entire operating room, I watched as the line on the heart monitor beside my bed went flat. That’s when it dawned on me. I was dead. 2 For some reason, I had become a spectral form, able to drift anywhere. It was strange; just this morning, I’d felt well enough to speak with Julian for a bit. He had a conference in London to present his latest findings, and his flight was at noon. I woke at seven to make him breakfast. Julian, for all his austerity, was a picky eater. The toast had to be burned just so, the milk heated to precisely eighty percent. As our son, Leo, would say, “Mom, you’ve completely spoiled Dad’s palate.” I never argued. After two or three decades of meticulous care, even the most troublesome tasks had become second nature. 3 “Julian, dear,” I began, “I heard the weather in England is going to take a sudden dip because of some air mass.” “I’ve packed an extra down vest for you.” “There’s gum in the left pocket of your backpack. Your ears always pop on the plane; chewing a piece should help.” “Don’t stay up too late. Hasn’t your heart been bothering you recently? Try to get some sleep—” “It’s a polar continental air mass.” His words cut me off. I looked up slowly, meeting his clear, sharp eyes. The saying “time is kind to the beautiful” was certainly true for Julian. His brow was still strong and defined; though he was nearing middle age, time seemed to have left no mark on him. Which meant the chill he’d carried since his youth could still pierce straight through to my heart. He was correcting the imprecision of my first sentence. The “some air mass” over England was a “polar continental air mass.” But I was just trying to show I cared. I lowered my eyes and straightened his tie. “I know, I know.” “Be safe on your trip, Julian.” He walked past me. He thought I had a quiet afternoon ahead of me. He was wrong. He was flying across the Atlantic for an academic conference. I had a conference of my own to attend. My pre-operative consultation. The doctor had told me the surgery had only a twenty percent chance of success. 4 The day the doctor told me my stomach cancer had been caught too late, that it had already spread throughout my body, I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor for the entire afternoon. A television mounted in the corner was replaying an episode of Today’s Focus, the interview Julian had given a few days prior. The cold-eyed man didn’t want to waste a moment on anything outside of his research. Even when asked about his wife, he was brief. “I am, for lack of a better word, a block of wood.” “I don’t understand love. My wife… to me, she is more of a responsibility.” “Do we celebrate anniversaries? That’s just formalism. I would rather spend that time running a few more experiments.” That sounded exactly like him. Forget anniversaries; he didn’t even celebrate birthdays. When I was younger, I used to pester him about it, hoping that one day he would appear before me holding a bouquet of radiant roses. But I never once received a single rose. The mind that could commit countless data points to memory simply refused to retain the four digits of my birthdate. Eventually, I learned to sit alone at the table with a bowl of noodles and call it a celebration. Julian was a stone tree that could never blossom. It took me over twenty years to finally accept that truth. In recent years, I’d started to feel that something was wrong with me, too. Call it exhaustion or surrender, it didn’t matter. It was laughable, really. He is he, and I am I. He had laid that simple truth before me decades ago, and only now did I finally understand it. I folded the diagnosis into a small square, tucked it into my pocket, and called my son. 5 Leo and I were close. Julian had never liked children, especially since his only son showed zero aptitude for science. After listening to my dispassionate explanation, Leo’s voice was thick with emotion. “Mom…” “Did you… did you tell Dad?” “I didn’t tell him,” I said, my gaze fixed on the granite floor beneath my feet. “I don’t want to tell him.” He is he, and I am I. Besides, what would he do if he knew I was sick? Would he put aside the research that consumed him day and night to take care of me? “Leo,” I said softly. “Mom doesn’t know how much longer she has.” “When the day comes that I’m gone, don’t tell your father.” I smoothed the hem of my clothes. Why bother him with something he cared so little about? “Okay,” Leo agreed on the other end of the line. “Honestly, Mom, he doesn’t deserve you. He never did.” … 6 My spirit drifted through the hospital’s corridors. I watched the doctor emerge from the operating room, shaking his head in regret. I watched Leo collapse beside my hospital bed, sobbing. He had brought me to the hospital at noon and had waited outside the OR all evening, but his mother wasn’t strong enough. She never opened her eyes again. He cried so hard. I circled him frantically, but he couldn’t see me. I ached to hold him, to tell him not to cry, just as I had when he was a little boy. Leo had tried so hard. He hadn’t become the scientist his father had hoped for, but his paintings were loved by many. He even had a solo exhibition scheduled in Italy for the fall. I sat beside him, looking up at the night stars, and sang to him like I used to when he was small. He couldn’t hear me, but I felt that somehow, he would know his mother was with him. … Suddenly, I was carried away by a gust of wind, transported to a place far, far away. The senses of a spirit are truly bizarre. On one hand, I could still perceive what was happening at the hospital after my death. On the other, I had arrived at the venue of Julian’s conference. The conference was scheduled to last for seven days. Dressed in a sharp suit, he was easily the center of attention. Young, handsome, with a résumé that was virtually unparalleled. The truth was, Julian had probably been the center of attention his entire life. In college, the girls who admired him were countless. It was an era that still held onto some traditional values, yet girls would brazenly chase him all the way to his dormitory. He would always look at them with that same dismissive gaze, dressed in a plain white shirt, clutching a textbook under his arm, his head bowed in a restrained, distant manner. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested in you.” His words were mercilessly blunt. The popularity that many men flaunted was, to him, merely a nuisance. Back then, he was already drowning in national awards. The professors constantly sang his praises. I was one of the many students who looked up to him, one of the most peripheral ones. I only dared to steal glances at the corner of his shirt as he left the cafeteria. Julian had no idea that I had secretly been in love with him for three or four years before our families set us up. And I could never have imagined that three years after graduation, the man my family arranged for me to meet would be him. “I will never be in love with anyone.” That was the first thing Julian ever said to me. “If I must say I love something, then I love running experiments, doing calculations—anything that doesn’t involve people.” He frowned slightly, a gesture that still couldn’t hide his dazzling good looks. He stated his position with stark clarity. “We are not discussing love.” “We are simply ensuring the continuation of a lineage. Do you understand?” … He had been so clear back then. It was I who thought I could accept it. It was I who chose to be with him. I always believed that time was on my side, that one day his clear, placid gaze would finally settle on me. I always believed that he— Would fall in love with me. Was it overconfidence? To pin all my tireless devotion on the flimsy hope of “love growing over time.” My spirit drifted to his side. I watched him engage in a serious discussion with a scholar across from him, his tall figure exuding a cool elegance. “Was I a fool?” I murmured, my hands in my pockets as I looked at him. “They say high-IQ individuals see normal people the way normal people see idiots.” On the other side of the world, my body was being loaded into a hearse. The academic conference buzzed with voices. “Julian, do you think I was a fool?” 7 Julian took a picture of the London nightscape and sent it to me. Of course, I would never be able to reply. Leo, true to his word, never told his father about my passing. He even blocked Julian from seeing the obituary he posted using my social media account. It was for the best. I had clung to him for so long in life; I was afraid of troubling him even in death, forcing him to change his flight. Besides, I didn’t think he would want to see me one last time anyway. The view of London at night was beautiful. But for some reason, he stood on the windswept terrace for a long time that night, staring at his phone. I drifted closer and realized why. In the past, whenever he sent me a message, I would almost always reply instantly. When he traveled abroad, he would occasionally send me a few photos, and I would respond with an emoji I’d saved from Leo—a thumbs-up, or two, with the words “Awesome!” written above. This time, he waited. And I never replied. “Professor Thorne,” a young woman’s voice said from behind him. “It’s starting to rain again. You should come back inside before you catch a cold.” It was one of his students. In academia, some things were an open secret. The girl moved closer, about to drape a coat over his shoulders, but he pushed it away. 8 “Fish and chips.” “Disgusting.” Julian sent me a picture from a restaurant. My body was pushed into the cremator. “It’s raining again.” Julian sent me a picture from the window of his hotel. Friends and family attended my burial service. “Presenting my findings tonight.” “Flight back is tomorrow.” Julian stood on the lecture stage, a sea of cameras flashing at him. My English was rusty, but I understood enough. His latest achievement was another monumental contribution to human progress. There he was, under the spotlight, in his element, shining with the brilliance everyone expected of him. I think that’s why I loved him for so many years. But that was me loving him, not the other way around. As the April rain fell and my ashes were interred beside a square headstone, I finally understood that simple truth. 