The day I picked up my daughter from kindergarten and found her sobbing was the day I realized just how massive a storm my simple refusal had caused in the parents’ group chat.
The day before, a notification had popped up in the class WhatsApp group. A mother I had never even spoken to tagged me directly, demanding that I pack a daily lunch for her son. She generously offered to pay me twenty dollars a day for my trouble.
I found the entire proposition absurd. Charity suffered from severe food allergies and a highly sensitive stomach. Every single ingredient in her bento box was flown in directly from specific organic farms. A single meal cost me well over five hundred dollars to prepare.
Faced with this insulting twenty-dollar charity offer, I didn’t hesitate. I typed a flat refusal into the group.
I never expected things to escalate the very next day. My daughter’s lunchbox was snatched away by her classmate, and the teacher actually had the nerve to scold her for being selfish.
Since they had decided to rip off the mask of civility, I saw no reason to play nice anymore. This ridiculous farce needed to be completely dismantled.
1
Staring at the constant stream of notifications popping up on my phone, I let out a cold laugh.
The sender’s profile picture was a selfie with her son. Her display name was Toby’s Mom.
Seeing that I hadn’t replied, she fired off several more messages in rapid succession.
“Charity’s mom, are you seeing this? My Toby hasn’t had much of an appetite the last couple of days, but he really liked the look of Charity’s lunch.”
“You’re already cooking anyway. Making one extra portion won’t kill you.”
“Twenty dollars a day is plenty. That’s what a meal costs at a fast-food joint. I know it’s not easy being a single mom, so just treat it as some extra grocery money to help out your household.”
The condescending, charitable tone dripping from her words made my stomach turn.
I had no idea where she heard the rumor that I was a single mother. It was true that I always did the school run alone, and I usually dressed in casual loungewear. She had clearly pegged me as an easy target.
My daughter Charity was born with a hyper-sensitive digestive system and severe allergies to many common ingredients. Because of this, I personally handled every single aspect of her diet.
Her food was sourced from exclusive private farms. Just a small cut of the premium Wagyu beef I used cost hundreds of dollars, not to mention the meticulously selected organic vegetables.
Twenty dollars? That wouldn’t even cover the cost of her custom lunchbox.
I couldn’t be bothered to entertain her delusions. I simply typed a response into the group.
“Sorry, I don’t have the time. Furthermore, the ingredients for my daughter’s meals are very expensive. Twenty dollars won’t cover it.”
I assumed such a blunt rejection would shut her up.
Instead, she immediately sent a long string of voice memos.
“Oh come on, Charity’s mom. We’re all parents in the same class. What’s wrong with helping each other out?”
“It’s just a few pieces of meat and some leaves. How expensive could it possibly be? Do you really think you’re feeding her Michelin-star truffles?”
“Besides, what’s the point of feeding a little girl so extravagantly? My Toby is a growing boy and needs the nutrition. How can you be so selfish and clueless?”
Listening to those voice notes, a white-hot rage flared in my chest.
What century were we living in? I couldn’t believe this toxic garbage was coming out of another woman’s mouth.
I was just typing out a furious retort when the homeroom teacher, Ms. Harper, chimed in.
“Charity’s mom, Toby’s mom is just looking out for her child. Our class has always encouraged the kids to learn how to share.”
“Since Toby likes Charity’s food so much, it wouldn’t hurt for you to put in a little extra effort. It will help the children bond and build a good relationship.”
Seeing Ms. Harper so blatantly take her side, my expression turned ice-cold.
I had just transferred Charity to this supposedly prestigious bilingual preschool. I thought a high-end academy would have a higher caliber of staff. I was clearly mistaken.
I ignored the rest of the buzzing notifications and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat.
They could say whatever they wanted. There was absolutely no way I was cooking for that brat.
2
The next afternoon, I arrived at the school to pick up Charity.
The moment I stepped into the hallway, I saw my little girl standing completely alone in a corner. Her eyes were red and swollen. She had obviously been crying.
My heart twisted violently. I rushed over and pulled her into my arms.
“Charity, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?”
Seeing me, Charity burst into loud sobs, her tiny hands gripping my sweater like a lifeline.
“Mommy, I’m so hungry. Toby took my lunch away.”
Hearing those words, a loud buzzing filled my ears.
I packed exactly enough food for her nutritional needs. If she didn’t eat her lunch, she had been starving for the entire day!
More importantly, her delicate constitution meant that missing a meal could easily trigger severe hypoglycemia and stomach cramps.
Suppressing the fury boiling in my veins, I turned and marched straight toward Ms. Harper.
The teacher was chatting and laughing with a group of other parents. When she saw me approaching, her smile vanished.
“Charity’s mom, you’re right on time. I was just about to look for you.”
“Charity was very unreasonable during lunchtime today. Toby just wanted a little taste of her food, and she threw a massive tantrum and refused to share. She even made Toby cry.”
“I’ve already reprimanded Charity. I suggest you take her home and teach her some manners. A child shouldn’t be so terribly selfish.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
My daughter’s food was stolen from her, and somehow she was the one in the wrong?
“Ms. Harper, the lunch my daughter brought belongs to her. Why on earth should she be forced to give it to someone else? Is this how you run a classroom?”
I didn’t bother lowering my voice. The surrounding parents all turned to stare.
Feeling humiliated in front of her audience, Ms. Harper puffed up her chest and hardened her tone.
“Excuse me? What kind of attitude is that? It is completely normal for children to share food!”
“Besides, Toby’s mom already reached out to you in the group chat yesterday. You refused to cook an extra portion, fine. But what’s the big deal if Toby takes a couple of bites today?”
“Do you have no sense of community spirit whatsoever?”
I was shaking with anger. I pointed a finger directly at Ms. Harper’s face.
“Don’t you dare try to lecture me about community spirit! My daughter’s lunch is a specially customized allergy-safe meal. That boy stole her food, you did absolutely nothing to stop him, and now you have the nerve to call my daughter selfish?”
“Let me make this perfectly clear. This is not over!”
Without waiting for a response, I picked Charity up and walked straight out the door.
When we got home, I immediately cooked Charity a fresh meal. Watching her devour the food like she was starving brought tears to my eyes.
I pulled out my phone and tagged Toby’s mom and Ms. Harper directly in the class group.
“I expect a full explanation for what happened at lunch today! Since when is it acceptable to steal another child’s food?”
“I will be waiting at the school tomorrow morning. If I don’t get a formal apology for my daughter, there will be hell to pay!”
The response was instantaneous.
“Wow, look who’s playing the victim now!”
“My Toby eating a few bites of your kid’s food is a blessing. Don’t push your luck, you ungrateful witch!”
“Tomorrow morning it is. You think I’m scared of a nobody like you?”
3
The parents’ group chat was exceptionally lively that night.
Following her arrogant outburst, Toby’s mom, Brenda, began aggressively rallying the mob against me.
“Everyone, judge for yourselves. This woman couldn’t even keep a man, so now she’s a bitter single mother with a twisted personality.”
“My Toby just felt sorry for her daughter. He was trying to be friendly by sharing her food, and now she’s screaming and throwing a fit in the group.”
“A kid raised in a broken home like that is definitely going to have psychological issues. You all better keep your kids away from her daughter before they catch her bad habits.”
A few mothers who usually sucked up to Brenda immediately jumped in to agree.
“Exactly! Acting all high and mighty all day long. Does she think her food is sprinkled with gold dust?”
“Kids from single-parent homes are always so greedy and defensive. I think Ms. Harper was totally right to discipline her.”
“Don’t waste your breath on her, Brenda. Your husband is an executive at a massive corporation. You don’t need to stoop to the level of some lower-class trash.”
I stared coldly at the screen, reading those nauseating comments. My fingers flew across the keyboard.
“Lower-class trash? A corporate executive?”
“So that’s what gives you the confidence to steal from little girls?”
“Since you all think thievery is perfectly justified, we will settle this face-to-face tomorrow. We will see exactly who doesn’t deserve to be at this school!”
After sending that message, I closed WhatsApp.
Rage was churning wildly in my chest, but I forced myself to remain perfectly calm.
This Brenda woman was throwing her weight around the preschool just because her husband had a decent job title. Even the teachers were bending over backwards to kiss her ring.
Did she really think her pathetic little background made her untouchable in this city?
I walked out to the balcony and dialed my assistant’s number.
“Sarah. Get me the security camera access codes for Oakridge Elite Prep for tomorrow morning. And look into a parent named Brenda. Find out everything there is to know about her husband’s corporate background.”
“I want every single detail. Pull all their cards.”
Hanging up the phone, I took a deep breath of the crisp night air.
I had purposely kept a low profile to give Charity a quiet, normal childhood. I even had my driver attend the parent-teacher conferences so I wouldn’t draw attention.
I never expected my restraint to become a stepping stone for these arrogant fools to walk all over me.
Since they were so determined to step on my head, they couldn’t blame me for tearing their entire world down.
Early the next morning, I arrived at the preschool with Charity exactly on time.
Instead of heading to the classroom, I led Charity straight toward the principal’s office.
I was going to have the director pull the security footage right then and there to expose exactly what happened yesterday.
But halfway down the hall, Charity suddenly tugged on my sleeve.
“Mommy, I left my sketchbook in the classroom. Can I go get it real quick?”
I nodded, letting her run ahead while I waited in the corridor.
Less than two minutes later, a piercing, terrified scream echoed from the classroom. It was Charity.
My heart stopped. I sprinted toward the door as fast as I could.
The moment I burst into the room, my vision went red.
4
Charity was collapsed on the floor, her pale little face stained with tears.
That overweight boy, Toby, was violently tearing pages out of Charity’s sketchbook, making ugly faces at her as he ripped her drawings to shreds.
And standing right beside him was his mother, Brenda. She held a dry, cheap piece of grocery store bread in her hand, ruthlessly shoving it toward Charity’s mouth.
“Eat it! You love protecting your food so much, you little brat? I’ll make sure you get plenty to eat today!”
“My Toby wanting your things is an honor! Don’t you dare hide from me!”
Charity was struggling frantically, coughing and choking on the dry crumbs. Her face was flushed bright red, and she could barely breathe.
Seeing Charity trying to push away, Brenda lifted her foot and brought the sharp heel of her stiletto crashing down squarely on Charity’s tiny hand as it rested on the floor!
“Ahhh!” Charity let out an agonizing shriek.
In that split second, the blood rushed to my head. My sanity completely snapped.
I charged in like a wild animal. I kicked a desk out of my way, the massive crash startling everyone in the room.
I grabbed a fistful of Brenda’s hair, violently slamming her back against the nearest wall. I pulled my arm back and delivered a vicious, echoing slap across her face!
Smack!
I put every ounce of my strength into that strike. Brenda was completely stunned, a trickle of blood instantly appearing at the corner of her mouth.
I didn’t stop. I immediately followed up with a second brutal slap to the other side of her face.
“If you ever touch my daughter again, I will kill you!”
I screamed like a madwoman, my eyes bloodshot.
Brenda finally snapped out of her daze. She shrieked like a banshee and lunged at me.
“You psychotic bitch! How dare you hit me! Do you have any idea who my husband is!”
She grabbed a heavy glass tumbler from the teacher’s desk and hurled it directly at my head.
I dodged to the side. The glass shattered against the wall, sending shards flying everywhere.
Brenda snatched up a large, jagged piece of broken glass and pointed it at me, her eyes venomous like a coiled snake.
“My husband is Greg, the Regional Director of Apex Capital! You dare lay a hand on me? I’ll have you and your little bastard completely destroyed! I’ll make sure you can never show your faces in Chicago again!”
Just then, Ms. Harper and two security guards rushed into the classroom, drawn by the commotion.
Seeing the chaos, Ms. Harper didn’t even ask what happened. She immediately pointed an accusing finger at me.
“Charity’s mom, have you lost your mind?! How dare you assault another parent on school grounds!”
“Grab her, quick! If Toby’s mom gets hurt, you’ll never be able to afford the medical bills!”
The security guards instantly closed in on me.
Holding the jagged glass, Brenda let out a twisted, incredibly arrogant laugh.
“Scared now? Too late! I’m going to make you and your brat get on your knees and lick my shoes clean!”
Looking at her sickening, entitled face, I pulled Charity tightly into my arms. The coldness in my eyes could have frozen hell over.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404804”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
001
Stella insisted I wear the silver locket she gave me after her tragic miscarriage. I hated wearing jewelry, but her eyes had been so hollow, so desperate, that I eventually caved and fastened it around my neck.
This morning, the ultrasound screen was a black, silent void. My perfectly healthy baby had lost its heartbeat. Meanwhile, sitting in the very same waiting room, Stella texted me a picture of her positive pregnancy test.
I walked out of the hospital clinic like a wandering ghost. The sunlight felt cold. Suddenly, a scruffy old man stepped directly into my path, his piercing eyes locked onto my chest.
“Girl,” his voice rasped, sharp as an ice pick. “You are carrying a child, yet you wear the ashes of the dead. You are trading your own flesh and blood to buy life for someone else’s womb.”
A chill violently violently down my spine. Stella’s sudden pregnancy. My baby’s vanishing heartbeat. I shoved past the old man and ran. I didn’t stop until my lungs burned and I was safely behind my own front door.
My hands shook wildly as I tore the silver locket from my neck. Without thinking, I roughly looped it around the neck of my pregnant black Lab, who was resting on her bed.
âŚ
I stood in the entryway, panting, staring at the little silver pendant. It was filled with a fine, grayish-black powder.
Bone ashes?
My mind went entirely blank.
“Those are the ashes of a stillborn!”
The old man’s grave expression flashed in my mind. “It’s a dark exchange. Life for life. The baby inside you will rot, and the one who gave you that locket will give birth to a perfectly healthy child.”
My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Stella and I had grown up together. We were closer than blood. When she lost her baby, I waddled over to her apartment with my own heavy pregnant belly just to cook for her and hold her hand. I couldn’t believe she would do something so evil to me.
But what if? My baby’s heartbeat was really gone.
Outside the hospital, when I tried to throw the locket into the street, the old man, who introduced himself as Danny, had grabbed my wrist.
“The ritual started the second it touched your skin,” he warned. “If you want out, you must pass the burden to another pregnant vessel to complete the cycle. Toss it away blindly, and both you and your child will die.”
I had begged him for another way. I wasn’t going to curse an innocent woman just to save myself.
“You have until midnight to pass it on. Once it’s done, call me. And remember, do not alert the ones who cursed you.” He handed me a crumpled piece of paper with his number and vanished into the crowd.
It was five in the afternoon. Seven hours left.
My thoughts were a chaotic mess as I stumbled deeper into my house. The moment I approached the study, a sound froze the blood in my veins.
Heavy, satisfied panting. The distinct, wet sounds of the aftermath of sex.
Then, Stella’s breathless giggle drifted through the cracked door. “You should have seen your wife walking out of the clinic, Nolan. She looked like a walking corpse. I almost laughed out loud.”
My husband’s voice, low and coaxing, replied. “Just wait until the ash ritual is complete. When she finally passes that dead lump of flesh, she’ll cry her eyes out. It’ll be hideous, but you’ll love the show.”
Lightning struck my brain. Danny was telling the truth.
I wanted to kick the door open, scream at them, tear them apart with my bare hands. But Danny’s warning echoed in my ears. Do not alert them.
Biting down on my lip so hard I tasted copper, I silently backed away. I slipped out of the house I shared with Nolan and drove straight to the small apartment I owned before we got married.
The second I locked the door behind me, my knees gave out. I collapsed onto the hardwood floor and sobbed until I choked.
When I finally wiped my face and looked up, my pregnant black dog was cowering near her crate, keeping a wide distance from me. I had raised her for seven years, yet she never warmed up to me or Nolan. Strangely, she absolutely adored Stella.
Looking at her swollen belly, a dark, desperate thought clicked into place. Danny never explicitly said the locket had to go to a human.
A cold hardness settled in my eyes. They wanted to play God with my child. Let them burn.
002
I poured half a bowl of premium dog food. While she was distracted, I cautiously wrapped the silver locket around her thick belly, hiding the chain beneath her fur. Then I nudged her into her large crate and draped a blanket over it.
Maybe I was losing my mind, but the moment the locket rested against her skin, the dog looked up at me. Her eyes held a human-like, venomous disgust.
My fingers trembled as I latched the crate.
Just then, the front door clicked open. Nolan walked into the entryway, juggling several grocery bags.
“Hey, honey,” his voice dripped with his usual buttery warmth. “The gate guard mentioned you came into the complex. When you weren’t at our house, I figured you were hurting and came here to hide.”
He set the bags down. “I bought fresh chicken. I’m going to make you a rich broth tonight to build your strength back up.”
His words sounded so caring, but a layer of icy sweat broke out across my back. He tracked me down.
Bang.
The black dog suddenly rammed her head against the crate door, bursting it open before I could even flinch. I watched in absolute horror as she trotted straight to Nolan, rubbing her head affectionately against his legs, whining for his attention.
My nerves snapped tight. She always hated Nolan. Why was she acting like this?
Nolan looked surprised, but as he bent down to pet her, his eyes caught the gleam of silver buried in her fur. His expression instantly darkened.
“Harper,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Why is the locket Stella gave you on the dog?”
“Oh, that…” I forced a light laugh, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I thought it looked cute. I was going to record a little video for social media. Might go viral.”
Moving on pure adrenaline, I whipped out my phone, filmed the dog for ten seconds, and posted it online right in front of him.
Nolan’s face remained stormy. “You put expensive jewelry on an animal? What if she breaks it? Stella poured her heart into this gift!”
He snatched the locket off the dog. As he stepped toward me, his voice morphed back into that sickeningly sweet tone. “Come here. Let me put it back where it belongs.”
The moment the silver left her body, the dog reverted to normal. She bared her teeth and snarled viciously at Nolan.
He shot her a single, murderous glare. The dog shivered, tucked her tail between her legs, and bolted back into her crate.
My stomach churned.
Before I could back away, Nolan’s hands were around my neck, fastening the clasp. The locket felt like a line of frost burning into my skin. My windpipe constricted.
A sharp, violent cramp ripped through my abdomen.
003
I let out a painful gasp, doubling over.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Nolan asked, feigning panic.
“My stomach… it’s cramping really badly. I need to lie down.”
Clutching my waist, I limped into the bedroom, pretending to be in agony. My plan was simple. Wait until he was distracted in the kitchen, rip the necklace off, and tie it back onto the dog.
But the second my fingers brushed the silver chain, a shadow fell over me.
“What are you doing, Harper?”
My heart jumped into my throat. Nolan was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with dead, unblinking eyes. It was the exact same venomous look the dog had given me.