9 That night, after the conference ended, Julian called my phone. When the third call went unanswered, he changed his flight to one departing in the dead of night. On the plane, his brows were knitted together, his face even colder than usual. I suppose it made sense. For so many years, I had been at his beck and call. For me to suddenly be unreachable must have been unsettling for him. Normally, whenever he returned from a trip, I would be at the airport to pick him up. I’d always arrive an hour or two early, just to wait. It was another one of those habits. You can’t bear to let the person you love suffer any inconvenience. I always did my best to make his life comfortable. But this time, he would have to walk through a deserted terminal alone and hail an overpriced taxi at four or five in the morning. He arrived home at six. He knocked first. No answer. He used his fingerprint to unlock the door and pushed it open. The house was empty. Everything was just as he had left it. The sink was spotless, the dining table bare. But my slippers, the ones I always wore, were still neatly placed by the entryway. He unbuttoned the coat he’d been in too much of a hurry to change out of and walked through the dark house, circling again and again. The bedroom. The balcony. The bathroom. Finally, he pulled open the washing machine door. … Finding nothing, he paused, took out his phone, and called me again. A long wait, then the busy signal. He took a deep breath, his thumb swiping to another number on his contact list. Leo’s. Their relationship had been strained even before Leo became an adult. For years, Leo only came home to see me, with no intention of acknowledging his father. Julian’s attitude was much the same—immersed in his work, he wanted nothing to do with raising a child. He was absent during the most crucial stages of his son’s development, so his son had never spoken to him with much warmth. “What do you want?” “Where is your mother?” Both their tones were sharp. But Leo paused. Then came a strange, hollow laugh, a sound impossible to describe, as he repeated the question in a mumble. “Where is my mother?” “My mother’s gone.” “Gone where?” Julian’s frown deepened, the first light of dawn landing right between his brows. I heard my son’s voice on the other end of the line, suddenly pale and thin. “Not gone where.” “She passed away, Dad.” 10 A long, heavy silence stretched between both ends of the phone line. From my vantage point, I could see the knuckles of the hand Julian held the phone with turning white. “You’re old enough to know better than to make such tasteless jokes,” he said, his tone scolding. He didn’t believe it. It seemed the idea that I could die, that my funeral could be held without him even being notified, was something that simply did not exist in Julian’s reality. Leo’s voice went hoarse on the other end. After a long moment, he let out a laugh that sounded almost like a release. “Dad,” he said. “I haven’t told you a single joke since I was twelve.” Leo hung up. The dial tone buzzed from the phone, but strangely, Julian seemed frozen, holding the phone in the same position, just standing there. Slowly, he sat down on the living room sofa. Julian was meticulous and rigorous in his academic life, but his personal life was the complete opposite. He was casual to an extreme. So, I was always the one cleaning the house. His study was often piled high with papers he wouldn’t let me touch. He had snapped at me more than once over things like that. Thinking back now, maybe I was never the right person for him. Perhaps he needed a fellow female scientist with whom he could traverse the vast, boundless universe of academia. Not a writer for a small publication who only knew how to wash the sofa covers until they were faded, who didn’t even know what a polar continental air mass was. Light began to seep into the room. I saw him touch the lace trim on the sofa cover. The lace that had already gathered a thin layer of dust. He rubbed it, over and over again. 11 The front door opened. Julian whipped his head around, the movement so abrupt I was afraid he’d sprain his neck. But it was Leo standing in the doorway, dangling a key from his finger. “Dad, good, you’re here.” “Where did Mom keep her ID and the household registration book?” “I need to go to the registrar’s office…” Julian’s fingers, still toying with the lace, froze. “…to cancel her registration.” … The cabinet under the television held some of our personal documents. Julian was the type to toss these things around carelessly, including some of his major award medals, so I always put them away for him with great care. He was indifferent to them, but I would always trace their engravings with a happy smile. “What’s the point?” he’d ask, not understanding why his awards made me so happy. I would just beam and link my arm through his. “Because you’re my husband, of course! I’m happy when my husband wins an award.” When I was younger, I used to be more clingy and affectionate. Over the years, I had toned it down considerably. Julian was now holding our marriage certificate, not letting go. The photo on it wasn’t very good. His lips weren’t turned up in the slightest, while I was smiling as if it were my own personal, grand wedding. Leo found my ID and turned to see his father holding the two red booklets, staring at them intently. “Don’t worry, Dad,” Leo said. “Now that Mom is gone, your marriage to her is naturally dissolved.” “You’re not her husband anymore. Not ever again.” “Happy? You’re free to pursue relationships with all those young female students you mentor now.” This was the kind of sharp, sarcastic tone that would usually make Julian furious. But this time, he didn’t react for a long time. In fact, he seemed to have been lost in a daze for a while. He just slowly stood up and picked up the trench coat hanging on the sofa. “I’ll go with you.” 12 They didn’t say a word to each other the entire way. To be honest, I had wondered what Julian’s reaction would be after I died. I imagined a simple “Oh” or “I see,” before he would dive back into his great research for the betterment of humanity. He didn’t love me. I knew that. So my departure would be, at most, an interlude for him—not too big, not too small, like a pebble dropped into a lake. The fact that he was personally going to cancel my registration… I didn’t know whether to thank him for old times’ sake. Watching my own existence being officially erased was a rather unique experience. Leo handed over the documents, and Julian sat on a chair in the waiting area. Even so, he was still a striking figure. Dressed in a teal coat, he stood out like a solitary pine tree. I could always spot him in a crowd. I didn’t know what he was thinking, his dark eyes quietly reflecting the bustling crowd. Just like that, Leo filled out my cancellation form. The clerk on the other side of the window confirmed the details. When the booklet was handed back, it had a new stamp on it. “DECEASED.” Julian stared at that word for a long, long time. So long that Leo snatched the booklet from his father’s hand. “I’ll come back in a few days to get Mom’s things.” “Who said you could?” Julian’s voice, unused for so long, was dry and raspy. “I’m her son. Why can’t I?” “I’m still her husband.” “You’re nothing,” Leo spat. After that, they both fell silent. Julian was still standing there, but I felt as if all the strength had been drained from him in an instant. He closed his eyes and said slowly, “Your mother never told me she was sick.” “Yeah,” Leo nodded. “What good would it have done?” Leo took the booklet stamped “DECEASED” and walked away. Julian was left standing alone at the entrance of the registrar’s office. I knew it all along. Julian was always just a passerby in my life. It was impossible to melt a man like him. He was forever rational, forever on his pedestal. The sun beat down mercilessly. He turned and walked down the street, the air thick with the sound of cicadas.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393025”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For my birthday, my friend gave me a designer handbag. When my roommate saw it, she couldn’t stop gushing about how generous my friend was and begged me to introduce them. I let her join a game with us, and then she pestered me to add her to our group chat. Just as I was about to add her, a line of text flashed before my eyes: [Don’t do it. The social butterfly roommate will take over your entire friend group.] [You’re about to be frozen out by both your friends and your roommate.] [In the end, you’ll die by suicide due to depression.] I slowly lowered the phone I had just picked up. And replied to her: “My friends don’t like playing with strangers.” 1 Seeing my refusal, my roommate, Susan, didn’t let up. “How do you know if you don’t try? I’m so good with people, I’m sure they’ll love me. My best quality is that I can get along with anyone.” Susan continued to sing her own praises, but my attention was fixed on the text floating in front of me. The social butterfly roommate will take over your entire friend group. Was that about me? Was Susan the “social butterfly roommate”? Frozen out by both your friends and your roommate? Whether it was real or not, I decided to be cautious. Ever since she saw the birthday gifts my friends gave me, Susan had been clinging to me, begging for an introduction. As an introvert, I hated having new people suddenly thrust into my friend group. I had already refused her twice. The third time, I was in the middle of a game when she started pestering me to join. My friends were urging me to get online. Suddenly, she leaned over and shouted into my headset, “Hi! I’m Leah’s roommate, and I love playing Valorant too! Can I join you guys?” My friends were in a hurry to start. “Sure, sure!” one of them said cheerfully. “We’re short one player anyway. The more the merrier!” Susan dominated the voice chat, shouting and laughing. Every time I tried to say something to my friends, her voice would cut in. I eventually just gave up and stayed quiet. After the match, she had the nerve to criticize my performance. “Leah, your skills are terrible. Don’t worry, I’ll carry you for a few more rounds.” “Add me to your group chat,” she demanded. “That way I’ll be online whenever you guys want to team up.” I hesitated. Just as I was about to give in, the strange text appeared. I changed my mind. “My friends don’t like strangers,” I said. But I should have known Susan’s “social butterfly” nickname wasn’t for nothing. I had just come out of the bathroom when Susan waved my phone at me triumphantly. “Leah, I asked your friends, and they all really like me! They said it’s fine for me to join your group.” My eyes narrowed. “Did you go through my phone without my permission?” She rolled her eyes. “I just borrowed it. If I had their contact info, I wouldn’t have needed to!” I was about to argue when another line of text appeared overhead: [Ugh, I’m gonna be sick. Taking something without asking is stealing. She’s really desperate to get into this friend group.] [Just watch. If Leah doesn’t add her, she’ll just do it herself secretly.] [That’s right. Tonight, she’s going to use Leah’s phone to add herself to the group chat, then claim Leah begged her to join.] Reading these lines, an idea began to form. I ignored Susan, took my phone back, and walked out of the dorm. She stomped her foot in frustration behind me. That night, I went to bed early. I hid my old phone on a bookshelf, positioning it to record the room, and left my current phone on my desk, pretending I’d forgotten it. In the middle of the night, I heard a rustling sound from under my bed. 2 Susan tiptoed over to my desk. She stood there for a long time before finally leaving. The next morning, with no classes, I was woken up by the incessant buzzing of my phone on the desk. I got up to wash my face, and when I unlocked my phone, my world came crashing down. Susan was chatting animatedly with my friends in the group. It had started with a picture she’d taken of me sleeping, which she’d posted in the chat. They were all making fun of me. It felt like having my privacy stripped bare in public. What hurt even more was that my three best friends were joining in on the laughter. Their lighthearted jokes felt like salt in a wound. Seeing that I was awake, Susan tagged me: “@Leah, our star has finally risen.” Furious, I typed back, “Why did you take a picture of me while I was sleeping?” Susan quickly sent back an innocent-looking emoji. “We’re all friends here. I just thought your sleeping position was funny and wanted to share it with everyone. It was just a joke, you don’t have to get so worked up!” What made me even angrier was that my friends started to placate me, all of them thinking I was overreacting. “We’re all friends, it was just a joke. Don’t be mad.” Seeing that everyone was on her side, Susan quickly added, “Leah, everyone got you such expensive gifts for your birthday because they really consider you a friend. It was just a little joke, and you’re having such a huge reaction. You expect everyone to be nice to you, but you can’t take a joke? That’s such a double standard.” Her words cast a chill over the group chat. Just as I was at a loss for what to do, the text appeared again. [The roommate is starting to gaslight her. She’s the one who was in the wrong, but she’s turning it all around on Leah.] [Leah, don’t doubt yourself. You’re not wrong. Your friends and your roommate are. She’s trying to make everyone dislike you by putting you down.] [This is the first step in her takeover of your friend group. By undermining you, she’s getting closer to your friends.] Despite my unease, I had started to doubt myself. Reading the text gave me strength. I replied coolly, “Shouldn’t friends respect each other? Don’t you need someone’s permission to make a joke at their expense? Besides, you used my phone to add yourself to the group without my permission. You’ve got some nerve.” The group went silent. Susan sent a crying emoji and explained, “Leah, you were the one who added me, remember? You must have forgotten.” I immediately sent the video I had recorded into the group chat. Susan started sending tearful voice messages. “I was waiting for you to send me Bri’s contact info, but you fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake you, so I just used your phone to get into the group.” Her damsel-in-distress act worked. My friends jumped in to mediate. [It’s fate! Leah, just let it go.] [Yeah, yeah, your friends are our friends.] [The most important thing is that we can all hang out together.] She seized the opportunity. “Besides, Leah, why were you recording in the dorm room? You just don’t trust me!” My friends chimed in. [Yeah, Leah, you were in the wrong on that one, too. Just drop it.] Susan exclaimed, “Exactly! I’ll be the bigger person and not hold it against you.” Seeing that they were all siding with her, I didn’t say anything more, but my heart had turned to ice. After that incident, I started to lurk in the group chat, rarely speaking. Susan, on the other hand, became incredibly active, constantly starting new conversations, acting as if she were the real friend to my friends. Every time they discussed something new in the chat, Susan would corner me in the dorm and talk my ear off about it, always ending with a jab: “Are you sure you guys were friends in high school? It feels like you have nothing in common with them. You don’t really fit in, do you?” I didn’t get angry. I was more curious to see how she planned to take over my friend group. Two weeks later, my friend Brianna’s birthday was approaching. Susan quietly asked me in the dorm, “Your friends got you a designer bag for your birthday. What are you getting for Bri?” Before I could answer, the text appeared again. [Be careful, Leah. Don’t fall into her trap. She’s going to swap the gifts to completely alienate you from your friends.] [The roommate has secretly gone through your phone and bought the exact same gift, but it’s a fake.] [After being framed, you’ll be ostracized by your friends. With the roommate’s added manipulation, you’ll be isolated at school too.] I turned to Susan and said with a smile, “I’m getting her the latest earrings from the new collection.” Susan quickly waved her hands. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me.” I was curious to see how she would manage to swap my gift. 3 In the dorm, I showed my roommates the birthday gift I had bought for Brianna. It was a pair of earrings, a wreath of green jade with jade feathers dangling below. Everyone gasped. “They’re beautiful.” Susan, however, was unusually calm. She was hunched over her desk, writing furiously. My other roommate, Yolie, nudged her. “Susan, look! These earrings are gorgeous.” Susan didn’t even look up. “I’m busy with a proposal for my club. Don’t bother me.” Yolie pouted and turned away. As everyone chattered, Susan kept her head down, but I could see her sneaking glances out of the corner of her eye. I suddenly had an idea. “Hey, let’s all go shopping. I’ll show you some even more beautiful jewelry, and I’ll treat you all to bubble tea.” Everyone was on board. Yolie called out to Susan again, but she just repeated that she was too busy. I put the earrings back in their box and placed it in my locker. I never bothered to lock it. My roommates and I went out for the entire afternoon, leaving Susan alone in the dorm. When we got back that evening, I opened my locker to change and glanced at the earring box. Sure enough, it had been opened. I casually asked, “Susan, Bri’s birthday is in a couple of days. Are you coming?” Susan readily agreed. “Of course! Bri invited me. We can go together.” The night before Bri’s birthday, I suddenly came down with a bad case of diarrhea. I was up all night, running to the bathroom more than a dozen times. The next morning, Susan helped me to the campus clinic. As I was getting an IV drip, she reminded me, “Leah, you’re in no condition to go today. Why don’t you give me the gift, and I’ll take it for you?” I was completely drained and weak. I had no choice but to tell Susan to get the gift from my locker. After she got it, she even sent me a picture of it. On Bri’s birthday, the group chat was eerily silent. Usually, we’d be flooding it with pictures of the cake, the gifts, everything. I didn’t know what Susan had said, but the silence was unsettling. That evening, Susan returned, her face beaming with suppressed joy. The moment she saw me, she quickly wiped the smile off her face and looked at me with a hesitant expression. She came over to my bed and whispered, “Leah, Bri said the earrings you got her look like fakes.” “I think there must be a misunderstanding,” she continued, her voice full of concern. “Don’t worry. Think about it, maybe you got scammed.” “I didn’t want them to say anything in the group because I was afraid it would upset you. Why don’t you apologize to Bri later and get her another gift? Don’t let this ruin your friendship.” She looked so genuinely concerned. If I hadn’t known the gift had been swapped, I would have been completely fooled by her performance. I replied with feigned agitation, “That’s impossible! I have the receipt. The sales associate said they could be engraved, so I had them put the first letter of Bri’s name, ‘B,’ inside. I’m calling Bri right now, and we’ll go to the store to get them authenticated.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393041”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The night before my wedding to the Crown Prince, my father brought home the daughter he’d had with his mistress. “Your sister is a celestial beauty, far more striking than you. With her by your side in the Prince’s household, she will surely help you secure his favor.” I found it almost laughable. I was, after all, her mother’s killer. How could she possibly help me? And just as I expected, on my wedding day, she stood beside me in a breathtakingly simple white gown, stealing the gaze of every person present. Except for my husband, the Crown Prince. 1 The mistress my father cherished more than his own eyes was my mother’s half-sister, Liana. Every day, she would come to our estate to play the part of a devoted sister to my mother, all while secretly carrying on an affair with my father. When my mother was eight months pregnant with her second child, the royal physician declared it would be a boy. On the day of my mother’s labor, Liana chose that exact moment to confess, weeping, that not only had she become my father’s mistress, but she had borne him a daughter eight years prior. Eight years ago. The second year of my parents’ marriage. The facade of a loving marriage shattered into a lie. The bond of sisterhood became a cruel joke. My mother, consumed by grief and rage, gave up and died, leaving me with a wailing infant brother. I was eight years old. I grew up overnight. I trailed behind the head nurse, learning how to manage my mother’s funeral arrangements, never leaving my infant brother’s side, soothing and caring for him. My father was at his private villa, celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival in blissful harmony with Liana and her daughter. On the seventh day after my mother’s death. I dragged my frail, sick body to the villa my father had provided for Liana. As always, she greeted me with a look of maternal affection. “My dearest Viola, in a few days, your father will bring me home as the new lady of the house. You’ll have to start calling me Mother then.” The feigned warmth couldn’t hide the triumph in her eyes. She stroked my face and called for her daughter, Beatrix, and her son, Alistair. “Come, come and meet your elder sister.” Beatrix and Alistair called me “sister,” their expressions a mixture of curiosity and unease. Liana teased me. “It’s the first time you’re meeting your brother and sister, so of course you didn’t bring a gift. When you’re back at the manor, you must remember to make up for it. Even though you no longer have a mother to teach you, you must still learn to be proper.” I smiled, my fingers caressing the cold steel of the blade hidden in my sleeve. “Aunt,” I said, “come closer. I have a white jade hairpin for you.” She bent down without suspicion, her eyes crinkling with self-satisfied amusement. A second later, the smile vanished. Her eyes froze as she clutched the gushing wound in her neck. Her mouth opened in disbelief, but no words came out. She convulsed on the ground, kicking up dust, her bloodshot eyes staring at me in horror. Beatrix and Alistair shrieked. I calmly wiped the blood from the blade and smiled. “A welcome gift from your sister. Do enjoy it.” 2 Beatrix was sobbing hysterically, but with the knife in my hand, she didn’t dare attack me. “Father… Father won’t let you get away with this! He’ll make you pay for my mother’s life!” He won’t. If word got out that I had murdered my own stepmother, his career would be over. For his own sake, he would find a way to clean up this mess. Beatrix didn’t understand what a pragmatic, self-serving man her father was. But I did. 3 My father suppressed what happened at the villa, giving Liana a hasty burial. He came at me with a blade. “You are so young, yet so vicious! Go to hell!” My infant brother was crying incessantly. Just as I had instructed, my nurse brought my grandmother, and only then was my life spared. But I couldn’t escape a fate worse than death. He put something in my food. Within a month, I was meant to go mad. He hated me for killing the love of his life. And I hated him for destroying mine. That was my mother. The mother who carried me for ten months and risked her life to give birth to me. The mother who, for eight years, loved, cherished, and doted on me. I hated my father, and he hated me. We were no longer father and daughter, but enemies. In the dead of winter, I threw myself into the frozen lake. I survived by a hair’s breadth, carving out a sliver of hope for myself. My aunt, my mother’s sister-in-law, finally had a pretext. She arrived with her household guards and took me and my frail younger brother away. Before I left, I told my father, “If you dare bring Beatrix and Alistair into this house to raise them, I will go to the magistrate and beat the drum of injustice. I will tell the world how you carried on with your wife’s own sister and drove her to her death. Then I will confess to the murder of my aunt. My death is a small matter, but the entire Valerius name will be ruined because of me. The careers of the men, the marriages of the women—all of it will be finished. Father, as long as I am alive, you will never bring them through the gates of this house.” My father was overcome with rage. He slapped me across the face and squeezed my neck, his fingers digging into my flesh. “How did I raise such a disobedient, unfilial creature! How dare you!” I smiled at him, not struggling. Slowly, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he released his grip. He muttered under his breath, his eyes filled with a deep-seated fear. “You’re a lunatic. A complete lunatic!” I smiled sweetly. “I am not a lunatic, but you are a coward. Father, I dare to risk my life openly for my mother. But you don’t dare to openly avenge the woman you supposedly loved. You are less than me.” 4 With my aunt present, all the dowry my mother had brought with her was carefully inventoried and taken with me. My grandmother was displeased but could say nothing. She didn’t want my brother to leave. That night, my brother broke out in a red rash and a high fever. My aunt created a huge scene, causing my grandmother to faint from rage. My father, rubbing his temples in exhaustion, waved his hand dismissively. “Take him. Take them all! He’s not the only son I have! Get out! All of you, just get out!” My aunt prepared the chambers my mother had used in her family home before she was married. I settled there with my brother and my nurse. In return for my aunt’s kindness, I took my cousin’s place as the companion to Princess Seraphina. Princess Seraphina was known for being arrogant and difficult. The companions who had gone before me had all returned in tears, tormented beyond recognition. Now it was my maternal family’s turn, and my aunt couldn’t bear to see her own daughter suffer. And I had no desire to stay with the Valerius family. Our goals aligned perfectly. On my first day at the palace, I was forced to kneel. The reason? My hairstyle was unbecoming. I smiled and accepted the punishment. The second day, I was hung from a tree. Again, I smiled and accepted the punishment. Until I fainted and was rescued by the Crown Prince. When I awoke, the Prince was scolding Seraphina. I pushed through the pain and weakness, kneeling to bow my head. “It was I who broke the cup and offended Her Highness. That is why she punished me.” The Prince’s lecture faltered. Seraphina bit her lip and looked at me. He took a deep breath and rapped Seraphina on the head. “She is not your servant. She is your