“I’m changing my clothes,” I retorted, forcing myself to frown. “Why are you hovering over me?”
His gaze stayed glued to my chest. “With the baby’s complications today, I’m just worried about you. Just rest. I’ll go start dinner.”
He wasn’t going to let me take it off.
I swallowed my terror and fury, waiting for another opening. But Nolan was like a shadow. Even when I went to the bathroom, he knocked on the door after three minutes.
Time bled away. The clock hit nine-thirty. Less than three hours until midnight.
Under the crushing anxiety, my head began to spin heavily. Nolan practically carried me back to bed.
A while later, I forced my heavy eyelids open. Peeking through the cracked door, I saw Nolan sitting on the living room sofa, his back to me, phone pressed to his ear.
“Relax. I’ve been watching her like a hawk. She hasn’t touched the necklace.”
He paused, a cruel smirk evident in his tone. “I slipped a little something into her soup. She’ll be out cold until tomorrow morning. By then, the ritual will be locked in.”
“Feel bad for her? Are you joking? She lies there like a dead fish. If it weren’t for her bank accounts, I wouldn’t have looked at her twice.”
“Once she goes under the knife to remove the dead tissue, I’ll keep spiking her food. When she finally drops dead, everything she owns is ours.”
Silent tears spilled hot tracks down my cheeks.
With my parents gone, Stella and Nolan had been my entire world. I never imagined the depths of their depravity. They didn’t just want to sacrifice my baby. They wanted to slowly murder me.
Hearing Nolan end the call, I snapped my eyes shut and leveled my breathing. His footsteps approached, stopping right beside the bed. Every muscle in my body screamed to run, but I stayed perfectly limp.
Thankfully, he only observed me for a moment before retreating to the spare room.
I waited another agonizing ten minutes before opening my eyes. I checked my phone. Eleven o’clock!
I pulled up the apartment’s security feed on my phone. Nolan was stretched out on the sofa bed in the spare room. Moving with agonizing slowness, I slipped out of bed.
I took the leftover soup he had spiked and poured it into the dog’s bowl. She lapped it up and was unconscious within minutes. Thank God I had only swallowed a few spoonfuls at dinner. I could still push through the dizziness.
Fighting the fog in my brain, I tied a towel securely around the dog’s snout, scooped her heavy body into my arms, and sneaked out the back door. I hailed a cab and rode to a sprawling, dimly lit park miles away.
In a secluded grove of trees, I secured the silver locket tightly around the dog’s waist.
It was five minutes to midnight.
There was no time to exhale. I pulled a brand-new smartphone out of my coat pocket, swapped my SIM card, and hurled my old phone into a nearby pond. I didn’t know if Nolan had installed tracking software on it, but I wasn’t taking any chances. The new phone was supposed to be his birthday present. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth.
With three minutes to spare, I called my lawyer. I was not going to let them get away with this.
The second the clock struck midnight, I dialed Danny’s number.
Just as the line connected, the unconscious black dog suddenly convulsed, letting out a muffled, agonizing shriek.
004
Dark, foul-smelling blood began to seep onto the grass beneath the dog. Her swollen belly visibly, horrifyingly deflated.
If I hadn’t passed the locket on, that would be my baby.
My voice trembled uncontrollably as the old man answered. “Danny. I passed the locket on. What do I do now?”
“Get to my place, now,” he ordered. “The ash locket is a parasite of the dark arts. Your child’s life force has already been drained. We need to restore it tonight, or you will still miscarry.”
“I’m on my way.”
I pressed a hand to my belly. A tiny, incredibly weak flutter pushed against my palm.
My baby was fighting.
A fierce wave of adrenaline washed over me. I sprinted toward the main road to flag down a cab. Just as I reached the curb, headlights blinded me. A car violently jumped the curb, speeding directly at me.
Through the windshield, I saw Stella. Her face was ashen, her eyes manic. She leaned halfway out the window, screaming like a banshee.
“Harper! Who did you give the locket to?!”
I dove onto the pavement, narrowly avoiding the bumper. A yellow cab screeched to a halt nearby, and I scrambled into the backseat.
Crash.
Stella’s car slammed into a concrete planter. She stumbled out of the driver’s seat. Her summer dress was soaked in a massive, terrifying patch of blood.
She pointed a trembling, bloodstained finger at me. “You can’t run from this, Harper!”
“Drive!” I screamed at the cabbie. “She’s out of her mind, get me out of here!”
The driver slammed the gas, leaving Stella raving in the rearview mirror.
When I finally reached the address Danny had given me, my legs turned to jelly. I slid down the wooden doorframe, gasping for air.
My new phone buzzed. A picture message from Stella.
It was a photo of the park. The black dog lay lifeless in a dark pool of blood on the grass.
A sharp hiss escaped my lips as a fresh, agonizing cramp seized my stomach. I felt a warm dampness between my legs. I didn’t know if my water had broken, or if I was bleeding out.
Then, Nolan’s number flashed on the screen.
I declined it. He called again. Ten times. Fifteen times.
I looked up in sheer panic as Danny opened the door. He ushered me inside, moving quickly to arrange thick white candles and pour coarse salt into a large runic circle on his living room floor. “Hold on, girl. Almost ready.”
I tried to slow my hyperventilating.
Since I wouldn’t pick up, Nolan’s text messages started rolling in.
“Honey, where are you? Let me come pick you up.”
“You really think ditching your phone means you can hide from me, you stupid bitch?”
My heart skipped a beat.
The next image he sent made my blood turn to ice. It was a photo of the rusted iron gates at the entrance of Danny’s apartment complex.
The texts kept coming, rapid-fire.
“See? Found you.”
“I’m in the courtyard. Pretty rundown place.”
“I’m in the stairwell. God, no elevator?”
“I’m at the door.”
My breath caught in my throat.
A split second later, a heavy fist pounded on the wood right beside my head. “Honey! Be a good girl and open up!”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404820”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
A crisp notification chime echoed from my roommate’s iPad. I instinctively looked up, my eyes landing on the glowing screen. A WhatsApp message bubble popped up, and the name of the group chat was glaringly obvious: “Free ATM Club.”
Driven by some inexplicable gut feeling, I reached out and tapped the bubble. The members of the group included Connor, who had just stepped out, our landlord, and my other two roommates.
“Celebrating another massive payday this month!”
“All thanks to Connor’s quick thinking. Bumping up Oliver’s rent saved us a fortune!” someone texted excitedly.
“Exactly! With Oliver acting as our free full-time maid, we’re saving on cleaning fees and takeout too!” another chimed in.
The screen was instantly flooded with celebratory memes and laughing emojis. I stood rooted to the spot, my blood running ice cold.
Because in this house, I was the only one excluded from that group. I was Oliver, the gullible ATM.
1
My fingers began to tremble uncontrollably.
Swiping the screen, I scrolled up through the chat history piece by piece.
Group Admin: Connor.
Date created: January twelfth of last year.
That was the exact day after I got a high-paying offer from a tech company and excitedly bought him drinks to celebrate.
He had been plotting this since then. And judging by the tone of the messages, he and our landlord had known each other for a long time.
“Gary, I found a fat sheep for us.”
“He’s my college roommate. A total nerd who only knows how to work. Dumb but loaded.”
Our landlord replied almost instantly. “Beautiful work, Connor. Let’s do it the usual way.”
In the first few weeks, there weren’t many messages. Mostly just Gary asking when Connor planned to move in and if he needed any furniture.
It wasn’t until late January, after the New Year holidays, that two more people were pulled into the chat. Felix and Dylan. They were buddies of Connor from his hometown.
“Welcome to the Free ATM Club, boys.” Connor sent a GIF of confetti falling.
“Bro, can we really live here for free?” Felix was clearly curious.
“Absolutely! The sucker already paid the deposit.”
“Connor, you’re an absolute genius!”
“I freaking love this group name.”
“Man, we should have met ages ago.” Dylan followed up with a starry-eyed emoji.
“We’re one big happy family from now on!” Gary the landlord popped in to add.
Staring at those blinding words, my stomach churned, a wave of nausea rising in my throat.
I quickly pulled out my own phone, opened the camera, and recorded the entire chat history from top to bottom.
When Felix and Dylan first joined, the conversation was somewhat restrained. They mostly discussed how to split the monthly rent and handle the transfers.
Connor: “I set this whole thing up, so I’m taking the master bedroom with the en-suite bathroom. No objections, right?”
Felix: “Dylan and I can share the big east-facing bedroom.”
Dylan: “How are we splitting the money?”
Connor sent a long audio message. The transcribed text was crystal clear: “This apartment is in a prime location and comes fully furnished. The market rate is somewhere between three and four thousand bucks.”
He paused, then sent another text.
“I told Oliver the total rent is sixty-six hundred. So technically, we should all be splitting it evenly at over two grand a head. But I just made him cover twenty-two hundred himself.”
“The actual bottom-line price for this place is thirty-six hundred. We just need to split the remaining fourteen hundred.”
“Since I brought you guys on board, I’ll pay six hundred. You two split the remaining eight hundred.”
“As for utilities, internet, and HOA fees, I’ll Photoshop the bills and inflate the numbers.”
“Whatever extra cash we squeeze out of Oliver there, we split forty-forty-twenty.”
“The landlord and I take forty percent each, and you two split the remaining twenty.”
“How about that? We basically get to live in a luxury apartment for free, and we might even make a profit every month.”
Dylan replied instantly. “I’m totally down. What about you, Felix?”
Felix sent a thumbs-up. “I’m in. A golden location and a high-end apartment like this? It’s a no-brainer.”
The rent they claimed was thirty-six hundred, yet I was paying twenty-two hundred all by myself!
And I was sleeping in the smallest, worst-facing bedroom in the entire apartment!
What an incredible scheme.
Click.
The sound of the front door unlocking echoed from the entryway.
I instantly shoved my phone into my pocket and exited the WhatsApp interface on his iPad.
Connor walked in carrying an Amazon package. He tossed it aside, picked up his tablet, and obliviously resumed playing the trending TV show he had been binge-watching.
“Oliver, is dinner ready?” he yelled toward the kitchen.
“Almost done.”
I turned and walked back into the kitchen, forcefully suppressing the rage boiling in my chest, pretending absolutely nothing was wrong.
Just like I had done countless nights before, I pulled the hot food from the oven, set it on the dining table, and called them out to eat.
2
“Wow, the smell of this beef stew is unreal.”
Felix took an exaggeratedly deep breath, a look of pure intoxication on his face.
“Oliver could open a five-star restaurant with these skills.” Dylan chimed in with his usual flattery.
Looking at their sickeningly fake smiles, a chill ran down my spine.
“I purposely left out the onions. I know Connor can’t stand the taste.” I kept my voice perfectly flat.
“You know me best, man.” Connor smiled radiantly, flashing his white teeth.
“Eat up before it gets cold.”
I pulled out my chair, sat down, and picked up my fork.
“Oh, by the way, Oliver, Gary texted today. He said we need to pay the entire rent for next year upfront by March first.” Connor said casually, stuffing a piece of beef into his mouth.
“What? Haven’t we always paid every six months?” I played along, feigning surprise.
“Gary says this apartment is right downtown, and people are lining up for it.”
“There are a few corporate guys working in the financial district offering more than we pay, and they’re willing to drop a whole year’s cash at once.”
“He’s only keeping the price the same as a favor to me.”
“But the hard condition is we have to pay all twelve months in one lump sum.”
My hand hovered over my plate for a fraction of a second.
Images of their dirty deals and money-splitting grins flashed through my mind.
I decided to play right into his hands.
“I see. I only budgeted for six months, so I’ll probably have to pull some funds from my investment accounts.”
I kept my head down, staring intently at the potatoes on my plate. I couldn’t bear to look at his revolting face.
“As long as you can pull it together. I was honestly worried you wouldn’t have that kind of cash on hand.”
Connor let out a heavy sigh, putting on a mask of deep distress.
“You know I live paycheck to paycheck. By the time I pay off my credit cards, I’ve got nothing left.”
“Just thinking about a whole year’s rent makes my head spin.”
“Yeah, the economy is terrible right now. Making a buck is harder than eating dirt.” Felix echoed the complaints.
Listening to them put on this poverty charade, my mind replayed the endless stream of payment screenshots and transfer receipts from their group chat.
The hard-earned money I bled for had become their endless bankroll to party in this metropolis.
The meal tasted like sawdust. My throat felt like it was coated in sand.
Yet they ate with immense pleasure, wiping the very last drop of gravy from the pot with their bread.
The moment they finished, Connor collapsed onto the plush living room sofa.
“I’m so stuffed. Oliver, I’m leaving the dishes to you, man.”
“The season finale of my show is tonight, I gotta catch up.”
Felix and Dylan also found quick excuses, slipping away into their rooms.
Looking at the messy dining table.
I didn’t say a single word.
I just silently gathered the greasy plates and silverware.
The cold water in the sink stung my knuckles.
But it was nowhere near as freezing as the chill in my heart.
Hearing the muffled sounds of video games and laughter bleeding through their doors.
I dried my hands, walked into my tiny bedroom, and locked the door behind me.
Pressing my spine against the cold wood, I let out a long, heavy breath that had been trapped in my chest.
I pulled out my phone, put on my noise-canceling headphones.
And opened the video I had just recorded.
3
Those chat logs were like rusty knives.
Plunging into my flesh, one after another.
The timeline in the video went back to the week before Thanksgiving last year.
We had agreed to do a deep clean of the apartment over the weekend.
But that morning, Connor woke up clutching his stomach, rolling around on the couch in agony.
“Oliver, my stomach is cramping so bad. I can’t even stand up.”
Seeing him pale and sweating, I actually ran three blocks in the cold to a pharmacy to buy him heavy-duty medication.
I even told him to go back to bed and rest.
Shortly after, Felix called. He claimed his boyfriend’s car broke down on the highway and he had to go pick him up.
Then, Dylan sent a voice note complaining that his company landed a last-minute project and his whole department was forced to work overtime.
In that massive apartment, I was the only one left.
Thinking the place needed to be spotless for the holidays, I gritted my teeth and did all the scrubbing myself.
And what was the reality?
In that hidden chat, Connor posted a photo of my back as I knelt on the living room rug, violently scrubbing a stain.
“Look at our free housekeeper going to town.”
“Haha, he was born to do the grunt work,” Felix replied instantly.
“I’m at the designer boutiques downtown right now. How do these limited-edition sneakers look?” Dylan followed up with a mirror selfie.
“Sick! Drop a pin, I’m right around the corner. I’ll come meet you,” Felix texted back.
“It feels so good having a servant at home.” Connor sent an emoji of a guy smoking a cigar in sunglasses.
I stared at my own hunched, exhausted back on the screen.
My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms they almost broke the skin.
I was so exhausted that day I couldn’t even stand up straight, eating nothing but a slice of cold toast for dinner.
Meanwhile, they were spending my money, ruthlessly mocking my stupidity in their little club.
I took a deep breath, blinked away the burning in my eyes, and dragged the progress bar further back.
A blizzard hit us last December.
I caught the flu. My fever spiked to a hundred and three degrees, my bones aching so badly I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed.
I texted Connor, begging him to grab some fever reducers from the convenience store downstairs on his way home from work.
He refused without hesitation.
“Sorry bro, I’m swamped today. I’ll probably be stuck at the office until midnight.”
“Maybe you can order something on Uber Eats.”
In the end, I had to drag my completely shattered body out into the snowstorm, waiting thirty minutes for a cab to the ER.
I sat in a freezing hospital chair hooked up to an IV for four hours.
Not a single one of them checked on me.
At one o’clock that afternoon.
Felix posted a receipt in the chat.
It was a lavish seafood feast totaling eight hundred and eighty dollars.
“The extra rent and internet money cleared today. Let’s treat ourselves, boys.”
While I was delirious with a fever in the hospital, unable to even get a sip of water.
They were sitting in an upscale restaurant, using my cash to feast on sweet Alaskan king crab and oysters.
I clenched my jaw and kept reading.
October eighteenth of last year. My birthday.
I took a half-day off work, wanting to cook a huge dinner so we could celebrate together.
I happily slaved away in the kitchen for three hours, laid out a massive spread, and sent a picture to our main group chat.
A full thirty minutes passed before Connor replied.
“Ah man, my bad Oliver. My boss just dumped a massive project on my desk. I’m not gonna make it back tonight.”
“Same here, my manager is breathing down my neck.” Felix chimed in.
“I’m stuck in the suburbs with a client. I can’t make it back either. Go ahead and eat without us, man. Happy birthday.” Dylan offered his excuse.
That night, I sat alone at the long dining table.
Listening to the wind howl outside, watching the food slowly turn cold.
And where were they?
In their secret group chat.
Connor posted a selfie from a high-rise steakhouse with panoramic city views.
Felix and Dylan were in the background, laughing hysterically and holding up champagne flutes.
“Cheers! Celebrating another night of saving on dinner!” Connor captioned the photo.
“That idiot is probably still sitting at home waiting for us to cut the cake.” Felix sent a crying-laughing emoji.
“The slop he cooks is so bland anyway, I wouldn’t even feed it to a dog.” Dylan added his ruthless remark.
Those blinding words.
They ignited a raging fire in my chest, burning away every last ounce of goodwill I had left for them.
The brotherhood I thought we shared.
The mutual support I believed we had in this cold city.
It was all one giant, humiliating joke.
4
I closed my eyes, turned off the video, and used every ounce of strength I had to steady my trembling breath.
I backed the video up to the cloud, took screenshots of every single conversation, and meticulously analyzed every number mentioned.
Hunched over my desk, I compared their logs with my bank statements, line by line.
The more I calculated, the colder my blood ran.
Without realizing it, I spent nearly a week staying up late every night.
I finally matched almost every single chat screenshot to a specific transfer from my bank.
I stood up and walked over to the window.
Outside was the mesmerizing skyline of the city, millions of bright, warm lights.
But this cramped, west-facing bedroom I was in felt as lifeless as a freezer.
I would never let them drain another drop of my blood.
Not a single drop.
My phone screen suddenly lit up on the desk. A text from Connor.
“Oliver, you asleep? My stomach is totally empty.”
“I’m craving those handmade tacos from the food truck down the street.”
He appended a pathetic, begging cat emoji.
I stared coldly at the screen, locked my phone, and pretended I never saw it.
Ten minutes later, he came over and pounded heavily on my door.
I remained frozen in my chair, choosing to be deaf.
After a long while, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment. He went downstairs himself.
I immediately slipped out of my room and crept into his master suite. I tapped his iPad awake, needing to see what they were plotting now.