companion, the daughter of a nobleman. Her mother was the daughter of the Marquis of Fairview, and her father is a Master of the Royal Household. You cannot be so unreasonable.” Seraphina snorted. “The daughter of a minor official. So what? What does it matter if I have her beaten to death?” “Seraphina!” The Prince’s voice was low, strained with something like pity. “Her mother just passed away. Be kinder to her. She, like you, has lost her mother. You should understand her sorrow.” At that, Seraphina fell silent, her gaze toward me softening slightly. The Prince helped me up and smiled. “There, now. Rest. You are weak. I’ve had the royal physician prepare a tonic for you. Seraphina is just a bit spoiled, she means no harm. Don’t hold it against her.” “Her Highness is very kind to me.” From that day on, perhaps because Seraphina saw that I, too, was motherless, she treated me much better. She no longer punished me on a whim. I followed her to her lessons every day. The King doted on Seraphina, granting her the special privilege of studying alongside the princes. I attended her, learning the arts of governance, the ways of rulers, and the philosophies of a hundred schools of thought. Seraphina had no interest in these things; I wrote all her essays and arguments for her. She loved the spotlight and the empty praise. My writing earned her the commendation of her tutors. When it came to my own assignments, I deliberately held back, appearing mediocre. My loyalty to her was not blind obedience. I catered to her whims, but on matters of great importance, I would fight her to the death. She would be furious at the time, screaming and hitting me, but after suffering the consequences and losing face, she would remember my advice and appreciate me for it. Over time, she grew dependent on me. At the new Queen’s birthday feast, Seraphina got into a conflict with the new Queen’s daughter, the Seventh Princess, and was pushed into a pond in the royal gardens. The Seventh Princess was imperious. “No one is to save her! You think your mother is still the Queen? Your mother is dead! My mother is the Queen now! How dare you still be so arrogant! I’ll have anyone who tries to save her beaten to death!” The eunuchs and maids present were too terrified to move, only daring to sneak off to find the Prince and the King. By the time they returned with help, Seraphina would have been nothing but a corpse. Watching Seraphina flailing desperately in the water, I knew my chance had come. I jumped in. The rescue did not go smoothly. She couldn’t swim, and as I tried to save her, she latched onto me, pushing me under in her panic to climb up. I swallowed several mouthfuls of water and nearly drowned myself. When the King and the Prince arrived, they saw me, a complete mess, dragging an unconscious Seraphina onto the bank. The Prince’s face was pale. He was usually so gentle and warm, but this was the first time I had seen his eyes so cold and sharp. The Seventh Princess took a fearful step back, but then, remembering her mother was now Queen, she straightened her spine. The Prince took Seraphina into his arms and reached a hand out to me, but I collapsed back into the water, deliberately hitting my arm against a sharp rock and breaking it. He dove in without a moment’s hesitation and pulled me out. The King interrogated the servants. A young eunuch trembled as he recounted, “It’s not that we didn’t want to save her, Your Majesty, but the Seventh Princess forbade it. We did not dare to disobey.” The Prince’s face was like ice. He walked straight to the Seventh Princess and slapped her hard across the face. His voice was frigid. “Father, my mother is gone. If Miss Valerius had not defied her threats and jumped in to save Seraphina, Seraphina would be with my mother now.” The King’s eyes filled with guilt. He sentenced the Seventh Princess to a year of confinement. After the royal physician had set my arm, the Prince dismissed the maids attending me and brought me a bowl of medicine himself. He blew on it gently. “Miss Valerius, thank you for what you did today. You saved Seraphina. The King will reward the House of Valerius.” I said, “If there is to be a reward, could it be for my younger brother?” He stared at me, stunned. I continued, my voice laced with bitterness, “Your Highness, I must confess… my father has other children with a mistress. After my mother’s death, my younger brother and I have been under the care of my aunt at the Fairview estate. My brother is still so young, and though my aunt cares for him, I worry for him day and night.” As I spoke, tears fell like pearls from my eyes. “My brother and I are all each other has in this world. I cannot rest easy. If I am truly to be rewarded, I hope His Majesty can bestow some honor upon my brother, so that my aunt and uncle will value him more.” The Prince’s expression was complex. He set down the medicine and handed me a handkerchief, his own eyes red-rimmed. He was only fourteen himself. The year the former Queen died, he was only eight. He had to navigate this treacherous court with a clueless Seraphina in tow, fending off the schemes of the King’s favored concubines, caring for his sister, and shouldering the heavy burden of being the Crown Prince, never daring to slacken in his studies for a moment. He lived in constant fear that a single misstep would cost him the throne. “Miss Valerius… Viola. May I call you by your name?” My eyelashes trembled. I looked at him with red-rimmed, bewildered eyes. He picked up the medicine and offered it to me with a smile. “Viola, don’t cry. From now on, you will help me look after Seraphina, and I will look after your brother outside the palace for you. How does that sound?” My eyes lit up. “Really?” I asked, a hopeful surprise in my voice. He smiled warmly. “Of course.” I smiled back. It’s working. He had remembered my name. Viola. 5 The Prince visited me every day. When Seraphina recovered, she came to see me with a bowl of chicken soup, her demeanor incredibly awkward. “Look at you, so thin. Anyone would think I was mistreating you!” she grumbled, setting down the soup. I saw the fresh burns on her fingers and the back of her hand and blinked. She was terrified of pain. She asked, her tone brusque, “I was so awful to you, why did you still save me? Weren’t you afraid of dying?” I forced down a spoonful of soup. “Her Highness has been very good to me.” She turned her face away, her expression stubborn and proud. “Hypocrite.” But for the next two weeks, she didn’t miss a single day of bringing me soup. The taste improved from watery and bland to rich and delicious. Her attitude toward me shifted from disdain and contempt to one of genuine regard. She started to open up to me. Once my arm healed, I resumed my lessons with her. She no longer brought other maids with her, and she stopped making me carry everything. In fact, she even started carrying things for me. The Prince contacted me daily to ask about Seraphina. After discussing his sister, he would always ask about me, a word or two of concern. He occasionally brought me news of my brother, along with small gifts from outside the palace. The brilliant political essays that earned Seraphina so much praise from her tutors… others might not know, but he knew they were my work. He often discussed history and classics with me. And I, in turn, burned the midnight oil, studying relentlessly, not daring to be complacent for a moment, terrified that the opportunity I had fought so hard for would vanish. My mother was dead. My father was someone else’s father. My brother was young, and I was his only family in this world. I had to be strong. Spring turned to autumn, and six years passed. I came of age. For my coming-of-age ceremony, Seraphina found me a magnificent gown that shimmered like captured starlight. The Prince handed me a gift box. “Open it.” Inside was a simple wooden hairpin. Seraphina scoffed. “Brother, you’re the Crown Prince of the entire kingdom. Can’t you do better than that?” But I was delighted. “I love it.” Of course I do. He carved it himself. How could it be the same? That night, I gave him a sachet I had embroidered and confessed my feelings. He was taken aback, his ears turning red. He gently rejected me. “I only see you as a sister.” I lowered my eyes and nodded. “I see. Alright then.” I turned and left. The next day when we met, he avoided me. I acted perfectly normal, showing no awkwardness, and treated him just as I always had. His stiff expression annoyed Seraphina. “Brother, what’s with the long face? You think you’re our grim-faced old tutor?” I chimed in with a smile. “Yes, Brother, is something troubling you?” He paused, a frown creasing his brow. Seraphina looked up. “Why are you calling him Brother all of a sudden?” I answered innocently, “He said he sees me as a sister.” Seraphina burst out laughing. “Fine by me. I’m happy to have you as a sister.” My eyes curved into crescents. Only the Prince, Nicholas, kept his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze on me dark and unreadable. I stopped embroidering personal items like shirts for him. He had a recurring throat ailment and was a picky eater. Every year, I would pick and dry chrysanthemums for his tea, carefully selecting the best ones to send to him. I had studied under the royal physician, learning