“Why is that idiot so quiet tonight? I’m starving.”
“Probably dead asleep by now.”
“Sleeping like a log. I knocked forever and got nothing. Now I have to put on a jacket and freeze my ass off going downstairs.”
Connor sent an eye-rolling emoji, then dropped a massive bombshell in the chat.
“Next Sunday is the deadline for next year’s rent and HOA fees.”
“Once he pays up, I’m going to start some drama and find an excuse to force him out.”
“Then I’ll have my brother move in. My brother said he’ll cover the rent going forward.”
The chat exploded the second that message went through.
Felix spammed three exclamation points.
“Bro, that is an absolute kill shot!”
Dylan followed up with a barrage of blurry, over-excited reaction images.
No wonder they were forcing me to pay a full year upfront. They had dug a massive grave and were just waiting to bury me in it.
I quickly screen-recorded the conversation, retreated to my room like a ghost, and continued reconciling the final batch of bills.
Want to bleed me dry?
Want to kick me to the curb?
Keep dreaming.
But once I calmed down, thinking about Connor’s reminder for the annual rent and the cut they were taking, something didn’t add up.
Based on their percentage split, Gary the landlord was risking a felony by forging leases and faking bills just to make a couple of hundred bucks extra a month.
The risk-to-reward ratio made zero sense. That wasn’t Gary’s style. He was a shrewd businessman.
I opened up an apartment rental website, typed in our building’s name, and messaged a few brokers about the real market rates for a unit like ours.
The broker’s reply hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Sir, for a unit with that floor plan in your building, if it’s newly renovated with high-end furniture, the monthly rent is around forty-five hundred.”
“If it’s an unfurnished, older unit like you described, it sits at around three thousand dollars.”
“And if the interior hasn’t been maintained well, the price is negotiable. You could get it down to twenty-five hundred.”
The apartment we were in had outdated fixtures, and the furniture was a mismatched collection of thrift store finds. Some of it was literally picked up off the curb.
If they were really making a killing off this place, the true bottom line had to be significantly lower than three thousand.
I sat frozen in front of my monitor, my mind racing.
If he wasn’t even making a few hundred extra dollars on the spread, why would the landlord risk going to jail to help them fake a lease?
Was he getting a much bigger cut somewhere else?
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404805”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
His first love woke up. Right in the middle of our engagement party.
Leaving a hall full of elite guests and me standing there completely humiliated, he sprinted toward the hospital without a single backward glance. He tossed out just one sentence.
“Hold the fort.”
I held it. I held it so well that exactly one week later, I walked straight into City Hall and married his absolute worst enemy.
When he blocked my path at the bottom of the municipal steps, his eyes bloodshot as he demanded to know how I could be so heartless, the man beside me let out a low, dark chuckle.
“President Sinclair. You might want to get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda.”
I looped my arm through my new husband’s, smiling like the morning breeze.
“Did you honestly think you were the only person in the world waiting for a first love? What a coincidence. The exact day you destroyed our engagement, the man I waited ten years for finally came back to me.”
1
My engagement banquet with Tristan Sinclair was supposed to be the event of the season.
Until the woman who had been in a coma for three entire years woke up.
“Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately.”
His knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone. Wild ecstasy flooded his eyes, masking a tiny, insignificant sliver of guilt.
“You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back.”
He did not even wait for my response. Tossing those words like spare change, he shoved through the crowd and sprinted out of the ballroom. He trampled my dignity and the reputations of both our families right into the marble floor.
Everyone assumed I would wait for him to return like a pathetic, loyal little dog.
A full week later, he finally remembered I existed. But instead of tears, he was greeted by a brand new marriage certificate.
Looking at the document in my hand, Tristan completely lost his mind.
His custom tailored suit was wrinkled. His hair was an absolute mess, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. He stared at the paper, his gaze burning with enough heat to set it on fire.
“Linda! Did you marry my biggest rival just to get back at me?!”
The man beside me took a slow, deliberate step forward. His tall, broad frame shielded me completely. His tone dripped with raw mockery.
“President Sinclair, get your facts straight before opening your mouth. I married Linda.”
I tightened my grip on his arm, meeting Tristan’s furious glare head-on.
“Did you honestly think you were the only one desperately waiting for a first love? Too bad. The exact day you blew up our engagement, the man I waited ten years for happened to come back.”
People were constantly walking in and out of City Hall. Tristan’s rising voice was drawing a crowd of curious onlookers.
“Explain yourself! What do you mean, the man you waited ten years for? What about the five years we spent together!”
I was sick to my stomach of being treated like a circus animal on display. Especially since I had just been played for the biggest fool in front of hundreds of socialites a week ago.
Before I could even part my lips, Victor Cross blocked their view entirely. He stood half a head taller than Tristan, radiating an icy, suffocating pressure.
“This is a private matter between my wife and me. Do not trouble yourself over it.”
Victor’s voice was not loud, but every word stabbed into Tristan like an ice pick.
“Your wife?” Tristan laughed like he had just heard the most absurd joke on earth. He tried to step around Victor to grab my wrist.
“Linda, stop throwing a tantrum and come home with me! I know you are angry. You are mad that I left you at the banquet. I apologize. I will give you whatever compensation you want. Just do not joke around with your entire future!”
His fingers never even grazed my skin. Victor snatched his wrist in midair.
“Have some respect.” Victor’s voice dropped to a freezing temperature. “Linda is legally my wife. The law protects her now. If you try to touch her again, I do not mind having the police teach you some manners.”
Victor’s grip was bone-crushing. Tristan’s face instantly drained of color.
“Do not get too arrogant, Victor! You know exactly what kind of dirty tricks you used to trick Linda into this! Do you really think you won?” Tristan struggled, his facial features twisting in blind rage.
I peeked out from behind Victor’s broad shoulders, calmly looking at the man I had loved for five years.
What did I ever love about him? Was it his money? His handsome face? Or was it the fact that he only ever treated me like a beautiful, low-maintenance decoration?
Bile rose in my throat.
“No one tricked me. It was entirely my choice.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Five years of feelings were wiped to absolute zero the second you turned your back on me for Lily. I owe you nothing, and you owe me nothing. We are walking separate paths now. Do not ever contact me again.”
“Wiped to zero? You say that so easily!” Tristan’s eyes were terrifyingly red. “You cannot do this to me! Lily… she is just my responsibility!”
“Responsibility?” A genuine, bitter laugh escaped my lips. It was purely ridiculous.
“So your so-called responsibility had to be paid for with our families’ reputations, my personal dignity, and five years of my youth? Stop lying to yourself, Tristan. You love her. From the very beginning, it has always been her.”
What was I for the last five years?
Just a convenient stand-in for Lily. A perfectly obedient tool to cure his boredom and pacify his elders while his true love was asleep. Now that the real owner of his heart was awake, the understudy was naturally expected to get off the stage.
I was too exhausted to even voice those thoughts out loud. There was no point.
“Linda…”
“Please address me as Mrs. Cross.” I cut him off, clinging tighter to Victor’s arm. “My husband is waiting to take me home. Get out of the way.”
Victor naturally wrapped a strong arm around my waist, guiding me toward the black sedan parked by the curb.
Tristan stood frozen in place, looking like a statue struck by lightning.
I did not look back.
Once inside the car, Victor handed me a bottle of warm water.
“How are you holding up?” he asked softly.
“Never better.” I twisted the cap off, took a sip, and let out a long, heavy exhale. It felt like I was expelling five years of built-up toxicity, along with every ounce of humiliation from that banquet.
The car merged smoothly into the traffic. The city streets blurred outside my window, but my mind uncontrollably dragged me back to seven days ago.
The union of the Davis and Sinclair families.
I was wearing a custom gown flown in from Paris. My arm was hooked through his, and I was soaking in the applause, genuinely believing I was the luckiest woman alive.
Then his phone vibrated.
I watched the color drain from his face, replaced by shock, then unhinged joy, and finally, a fleeting glance of guilt directed at me. My heart plummeted.
He hung up and squeezed my hands, his voice trembling.
“Linda, Lily… Lily is awake!”
Lily. That name had been a poisoned thorn festering in my heart for five years.
His childhood sweetheart. The woman sitting firmly at the apex of his heart. Three years ago, she got into a horrific car accident trying to save him and fell into a vegetative state. Tristan’s world collapsed that day.
I was the one who pulled him out of the dark. I foolishly believed time could dilute his pain. I thought my devotion would make him let go of the past. I thought his proposal meant he had finally fallen in love with me.
It turned out I was just delusional.
“Darling, Lily just woke up. She absolutely cannot be alone right now. I have to go to her immediately.” He looked at me, begging with his eyes.
I stared at him, then at the hundreds of guests behind us, then at the bright, expectant smiles on our parents’ faces. My blood ran completely cold.
“You have always been so understanding. Keep the guests entertained. We will deal with this when I get back.”
He did not even wait for my permission. Tossing my hand aside, he pushed through the sea of people and ran.
The massive ballroom fell deathly silent. Hundreds of eyes locked onto me like spotlights.
Pity. Sympathy. Malicious glee.
I was standing in the center of the most glamorous stage in the world, wearing the most expensive dress, feeling utterly naked and foolish.
My parents rushed the stage, their faces livid. Tristan’s parents looked mortified and furious.
I barely remember what happened next. I only remember taking off my torturous heels and walking down the stairs barefoot. I did not cry. I did not scream.
I walked up to my parents and whispered, “Dad, Mom, let’s go home.”
That night, I locked myself in my bedroom. Still no tears. Just a numb, hollow emptiness.
My phone screen kept lighting up. Dozens of missed calls from my best friend, Zoe. A flood of text messages.
“Linda, are you okay? That absolute trash! I am so furious!”
“Babe, please do not do anything stupid. He is not worth it!”
I ignored them all.
Around midnight, an unknown number called. Acting on pure instinct, I answered.
“Is this Linda? It is Victor Cross.”
The deep, resonant voice on the other end of the line carried a strange, haunting familiarity.
Victor Cross. Tech billionaire. Tristan’s ultimate nemesis in the business world.
And my deepest, ten-year-old secret.
“What do you want?” My voice was terribly hoarse.
“I am back,” he said smoothly. “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock at City Hall. Bring your ID. I will be waiting.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“What exactly are you saying?”
A short pause followed. Then, his voice dropped, laced with a faint, warm amusement.
“I am saying that if Tristan Sinclair does not know how to treasure you, I do.”
He hung up.
I sat in the pitch-black room clutching my phone for a very long time.
Eventually, I smiled.
The next morning, ignoring my parents’ shocked protests, I grabbed my documents and walked out the door.
Which led to the scene on the municipal steps.
“What are you thinking about?” Victor’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I turned to look at him. He was focused on the road, his jawline sharp and immaculate.
“I was just wondering if rushing into a marriage with you was a bit too reckless,” I joked lightly.
He shot me a side-glance, the corner of his mouth curving upward.
“It is too late to regret it now. Mrs. Cross, once you board my ship, you are never getting off.”
The car eventually glided into the underground garage of an ultra-luxury high-rise.
I expected a man like Victor to live in a cold, sterile, monochromatic penthouse, much like Tristan’s soulless mansions. But the moment the private elevator doors opened, I froze.
There was no gaudy crystal chandelier. Just a soft, warm amber entry light. A pair of comfortable men’s slippers sat neatly on the floor. Right next to them was a brand new pair of plush, pink bunny slippers.
Exactly my size.
My heart skipped a tiny beat.
“Make yourself at home.” Victor shrugged off his suit jacket, hung it up, and bent down to place the bunny slippers right at my feet.
“Thank you.” I slid my feet into them. The material was heavenly.
I followed him into the living room. The space was enormous, but the interior design was surprisingly inviting. A light gray fabric sofa, warm oak floors, and large floor-to-ceiling windows lined with vibrant, thriving potted plants. The air smelled of sunlight and fresh coffee.
It actually felt like a home.
“What would you like to drink? Water, juice, or maybe… wine?” He opened the refrigerator and glanced back.
“Just water, please.”
I sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa. We were legally married, but practically speaking, we were strangers. I knew he was a ruthless tycoon and Tristan’s worst nightmare. Beyond that, nothing.
He handed me a glass of warm water and took a seat in the armchair opposite mine.
A thick, awkward silence settled over the room. A bride dumped at her engagement party, and a corporate rival swooping in to claim her. No matter how you looked at it, we seemed like a temporary alliance forged out of spite, not newlyweds.
“Um…” I cleared my throat, taking the initiative. “Thank you for getting me out of that situation earlier today.”
“I was not just getting you out of a situation.” His dark eyes locked onto mine, intense and serious. “I was protecting my wife’s dignity.”
My wife.
The words rolled off his tongue so naturally, as if he had been calling me that for decades. My cheeks flared with heat.
“But we…”
“Linda,” he interrupted gently. “Do you think my proposal today was just some sudden whim? Or that I only did it to humiliate Tristan?”
I pressed my lips together, essentially agreeing. It sounded exactly like a cheap soap opera plot. Stealing the rival’s humiliated ex-fiancĂŠe was the ultimate power move.
Suddenly, he smiled.
His smile was breathtaking. The usual cold, unapproachable aura melted away like snow under a spring sun.
“What if I told you I have been waiting for this exact day for ten years? Would you believe me?”
My breath caught in my throat.
Ten years? The timeline was too specific. Too impossible.
“I do not understand…” My voice was dry.
“Ten years ago, in the back alley behind Oakridge High School, there was a girl. To protect the miserable kid who shared her desk from getting mugged, she grabbed a broken brick and scared off three older delinquents like a feral street cat.”
He spoke softly, as if narrating a distant fairytale.
But an explosion went off inside my brain. The blurry memory instantly snapped into sharp focus.
A sweltering summer afternoon. The deafening sound of cicadas. I was taking a shortcut through an alley on my way home from school. I saw the quiet, gloomy transfer student from my class backed into a corner by three vocational school dropouts. Rumor had it he was rich but neglected, making him an easy target.
I had no idea where I got the liquid courage. Blood rushing to my head, I scooped up a jagged piece of brick and charged.
“What are you doing! I already called the cops! They are five minutes away!”
My voice must have been high-pitched and shaking. But the thugs were cowards. Startled by my kamikaze energy, they cursed and ran away.
I helped the tall boy up. He kept his head down, his long bangs hiding his eyes. I asked if he was okay. He nodded. I asked his name. He stayed silent.
Annoyed by his lack of gratitude, I shoved the heavy brick right into his chest.
“Keep this! If anyone tries to bully you again, smash their heads in! Do not be a coward!”
Then I marched away like a victorious general. The transfer student vanished from school shortly after, and I eventually forgot the whole ordeal.
I looked up, staring in utter disbelief at the man sitting across from me. Mature. Imposing. Powerful. I could not reconcile him with that skinny, silent teenage boy.
“You… you are…”
“Victor.” His eyes crinkled, looking at me like I hung the moon. “I am that unlucky desk-mate you saved.”
My brain short-circuited. No screenwriter would dare write a script this absurd.
“How… how did…” I babbled.
“My father forced me to transfer out immediately. I never got the chance to say thank you, or even tell you my name,” he explained quietly. “I was sent abroad right after. But I never forgot you.”
“You remembered the girl wielding a broken brick like a little gangster?” I blurted out.
He laughed again, a rich, chest-deep sound.
“Yes. I remembered. You were incredibly cute.”
Cute? What part of a screaming girl with a weapon was cute?
“So you came back… just to…”
“To marry you,” he stated with absolute certainty.
“But you do not even know me anymore! It has been a decade! What if I grew up to be a horrible person?” I still felt like I was walking on clouds.
“I trust my judgment.” His gaze turned heavy and piercing. “Besides, I have been keeping a very close eye on you. I know your likes and dislikes. I know you were with Tristan for five years, and the idiot never even realized you are deathly allergic to mangoes.”
My chest absorbed another heavy blow.
Tristan really did not know. On one of our dates, he ordered a mango crepe cake and pushed it toward me. I simply smiled, said I was not craving sweets, and watched him eat the whole thing. I never corrected him because I did not want to be an inconvenience. I always thought loving someone meant being agreeable and accommodating.
And yet, this “stranger” sitting in front of me knew. He knew me better than the man I had shared a bed with for five years.
Was it ironic, or was it just incredibly lucky?
“You investigated me?” I frowned slightly.
“Not an investigation,” he admitted freely. “As a business rival, looking into President Sinclair’s personal life is standard procedure. I just accidentally ended up paying way too much attention to you.”
He made it sound effortless, but I knew “accidentally” did not cover the sheer amount of resources he must have spent keeping tabs on me from the shadows.
“So the night of the banquet, you called me…”
“I never intended to rush things like this.” He sighed. “I wanted to court you properly. Formally. But Tristan forced my hand.”
His eyes darkened with dangerous intent.
“When I saw the news breaking that he abandoned you at your own engagement party, I knew I could not wait another second.”
“Linda, I refuse to watch you suffer another grievance. Never again.”
Looking into those dark, resolute eyes, I suddenly realized that signing those marriage papers was not an act of impulsive revenge.
It was fate.
That night, I tossed and turned in the guest bedroom. Victor had insisted on giving me time to adjust, so he took the master suite. We were separated by a single wall. The proximity made my skin tingle.
I pulled out my phone and opened Zoe’s chat. Her messages were still sitting there, unread.
Taking a deep breath, I typed:
“Zoe, I got married.”
Less than three seconds later, my phone vibrated violently with her incoming call.
“Holy shit! Linda! Are you out of your mind?! With who? Do not tell me it is actually Victor Cross!”
I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Yeah. It is him.”
“Oh my god! You are insane! Do you even know him? Do you know what kind of ruthless predator he is? He is Tristan’s arch-nemesis! He is definitely using you to humiliate the Sinclair family!” Zoe’s panic was deafening.
I understood her reaction. Any normal person would lose their mind hearing their best friend married her toxic ex’s biggest enemy a week after getting dumped.
“Zoe, calm down,” I said patiently. “It is not what you think.”
I gave her the abridged version of the brick-wielding incident from ten years ago, and how Victor had been watching over me ever since.
Dead silence fell over the line.
A full minute later, Zoe finally spoke, her voice sounding completely detached from reality.
“So… this is not a ‘marrying the enemy for revenge’ trashy drama. This is a ‘ten years of secret pining finally comes true’ epic romance?”
“… You could interpret it that way.”
“Damn it!” Zoe cursed loudly. “This is better than a movie! So, how is he? Is he treating you right? Is he hot? How is the body?”
The conversation was taking a very dangerous turn.
“He is great. And he is… extremely handsome.” Victor’s face flashed in my mind, making my pulse race. “As for his body… I have not really looked.”
“Idiot! That is the most important part!” Zoe practically screamed. “Hurry up and find an excuse to inspect the goods! If the merchandise is faulty, demand an immediate refund!”
My face flushed crimson.
“Zoe!”
“What are you blushing for? You are legally married!”
I quickly hung up and buried my burning face into the pillows. Unfortunately, my traitorous brain instantly began imagining what Victor looked like underneath those tailored suits. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long legs…
Stop it, Linda! Have some shame!
Right at that moment, two soft knocks landed on the door.
“Linda, are you asleep?”
It was Victor.
My heart vaulted into my throat. Did he hear me talking to Zoe? Were the walls that thin?
“No… not yet.” I scrambled to sit up, smoothing down my silk pajamas and clearing my throat.
The door opened a crack, and Victor stepped in.
He was out of his suit, dressed in dark gray loungewear. His hair was damp from the shower. The sharp, aggressive edge he carried during the day was gone, replaced by a devastating, domestic warmth.
“I saw your light was still on. I figured you might have trouble sleeping in a new bed.” He held a mug of warm milk. “Drink this. It helps.”
So that was it.
I let out a breath I did not know I was holding, though a weird, tiny part of me felt disappointed.
“Thank you.” Our fingers brushed as I took the mug. His skin was incredibly warm.
He did not leave immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, studying me.
“What is on your mind?”
“Nothing, just… it all feels a bit surreal,” I mumbled, cradling the warm mug.
“You will get used to it.” His voice was like velvet. “From now on, this is your home.”
My home.
Since childhood, my home was the massive Davis estate. Later, I thought my home would be the cold, modern penthouse I was supposed to share with Tristan. Now, this man was telling me that this apartmentâa place I had just stepped foot in todayâwas my true home.
My nose stung.
“Victor,” I looked up at him. “Do you… do you think I am too easy? We just…”
“No.” He cut me off, his gaze burning bright. “Linda, in my eyes, you deserve the absolute best this world has to offer. Tristan being blind is his own tragic loss. Getting to marry you is the greatest privilege of my life.”
How could he say things like that with a straight face? My cheeks were definitely hotter than the milk.
“It is late. Get some rest.” Noticing my embarrassment, he offered a gentle smile and quietly pulled the door shut behind him.
The room returned to silence. I took tiny sips of the sweet milk, feeling a profound warmth spread from my stomach straight to my heart.
He definitely did not hear Zoe’s scandalous comments, right?
Yeah. Definitely not.
The next morning, I woke up to the mouthwatering smell of breakfast.
Walking out of the bedroom in a daze, I found Victor in the open kitchen, wearing a… pink apron. He was expertly frying eggs. The morning light spilled through the windows, casting a golden halo around his broad shoulders.
Hearing my footsteps, he turned around and gave me a crisp, bright smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Cross. Go wash up. Breakfast is almost ready.”
Sitting on the dining table were perfectly cooked sunny-side-up eggs, golden toast, warm milk, and a small bowl of fruit salad.
My exact favorite breakfast combination.
“How do you know my exact order?” I had to ask.
“I told you. I have been paying attention.” He slid a glass of milk toward me, sounding as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
I felt a rush of complex emotions. Having a man quietly observe you for years, memorizing even your breakfast preferencesâif I hated him, I would be terrified.
But because it was Victor… I found it incredibly sweet.
After eating, he began getting ready for work.
“What are your plans for today?” he asked while tying his shoes.
“I…” Reality came crashing down. I had a massive mess to clean up. I needed to face my parents regarding the canceled wedding, and more importantly, drop the bomb that I was already married.
Just thinking about my parents’ incoming wrath gave me a headache.
“Do you want me to come with you?” He noticed my hesitation.
“No, it is fine.” I shook my head. “It is my mess. I need to handle it myself.”
I refused to act like a fragile flower that needed to hide behind him at the first sign of trouble.
“Alright.” He did not push it. Instead, he pulled out a sleek, obsidian black card and handed it to me. “The pin is your birthday. Buy whatever you want. Do not hold back.”
Here we go again with the overbearing billionaire tropes! And yet, my heart was racing.
“I… I have my own money,” I whispered, trying to refuse.
“This is what a husband is supposed to provide.” He pressed the heavy metal card into my palm, leaving no room for argument. “Be good. Take it.”
Before I could process it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
Then he turned and walked out the door.
I stood frozen in the entryway for a solid ten minutes, clutching the card that still carried his body heat, my face burning up.
Oh my god!
He kissed me! Even if it was just the forehead!
I took several deep breaths, forcing my racing heart to calm down. Get it together, Linda! You are a married woman now! It was just a forehead kiss!
Mentally preparing myself for battle, I dialed my mother’s number.
“Linda! Where are you? Are you okay? You terrified us!” Eleanor’s frantic voice burst through the speaker.
After the disaster at the banquet, I had locked myself away and then vanished the next morning. Of course they were terrified.
“Mom, I am fine. I am perfectly fine.” I tried to sound as normal as possible. “I am out right now… I have something important to tell you and Dad.”
“What is it? Where are you? We will come get you!”
“No, it is okay. I will come home this afternoon to talk.”
I hung up and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were a little red, but my gaze was remarkably steady.
It was time to face the music.
That afternoon, I took a cab back to the Davis estate.
Walking into the grand living room, I found both my parents sitting on the sofas, their expressions grim. Spread across the coffee table were today’s newspapers. The headlines were universally vicious.
Tristan Sinclair Abandons Bride at the Altar for Comatose Ex-Lover!
Five-Year Romance Turns to Dust: Linda Davis Humiliated in High Society!
“Linda, you are back!” My mother jumped up and rushed over, grabbing my arms to inspect me from head to toe. “Where have you been? You did not answer any calls! We were going out of our minds!”
“I am fine, Mom.” I patted her hands reassuringly.
My father, Arthur, sat rigidly on the couch, his face dark with fury. I knew he was furious at me for disappearing, but mostly furious at the Sinclair family.
“I will make the Sinclairs bleed for this,” my father finally growled, his voice thick with wrath. “Do not worry, Linda. I will not let you suffer this indignity for nothing.”
Seeing them so fiercely protective of me warmed my heart and solidified my resolve.
I reached into my designer bag, pulled out the crisp marriage certificate, and gently placed it on the coffee table.
A suffocating silence descended upon the room.
My mother’s eyes widened. She looked at the document, then at me, her lips trembling, unable to form a single word.
My father’s face shifted from red to purple, then to a ghastly pale. He picked up the document with shaking hands and flipped it open.
When his eyes landed on the name “Victor Cross”, his hand spasmed, dropping the booklet onto the rug.
“This is madness!” He slammed his hand against the glass table and shot to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Linda! What on earth are you doing! Did you use your own marriage as a tool just to spite Tristan? Do you know who Victor Cross is? He is Tristan’s sworn enemy! You marrying him turns the Davis family into a circus act! How are people going to look at you?!”
“Dad!” I met his furious gaze without taking a single step back. “I am not doing this out of spite, and this is not a joke. I am entirely sober and I know exactly what I am doing.”
“Sober? You call marrying a man you have met barely a handful of times in one week being sober?!” he roared, losing his usual aristocratic composure.
“He is not just a man I met a few times.” I took a deep breath and proceeded to lay out the entire truth. I told them about the incident from high school ten years ago, and how he had been waiting in the shadows ever since.
I naturally omitted the part where Victor had “investigated” me, framing it instead as him quietly watching over me.
When I finished, the living room plunged back into a prolonged silence.
My mother’s expression morphed from shock, to disbelief, to a faint glimmer of being deeply moved.
My father slowly sank back onto the sofa, massaging his temples, lost in thought.
After a very long time, he spoke, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Even so, this is entirely too reckless. Marriage is not a game.”
“Dad, I am an adult.” I looked at him with absolute sincerity. “I know what I want. For the past five years with Tristan, I lived like a puppet on a string. I always had to be the bigger person. Always understanding. Always stepping aside. But now, I want to live for myself.”
I paused, dropping the final, most crucial weight onto the scale. “Besides… he treats me incredibly well.”
My father stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I braced myself for another explosion of anger.
Instead, he let out a heavy, defeated sigh.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404821”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
The day after I contacted the private investigator, a stack of glossy photographs was waiting on my desk.
The face of the young woman in those pictures was one I could never forget.
This entire nightmare started with a simple iced caramel macchiato. Felix had handed it to me right after he got home from work.
“Your favorite,” he said, his tone as casual as if it were the most natural habit in the world.
I didn’t take the cup. A sudden, inexplicable weight dropped in my chest.
“I stopped drinking these years ago,” I replied, keeping my voice perfectly level.
He didn’t look surprised. “Really? I remember you loving them back in college.”
That single sentence confirmed everything. The ‘you’ he was talking about wasn’t me.
Because I spent the majority of my college years studying abroad in Europe.
But I didn’t scream or throw the coffee in his face. I just forced a faint, hollow smile. “I guess tastes change when we grow up.”
1
Four years ago, during an infrastructure project in a deeply impoverished rural county, I crossed paths with a young girl being dragged away by her parents. They were forcing her into a marriage with an older man to settle family debts. Her name was Tessa.
Tessa’s clothes were threadbare, her face smeared with dirt, but her eyes held a terrifyingly fierce light.
Back then, I thought that light was pure resilience. Ignoring her parents’ vicious insults, I paid off their debts, rescued her from that suffocating town, and funded her entire college education.
My phone buzzed. The private investigator had sent a new message.
“Based on my findings, she is staying by Felix’s side to ‘repay’ him for his financial support.”
My hand trembled violently around my phone.
Repay his support?
Let us completely ignore the fact that I was the one who pulled Tessa out of that rural hellhole.
Let us talk about Felix. He was a penniless orphan who couldn’t even afford his freshman tuition. Every single step he took to reach his current status as a highly respected CEO was paved by my money and the absolute power of the Davis family.
I let out a long, shaky breath, fighting back the tears burning my eyes. My hand instinctively rested over my flat stomach.
A suffocating bitterness flooded my heart.
A tiny life had once fluttered right there.
Two years ago, I discovered I was pregnant. I was ecstatic, meticulously planning the perfect way to surprise Felix.
But before I could tell him, I received a frantic call. Tessa’s parents had tracked her down on campus and were trying to kidnap her.
I didn’t hesitate for a second. I called the police and rushed to the university with my security team.
In my desperate attempt to pull her away from her violent father, a brutal scuffle broke out. I was shoved hard against a concrete step. And just like that, the child I had barely begun to love was gone forever.
The doctors told me the physical trauma was severe. My chances of ever conceiving again were practically zero.
When Tessa found out, she sobbed hysterically. She fell to her knees, swearing on her life that she would find a way to repay my sacrifice.
And her grand repayment was crawling into my husband’s bed and tearing my marriage to shreds.
I whipped my car around and drove straight to my parents’ estate.
They were surprised to see me walk through the door unannounced.
“Did Felix upset you?” my mother asked softly.
Looking at the silver streaks in my parents’ hair, I swallowed the ugly truth.
“No. He is just swamped with work. The house felt empty, so I wanted to come see you guys.”
My father frowned slightly, though his eyes held a glimmer of approval. “He built that company from nothing. It is not an easy feat.”
“But no matter how hard he works, he shouldn’t neglect his family.”
I didn’t acknowledge my father’s defense of him. Instead, I took a breath and asked the question I came for.
“Dad, when you first invested in Felix’s startup, didn’t you draft a contingency agreement?”
My father thought for a moment and nodded. “I did. The terms stated that if he ever failed to meet my ethical expectations, his shares would revert completely to me.”
“But once he proved himself and the company stabilized, that clause naturally became void,” he added.
He paused for a second before continuing. “However, right before your wedding, Felix insisted on transferring half of his total shares to you as a dowry. I thought he had been through enough hardship, so I never actually had you sign the transfer documents.”
I fought to keep my face neutral, masking the surge of adrenaline in my veins. “Do you still have those documents?”
“Of course. I keep all the files in the study.”
He retrieved the thick legal folder from his mahogany bookshelf and handed it to me.
I took the contract, quickly scanned the legal jargon, and signed my name on the dotted line without a singular ounce of hesitation.
I didn’t need the money. But since Felix had the audacity to betray me, he needed to prepare himself for absolute ruin.
2
The moment I returned to my empty house, I opened my laptop and loaded Felix’s corporate website.
A promotional pop-up for his latest media interview immediately filled the screen.
It was a ten-minute video. For nine of those minutes, the interviewer showered Felix with sickening praise. They painted him as a visionary, a man of profound integrity and charity. Every flattering adjective in the dictionary was hurled his way.
Next week was his highly anticipated product launch.
A cold smile tugged at my lips. I scrolled straight down to the investor relations page.
As a publicly traded company, any shift in executive power or shareholder equity had to be transparent. It took me zero effort to find his corporate structure.
Felix held a fifty-one percent controlling stake.
But the moment my pen hit that paper in my father’s study, fifty percent of the company’s total shares transferred directly from his name to mine.
I was now the largest shareholder.
I only needed one more percent to secure absolute, undeniable control.
Acquiring one percent of loose equity was a trivial task. I mentally mapped out a buyout strategy within seconds. Then, I clicked on the executive directory.
Sure enough, Tessa’s name was sitting right there.
The girl who had once looked me in the eye and swore to dedicate her life to helping others just as I had helped her. She was now my husband’s personal executive assistant.
I bit the inside of my cheek, taking several deep breaths to suppress the white-hot fury burning in my chest.
Felix didn’t come home until nearly midnight.
In the past, I would have bombarded him with questions about why he was working so late.
Tonight, I just glanced at him from the couch. “Honey, do you remember Tessa?”
Felix froze instantly. He stared at me, completely paralyzed, unable to form a single syllable.
I kept my voice light. “After I rescued her, I always worried her parents would drag her back to the mountains. I had no idea she ended up working as your assistant.”
A thin layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Every word that left his mouth was a calculated lie.
“I had no idea she was the student you sponsored.”
I gave him a playful, exasperated look. “What are you so nervous about? I am not upset with you.”
“I should actually be thanking you. If you hadn’t taken her under your wing, who knows what kind of predators would have taken advantage of a lonely girl like her.”
Felix offered a stiff, awkward laugh. “I just saw that she was struggling. I wanted to help.”
He practically sprinted into the bedroom after that.
I watched the door click shut. The playful warmth vanished from my face, replaced by pure ice.
Struggling? Of course I knew she was struggling.
That was why I funded her life. That was why I pulled her out of the dirt. That was why I sacrificed my unborn child to keep her safe.
And my reward was not gratitude. It was a vicious snake sinking its fangs into my marriage.
If she didn’t know how to be grateful, then she couldn’t blame me for ripping away everything I had ever given her.
The next morning, I slept in until eleven.
Felix had left for the office hours ago.
I ate a slow breakfast, watching the live feed from the private investigator. The moment I saw Tessa slip into Felix’s private office on the screen, I grabbed my keys.
Every employee at his headquarters recognized me. Not a single person dared to stop me in the lobby.
Because Felix had spent years meticulously crafting the image of a devoted family man, no one in the building suspected his vile affair with Tessa. Consequently, no one thought to warn him that his wife was on the elevator.
I didn’t even have to rush. I simply pushed open the heavy oak doors to his private suite.
I caught them hopelessly tangled together on the leather sofa, their clothes in disarray.
I walked in, sat down on the armchair opposite them, and watched them with a dead expression.
“It seems I arrived at a bad time.”
The shock finally shattered their paralysis. They scrambled apart, frantically adjusting their clothes.
Yet, there was no trace of actual remorse on their faces.
Tessa looked at me, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “Audrey. It has been a long time.”
“It has,” I replied, my voice dangerously calm. “The last time we saw each other was two years ago. Right after I pulled you out of that hellhole.”
“What was it you said to me back then? Something about serving me like a loyal dog to repay your debt?”
Tessa’s smile dissolved instantly.
I flicked my gaze between her and Felix, my tone dripping with absolute disgust. “And this is your grand repayment? Climbing into your savior’s marital bed?”
Before Tessa could speak, Felix stepped forward.
He softly told Tessa to wait outside. When he turned back to me, the warmth in his eyes was completely gone, replaced by a freezing hostility.
“Did you really have to come here and make such an ugly scene, Audrey?”
A sharp laugh escaped my throat. “I am making an ugly scene? You have been sleeping with the student I sponsored for years, and you think my presence is the ugly part?”
“Audrey, watch your tone!” Felix raised his voice, his ego flaring. “I simply saw a girl who was pitiful, and I gave her an opportunity!”
“An opportunity?” I sneered. “Felix, every single opportunity you have ever had in your pathetic life was handed to you by my family.”
“If it weren’t for my mother and father, you would still be rotting in the gutters.”
“Where exactly do you get the nerve to take the power my family gave you and use it to fund your little mistress?”
Felix erupted. “Shut your mouth!”
“You know exactly what state your family’s company is in! Everything I have achieved here is built on my own blood and sweat!”
“You are the one relying on me now! I am the one propping up your parents’ lifestyle and their failing investments! If you don’t want to see your family go bankrupt and end up on the streets, you will keep your mouth shut and accept Tessa!”
Our argument ended in absolute hostility.
But my visit was not a failure.
Every disgusting word that left his mouth, every vile threat he made, was crystal clear on the recording device hidden in my purse.
It was the exact ammunition I needed for the killing strike.
3
I didn’t return to the house I shared with him. I drove straight to a luxury hotel suite I had booked in advance.
Noah was already waiting for me in the lobby. He was another student I had sponsored years ago, and the private investigator I had hired to expose Felix.
The moment he saw me, he rushed over and handed me a thick leather binder.
“Ms. Davis, here is the physical summary. I sent the heavily encrypted, detailed files directly to your private server.”
I took the binder with both hands and offered a genuine smile. “Thank you, Noah.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. “You never have to thank me. If you hadn’t stepped in back then, my sister and I wouldn’t have survived the winter.”
Once I was safely locked in my suite, I skimmed the physical documents before opening my laptop.
The physical file was a broad overview of Felix and Tessa’s romantic timeline. The digital server held the real poison.
Every hotel booking, every expensive dinner, every timeline discrepancy was laid out in agonizing detail.
But the real treasure was buried in the final folders. It was a comprehensive paper trail of Felix’s desperate, illegal maneuvers to inflate his profit margins over the last few years. Tax evasion, corporate bribery, embezzlement.
I memorized every detail, copied the financial evidence onto a secure flash drive, and anonymously mailed it to a rival executive in Felix’s company who had despised him for years.