many medicinal recipes, and spent my days trying to cook him delicious, healthy meals. For six years, I had woven myself into the fabric of his life. From grand political theories to the smallest stitch, in his life and his studies, I was everywhere, meticulously attentive. And now, I cut it all off. For two weeks, I was polite to him in public, and distant in private. He finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He tried to speak to me with the same warmth and familiarity as before. I smiled and interrupted him. “Brother, it’s late. Perhaps another day. I’ve already told my family that Your Highness sees me as a sister. Please don’t be angry with me. I am alone and have no one to rely on. I was hoping to borrow your name for a bit of protection. Tomorrow, I will be returning home to prepare for my marriage.” The smile froze on his face. His jaw tightened, his fingers unconsciously rubbing together, then clenching into a fist, veins standing out. “Who are you marrying?” he asked, the words forced out, each one landing with a heavy, difficult weight. I beamed. “I don’t know yet. The exam results will be out soon, won’t they? My uncle plans to let me choose from the top candidates. I think that young man from Silverwood, Julian, seems very promising. My uncle says that although Julian’s family is poor, his writing has great integrity and style. I was reluctant at first, but then I read his essays.” The more I spoke, the more animated I became, gesturing excitedly, my face practically splitting with a joyous smile. Nicholas’s eyes darkened, the warmth draining from him, replaced by an icy frost. His fingers trembled slightly. I babbled on. “Brother, you have no idea how beautiful Julian’s calligraphy is, and his essays are so well-written! Reading them felt like meeting a soulmate in a foreign land. I wish I could meet him immediately.” Nicholas’s smile was glacial. “Scholars are often fickle. Viola, you have spent your life in the palace and met few men. Do not be deceived by mere words.” I nodded obediently. “You’re right. It must be because I haven’t met enough men. Seeing you every day, I mistakenly thought I was in love with you.” I feigned a look of deep, conflicted thought, my cheeks flushing as I whispered shyly, “My aunt sent me a portrait of Julian. He’s so handsome, with a face like polished jade and an air of scholarly grace. I like him so much. I can’t wait to meet him.” The last traces of a smile vanished from Nicholas’s lips. His eyes were cold and dark, his expression unreadable. I glanced at the darkening sky and let out a small “Oh!” “Thank you for your kindness to me and my brother all these years. Thanks to you, my brother is now studying at the Royal Academy. I am eternally grateful.” I turned and waved cheerfully. “You should go back now. I need to pack. I have to go to bed early so I can wake up and get ready tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to meet Julian with dark circles under my eyes!” He suddenly grabbed my hand, his grip like iron, his eyes blazing. I looked at him, confused. “Brother—” He cut me off, his voice sharp with anger. “Don’t call me that.” I made myself look small and timid. “Your Highness,” I whispered. He stared into my eyes, his dark lashes trembling. From a distance, the sound of eunuchs and maids greeting the Queen drifted toward us. He seemed to snap out of a trance and released my hand. I turned and my eyes met Seraphina’s cold, hard stare. She’s finally here. The jewelry I sent wasn’t wasted. Back in her chambers, Seraphina sat on the main seat and ordered me to kneel. As I knelt, a teacup flew from her hand, grazing my forehead. My hairpin came loose, my hair tumbling down. A flicker of pity crossed her eyes, but her voice was sharp with accusation, her own eyes red. “You got close to me just to become the Crown Princess, didn’t you?!” I lowered my eyes. “I am leaving tomorrow. My family has already arranged another match for me.” I wiped the blood from my forehead. “Seraphina, I owe you nothing. Whether my feelings were real or false, I gave you my heart.” Tears streamed down her face. “Get out!” she screamed. I slowly stood up and retrieved the bag I had already packed. I gave the protective amulet I had embroidered for Seraphina to a maid I was friendly with. Before she could speak, I turned and walked out, my eyes red, my silence heavy. In the drawer of the room lay the birthday gift I had prepared for Seraphina. The late Queen had embroidered a cloak for her. After the Queen’s death, the Seventh Princess had deliberately ruined it. Countless nights, I had seen Seraphina clutching that cloak, sobbing for her mother. There were hundreds of skilled embroiderers in the palace, but not one dared to repair it. It wasn’t a lack of skill; they knew her temper and were afraid to take the job. They all claimed their skills were insufficient, terrified that if their work wasn’t perfect, they would be beaten and thrown out of the palace. I had already repaired half of the cloak, intending to give it to her for her birthday. Seraphina seemed cruel, but she was all bark and no bite. She would feel pity for me. For years, I had meticulously crafted my role, playing the part she needed, unconditionally fulfilling her emotional needs. A sheltered little princess, how could she ever escape the tender trap a hunter had so carefully prepared for her?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393059”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A month ago, King Antonio brought a woman back from outside the palace walls and named her Duchess. The entire court was in an uproar. It was because Antonio had once declared, before all the ladies of the court, that his heart was mine alone. That he would never elevate another to the rank of Duchess. Now, he had broken that sacred vow with his own hands, and the entire court was eagerly awaiting my humiliation. They whispered that he had grown tired of me, that his love had withered on the vine. I traced the petals of a fading rose on the windowsill, a silent, bitter smile touching my lips. They were right. Antonio no longer loved me. Just yesterday, the affection points I had so carefully accumulated—only one point shy of success—had plummeted to zero overnight. All because when the new Duchess, Seraphina, came to pay her respects, I didn’t bid her rise quickly enough. Antonio had walked in on us. His voice was cold. “She is no threat to your position, Nadine. Can you not show the grace of a Queen and stop making things difficult for her?” The old me would have burst into tears, desperately trying to defend myself. But now, I simply nodded, my voice a placid stream. “The Duchess enjoys Your Majesty’s favor. Of course, I would not trouble her.” I immediately decreed that from this day forward, Duchess Seraphina was exempt from paying her respects at the Queen’s Wing. But Antonio’s face darkened further. “Nadine, don’t you see this will only make the court hate her?” I froze, my gaze falling upon the way his brow furrowed, his entire posture protective of her. My mind drifted. So he knew. He knew that to be singled out was to be hated, yet he had placed me on that glittering, lonely pedestal to bask in a warmth that was never truly mine. It didn’t matter now. I bowed my head in gentle submission. “You are right, Your Majesty. It is too great a distinction. Then perhaps the Duchess need not kneel when she comes to call.” The System had told me that if I was docile, obedient, and compliant with Antonio’s wishes, he would be pleased. And if he was pleased, the affection points might rise again. Instead, he flew into a rage, shattering several porcelain vases in the Queen’s Wing. He rounded on me, his voice a raw wound. “Nadine, aren’t you even jealous?” I looked at him, my expression one of pure, placid confusion. “Your Majesty, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted me to be?” Before the System had implanted its protocol, I had asked. “Do I have to go into dormancy? What if Antonio notices something is wrong?” The System’s voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion. “We will act in your stead, becoming the version of you that Antonio most desires. We will maintain this body’s normal functions.” “The version of me he most desires?” “Host, we have analyzed Antonio’s every word of anger towards you and designed a protocol based on that data. It will replace you, and you will become the perfect Queen in his eyes.” I let the fading rose fall from the windowsill, watching it disappear into the courtyard below. Yes. That was it. The things Antonio always raged about were always the same. I was too jealous, too childish, too clingy, too inconsiderate. I was not the ideal Queen he envisioned. Now, the affection points were at zero. The System was preparing to transport me to the next world. He was finally getting his wish. I wiped the last tear from my eye and spoke to the void in my mind. “Begin.” A wave of vertigo washed over me. As the world dissolved into darkness, I heard the System’s final report. [HOST CONSCIOUSNESS… DORMANCY SUCCESSFUL.] [PROTOCOL IMPLANTATION… SUCCESSFUL.] The dead of winter held the castle in its icy grip, blanketing everything in a pristine layer of white. At luncheon, my handmaiden, Bianca, burst into my chambers, her boots tracking snow