With the traps set, I stayed in the hotel, waiting quietly for the product launch next week.
I wanted silence, but Felix refused to grant it.
Over the course of seven days, he bombarded my phone with relentless calls and text messages. He cycled between vicious threats about ruining my family and pathetic, manipulative pleas for me to come home.
I didn’t block him. I just watched the notifications pile up.
On the morning of the launch, I finally sent a single text back.
“See you at the venue.”
Felix had no idea what that meant.
Until he saw me walking down the center aisle of the auditorium.
His heart must have stopped. He rushed over, grabbed my elbow, and dragged me into a secluded corner, his teeth gritted. “Audrey. What the hell are you planning?”
I batted my eyelashes, looking the picture of innocence. “It is my husband’s biggest product launch. Am I not allowed to support you?”
I shifted my gaze to Tessa, who was standing nervously near the backstage curtain. My voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Or were you planning to let her stand in my place under the spotlight?”
Felix, who likely had entertained that exact thought, looked like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.
“No,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
I beamed at him.
Seeing my smile, Felix foolishly assumed I had surrendered to his threats. He let out a long breath of relief, muttered a quiet warning for me to behave, and hurried off to prep the stage.
I took my VIP invitation and walked straight to the center seat in the front row, waiting comfortably for the curtain to rise.
The auditorium filled. The lights dimmed. Felix stepped into the spotlight.
He was practically glowing with arrogance. He delivered a charismatic opening monologue, soaking in the applause, before gesturing to the massive screen behind him for the promotional video.
The moment the screen lit up, the entire auditorium inhaled a collective, horrified gasp.
The sleek product animation was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, a high-definition video of Felix, his face twisted in vicious rage, echoed through the massive speakers. It was the recording of him screaming at me in his office, threatening to bankrupt my family if I didn’t accept his mistress.
The blood drained completely from Felix’s face.
In those agonizing thirty seconds, his meticulously crafted mask of a philanthropic genius was shattered into a million pieces.
A deafening wave of whispers and camera shutters flooded the room. The corporate board members sitting near me looked like they were going to be sick.
Timing it perfectly, I stood up and walked onto the stage before the chaos could spiral out of control.
I took the microphone. First, I offered a poised, deeply sincere apology to the investors and media present for the disruption.
Then, I turned to face the crowd and officially announced the immediate termination of Felix as the Chief Executive Officer.
Felix whipped his head toward me, his eyes wild. “Audrey, you have absolutely no authority to do that.”
I cut him off without a shred of emotion. I projected the signed transfer documents and my newly acquired equity portfolio onto the screen.
“I have every authority.”
“I currently hold fifty-one percent of the total voting shares.”
“I am the majority shareholder. My word is absolute law.”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404806”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
Three years ago, I championed Amelia Thorne’s entry into the company. From intern to HR Director, every promotion she received, I had vouched for her. Now, there were 23 names on the redundancy list. Mine was at the top. She had submitted it.
“Helen, I couldn’t help it.” Her eyes red-rimmed, “It was decided by management.”
I said nothing. Her phone vibrated. A text message. Top contact, marked with a red heart emoji. The profile picture was a man’s side profile. A dark blue plaid shirt. The same one I had personally ironed for Oliver Goddard last night.
Oliver Goddard is my husband.
I put the list into my bag and stood up. “Amelia, the shirt the person in your top contact is wearingâ”
“I ironed it last night.”
Her face went white.
1
“Helen! Helen, wait!” Amelia’s voice, tinged with a sob, chased me down the corridor. I didn’t look back. My heels clicked on the tiled floor, a steady rhythm. The elevator doors opened. She caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “You misunderstood, that person isn’t Oliver…”
“Dark blue plaid shirt, with a small scorched hole under the left chest pocket.” I looked at her hand. “I accidentally ironed it like that last night.” Her fingers loosened. “Helen…” “Amelia.” I pressed the elevator button. “You’ve been using that trick on me for three yearsâyour left eye reddens first, then your right. It’s not very effective anymore.”
The elevator doors closed. I leaned against the elevator wall, watching the numbers drop. Basement one. Parking garage. I got into my car, closed the door. My phone lit up. A message. Amelia sent a voice note; I didn’t open it. Another text came: “Helen, if you don’t believe me, you can ask Oliver directly. He’ll explain.” I stared at the message for ten seconds.
I opened Oliver’s social media. Last Wednesday, he posted a picture of coffee with the caption: “Working late, this coffee delivered tastes extra good.” That night he told me he was busy with a project at work; I hadn’t sent him any coffee. The first comment was from Amelia: “You’re working hard [heart emoji].” Oliver replied with a smiling emoji.
I scrolled down further. A month ago, during the holiday weekend, he said he was taking clients for golf in the Bahamas. No pictures posted on his feed. But Amelia had posted. A beach, sunset, red bikini, with the caption: “Be good to me, holiday.” In the bottom right corner of the second photo, a man’s hand, wearing a very familiar wedding band on the ring finger. The scratch was on the left sideâOliver always rested his left hand on the steering wheel when driving, wearing it down.
I exited the app, started the car. I arrived home at 7:30. Oliver poked his head out of the kitchen, smiling. “You’re back? Why so early today?” “Nothing much, so I came home.” “Wash up, dinner’s ready. The ribs just came out of the oven.”
At the dining table, he served me food, recounting his day at the office. “You remember Mark from finance? Today he added an extra zero to a report, and the boss thought our department’s revenue had increased tenfold. He was happy for a whole hour…” He smiled very naturally. I smiled too.
“Oh, right,” he said, “you ironed my blue plaid shirt, didn’t you? I have an important meeting tomorrow.” “It’s hanging in the third compartment of the closet.” “Thanks, wife.” He reached over and squeezed my fingers. His fingertips were warm.
After dinner, he went to wash the dishes. I went into the bedroom and opened the closet. The blue plaid shirt was hanging there. I picked it up and sniffed it closely. Beneath the scent of laundry detergent, there was a faint fragrance. Bleu de Chanel. I had given it to Amelia for her birthday three years ago. “I love it so much!” she had hugged me then, saying, “Helen, you’re truly the best person in the world to me.”
I hung the shirt back up. In the pocket, I felt a crumpled receipt. Two cups of coffee from a local cafe. One Americano, one low-sugar latte. I drink Americano. Oliver also drinks Americano. Whose was the low-sugar latte?
The sound of water stopped in the bathroom. He walked out, wrapped in a towel. “Wife, I might be home late tomorrow; a project needs finishing.” “Okay.” “Don’t stay up too late.” He kissed my forehead. “Oliver.” “Hm?” “How long has it been since you celebrated our wedding anniversary with me?” His movement paused. “Last month wasn’t…” “Last month you said you had an unexpected business trip to the Caribbean.” “Right, that client couldn’t be put off…” “Did that client wear a red bikini?” His expression flickered, then returned to normal. “What are you talking about? The client is a bald man in his fifties.” “Oh.” “Why are you suddenly thinking about this?” “Nothing. There’s a small hole under the pocket of your shirt. I accidentally did it while ironing; I hope you don’t mind.” “Not at all.” He smiled. “You ironed it for me; even the hole looks good.”
I turned off the light. In the darkness, his breathing gradually became even. My eyes remained open. At 2 AM, his phone lit up. A message popped up, labeled “Project Team – Kevin”: “Hubby, I’ve handled the last issue. She won’t have a chance to turn things around. Don’t worry.” Followed by a kissing emoji. Hubby. She. Turn things around. The screen darkened. Oliver turned over, his arm resting on my waist. “Mmm… wife…” he mumbled indistinctly. I didn’t move. “Goodnight,” I said. No one replied.
2
“Here, I bought you coffee, a sugar-free Americano.” Amelia stood at my cubicle, smiling gently, holding a Starbucks cup. Her other hand briefly rested on my shoulder. “I thought about yesterday all night; it truly was management’s decision. I tried to advocate for you.” I took the coffee. “Thank you.”
“What you said yesterday… about the shirt,” she leaned in, lowering her voice, “my boyfriend happens to have an identical one. It’s just a coincidence, don’t overthink it.” “Your boyfriend?” “Mm, we’ve only been dating for two months, haven’t gone public yet.” She winked. “I’ll introduce you sometime.” “Okay.” She smiled and walked away.
I took a sip of coffee. Americano, but with sugar. I never take sugar in my Americano. She remembered Oliverâs low-sugar latte, but couldnât recall my preference.
At 10 AM, my colleague Alex passed my cubicle, dropping a stack of documents, and whispered, “Helen, there’s something I’m not sure if I should tell you.” “Tell me.” She looked around, then pulled me into the breakroom. “The redundancy list… I saw three versions on the printer.” “Three versions?” “The first version had 15 people, and you weren’t on it. The second had 20, and you were number eight. The third is this current one, 23 people, and you’re number one.” “Who changed it?” “Amelia. All three revision records are under her account. Each time someone was addedâ” Alex bit her lip, “âit was always someone you mentored.”
I said nothing. “And one more thing.” Alex lowered her voice. “Did you see last week’s department annual performance review?” “I submitted it.” “Not your version.” She pulled out her phone and showed me a screenshot. On the screen, under the department review section: “Helen Fraser: Average organizational skills, aggressive management style, poor team cohesion. Recommended for salary reduction, role reassignment, or optimization.” A red cross was next to my name. “Below that was a section for role recommendations.” Alex scrolled to the next page. “Amelia wrote it, recommending her assistant, Beth, to replace you. Someone who’s been with the company for less than six months.”
“When was this report submitted?” “Two weeks ago. Three days before the redundancy list.” “Is the original report still in the system?” “Yes. But the permissions were changed; only Amelia and the administrator can see it. I saw it last week during system maintenance when IT recovered a batch of files.” Alex looked at me. “Helen, she did it on purpose.”
I knew. At noon, Amelia came to find me again, sitting opposite me and placing a chicken wing in my bowl. “Helen, eat more, you’ve lost weight recently.” “Mm.” “Dinner tonight? Let’s get a barbecue. It’s been a while.” “He’s working late tonight.” “Then just the two of us.” She took my hand and held it. “Helen, no matter what happens, you’re my best friend.” Her palm was warm. The same temperature as when Oliver squeezed my fingers last night. “Amelia.” “Hm?” “What does your new boyfriend do?” Her eyes flickered. “Finance.” “Which company?” “A small company you wouldn’t know.” “What’s his name?” “Helen, why are you so interested in my boyfriend?” She smiled. “Are you jealous?” “Just asking.”
In the afternoon, I went to HR’s shared folder. I didn’t have administrator privileges, but the old system’s backend entry was still open. Three minutes later, I found all the documents Amelia had submitted. Besides the tampered performance review, there was something else. Title: “Core Employee Seating Adjustment Plan.” The content was simple: Move Helen Fraser’s workstation from the eighth-floor department area to the third-floor administrative area. Reason: “Optimize office space.”
The third-floor administrative area. Next to the restroom drainage pipe, no windows. She had even planned where I would sit. At the bottom of the document was a footnote. Not Amelia’s handwriting. “Confirmed with HR, to be executed next Monday. âOliver Goddard.” Oliver. My husband’s name, appearing on a document that moved me next to the restroom.
I opened the company directory and searched for “Oliver Goddard.” One result. Finance Department. Senior Finance Manager. Start dateâtwo years ago. Two years ago, he told me he had switched to an investment company. “It’s a small company; you wouldn’t know it even if I told you.” Exactly what Amelia had said earlier. He had been working at my company for two years. In the same building. I was on the eighth floor, he was on the tenth. Separated by the ninth floorâthe HR department, Amelia’s floor.
My phone rang. Oliver. “Wife, what do you want for dinner tonight?” “…Anything.” “What’s wrong with your voice?” “A bit tired.” “Then leave work early. I’ll wait for you at home.” I hung up. I found the screenshot of that message from earlier that morning. “Project Team – Kevin.” Hubby. She won’t have a chance to turn things around. Kevin. “Amelia, you are truly something else.”
3
“Ms. Fraser, please attend the management meeting this afternoon.” My assistant, Emily, brought in documents, her expression subtle. “What’s the agenda?” “It’s being led by Director Thorne. Department budget reviews and personnel optimization plans.”
At 2 PM, over a dozen people sat in the conference room. Amelia stood before the projector, dressed in a white turtleneck, looking intellectual and gentle. “Everyone, the company is facing some pressure this year, and we need to optimize our human efficiency.” She flipped to the next slide. “First, a report on each department’s semi-annual performance.” A table appeared on the screen. Marketing Department, 120% completion. Tech Department, 115%. Sales Department, 98%. Operations Departmentâmy departmentâ47%.
47%. I had led my team to achieve $18 million in revenue in the first half of the year, targeting $20 million. That’s a 90% completion rate. Not 47%. “The Operations Department’s performance is indeed less than ideal.” Amelia’s tone was regretful, glancing at me. “Ms. Fraser has worked hard, but the data doesn’t lie.” “How was this data calculated?” I asked. “Finance calculated it. Do you have any objections?” “The data I submitted was $18 million, a 90% completion rate.” “Finance performed a recalculation, and the revenue attribution for several projects was adjusted.” “What was the basis for the adjustment?” “That’s a professional judgment from Finance; I’m not entirely clear.” She shuffled the documents in her hand. “If you have questions, you can check with Finance after the meeting.” “Furthermore,” she continued, “after a comprehensive evaluation, the Operations Department’s human efficiency ranks last among all departments. Therefore, our optimization list has a higher proportion from Operations.”
Out of 23 people, my department accounted for 14. More than half were to be laid off. “Helen,” she used my nickname in front of everyone, “don’t feel pressured. It’s not your personal problem; it’s the general economic climate.” Gentle, thoughtful. As if she was concerned for me. In reality, she had just used fake data to sentence my department to death.
After the meeting, I went straight to the tenth-floor finance department. I found the finance manager, Mr. Davies. “Mr. Davies, on what basis was the Operations Department’s revenue recalculated?” Mr. Davies adjusted his glasses. “Last month, Director Thorne submitted an adjustment request, stating that the revenue attribution for three projects needed to be reclassified, moving them from Operations to Marketing.” “Who signed off on it?” “The process requires sign-off from the department liaison.” Mr. Davies handed over the document. On the signature line was a very familiar handwriting. Oliver Goddard. “This Oliver Goddard,” I pointed at the signature, “which department is he from?” “Finance Department. He’s responsible for liaising on all departmental financial matters,” Mr. Davies looked at me. “Doesn’t Ms. Fraser know him? He’s been here for two years.” “I know him.”
I walked out of the tenth floor. The window at the end of the corridor was open. The November wind blew in, bitingly cold. Oliver had been working at the company for two years. He helped Amelia adjust my department’s data. Signed off on it. Then he went home, cooked me barbecue ribs, kissed my forehead, and said, “Wife, you’ve worked hard.”
I took the elevator down to basement one and found Oliver’s carâthe one I brought as part of my dowry. The car was unlocked. A beige silk scarf was draped over the passenger seat. Hermes. The one Amelia always wore. I opened the glove compartment, and inside was a crumpled hotel receipt. The Grand Hotel, Presidential Suite, costing $8,600. Date: October 15th. That day was our third wedding anniversary. Oliver said he was on a business trip to the Caribbean. He even sent a picture of a beautiful island. I replied then, “The island is beautiful, take me next time.” He said, “Definitely.”
Hanging on the rearview mirror was a pair of keychains. Two small bears, one red and one blue, with the letters “W” and “H” engraved on the base. Wei and Heng. Not Tang and Heng. I photographed the receipt and put the keychains in my pocket.
Back at my desk. Alex came over again. “Helen, Amelia was just in the breakroom telling some department headsâ” She hesitated. “Word for word.” “She said, ‘Helen has been very emotional since she found out about the redundancies, and yesterday she said some rather incoherent things in my office. Please be understanding with her; she’s very pitiful.’” Unstable. Incoherent. Pitiful. Three labels affixed. From now on, no matter what I say, it will be dismissed as the rambling of someone having an emotional breakdown.
My phone rang. Amelia. “Helen, are we still on for barbecue tonight?” “You decide.” “A steakhouse? You said last time you wanted a good steak.” “Amelia.” “Hm?” “Where were you on October 15th?” There was three seconds of silence on the other end. “Helen, why are you suddenly asking that?” “That was my wedding anniversary. Oliver was away on business, and I ate instant noodles alone at home. I just wanted to know if everyone else had a better day than me.” Another three seconds of silence. “…I worked late that day. Alone at the office until very late.” “Oh, that’s tough too.” “It is. So, barbecue at seven?” “Okay.”
I hung up. The Grand Hotel receipt, check-in time 3 PM. “Worked late.” “Amelia, your ‘overtime’ location is quite luxurious.”
4
“Helen, what are you doing here?” Amelia looked up, in the process of changing the water for a bouquet of white roses. The flowers on her desk, at least thirty, were tied with a satin ribbon. “Who sent them?” I walked in and closed the door. “My boyfriend,” she smiled, moving the flowers aside. “Sit, can I get you something to drink?” “No need.”
I sat across from her. I took three items from my bag, placing them one by one on her desk. A beige Hermes silk scarf. A Grand Hotel receipt. A pair of bear keychains, W & H. Amelia’s smile slowly faded. “The scarf was found in Oliver’s car, in the passenger seat. Yours, right?” She didn’t speak. “The Grand Hotel, October 15th. My wedding anniversary. Oliver told me he was in the Caribbean.” Her fingers subtly tightened. “The keychains are engraved with two letters. W for Wei, H for Heng.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up at me, her eyes red again. “Helen… I know you’re hurting…” “I’m not hurting. I’m confirming facts with you.”
“The fact isâ” her voice trembled slightly, “âOliver and I do know each other.” “Know each other.” “But it’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” “He pursued me first,” she bit her lip. “Last year, at the annual gala, you left early. He had too much to drink and added me on social media.” “And then?” “I rejected him! Helen, you’re my best friend, how could I possiblyâ” “Best friend.” “Yes! So I kept avoiding him, but he kept seeking me out, sending messages, gifts…” “And you couldn’t avoid him, so you stayed in the Grand Hotel’s Presidential Suite?” She froze. “Couldn’t avoid him, so you flew to the Bahamas together?” “The Bahamas wasn’t what you thinkâ” “You posted pictures. A red bikini. His hand is in the bottom right corner of the photo, a wedding ring on his ring finger, with scratches on the left side.”
Amelia’s tears finally fell. “I didn’t mean to hurt you…” “Then what about the redundancy list?” My voice was calm. “You revised it three times. Each time, you added people from my team. My name wasn’t on the first version; you added it.” She wiped away her tears. “You also changed the performance review. My performance was $18 million, and you wrote it as less than $8 million. The difference was entirely reallocated to the Marketing Department.” “That was a Finance Department decisionâ” “The person who signed it was Oliver Goddard.” She fell silent. “You also wrote my seating adjustment plan. Moving me from the eighth floor to next to the restroom on the third floor. And Oliver’s handwriting was in the annotation column.” “Helen…” “You two work very well together.”
“It’s not what you think!” she suddenly stood up, her voice changedâno longer a soft sob, but sharp, urgent. “Oliver promised me, he said he would handleâ” She stopped mid-sentence. Realizing she had let something slip. “Promised you what?” I looked at her. She covered her mouth. “Handle me?” “No… I didn’t mean that…”
“Amelia. Three years ago, when you came for your interview, that internship experience on your resume was fake. I helped you cover it up.” Her breathing hitched. “Your first probation review didn’t pass; I found three reviewers to speak up for you. When you were promoted to manager, your competitor was stronger, and I fought for you in the meeting.” “I know…” “From intern to HR Director, three years, I pushed you every step of the way.” “Helen, I’m grateful to you…” “Your way of showing gratitude is to sleep with my husband, falsify my data, and put my name first on the redundancy list.” She opened her mouth, wanting to explain something. The office door was pushed open. Oliver stood at the doorway. A cup of coffee in his left hand, another in his right. “Amelia, Iâ” He looked up. He saw me. His smile froze on his face. Both coffee cups tilted simultaneously, brown liquid spilling onto his leather shoes. He didn’t move. Amelia didn’t move. I didn’t move either. Three people, two seconds of silence. Quiet enough to hear the coffee dripping onto the tiled floor.
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404822”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
On our seventh anniversary, police called. A couple claimed my company’s product poisoned their child. At the station, I saw Tristanâher exâfiling the report, with Vivienne, my wife, beside him as his “wife.” She looked at me coldly, stating, “We have a three-year-old. That’s how it is.” We’d reconciled four years ago. I pulled out the divorce papers I tore up back then, now reprinted, and said, “Let her be with him openly.”
I thought back four years, after three years of marriage. To protect Tristan, she falsely reported me ten times. Each release led to fights that put me in the hospitalâeleven times total. Then, on a Middle East trip, our hotel was hit. She shielded me from debris; I shielded her from bullets. In hospital beds, holding hands, she tearfully promised to send him away for good. I tore up the divorce papers, saying we’d try one last time. She erased him completely, even tattooed my name over her heart, vowing I’d never regret it. Now, it all felt like a sick joke.
1
Tristan eventually left the precinct with red eyes, holding his son tightly in his arms.
He left because I had verbally backed him into a corner.
Faced with my absolute command of corporate law and product liability, he was trembling with rage, entirely unable to utter a single word in his defense.
When we got home, I strode through the front door. Vivienne followed closely behind, her brows furrowed in annoyance.
“Could you not have a better attitude? What kind of man bullies a father and his sick child?”
Bullying?
I spun around abruptly.
“There is absolutely nothing wrong with my company’s food products. It is glaringly obvious that he fed his kid something he shouldn’t have and is trying to pin it on me to extort a settlement! Are you completely blind to that? Who is bullying who here?!”
Vivienne frowned, clearly displeased with my tone.
I took a step closer, my voice dropping. “You know exactly how pristine my manufacturing formulas are. Yet you still stood by his side and helped him call the cops on me.”
A cold, mocking laugh escaped my lips. “You really are exactly the same as you used to be.”
She let out a heavy sigh.
“You really lack empathy sometimes, Victor.”
I froze.
“The child is only three years old. He is a first-time father. Seeing his kid poisoned like that, it is natural for him to panic and make a mess of things. If you cannot be understanding, fine. But there was no need to back a single father into a corner over a small mistake and beat him down like that.”
She paused, looking me up and down.
A cruel, mocking smile suddenly tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Oh, right. You are someone who can never be a father. No wonder you cannot possibly understand what someone with a child feels.”
I stared at her in sheer disbelief.
The next second, a sharp slap echoed through the room, landing hard across her cheek.
“Vivienne! Who is the reason I can never be a father?! Have you conveniently forgotten?!”
The memory seemed to finally crash into her.
She lowered her eyes, dodging my furious gaze.
But I refused to let her hide.
“Back in college, you got drunk and picked a fight with a group of guys. They came at you with a broken beer bottle. I took that hit for you! That jagged glass shredded my abdomen, and that is why my fertility is practically gone!”
A flicker of guilt finally crossed Vivienne’s face.
I offered a bitter, hollow smile.
“If I had known you were fighting those guys that night defending Tristan, I would have let them kill you.”
Her lips parted, trembling slightly. “I… I am sorry. I misspoke.”
“You have misspoken a lot over the past seven years.”
I stared at her, my voice turning eerily calm. “To put it plainly, you never cared about me. You never cared about this marriage. If you did, those words would never have left your mouth so easily. Have you ever misspoken in front of Tristan?”
She remained silent.
I answered for her. “Never, right?”
“I…”
“Vivienne.” I cut her off. “Save the excuses. You don’t care, and that is the truth. Just like I told you before, that was your absolute last chance.”
I looked at the spot on her chest where my name was inked.
And I sneered.
“You only talk a big game about cherishing our final chance.”
“I already moved him underground! What more do you want from me?”
I looked at her, entirely stunned by her twisted logic.
She ran a hand through her hair, looking incredibly frustrated. “In the past four years, have you ever seen a trace of him or his son in my life? No, right?”
I could barely breathe. “Vivienne…”
“Enough, Victor.” She frowned deeply. “If you hadn’t been so petty and unreasonable today, you wouldn’t have even found out. You wouldn’t have ruined the peace between us. We could have lived a perfectly good life together.”
When a person is pushed to the absolute limit of their anger, they actually start laughing.
My company receiving a legal complaint was normally a matter for my corporate legal department. I never needed to show my face. But I had recognized the phone number on the complaint. It was Tristan’s. I investigated it personally and uncovered the sickening truth of her ongoing affair.
Vivienne sighed softly.
“Just pretend this never happened. Victor, please don’t destroy the relationship we worked so hard to repair.”
I laughed.
I slammed the freshly printed divorce agreement onto the coffee table.
“If you truly cherished this relationship, you would have never kept in touch with him!”
“What are you doing?”
Seeing the words ‘Divorce Agreement’ printed in bold at the top of the page, Vivienne’s breathing hitched visibly.
“Take this back!”
She reached out to tear the papers, but I pinned them down with a heavy hand.
“Vivienne, I meant what I said. Four years ago was our final chance.”
“Victor…”
“Three days.” I stared straight into her eyes. “Give me an answer in three days.”
“Victor! Victor!!”
I turned and walked out the door without looking back. She didn’t chase me. She just stood there alone, staring at the legal document, her fingers trembling slightly.
I waited for two days.
Vivienne gave me no answer. She completely ignored the messages I sent.
I decided to head back to the house to force the issue.
But the moment I stepped onto the front porch, I heard the clinking of wine glasses and laughter coming from inside.
“Vivienne, it is the last day for that divorce agreement. Are you really not going to make a plan?”
“A plan?” Vivienne laughed coldly. “He is the one crossing the line! He is the one who owes me a plan!”
What?
My hand froze on the doorknob.
“We have been married for seven years. I can forgive the past, but bringing Tristan back here was a bit much, so I understand why he brought out the papers. But we have loved each other more fiercely than any normal couple for the last four years. Even when we fought, he never actually used a divorce to threaten me.”
I could hear the rustle of paper as Vivienne waved the agreement around.
“Has he ever considered how much damage throwing a tantrum like this does to our relationship?”
I gritted my teeth.
One of her friends glanced toward the hallway and suddenly stopped breathing. They saw my shadow under the door but chose not to alert her. Instead, they asked another question.
“But Vivienne, what if Victor is actually serious this time?”
“Serious?” Vivienne laughed, a light, dismissive sound. “We have literally bled and almost died for each other. We are not going to fall apart that easily.”
“Then why did you have a kid with Tristan? I really thought you had turned over a new leaf for Victor.”
I heard the sound of Vivienne clinking her glass against theirs.
“When you have a life-and-death kind of love, you don’t need to be as cautious and serious as you were in the beginning. We saved each other’s lives. He and I are bound for life. He could never truly leave me.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
My heart hammered against my ribs, fueled by pure, unadulterated fury.
I quietly let go of the doorknob and walked away.
It seemed it was time to bypass the negotiations and go straight to litigation.
While I was having my executive assistant, Carter, prepare the lawsuit materials, Vivienne finally sent me a message on the third day.
[Instead of wasting time throwing a tantrum, you should expedite the compensation for Tristan’s losses.]
Immediately after, a digital copy of a court summons was forwarded to my phone.
It was a lawsuit filed by Tristan.
He was officially suing my company for severe food safety violations, claiming our product directly caused his child’s life-threatening poisoning.
I hadn’t expected him to keep pushing after I had humiliated him at the precinct. But a persistence like that meant someone powerful was backing him.
I called Vivienne immediately.
“Did you file this for him?”
Vivienne let out a soft chuckle. She didn’t answer.
The silence was an admission.
“And if I refuse to pay his extortion fee?”
“Husband, you need to think this through. The legal team representing him in court will be my corporate litigators.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“Why be so stubborn about this? Just admit fault and pay the man.”
I gripped my phone tightly.
“This company is a legacy brand founded by my grandfather. We have built a pristine reputation over decades. You want me to admit fault to a fabricated claim and destroy the Valiant Group’s entire brand image?!”
Vivienne sighed.
“Do you really have to make things so difficult for a father and his son?”
“You are the ones making things difficult for me!” I ground my teeth together. “Tristan fed his own kid garbage, and you know it!”
Vivienne went completely silent.
When she finally spoke again, her voice had turned ice-cold.
“Then you are on your own. Good luck.”
The dial tone echoed in my ear.
I stood in my office, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
Carter, my head of legal and operations, looked at me with deep concern. “Mr. Victor, Vivienne’s corporation has already sent us the formal notice. Her legal team is entirely undefeated in both domestic and international courts. We…”
I clenched my fists.
“We fight. I will personally lead the defense with you.”
Carter’s eyes lit up with sudden hope.
On the day of the trial, when I walked into the courtroom as both the defendant and the lead defense attorney, Vivienne was visibly stunned.
She never knew that I possessed a fully certified, top-tier legal degree.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from her. I ignored it entirely. I faced her elite legal team head-on.
Throughout the entire proceeding, Vivienne’s expression grew darker and darker. She quickly realized that her million-dollar lawyers were not omnipotent gods. And she realized that I had been hiding my true capabilities from her for years.
When the judge entirely dismissed Tristan’s frivolous lawsuit for lack of credible evidence, Tristan threw a massive, screaming tantrum right in the middle of the courtroom.
I shot Vivienne a cold, mocking smirk.
Her face was an unreadable mask.
But as we were exiting the courthouse, she intercepted me by the heavy oak doors. She smiled, a deeply calculating look in her eyes.
“You are vastly more capable than I ever imagined, Victor.”
“What is the matter? Is the CEO planning to file an appeal for her little kept man?”
“No.” She smiled softly. “Since my husband is so brilliant, why would I ever want to make an enemy out of you?”
I frowned, completely unable to read her angle.
She turned on her heel to leave. “I wish you and your business continued prosperity, Mr. Victor.”
“What exactly is she plotting?” I muttered to myself.
That night, I stayed at the corporate headquarters. I personally audited the warehouse inventory and conducted a rigorous check of all our security and fire suppression systems. Only when I was certain there were no vulnerabilities did I finally relax.
Carter walked with me as we left the building late that night.
“Thank god you were there, Mr. Victor! Otherwise, those corporate vultures would have swindled our entire quarterly profit! Vivienne is so ruthless, actually ordering her team to bleed us dry just to line Tristan’s pockets. It was so obvious Tristan screwed up his kid’s diet! Her bias is sickening!”
“Exactly! Who is she even married to?!”
Carter quickly clamped a hand over his subordinate’s mouth, nervously checking my expression.
I just stiffened for a fraction of a second before offering a tired smile. “It’s fine. Let’s go home.”
Carter smiled in relief. “Yes, sir!”
We had barely driven out of the industrial park when a deafening explosion shattered the night sky behind us.
Carter violently pulled me down as the shockwave rattled the car windows.
A blistering wave of heat washed over us.
I whipped my head around.
Above the manufacturing plant, a towering inferno of orange and black tore into the sky.
“Mom! Dad!”
I threw the car door open and sprinted back toward the flames like a madman.
Carter and the security team tackled me to the asphalt.
“Mr. Victor! It’s too dangerous! You can’t go in there!”
“My parents’ belongings are in there!” I screamed, struggling against their grip.
“Sir, stop!” They held me down with everything they had.
Fire engines and police cruisers flooded the scene, sirens wailing. Yellow caution tape was rapidly strung up. Every single first responder blocked my path.
My breathing was ragged, my lungs burning. “Their things are in the main office! Everything they left behind! Let me go!”
“Even if they are, they are gone now, son!” a soot-covered firefighter yelled over the roar of the flames, his voice full of pity.
I stared at his blackened face.
Every ounce of strength evaporated from my body.
I slowly turned my head.
Parked in the shadows just beyond the police line was a familiar black Rolls-Royce. Behind the tinted glass, a face was illuminated by the dashboard lights.
Vivienne was sitting in the back seat.
She was casually watching the destruction. When she noticed me looking, she raised an eyebrow and offered a slow, deliberate smile.
In the passenger seat, Tristan was holding his son, a sickeningly triumphant grin plastered across his face.
Vivienne stepped out of the luxury car, her heels clicking against the pavement.
“You humiliated Tristan completely in front of a judge today. You owed him a little compensation.”
I could not form a single word. My vocal cords were paralyzed.
“Don’t worry, the inventory is gone, but I will personally wire you the funds to cover the damages. Don’t blame him. This was entirely my idea.”
My throat constricted so violently I tasted blood.
Everything inside that building was a piece of the legacy my parents and grandfather had built. When I was five years old, my mother used to carry me through those very halls, showing me the machinery, telling me the story of how our family built the brand from nothing.
They would stroke my hair and say, “This will all be yours one day. You have to protect it.”
“Mom, Dad… I am so sorry.”
The world went pitch black. The burning sky spun violently before my eyes, and gravity vanished.
Vivienne’s smug, composed expression instantly shattered into sheer panic.
“Victor!”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404807”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
Three years into this “transmigration,” I discovered a helicopter in the mansion courtyard. My husband, Mr. Arthur Stone, looking at my crippled leg, finally dropped the act: “Three years ago, you couldn’t accept me marrying Annabelle; you became my mistress.” “So we tricked you into ‘transmigrating,’ keeping you confined here. After three years as a servant and a concubine, you’ve finally learned your lesson.”
I was incredulous. Beside me, the butler peeled off his prosthetic face, revealing my own brother, Timmy. “Sis, now that Annabelle has safely given birth, you can go back.” “Julian, your plan was flawless!” I slowly turned my head. The manor’s physician looked at me, smiling. “You weren’t mistaken. I am indeed Julian Evans, your childhood sweetheart.” “We set up this whole charade, fearing you’d bully Annabelle.”
Forced “transmigration” for three years. Beatings, being sold, abused by countless strangers, then bought by Arthur Stone as a slave and concubine. I was crippled in both legs, blind in one eye. From crying day and night, desperate to go home, to living a numb and subservient existence. It turned out I had never transmigrated at all. I completely broke down. The moment before I attempted suicide, a bizarre line of text suddenly appeared before my eyes:
“Congratulations to the AI ‘Abuse Romance’ heroine on awakening. Countdown to human reincarnation: Two days.”
“48:00:00”
“47:59:59”
1
I remained silent on the helicopter ride back. According to the strange text’s instructions, I had to continue living numbly and obediently for two more days, then die. It said it would grant me a second life. This wasn’t difficult at all. All I had endured until now was merely a difference of two days before my death.
The moment I stepped off the helicopter, a slender figure blocked the cabin door. Annabelle Bright, the impostor, scrutinized me from head to toe. “You’re back?” “Let me tell you, Arthur and the others only agreed to take you back because you’ve been so docile these past three years. If you dare to bully me again like you did three years ago, I’ll have them gouge out your other eye too!”
Honestly, I couldn’t recall ever bullying Annabelle. But it didn’t matter anymore. For three years, if I dared to talk back, the next moment, it might be a maidâs slap or a whip lashing my body. I had long learned my lesson.
Seeing my prolonged silence, Arthur Stone, who was pushing my wheelchair, tapped it lightly, a threatening gesture. “Willow, Annabelle is talking to you.” “You’re already disobedient the moment you’re back. Do you want us to send you back to ‘transmigration’ to learn your manners again?”
I flinched, a shiver running through me, and quickly bowed my head, replying, “Yes, I will serve you and the Young Master well.” Annabelle snorted, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “At least you’re sensible.” “Let’s eat; I’ve had the servants prepare everything.”
Arthur smiled contentedly, reaching out to stroke my head. I instinctively closed my eyes, cowering, as if fearing a blow. Seeing how afraid I was of him, Arthur’s gaze darkened. He deliberately softened his tone: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t punish you anymore.” “I love you. I would never hurt you. Willow, from now on, you’ll be my Mrs. Stone again, just like before.”
I quickly shook my head, forcing a placating smile. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m just a concubine.” “I’ll be very well-behaved.”
Arthur’s smile froze at the corners of his mouth, speechless for a moment. He looked at me with a complex and conflicted expression. “Willow, you don’t have to be afraid of me.” “Never mind… no rush, we have plenty of time.”
At the dining table, the clinking of cutlery was sharp. Julian, across from me, noticed I hadn’t touched my food and proactively offered me the steak he had cut. “Why aren’t you eating? Did you forget how to use a knife and fork?” “Have mine; I’ve cut it for you.” I still dared not move. I just buried my head even lower and replied, “The maids taught me that my status is lowly; I don’t deserve proper meals.” “You all eat first; I’ll have the leftovers.”
Julian froze. He exchanged a glance with Arthur. Arthur, in turn, gently reassured me. “Willow, listen. You’re back now, so those old rules don’t apply. As long as you’re well-behaved, we’ll treat you well, just like before.” “Eat.” I quickly lifted my head, then lowered it again. Still, I dared not.
It was my brother, Timmy, who looked thoughtful, and cautiously said, “Sis, Arthur wants you to eat. That’s the rule now.” Only then did I raise my head again, trembling as I brought food to my mouth. I ate very slowly, and very little. The arm holding the fork swayed emptily within my sleeve. These past few months, I had indeed become excessively thin.
The atmosphere at the dining table suddenly grew heavy. Only Annabelle was still enthusiastically chatting about her son, Leo. Arthur and the others listened quietly, clearly distracted. After only two bites, I stopped. Suppressing the rising nausea in my throat, I looked at Arthur: “I… I think I’m pregnant.”
The news was met with silence, the three present not yet having time to express surprise. I continued, numbly: “Could you please… grant me a bowl of abortion medicine?” “Or take me for an abortion.”
2
Arthurâs face completely froze, staring at me in disbelief. I didn’t understand his reaction. I could only turn to Julian across from me. He used to be the manor’s physician; he could decide such matters.
“I’m very well-behaved. I just ate the steak you cut for me.”
“This time, I’d like some… pain medication, if that’s possible?”
Julian’s face was as white as paper, but he still didn’t respond to me. Only my brother, Timmy, forced himself to remain calm and asked, “Sis, what are you saying?” “Having a child is a good thing. Just give birth and raise it; it’s not like…” I shook my head, my tone firm. “You’re mistaken.” “If there’s a child, it must be terminated. That’s the rule.” “This would be the fourth one.”
Arthur’s expression turned completely grim. He threw down his cutlery, grabbed Julian by the collar, and dragged him away. “Come with me.” He slammed the study door shut, Julian following him inside. The soundproofing in the mansion was excellent; only some muffled voices faintly drifted out, sounding like an argument. I felt very uneasy. I could only look blankly at my brother, pursing my lips, and continued, “I think I did something wrong.” “Will the maid come and beat me?”
My brother’s hand, holding the fork, trembled. He felt as if his chest was stuffed with damp cotton. Seeing my current cautious demeanor, he found it hard to breathe. He stood up, pushing my wheelchair, and comforted me, “Sis, no one will ever hit you again.” “You’ve been very good. I still prefer you as you were before. Smiling, getting angry, calling me Timmy by my full name, even pulling my ears. Don’t be like this… please?” But I merely lowered my head again, my voice weak. “That’s presumption. I’ll get beaten.” “It’s my fault. I won’t ask for pain medication anymore.”
My brother frowned, saying nothing further. He simply pushed my wheelchair away. Only Annabelle was left at the dining table. After three years apart, she had intended to torture me again. She hadn’t expected me to become like this. Everyone seemed so heartbroken for me. She angrily threw down her cutlery and instructed the maid behind her, “Go fetch the young master immediately.” “If that little wretch’s child is actually born, that would be disastrous!”
My brother pushed me to the guest bedroom on the first floor. The room was so large, I felt a little uncomfortable; it was overly luxurious. I touched the soft duvet, then looked up at my brother. “Is the storage room occupied? I can move there.” “This place is too nice; it’s not suitable for me. And there’s no clock here; I need to wake up early to pay my respects and prepare breakfast.” I didn’t know which words I had spoken incorrectly this time. My brother’s eyes suddenly reddened. He crouched before me, speaking softly, “Sis, don’t say anything more. Please don’t say anything…” “You won’t stay in the storage room anymore. We’re family. I’ll treat you well from now on.”
I didn’t believe him. During those three years, my brother, then the butler, had said similar things once, but that very night, a maid had burst into my bedroom and whipped me half to death. But I dared not directly contradict him now, so I only nodded blankly. Seeing my acceptance, he finally managed a smile. He left me with two maids to assist with my washing and rest.
Fortunately, even without a clock, that eerie string of numbers helped me roughly gauge the time:
“35:48:21”
“35:48:20”
The seconds ticked by, so slowly. I wanted to die quickly. At three in the morning, the study door finally opened slowly. Arthur and Julian both had injuries on their faces, clearly having fought. Arthur glanced sideways at Julian. “I trust you wouldn’t be so cruel.” “To let Willow suffer three miscarriages in a row.” “I’ll investigate the staff in the manor. You investigate how those medications were swapped for abortion pills.” Julian nodded at this.
As he passed the kitchen, Arthur noticed the light was on, casting a blurred figure. From a distance, it looked like me. I stood there, eyes calm, raising a knife and stabbing myself. Arthur’s hair instantly stood on end. He shouted, “No!” and rushed towards me, grabbing the hand holding the knife. Julian, not far away, heard the commotion and also hurried over, disarming me. Arthur stared at me, asking in horror, “Willow, are you insane?” “Why are you trying to kill yourself?”
3
I blinked twice, my gaze shifting to the pumpkin smashed on the floor. I smiled ingratiatingly at Arthur. “You misunderstood.” “It’s time. I was just making your breakfast porridge.” “Don’t worry, a knife to the abdomen like this won’t kill me.” Arthur was horrified by my words. Just as he was about to ask something else, he heard Julian call him: “Arthur…”
Arthur turned his head to look. When Julian disarmed me, he brushed against my sleeve. My bare inner arm was covered in various hideous scars, one after another. Some even showed signs of being cut deeply with great force. All were self-inflicted wounds.
Facing their panicked stares, I apologized with a smile: “Did I disturb you?” “I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.” Arthur and Julian exchanged a look but didn’t respond. They simply instructed a maid to escort me back to my room and ensure I rested properly.
The next morning, Arthur woke me up. He seemed to have been awake all night, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and an unusually somber expression: “Willow, I’m taking you to the private hospital on the fifth floor of the manor.” “Julian has brought a professional team; we’re going to give you a full check-up.”
I was obedient, following Julian. I underwent examination after examination. Blood tests, ultrasounds, CT scans. The doctors meticulously examined and photographed the shocking scars on my body. A gentle-faced female doctor sat opposite me, asking me questions in an extremely soft voice about my sleep, appetite, emotions, and those scars. I was very compliant. I answered when I could and apologized when I couldn’t. The maids always said that kneeling to apologize showed more sincerity. It was just a pity my legs were crippled, so I couldn’t kneel.
After the examination, the three of them sat around, looking at my reports. I didn’t know what was written inside, only that their faces grew increasingly grim. Until the number before me reached “25:18:03”. Arthur finally put down the report and walked towards me. His voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling me: “Willow, the doctor says you’re very weak and need to recuperate.” “Those wounds… the doctors have seen them too. They’re severe and will require time and patient treatment. Don’t be afraid. Here, no one will ever hurt you again.” “I’ll bring in the best doctors and use the best medicine to help you recover and heal all of this.”
I pointed at him. Instinctively, I wanted to say, “Here, you will hurt me.” But Arthur clearly misunderstood my meaning. He took my fingertips and gathered them into his embrace. “Don’t be afraid.” “Willow, we won’t hurt you.” Listening to him, I found it absurd and strange. All those three years, those days and nights worse than death. Weren’t you all hurting me together?
When we returned to the living room, Annabelle had, at some point, brought Leo back. She had evidently heard something about me. She embraced Leo and placed him in my arms, reassuring me, “Willow, you seem to be feeling down lately.” “Here, let Leo cheer you up. Children are the most spirited; looking at them always lifts your mood. You’re pregnant now; you’ll have your own child soon.”
I looked at Annabelle’s smiling face, a stark contrast to the arrogant woman who had blocked the cabin door earlier. Had she also transmigrated? Quickly, I dismissed the idea. Arthur and the others wouldn’t let that happen. And, Leo was pinching me. Children don’t know their own strength; he probably got the idea from Annabelle. He sweetly called out, “Auntie, hug!” while fiercely pinching me with his hand. His fingernails had been deliberately trimmed, sharp and quick. With even slight pressure, it felt no different than a small knife slicing flesh. Blow after blow, the sharp pain was more than my body could bear. I could feel the wounds already starting to bleed. I could only try to return the child to Annabelle. “I’m not well; I’m afraid I might drop him.” “You should hold him.”
Annabelle nodded, her tone still soft. “Right, you’re still weak; you should rest more.” “Come, Mommy will hold you.” Just as she was about to take him, her hand slipped, and Leo fell straight to the ground. Before I could react, the child’s ear-splitting cries erupted.
Slap!
Annabelle slapped me across the face, screaming, “Willow, why did you drop my child!”
4
I was thrown from my wheelchair onto the floor. I lay there, helplessly watching Annabelle scream at me: “I know you hate me, despise me, for taking your childhood sweetheart, your brother, and even your lover.” “But the child is innocent!” “How old is he? Can he withstand a fall like that? How could you be so cruel, how could you lay a hand on him?!”
At that moment, Arthur, Julian, and Timmy, hearing the commotion, rushed in from different directions. Arthur’s face was ashen. He lunged forward, first crouching to quickly check on Leo, then suddenly looked up, his hateful eyes fixed on me. He roared at me, “Willow Hayes, what have you done!” “You just got back and you’re already causing trouble. Do you want me to send you back?” My brother also rushed over, looking at his nephew crying heartbreakingly on the floor and Annabelle’s relentless accusations against me. Then he looked at me, his eyes also filled with anger: “Sis, how could you lay a hand on such a small child!” Julian handed Leo to the medical staff behind him. He said nothing, just kept glaring at me with a fierce, cold gaze.
I felt like… I had been wronged again. It felt no different from the countless times I had been wronged over the past three years. The maid accused me of stealing; I denied it, only to receive a harsher lashing. The servant girl framed me for seducing the stable boy; I argued, and the result was being stripped and publicly humiliated. Arthur believed slander that I wanted to escape; what awaited me was being locked in a water dungeon.
I wanted to explain. I wanted to say it wasn’t true, I wanted to say I didn’t do it, I wanted to say so many things. But I remained silent because no one would believe me. Like countless times before, defending myself would only invite more viciousness and punishment. I could only huddle on the floor, helplessly apologizing, “I’m sorry…”
Annabelle charged forward. “Sorry? Just ‘sorry’ and it’s over?” “I’ll beat you to death, you slut!” Then, she began to punch and kick me repeatedly. The three men watched silently. Someone said, “Don’t touch her stomach; there’s a child there.” And then there was no more sound. No one stopped her; they just stood by, as before.
Fists and feet rained down on my body and face, blow after blow. It hurt terribly. A pain so intense my entire body felt like it was exploding. In a daze, I saw the numbers before me plummeting drastically:
“24:27:43”
“20:13:05”
“15:39:17”
…
Until someone eventually pulled Annabelle away, and she stopped. The time halted at “4:01:25”.
Arthur slowly walked up to me, looking down. “Do you understand your mistake?” “Why do you always refuse to learn?” I choked on the blood in my throat, coughing twice. I didn’t answer. I just clutched Arthur’s pant leg, asking him one last question: “Didn’t you say… here, no one would ever hurt me again?”
Arthur fell silent. He coldly moved his leg, pulling his pant leg from my grasp, and said, “But you made a mistake, and mistakes deserve punishment. That’s the rule.” “Lock her in the storage room.” “When Leo is checked and confirmed to be fine, I’ll let you out.”
But I didn’t want to be locked up again. I had been confined for three years; I didn’t want the last four hours of my life to be spent caged like an animal. I wanted to beg further, but Arthur had already turned his back. I could only look at my brother, Timmy, who averted his gaze, quietly comforting the agitated Annabelle. Julian had already hurried away to check on Leo.
As expected, no one was willing to save me. I no longer struggled. I allowed the maids to drag me away, roughly throwing me onto the floor of the storage room. Counting heartbeats, watching the time tick away. I didn’t know what would happen when everything reset to zero. But for me now, the worst thing was death. That would be a release.
“00:00:00”
The numbers zeroed out. I closed my eyes, my heartbeat gone. A large, dark red stain of blood quietly spread beneath me.
The maid came in to deliver food half an hour later. A moment later, a terrified scream echoed throughout the entire manor. The maid practically stumbled and crawled to Arthur, shrieking: “Ahâ” “Someone’s dead!” “Miss Willow is dead; there’s blood everywhere!”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “MotoNovel” app
đ search for “404823”, and watch the full series â¨!
#MotoNovel
When I found out my husband Jones’s terminal cancer diagnosis was a mistake, I breathed a sigh of relief.
But when I got home to tell him the good news, he handed me divorce papers instead.
“I’ve settled for you my whole life. Now that I only have three months left, I want to spend them with the person I truly love. Please grant me this final wish.”
I stared at the divorce agreement, stunned.
What I didn’t expect was what Jones said next:
“Can’t you even grant me this one last wish? I’m dying anywayâI’ll leave with nothing. All the assets go to you!”
All the assets go to me? Then of course I’ll grant his wish!
“Let’s divorce. Please grant me this final wish.” Jones handed me the divorce papers, his eyes calm, his tone solemn.
I stood frozen, finally managing to ask: “The person you truly love? What do you mean?”
Jones wore a white linen shirt and beige casual pants today. He didn’t look over thirty at allâstill the refined, scholarly university professor.
He lowered his head. “My life has entered its final countdown. There’s no need to hide it from you anymore.”
“Three years into our marriage, I met a girl. She was my student.”
“We often discussed literature together. We had so much common ground, our thoughts aligned. It was completely different from discussing groceries and bills with you. We had spiritual resonance.”
“I fell for her.”
“But I was already married. Out of responsibility to my family, and because she felt guilty toward you, we eventually separated.”
Jones’s voice was calm yet tinged with longing. When he talked about that girl, the corners of his mouth even curved into a faint smile he probably didn’t notice himself.
“These years we’ve maintained a friendship, nothing crossing boundaries. When we occasionally met, we only discussed poetry and philosophy, life and meaning.”
He looked up, staring intently at me. “Do you know? Only when I’m with her do I feel truly alive, like a complete person. Not bound by mundane trivialities, not burdened by thoughts of producing offspring.”
“She’s my muse, my soulmate. We’re an accident and a regret constrained by worldly rules.”
I listened quietly to his heartfelt confession, my mouth twitching with an absurd smile.
“What a beautifully reasoned speech.”
Jones froze, his ears instantly flushing red. As if deeply offended, he snapped angrily: “Vulgar! Not half as refined as her! Don’t you know your mediocrity and ignorance are what I can’t stand most? Marrying you was like casting pearls before swine!”
I was speechless for a moment. My initial anger gradually subsided. “So what, should I apologize to you?”
I stepped closer. “Professor Jones, does wrapping infidelity in artistic pretense turn it into an enviable love story?”
Jones seemed to belatedly feel some embarrassment, but his gaze remained determined. “I’m definitely getting this divorce. At the end of my life, I don’t want to leave with regrets.”
He pushed the divorce agreement toward me. I picked it up and flipped through it, my eyes skimming past “irreconcilable differences” in the reason column and landing on “Jones leaves with nothing” in the asset division section.
Jones lifted his chin with apparent magnanimity. “These material possessions mean nothing to a dying man anyway. After all, I’ve wronged you. Consider it compensation.”
I let out a derisive laugh, thinking of the misdiagnosis notice in my pocket. The next second, I picked up a pen and quickly signed my name.
Fine. Let him go pursue his soulmate and spiritual world. I’ll suffer alone with all these vulgar properties, savings, and investment funds!
Jones probably didn’t expect me to agree so readily. He stood there dazed, holding the divorce papers I’d signed.
Taking advantage of his distraction, I’d already operated efficiently in the bedroom, packing all his clothes from the closet into two large suitcases.
He seemed unable to process it. “Lester, are you really this eager to throw me out?”
I gave him a baffled look and said irritably, “Just saving you from wasting time pursuing your soulmate.”
“All your clothes are here. Tomorrow I’ll have movers send the books from your study. Give me an addressâI’ll send them cash on delivery. Don’t forget to sign for them.”
Jones seemed to have an epiphany. “I understand now. Ever since you learned I had terminal cancer, you’ve been desperate to dump me, haven’t you?”
With a trace of condescending pity and disdain, he said as if deeply wronged: “This is why I’ve felt so suffocated being with you all these years. Our union was a mistake. You’re vulgar, mercenary, only care about profit. All you ever talk about with me is money and trivialities. Being with you is a complete waste of life!”
As he spoke, his expression became dreamy again. “But life shouldn’t be like this. Douglas says life should be like appreciating a beautiful snowfall, should be romance and beauty, spring breezes and clear skies…”
My mouth twitched. I really couldn’t help interrupting him. “Are you done? This vulgar person can’t stand listening to you adulterers and your flowery words. Take your things and get out. Now.”
Jones’s gold-rimmed glasses reflected a cold light. The look he gave me was full of pity and contempt, as if Iâthe woman who’d shared his bed for yearsâwas some filthy thing invading his sacred spiritual realm. His lips moved, about to retort, when a phone ring interrupted him.
His mocking gaze instantly softened. After he answered, I vaguely heard a woman’s voice.
Probably his “Douglas.”
The woman said something on the phoneâprobably acting cuteâand listening to her, Jones’s face showed an indulgent tenderness I’d never seen before. Even his voice became gentle.
He’d never spoken to me in that tone.
I thought all married couples were like thisâcalm, stable, peaceful. Only now did I realize my marriage had been broken for a long time.
Jones left.
I looked at the empty room. Sunlight streamed in. The flowers on the balcony swayed gently in the breeze. Birds occasionally flew past the window. Everything was as usual.
Nothing changed because of one person’s departure.
I thought I’d cry hysterically, have a breakdown. But I didn’t.
Enlightenment came so quickly. In just a few hours, my emotions went from wild joy to shock, from anger to calm, and now to a strange lightness.
A man like that wasn’t worth keeping. Now not only was I divorced, he’d voluntarily left with nothing. What was the difference between this and the saying “promotion, fortune, and husband’s death”?
Oh, I almost forgot.
I touched the pocket containing Jones’s misdiagnosis noticeâmy husband wouldn’t die, he’d just smoothly roll out of my life in another way.
After calming down, my biggest worry was that Jones might suddenly have regrets.
Life without him was incredibly liberating.
I grew up in a very traditional family. Conservative parents gave me a conservative education. The first half of my life had been completely by-the-book.
They taught me that at each age, you should do certain things. So after college, once my job was stable, I started a family with Jones, whom relatives had introduced.
Back then, my parents were very satisfied with him. He was a literature professor at a local universityâhandsome, respectable job, decent income.
My parents strongly promoted the marriage, and I thought Jones might be a good choice. I married him in a daze.
Jones and I never even discussed “love.” It seemed we’d just reached that life stage and mutually chose each other for marriage.
I didn’t even think this was a problem. After all, my parents were the sameâintroduced by others, formed a family, had me, lived their whole lives this way. I thought this was ordinary people’s love.
Just when I thought my life would continue peacefully this way, Jones was diagnosed with terminal cancer.
In that moment I felt like the sky was falling. I thought it was reluctance born from loving my husband. But after the divorce, I realized it was just panic and helplessness facing a major life change.
Learning Jones’s terminal cancer was a misdiagnosis, I was overjoyed. That sense of life returning to normal washed over me completely.
But now, my life had completely deviated from what I’d considered the “normal track,” yet instead of panic, I felt liberated.
I tallied up the assets Jones and I had accumulated over the yearsâenough for me to live comfortably.
During the divorce cooling-off period, I learned to enjoy life.
I took vacation days and traveled to several places I’d always longed to visit. Without being bound by the identity of “wife,” I felt relaxed and free.
Until during my travels, I happened to scroll past Jones’s short video.
And his “Douglas.”
The woman in the video looked under thirty, attractive, with long curly hair pulled back with a hair tie falling beside her face, shallow dimples when she smiled.
Her name was Douglas.
Whether the text, visuals, or filming style of Douglas’s videos, everything was full of literary and aesthetic beauty. She didn’t post frequentlyâstarting with her alone sharing literary works, then a man appeared in frame, discussing their different literary insights together.
Jones in the videos looked the same as before, wearing a soft knit sweater, his gold-rimmed glasses making him look refined and ascetic.
Discussing love, Jones showed a thoughtful expression:
“Love is something completely unreasonable. When it happens, no one can resist it. Even facing worldly constraints and shackles, it can’t stop its inevitability.”
As he spoke, he looked tenderly at Douglas, his eyes full of unmistakable affection. Douglas lowered her head, loose hair falling by her temples, a blush coloring her cheeks.
I opened the comments section. Everyone was praising their romantic love:
“Oh my god, they’re so good-looking, so easy on the eyes!”
“When a literature professor falls in love, it’s naturally more romantic.”
I looked at the comments, but didn’t feel the slightest pain.
Witnessing this moment of him being affectionate toward someone else, I truly confirmedâI didn’t love him either.
I smiled with relief and closed my phone.
After the cooling-off period ended, Jones and I went to city hall to get our divorce certificate.
Douglas followed beside him, looking at me with wariness, as if afraid I’d lose emotional control. But throughout the entire process I remained calm, even cheerfully so.
Jones was still the same: “Our union was wrong from the start. Now everything’s back on track. I wish you find your own happiness in the future.”
I smiled and waved the divorce certificate. “Thanks, I will. But definitely not through infidelity during marriage.”
With that, I left without looking back. After getting home, I confirmed all asset transfer procedures were complete, then mailed Jones’s cancer misdiagnosis notice to his current address.
I thought after a peaceful divorce, we’d stay out of each other’s way. I didn’t expect Jones and Douglas’s moral standards to be even lower than I’d imagined.
A colleague sent me a link. I clicked on itâit was Douglas’s short video account. She was livestreaming.
In the livestream, Jones and Douglas wore matching couple outfits. One handsome and refined, one gentle and freshâthey actually looked quite compatible.
But what they said was far from as decent as they looked.
Jones spoke eloquently to the camera.
“Yes, I am divorced. When I was young, I thought compatibility was love and rushed into marriage.
But married life was extremely boring. My ex-wife and I repeated a monotonous routine. Every day was groceries and bills, discussing house loans, parents’ retirement, when to try for a baby, workplace trivialities.”
“I wanted to discuss literature with her, talk about Camus, Shakespeare, Tagore, but she always listened blankly, unable to engage in meaningful conversation with me.”
“We lived a mediocre, dull life, like a dim, lusterless grain of sand. Until I met Douglasâmy life was reborn.”
He looked tenderly at Douglas. Douglas gave a perfectly timed shy smile.
The comments scrolled quickly. Many people were cheering for this divine romance.
“Being with Douglas, we can discuss poetry, philosophy, life’s meaning. Our thoughts align, our tastes and interests match. With her, I feel like I’m living life, not just existing.”
“After divorcing my ex-wife, I finally felt relieved. No more facing boring daily trivialities, no more facing a narrow-minded, vulgar wife, no more endless pressure from prolonged attempts to conceive…”
Reading this, I froze.
Jones and I had indeed tried to conceive for a long time without success. We went to the hospital once and discovered his sperm viability was too low, making natural conception very difficult.
Following both parents’ suggestions, we decided to do IVF.
But it was his fertility problem. I was the one enduring the side effects of ovulation injections. I was the one who would bear the pain and fear of childbirth, and the permanent physical damage.
What right did Jonesâa man who was just along for the rideâhave to sit here like a victim talking as if he’d suffered?
During these years of marriage, I not only took care of him and gave him a warm home, but also helped care for his aging parents. In his eyes, it was nothing but “narrow-minded and vulgar.”
Anger surged up. I moved my finger and typed in the comment box: “A man who cheated during marriageâhow dare you act like a victim? Does knowing some literature and art cover up the fact that you’re both a cheating scumbag and homewrecker?”
Among all the “perfect match,” “talented scholar and beautiful lady,” “made for each other” comments, my question stood out particularly.
The comments seemed to pause for a moment, then scrolled even faster.
Through the screen, I smiled and typed another line: “Jones, did you receive the follow-up diagnosis I mailed you?”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “NovelMaster” app
đ search for “378051”, and watch the full series â¨!
#NovelMaster
After marrying Alpha Damien of the Myrren pack, I had always been happy.
Until the fourth month of my pregnancy, when Damien suddenly asked me for a divorce.
I hurried to find him, only to overhear him telling his friend that he had been rebornâthat he came back in this life to reunite with his first love, Tara.
His friend asked in shock, “Are you insane? Victoria is four months pregnant. How can you justify this to her?”
Damien laughed carelessly.
“She loves me so much. She’ll forgive me, understand me, no matter what I do.”
“Besides, I’m just divorcing her, not breaking the mate bond. It won’t really hurt her. After the divorce, she can go back to her parents’ house. But Tara has no parents. After divorcing that scumbag, she’s raising her child all alone. How hard must that be?”
I stood silently outside the door, almost numb as I dialed my father’s number.
Later, Damien deliberately scheduled our divorce and his wedding to Tara for the same day.
But on that day, the cold, composed man stared desperately at my flat stomach, nearly breaking down as he demanded:
“Where is my child? You promised! You said you wanted to have a child with me!”
“Victoria, are you sure you want the divorce? After everything you went through for this child…”
Hearing my mother’s choked voice, guilt overwhelmed me.
Ever since she learned I was pregnant, my mother had been the happiest person in the world.
She knew what I had sacrificed for this child.
I drank countless bitter witch potions for a full year. I endured nine injections. It wasn’t until the tenth attempt that I finally conceived.
The moment the test results came back positive, my mother nearly wept with joy.
She thought that with a child, Damien would finally love me.
But today I realized how terribly wrong both my mother and I had been.
The phone rang urgently. I answered numbly, and Damien’s cold, harsh voice immediately came through. “Victoria, how much longer are you going to drag this out?”
“Even if you’re pregnant and I can’t break the mate bond with you, once the child is born, I can break it immediately.”
“Victoria, raising a child costs money. Since we got married, you’ve been living in my house, eating my food, drinking what I provide. All you do every day is some housework and nothing else.”
“No one wants a woman who just gave birth and is stuck with a burden. You have no income. When that time comes, you won’t be able to keep either the child or me.”
His tone dripped with mockery. Hearing him belittle everything I’d contributed to our home over the past two years, calling my child a “burden”âit felt like a blade slicing through my heart all over again.
“Damien.” I spoke his name softly. He immediately fell silent. “I agree to the divorce.”
He paused, then said joyfully, “Really? Good! Then we’ll go through with it in five days.”
After a moment, his voice softened, as if trying to comfort me. “Victoria, don’t worry. I just want to take care of Tara and her child. I won’t cross any lines.”
“You focus on your pregnancy and give birth to our child. After that, I’ll come see you and the baby once a month.”
“I’ve already bought so many clothes for the baby. I’ve even picked out a name…”
His voice was cheerful, but my thoughts drifted.
In that moment, I knew I had truly let him go.
That night, I fell into a fitful sleep.
I found myself standing in a frozen wasteland. The blizzard was terrifying.
The cold cut to the bone. My body stiffened with frost. Just as I felt I might collapse, a warm current flowed from my chest. A tender voice called out, “Mommy…”
My body trembled. Instinctively, I pulled the warmth closer.
The glowing presence was so smallâI could cradle it entirely in my hands. Yet it was so warm. Warm enough to bring me to tears.
“I’m sorry… I can’t give you a complete family anymore…”
I whispered an apology. Then a warm little finger gently wiped away the tears on my face.
The child’s voice was soft, filled with infinite affection and reluctance.
I tried to hold onto that tiny finger, but the child’s form grew fainter and fainter.
No!! In that moment, my heart felt as though it was being torn apart. I desperately tried to hold on.
“Baby!!”
I jolted awake from the nightmare, feeling a dull ache in my lower abdomen. Before I could fully process it, a gentle male voice spoke.
“Having a nightmare?”
Damien sat on the edge of my bed, his face full of concern.
“What are you doing here?”
Damien smiled helplessly. “This is our home. Why wouldn’t I be here? Victoria, you…”
Before he could finish, a shrill child’s voice interrupted.
The next second, the door burst open. A seven-year-old boy charged in like a cannonball. “Daddy!!”
It was Leo, Tara’s seven-year-old son.
Leo once said he was bullied for not having a father, so Damien let him call him “Dad” without hesitation, raising him like his own son.
He wrapped his arms around Damien from behind. Damien asked, “Didn’t you promise to wait for me outside?”
Leo glared at me viciously. “I was afraid that bad woman would bully you!”
I didn’t want to watch them perform in front of me. I got up to leave. But the moment I took a step, Leo stuck out his foot and tripped me.
I had barely slept the night before and was dizzy. I had no time to dodge.
I fell hard to the ground. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen. My back arched instinctively, cold sweat breaking out all over.
“Victoria!”
Damien shoved Leo aside and rushed to help me, his face full of alarm. “What’s wrong?”
The pain was so intense I couldn’t speak. My vision darkened. The cramping in my abdomen was unbearable.
I tried to call for help, but a shrill female voice drowned me out. “Leo! Damien…”
Tara rushed over. Seeing Leo sitting on the bed looking dazed, she immediately scooped him up. “Leo, what happened? Did you cause trouble again?”
Leo burst into tears. “I didn’t! I didn’t even touch her, and she screamed so loud!”
Damien’s hand froze where he was supporting me. Tara’s eyes immediately reddened. “Damien, maybe we should forget about what we discussed before.”
“Leo and I are just a widow and her child. We can’t compete with…”
Her voice choked with emotion, her expression full of grievance.
Though she didn’t finish, Damien understood her meaning perfectly.
He immediately said, “What are you talking about? I promised I’d take care of you both. I won’t go back on my word.”
His icy gaze fell on me. “Victoria, would you go so far as to frame a child just to keep me?”
He gripped my hand tightly, so hard I heard my bones creak. But what hurt more was my abdomen.
That little life connected to me by blood was slowly slipping away. I thought of yesterday’s dream.
Instinctively, I grabbed Damien’s collar, opening my mouth weakly. “Help… help me. My stomach hurts so much…”
But Damien said coldly, “Stop pretending. In my past life, you gave birth to our son just fine. Nothing will go wrong this time either.”
At that moment, I was in too much pain to speak. Perhaps my expression was too agonized.
Damien hesitated, half-convinced, and started to help me up.
But Tara grabbed his arm. “Damien, let me check on her. I’ve been through this once. I have experience.”
Tara handed Leo to Damien. He seemed about to say something, but the child’s sobbing cut him off. He carefully held the boy, gently patting his back as he walked to the window to soothe him.
Tara approached me and slowly pulled back the blanket, then showed a surprised expression.
Crimson blood slowly flowed from between my legs, soaking through my nightgown.
She smiled. “Oh my, you’re perfectly fine. Victoria, aren’t you being a bit too dramatic?”
Damien’s face turned cold at her words.
“Victoria, you really are faking it!”
Tara gave a charming smile. “Victoria’s just delicate, Damien. You should comfort her more.”
“Victoria is so afraid of pain. Giving birth will be even harder for her.”
Damien scoffed. “My son will be well-behaved. If she’s afraid of pain, that’s her problem. It has nothing to do with my son.”
As he said this, his tone was full of pride.
By now, my consciousness was half-faded. In the moment before I lost awareness, I only saw Tara pulling him toward the door.
Endless despair surged through me.
When I woke again, the smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils.
Pain throbbed below. I moaned involuntarily, and then my hand was gripped tightly.
“Victoria!!”
It was my mother and father.
My mother’s usually immaculate hair was disheveled, her eyes swollen from crying. Seeing me awake, her voice choked. “Victoria, it’s okay. Everything will be okay…”
It slowly dawned on meâI was lying on a hospital bed being rushed toward the operating room.
“Doctor, the patient is hemorrhaging!!”
The baby might not survive. The situation was critical. My father called Damien multiple times before he finally picked up.
The male voice on the other end sounded surprised. “Is Victoria making a fuss about going to the hospital again? Ever since she got pregnant, she’s been paranoid that something’s wrong with the baby.”
“It’s just a pregnancy. Back in the day, my friend cooked and cleaned for herself even when she was months along.”
“Victoria is just too delicate.”
After those accusatory remarks, my father finally lost his temper. I heard him speak through gritted teeth. “Damien, do you even know what’s happened to Victoria?!”
My father was the Alpha of Ashclaw pack. He knew Damien was a notorious playboy and had opposed our relationship.
But unfortunately, Damien was my mate. At the time, I was completely drunk on love, lost in Damien’s deep green eyes.
When he proposed to me, Damien swore to my father that he would treat me well and make me happy forever. But now, it was clear those were all empty promises.
My father’s voice shook with rage. Damien hesitated, worried that something might actually be wrong with me.
But just then, Tara’s startled cry came through the phone.
“Ah! Damien, Leo has a fever…”
Damien stopped explaining to my father and hung up anxiously.
“Beep beep beepâ”
The busy tone echoed through the corridor. After a long silence, my father said through clenched teeth, “Divorce! Once you’re out of surgery and safe, you’re breaking the mate bond with that scumbag!”
Cold anesthetic slowly entered my veins. My eyelids grew heavier, yet my body felt lighter.
When I woke again, my mother told me the baby was gone.
For a moment, I felt lost. My hand lightly touched my lower abdomen. An hour ago, a little life connected to me by blood had been there. Now there was nothing.
“Victoria.”
My mother looked at me with concern. I gave her a weak smile. “Mom, I’m fine.”
Later, I learned I had been unconscious for two days and one night.
I checked my phone. My call log was empty. Only my chat with Damien had a few cold messages.
All sent this morning.
[Remember to divorce in three days.]
[Not replying again? Do you think avoiding this will help? Victoria, I’m telling youâI WILL divorce you!]
[Sometimes I really wish Tara and Leo were my family. Leo is so well-raised. I can’t imagine what kind of person our son would turn into if he grew up with you!]
I stared at those final messages and slowly typed: [Okay.]
After sending the message, I deleted all his contact information without hesitation.
The hospital’s fluorescent lights were harsh. Holding the miscarriage report, I walked alone down the corridor to retrieve my child and arrange for burial.
The maternity ward was filled with couples. The expectant mothers’ faces glowed with joy.
I clutched the small box, feeling as though my heart had been sealed inside with my dead child.
“Damien, thank you so much for this.” A sweet, gentle female voice sounded. I looked up and met their eyes.
Damien held Leo’s hand. Tara clung to his arm.
Standing together, they looked like a real family of three.
Damien glanced at me, then his expression changed. His gaze locked onto my flat stomach.
He strode toward me, his face full of displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
Tara smiled. “Did you come looking for Damien? Geez, Victoria, you’re keeping too close an eye on him. I just wasn’t feeling well, so I asked him to come with me to the hospital.”
Damien said impatiently, “Is it really necessary to monitor me this closely? You’re pregnant, yet you’re running around the hospital for no reason. Don’t you know that’s bad for the baby?”
“This child is so unlucky to be in your belly!”
“Haven’t I told you? Our child is perfectly healthy and capable. He’s going to be the next Alpha of Myrren pack!”
Yes. In his version of the past life, we had a smart, healthy child.
But why did things turn out this way?
I instinctively clutched the small box tighter.
I had already contacted a priest and asked him to pray for forty-nine days.
I hoped my child could find peace in heaven.
“Daddy.”
A childish voice interrupted my thoughts. Leo stared at the box in my arms and suddenly reached out to grab it. “I want that box!”
“Don’t touch it!”
I slapped his hand away hard, holding the box protectively.
The sharp sound echoed through the corridor. Leo froze for a moment, then burst into loud wails.
Damien’s face showed a flash of shock, but he immediately scowled. “What are you doing?!”
“He’s just a child! Why are you fighting with him? You hit him!”
I held the box tightly and glared at Damien. “Damien, I hate you. I hate you so much!”
I spoke each word deliberately. My mouth tasted of blood. He seemed stunned that Iâwho had always been obedientâwould say such a thing. He frowned. “Victoria, you’re being completely unreasonable.”
With that, he pulled something from his pocket. “I’ll trade you this for that broken box. There, happy?”
It was a jade watch.
I had once mentioned wanting to buy one for our child. He had only told me to focus on my pregnancy and not think about trivial things.
“You always wanted to give this to the baby, right? Here, take it…”
Before he could finish, Leo cried out, “Daddy, that’s mine! You ordered it for me!”
Damien’s face flashed with embarrassment. He said calmly, “I’ll get you something better later.”
“No!! You can’t give away my things!”
Leo suddenly rushed forward and shoved me hard. I had barely slept the night before and was dizzy. I had no time to react.
I fell heavily to the ground. The box flew from my hands.
“Give it back!”
My pupils shrank in despair as Leo grabbed the box, ran to the end of the corridor, and hurled it down the garbage disposal chute.
In that moment, I felt like I’d gone mad. I lunged toward it, but Damien held me back tightly.
“Enough! It’s just a box! Are you going to hurt Leo again? That broken box belongs in the trash! Now apologize to Leo and Tara!”
The chaos quickly attracted medical staff. My attending physician rushed over.
Seeing this, Damien immediately acted as though he’d found new ammunition. “Your doctor is here. Are you going to keep embarrassing yourself?”
“Victoria, I’m telling youâI will NEVER accompany you to prenatal checkups again!”
“Not only that, but when you give birth, the child will be mine. You’ll never see him again!”
The doctor froze, then said instinctively, “Prenatal checkups? But Victoria already had a miscarriage…”
đ Continue the story here
đđť đ˛ Download the “NovelMaster” app
đ search for “378052”, and watch the full series â¨!
#NovelMaster