across the marble floors and startling the doves in the courtyard. “Your Majesty, it’s terrible news! The Royal Physician just left the Sunstone Pavilion. The Duchess… she’s with child!” I set down my paintbrush, discarding the unfinished scroll. My voice was calm, a stark contrast to her panic. “Is that not wonderful news? What is the meaning of this hysteria?” Bianca stared, thinking I must have misheard, and repeated her words, her voice trembling. I unfurled a fresh sheet of parchment, picking up my brush once more. “This is excellent news. The matter of an heir has weighed heavily on me. The Duchess’s pregnancy is a great service to the kingdom. She must be rewarded handsomely. Let this be a reminder to the other ladies of the court to be more diligent in their service to the King.” I continued, my hand steady. “Go to the vaults. Select some of the finest treasures for the Duchess. And take her this painting I have just finished, titled ‘A Mother’s Blessing’.” Bianca gritted her teeth, her hand shaking as she retrieved the key to the treasury box. “Your Majesty, have you forgotten? She stole our choice cuts from the kitchens! She claimed the finest silk meant for you from the looms! She had one of our maids beaten outside the infirmary for collecting your herbal tonics! And the King turned a blind eye to it all, never once punishing her. If she was this brazen before, what will she be like with a royal heir in her belly? She will walk all over you! And you want to send her gifts?” How had I reacted to those incidents before? I had raged. I had pleaded for justice, demanded an explanation. And Antonio had told me I lacked the grace of a true queen. That they were trivial things, not worth disturbing him over. He had ordered me to copy holy scriptures, confined me to my rooms to reflect on my pettiness. I had seethed with injustice then. Now, I only felt that I had indeed been wrong. I sat up straight, a serene smile on my face as I looked at her. “Bianca, I am the Queen. My duty is to be a mother to this nation.” My voice was gentle, but firm. “While the Duchess may have been excessive in the past, I was also at fault. The King was right. As Queen, it is unseemly for me to be possessive, to harbor jealousy, to view the King as my property.” “I have changed. From now on, I will be a model of virtue. I will manage the court with diligence and support my King.” Shortly after Bianca delivered the gifts, an invitation arrived from the Duchess. “Your Majesty,” Bianca said, her voice tight, “the King is so overjoyed about the pregnancy that he is holding a celebratory banquet for the Duchess at the Sunstone Pavilion. Are… are we to attend?” I folded the invitation, my eyes glancing at the new gown the royal weavers had just delivered. “I am the Queen. Of course, I will attend. And I will do so with the utmost grace and decorum.” Bianca understood. She helped me into my most regal gown and dressed my hair in an elaborate style, crowned with the Queen’s coronet. The Sunstone Pavilion was aglow, vibrant with lanterns and alive with music. It was a scene of pure celebration. Bianca’s hand tightened on my arm as she escorted me into the main hall. There, on the dais, in the seat that should have been mine—the one beside the King—sat Duchess Seraphina. Tonight, Antonio was dressed in deep violet, the stark lines of his brow and the sharp angle of his jaw casting him in a severe, handsome light. It only served to make the pregnant Duchess beside him appear all the more delicate and alluring. Bianca’s grip on my arm was a vice, her whisper a furious hiss. “The audacity! She’s using that babe in her belly to usurp your rightful place!” The eyes of every lady in the hall were on me, their faces painted with morbid curiosity. On the dais, Antonio’s gaze flickered towards me, a subtle, challenging glint in his eyes, as if he were waiting for me to make a scene. The Duchess’s smile was pure provocation; she looked as if she was already planning my punishment for disrupting her celebration. I offered a serene smile and a perfect curtsy to the King. “Forgive my tardiness, Your Majesty. I shall drink a cup in penance.” Antonio froze, the wine goblet halfway to his lips. Beside him, Seraphina’s triumphant smirk faltered. She clutched her handkerchief, glancing at Antonio before letting out a tinkling, false laugh. “Oh, my dear Queen, you’ve arrived! Look at this foolish head of mine, pregnancy has made me so forgetful. I seem to have taken your seat. I should be punished, truly.” She cooed, leaning against Antonio’s arm, her eyes flashing with triumph. Antonio looked at me, his expression cold, before wrapping an arm around the Duchess’s waist. “You are the center of tonight’s celebration. It is only right that you sit here.” From across the hall, I could feel the waves of pity washing over me from the other courtiers. For the King to so blatantly disregard decorum for his new favorite… The old me would have turned this hall into a battlefield, a storm of tears and accusations that would have left no one unscathed and stripped Antonio of his dignity. But now… I was to be a model Queen. “You jest, dear Duchess,” I said, my voice carrying clearly through the hall. “I am not so petty.” I continued, my gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on them. “The King is right. You are the star of this evening. Carrying the royal heir is a monumental achievement. Not only should you occupy the seat of honor, but you must also accept these humble gifts from me.” At my signal, servants began to enter in a procession, each carrying a priceless treasure. A root of Kingsfoil, a thousand years old. A string of glowing Lumina Pearls. A vial of powdered Griffin’s Horn. … Each item was from my personal, most cherished collection. Gasps rippled through the banquet hall. There was shock, confusion, and raw envy in their eyes. Even the Duchess was stunned, her hand flying to her mouth. “Your Majesty… all of this… for me?” Antonio’s brow furrowed, his voice a low growl. “Nadine, this is not the time or place for games.” I smiled gently and found an empty seat further down the table. “The Duchess jests. My gifts are quite real. I have been remiss in showing you favor in the past, sister. Now that you have brought such joy to the court, it is only right you be rewarded.” My words left the entire assembly baffled. Tonight, there was no rivalry, no hidden daggers. Only a Queen’s heartfelt blessing for the Duchess. I was the mother of the nation, the Queen that Antonio wanted. Poised, dignified, a paragon of royal virtue. This time, surely, he would be pleased. But he only stared at me, his face an unreadable mask of black anger, before ordering the Duchess to accept the gifts. He gave me one last, deep, inscrutable look before turning away.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393076”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

To save my family from the king’s dungeons, I married the Lord Regent—the most feared man in the realm. On our wedding night, the man they whispered was no man at all took me until I teetered on oblivion. The next morning, royal decree in hand, he ordered my House slaughtered. I knelt at his door for three days. “Ten years ago,” he said, ice in his gaze, “your father’s betrayal saw my kin butchered like cattle. This is fate’s wheel turning. Blood owed, paid in blood.” For five years he kept me locked away, tormenting me daily. I held on for my mother’s sake—until he ripped our seven-month child from my womb for his mistress. Seven days before my promised freedom, I stood atop the Spire, wind lashing my robes. And there—the mighty Regent on his knees, begging me not to jump. 01 The moment Damien Vaughn kicked the door open, I had just finished lighting the three memorial candles for our child’s tablet. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, his expression savage. “Elara, you have some nerve!” “I told you, do not go near Liana. Yet you provoke her, again and again.” “Do you truly believe I won’t do anything to you?” He shoved me violently. My forehead struck the edge of the wooden table behind me, and a painful, red welt immediately began to form. But I acted as if I felt nothing. I slowly sank to my knees before him, pressing my bruised forehead to the cold stone floor. “I am sorry.” Damien’s eyes tightened. He instinctively reached out to help me up, but the moment his fingers brushed my arm, he flinched back. As if he had touched something foul, he snatched his hand away and hid it behind his back. “What game are you playing now, Elara?” I shook my head, my voice as still and dead as a winter lake. “No game. It is my duty to see to Lady Liana.” “Whatever has befallen her, I accept the blame.” It was always this way. He never investigated anything concerning Liana; he simply decreed it was my fault. If Liana had a headache, he claimed it was because our stars were crossed in ill-omen. If Liana sprained her ankle, he accused me of deliberately placing loose stones on the path. And two days ago, when Liana miscarried, and the royal physician found saffron in her tonic… He didn’t need proof. He declared I had done it out of jealousy and spite. He was the one who held the bitter draught to my lips, forcing me to drink. He was the one who ordered the midwife to tear our seven-month-old child from my body, to serve as a companion for Liana’s lost baby in the cold earth. The thought of that unborn child sent a wave of grief so profound through me that I nearly collapsed. I bit down hard on my lip, just to maintain the last shred of composure in his presence. Experience had taught me that any display of weakness would be seen as another ploy, another attempt to manipulate him with pity. The candles on the table burned out. Damien’s gaze swept over them and fell upon the child’s memorial tablet. His face contorted. He strode forward, lifted me without a word, and threw me onto the bed, his hands moving to the ties of my bodice. I could smell it on his collar—the cloying scent of Liana’s favorite perfume. I caught his hand, my eyes meeting his with a strange calm. “My body has not yet healed. Perhaps another day.” Damien froze, then his eyes raked over me, a deep, mocking sneer spreading across his face. He leaned in close, his whisper a venomous caress against my ear. “Elara, besides this body of yours, what other value do you possess?” A chill pierced me to the bone. Ignoring my trembling, Damien ripped away the last of my clothing. The bed canopy fell, casting the room in wavering, uncertain light. His face, devoid of passion, was reflected in my tear-filled, numb eyes. I couldn’t deny it. I loved Damien Vaughn. He was the brilliant, beautiful boy who had dazzled my youth. He was the man I had defied my parents for, kneeling outside their door for three days and nights, determined to marry. But I couldn’t help but hate him, too. He had seduced me into his trap, only to send my entire family to the gallows. He had personally overseen the execution of my parents and a hundred other members of House Sutton. He had kept me a prisoner for five years, shaming and torturing me, day after endless day. It wasn’t that I hadn’t thought of death. But five years ago, in that dark, cold dungeon, my mother had clutched my hand, her face streaked with tears. “Elara, my darling,” she had wept, “I only ask one thing of you. No matter what, you must live.” “I will wait for you on the shores of the afterlife for five years. If, after five years, you still have not found a reason to live, then you may come and find me.” My mother hoped that promise of five years would give me a reason to hope, a reason to survive. Even the coming of our child… I had allowed myself to believe it was a glimmer of light my mother had sent me from beyond. But that fragile flame had been ruthlessly snuffed out by Damien. And now, there were five days left until my five years were up. 02 When I woke the next day, Damien, contrary to his usual habit, had not left. He had summoned two maids. One held a steaming bowl of a foul-smelling tonic. “Elara, that child… it was an accident.” “You should understand. You are not worthy of bearing a child of House Vaughn.” Damien was right. I wasn’t worthy. My father was the man who had framed his, leading to the unjust deaths of one hundred and eight innocent people. If Damien hadn’t been blind drunk seven months ago, on the anniversary of his family’s execution, I never would have conceived. But that night, cradled in his arms, he had suddenly begun to weep. “When they purged my House, my little brother was only three. They dragged him to the execution block… and his head rolled in the dirt.” “My sister… she was three days from marrying the man she loved.” “But because of your father’s lies, she was defiled by the guards in her cell. She took her own life in despair.” “If I hadn’t been fostered at the Abbey as a boy, I would have died with them.” “And my family would have been cursed by the people for generations, branded as traitors for a hundred, a thousand years to come.” “Elara, shouldn’t I hate you?” “But, Elara… what am I supposed to do?” I knew in my heart that Damien was just like me. He loved, and he hated. The bond between us was a knot that could never be untied, only severed. I lowered my eyes, took the bowl with both hands, and drank the barren-womb draught in one gulp. A single, wrapped candy fell onto the bedsheets beside me. It was from the confectioner on the East Gate, my favorite. Damien used to buy them for me all the time. Even if it meant waiting in line for hours. I clutched the candy, a sudden, sharp ache in my chest. He always did this. Just when my heart had turned to ash, he would casually light a small lamp. Then blow it out. Then light it again. And blow it out again. Over and over, making my life a torment. Making death an escape I couldn’t quite reach. My hand, hidden in my sleeve, clenched into a fist. I wanted to say something, but when I looked up, all I saw was his retreating back. The two maids whispered to each other. “The daughter of an enemy. I can’t imagine why the Lord Regent keeps her here.” “If it were me, I’d have had her flayed and quartered long ago. Instead, he feeds her, clothes her, lets her play the lady of the manor!” They made no attempt to hide their scorn. The words were meant for me. After they left, the vast room was empty again, except for me and the child’s tablet on the table. … For the next few days, I didn’t see Damien. The servants whispered that Lady Liana had caught a chill, that her head was splitting with pain. Damien stayed by her side the entire time, caring for her diligently. On the final day of my five-year promise, the estate’s steward pushed open my door. “The Lady Liana wishes to plant a winter rose garden. She has commanded that you are to go and turn over all the soil in the back garden.” My head snapped up. The back garden. That’s where I buried my child’s body. 03 By the time I stumbled into the back garden, Liana had already directed the groundskeepers to dig up half the frozen earth. “Stop! All of you, stop!” I screamed, heedless of my appearance. But the servants knew my place in this house. They paid me no mind. I rushed to Liana. “Tell them to stop! Make them stop now!” Liana waved a dismissive hand, and two of her personal guards pulled me away. She toyed with a string of pearls, a light, cruel laugh on her lips. “A wretched little thing like that doesn’t deserve to be buried in the hallowed grounds of this estate.” “The frost is deep, and the beasts in the forest are hungry. Once we dig the little beast up, we can toss it to them. Consider it an act of charity.” Her words struck me like a physical blow. I was filled with a blinding rage. I don’t know where the strength came from, but I broke free from the guards and seized the front of Liana’s dress. “Liana, you took my child from me. I’ll kill you!” I pulled the simple wooden pin from my hair and lunged, aiming for her throat. The pin had barely scratched her delicate skin when a powerful hand shoved me from behind. I slammed into a stone bench, and in an instant, the cold steel of a dozen swords was at my throat. Liana, feigning terror, collapsed into Damien’s arms, sobbing. “Damien, my love, you came just in time! If you hadn’t, I would never have seen you again.” Damien’s brow was a knot of fury, but his eyes were fixed on me, silent and unreadable. I ignored the animosity between us, my voice a desperate plea. “Damien, please. I beg you, make them stop.” “Punish me however you want, I’ll accept anything, but that is my child!” “Damien… he is our child…” Ignoring the blades at my neck, I crawled step by agonizing step and knelt at his feet. I clutched the hem of his trousers, my voice a raw, ugly rasp. “He was a boy, Damien. He will never learn to ride a horse or draw a bow now…” In countless nights past, Damien had kissed my hair and whispered in my ear: “Elara, my love, when we have a child…” “If it’s a boy, I will teach him to ride and shoot.” “If it’s a girl, you will teach her poetry and song.” But now, our child never even had the chance to see this world. The memory must have struck Damien too, because his pupils contracted sharply. He instinctively glanced at the ravaged garden, his face shadowed and dark. Liana sensed his hesitation. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Damien, the Master Physician came yesterday. He said my ceaseless headaches are caused by the unquiet spirit of a dead infant buried on the grounds.” “It was foolish of me. I was only thinking of myself, not of my lady’s feelings.” “If she truly cannot bear it, I suppose I can continue to suffer…” I didn’t hear another word she said. All I saw was a groundskeeper unearthing a small bundle wrapped in red cloth. The searing crimson made my tears fall anew. I tugged desperately at Damien’s leg. “Damien, if you just spare my child…” “I will give up my position as your wife. I will give it to Liana!” “My wife?” Damien’s brow furrowed, and then a storm of fury erupted in his eyes. He gritted his teeth. “Elara, does the title of Lady Vaughn disgust you so much?” I knelt there, sobbing too hard to speak. His lips thinned into a white line, his face ashen. Suddenly, he let out a harsh, barking laugh. “You are truly something else!” “A dead infant is an ill omen. To leave it here will only bring disaster upon this house. Men! Bring me tinder and dry branches…” Damien squeezed his eyes shut, hiding the raw crimson within them. He bit out each word. “Burn it. On the spot.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “393092”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel