Category: English

The moment I realized Adam didn’t love me anymore—or at least, not the way he used to—I started picking fights. I became difficult, needy, constantly testing the boundaries of his patience. I looked for reasons to spark an argument, desperate for some kind of friction, some proof that he still cared enough to push back. But we’d barely trade two sentences before he’d shut down, treating me like white noise. Staring at his cool, indifferent profile, I would slam the door and storm out into the cold. I never went far. I’d tell myself: “If he comes after me in the next ten seconds, I’ll forgive him.” Ten seconds would stretch into ten minutes. “If he comes looking for me now, I’ll go home with him.” I ended up freezing on a New York sidewalk for four hours. No open door. No text. No missed call. Eventually, I walked back on my own. The apartment was loud, bursting with life. Adam had thrown an impromptu get-together for his friends. A gorgeous woman leaned against him on the sofa, laughing as she held a glass of wine to his lips. The confrontation I’d prepared on my walk back dissolved, popping like the silent, fragile bubbles in a glass of champagne. He looked up, saw my wind-bitten, flushed face, and offered a careless shrug. “Done throwing your tantrum?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and answered softly, “Yeah. I’m done.” … There was a palpable exhaustion in Adam’s eyes. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the smoke curling between us. “Then stop picking fights over every little thing.” We had argued four times in the span of three days. “I waited in line for thirty minutes after work to get you that cake, and you complained it was the wrong flavor. You refused to eat it and made a scene.” “Last night, I missed your call because I was at a business dinner. You locked the bedroom door and wouldn’t let me in.” “This morning, I asked what you wanted for lunch, and you stayed silent. The moment the food arrived, you threw a fit and said you weren’t hungry.” “And now, because I invited some friends over, you lose your temper and threaten to walk out.” He reached out, his warm hand pressing against my freezing cheek. “Amelia, if you’re not tired of this, I am.” “If you’re going to storm out next time, at least remember to bring a coat.” “When you’re done cooling off and realize you have nowhere else to go, you know where the door is. Just let yourself in.” If this had been a few hours ago, I would have cried. I would have screamed, fighting tooth and nail against his version of the truth. But now, I just pressed a hand to my aching chest and forced a smile. “Okay.” From the living room, one of his friends watched me walk away and nudged him. “Aren’t you going to go after her? You used to drop to your knees if she so much as frowned.” Adam glanced casually at his watch. “Back then, chasing her meant playing the puppy dog. It took days of begging just to get her to smile.” “Now? I leave her alone, let her think it through, and she’s back in four hours.” He let out a low, easy laugh. “Looking back, I wasted a lot of energy. Honestly, I regret it.” “Regret.” The word echoed in my mind. During those four hours in the biting cold, I had counted so many ten-second intervals. I kept worrying he was looking for me and we’d somehow missed each other, so I paced the block. I held my phone high above my head, desperately searching for a signal, ignoring the strange looks from passersby. A little boy playing nearby looked up at me, curious. “Is the signal bad, or is my phone broken?” I muttered to myself. “Why isn’t anything coming through?” The boy bounced on his heels, eager to help. “Let me see!” I handed him the screen, which was open to my chat with Adam. “Whoa, lady, you sent this guy a ton of messages.” “He barely wrote back. Are you waiting for him?” He tapped the screen with the solemn gravity of an expert. “Your phone isn’t broken, lady.” “Nobody’s texting you.” “You’re kind of silly.” Just then, the screen lit up. My heart leaped, and I snatched it back. It was a push notification from an app. The phone was fine. Adam just hadn’t reached out. Our chat history ended the night before. Every message I’d sent had gone unanswered. I went from asking what time he’d be home, to wondering if he’d even seen my texts, to a hollow, aching sadness. “Are you that busy? Just text me when you’re done, okay?” And finally, after three of my calls were forwarded straight to voicemail, I had descended into a frantic panic. “You’re seeing these. Why aren’t you replying?” “Did I say something wrong? Why are you ignoring me?” But my unraveling—my tears, my desperation—had met a wall of absolute silence. Just like today. While I was shivering on a street corner waiting for him, he had already filled the house with people to keep him company. My presence, my absence, my voice—none of it made a dent in Adam’s world anymore. The speech he’d made, listing all my faults, had been recorded by someone in the room and uploaded online. The caption read: “How do high-maintenance girls like this get such amazing boyfriends? Why can’t I find a guy like him?” By the time I saw it, the internet had already unleashed a tidal wave of vitriol. “If I worked a ten-hour day only to come home to a princess like that, I’d kick her to the curb.” “Bro, take my advice. If she plays these games, dump her. A guy with your looks and money can do way better. She’ll come crawling back.” “He spoiled her too much. If you ignore them, they fall right back in line. That’s how I handle my girl.” “Where does she get off? Let’s go humble this spoiled brat in the comments.” Even Adam’s friends joined the fray, commenting that my real-life behavior was actually worse than what was shown in the video. The harassment intensified. The clip spread like wildfire, eventually reaching my coworkers and even trickling down to my family. It turned out the video had been posted by Victoria—the girl who had been feeding Adam wine. When I confronted him, Adam was scrolling through the comments, utterly unbothered. “I talked to Victoria. She said she was just mad on my behalf. She wanted some outside perspective, she didn’t think it would go viral.” “The guys were just sticking up for me, too.” “I’ll tell her to take it down. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” “I mean, the video isn’t wrong about what happened. You got a few mean comments online, but it didn’t actually affect your real life. Just let it go.” Before the video was even taken down, a notification popped up on my feed. “Adam liked this video.” Seeing me stare at his screen, he quickly unliked it, his expression casual. “Slip of the thumb.” I didn’t say whether I believed him, but his brow furrowed in immediate annoyance. “Are you going to start another fight?” “I’m exhausted, Amelia. I don’t have the energy for this.” “Just go cool down. You tend to figure things out faster when you’re left alone.” I did figure things out. I stripped away every habit Adam found “difficult.” I stopped asking if he loved me. I stopped getting upset over his late nights. I stopped checking in on him. Adam called it “finally growing up.” Since I no longer watched his every move, he started coming home later and later. One night, Victoria brought him home. She fluttered around our living room, pouring him water, gently massaging his temples to ease his hangover. Then, as if suddenly remembering my presence, she offered a sweet, apologetic smile. “Oh, I should go. I’m sure Amelia wants to take care of you, Adam.” She said the words, but she didn’t move an inch. Adam reached out and caught her hand. “Victoria. My head hurts.” She looked torn, glancing between us. “Adam doesn’t want me to leave.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching them like a spectator at a mediocre play. “Then stay.” The jacket Adam had tossed onto the sofa still carried the heavy trail of Victoria’s perfume. It took me back to the night our fights first started. Same jacket. Same scent. I had sat on the sofa waiting for him until three in the morning. “You were MIA all day because you were with Victoria?” “Yeah,” he’d said carelessly, loosening his tie as he headed for the bathroom. “She just got back to the city. A bunch of us got together to welcome her.” He didn’t look at me. I had followed him, feeling like I was standing on the edge of a cliff. “Adam, did you forget what you promised me? You said you wouldn’t see her.” He shot me a look of deep, barely concealed irritation. “Are we really doing this again? How long ago did she confess to me? It’s ancient history.” “Can you stop being so incredibly insecure?” “Do me a favor and focus on something productive.” He brushed my hand off the bathroom door and closed it in my face. Shutting me out. Dividing our lives into two separate worlds. I wasn’t blind to the changes. He’d park the car in the garage and sit in it for an hour before coming upstairs. We couldn’t exchange three sentences before he’d sigh, tell me he was tired, and turn his back to me. I used to wonder if he was going through something difficult at work. But eventually, I realized he was just bored of me. Bored, impatient, and completely checked out. I had panicked. The more terrified I became of losing him, the more sensitive I grew. The tighter I tried to hold on, the faster he slipped away. After that night he came home smelling like her, our home became a battlefield of constant arguments. But Adam only grew colder. He started putting on his headphones the moment I opened my mouth, or he’d simply walk out of the room. Once, I chased him down and ripped the headphones off his ears, tears streaming down my face. “Adam, do you think I want to fight with you?” “I don’t feel a single shred of affection from you anymore! I just want an explanation. I want you to hold me, to reassure me. Is that really so hard?” I had pleaded, shedding my dignity. “What happened to us? Did I do something wrong? Can we please just talk?” Adam didn’t say a word. He snatched his headphones back, put them over his ears, and said: “Do whatever you want.” The sound of Victoria’s soft laughter from the guest room snapped me back to the present. I forced myself to look away. I stopped myself from reaching out to him. I ate alone. I slept alone. I lived alone. I was slowly adapting to the silence, but I never expected my grandmother to intervene. Apparently, she had tried to get in touch with Adam several times, but he had ignored her calls. When I arrived at his office building, my grandmother was in the lobby, apologizing to Adam on my behalf. She looked so small, offering quiet pleas while Adam sat there, accepting her humility as if it were his birthright. “If only Amelia were as reasonable as you, Nana,” he said smoothly. There was no chair for my grandmother. She stood before him, looking anxious and ashamed. “Adam, I saw that video online and wanted to talk to you,” she said gently. “But I couldn’t reach you, so I came here today. I’ll say my piece and go. I don’t want to be a bother.” “I’m so sorry. Amelia was wrong, and I want to apologize for her.” “Please, don’t hold a grudge against my girl.” One of Adam’s friends laughed from the sofa. “With all due respect, ma’am, a simple apology doesn’t just erase the headache she’s caused him.” A hot spike of anger flared behind my eyes. I rushed into the room, grabbing my grandmother’s arm to lead her away. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, patting my hand. “We have to talk things out nicely.” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “The cake you waited thirty minutes for?” I spat, staring directly at Adam. “You sat in the car while your assistant bought it. It was mango flavor. I am highly allergic to mango. How was I supposed to eat it?” “And you say I locked you out? What about the hours I spent texting you while you ignored me? You had time to hit ‘decline’ on my calls, but you couldn’t spare a second to tell me when you’d be home.” “You claim I never told you what I wanted for lunch. I booked a reservation a day in advance and sent you the details. You agreed to it, and then you forgot. The food you ordered had ingredients I can’t eat.” “And your friends? The ‘friend’ you brought over is the girl who confessed to you. The girl I caught kissing you, whom you promised never to see again.” “Adam, I’m done trying to sort through this mess. It’s pointless.” “But how dare you stand here and let my grandmother apologize to you? How dare you humiliate her?” My voice cracked on the final shout. Adam sat up a little straighter, his posture stiffening. Before he could answer, the door swung open and Victoria walked in. She swept past me without a glance, heading straight for Adam. “Adam, I loved that restaurant you took me to tonight. Let’s go there again tomorrow!” So, the man we couldn’t reach had been spending his evening with her. I felt nothing—just a dull, numb acceptance. But my grandmother’s breathing grew shallow as she put the pieces together. “So you’re the one sneaking around, and you’re the other woman trying to ruin a relationship. Yet you turn around and paint my granddaughter as the villain.” Her hands shook with rage. “Where is your decency? Were you raised with any morals at all?” Victoria’s face twisted in an instant. “What did you just call me, you crazy old woman?” She shoved my grandmother. On the hard marble floor, the sound of her fall was sickeningly loud. Victoria gasped, stepping back toward Adam. She grabbed his arm, her voice instantly dropping into a trembling whine. “Adam, I didn’t mean to. She fell on her own.” The world faded into static. I couldn’t hear their voices anymore. All I could hear was my grandmother groaning in pain on the floor. I fell to my knees beside her, terrified to touch her, my hands shaking so violently I dropped my phone three times trying to dial 911. The paramedics arrived quickly. But as they tried to wheel the stretcher out, Victoria blocked the doorway, clinging to Adam’s arm. “Adam, they insulted me first. Are you just going to let them leave like this?” She whispered fiercely, “Everyone is watching. My friends are here. Am I just supposed to take this humiliation?” “She’s your girlfriend. You have to make this right.” Adam remained silent for a long moment, then looked down at me. “Amelia, apologize to Victoria.” “Apologize, and you can go.” I looked up at him, my temples throbbing, my teeth clenched so hard they ached. “Get the hell out of my way,” I rasped. “Let the paramedics through.” Victoria stepped forward. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Adam pulled her behind him. His lips curved into a cold, humorless smile. “Amelia, I thought you’d finally grown up.” “Since a simple apology is too much for you, how about a formal bow?” He sat back down, crossing his legs, his eyes icy. “I have all night. We can stay here as long as it takes.” He glanced toward the stretcher. “But I don’t know if your grandmother has that kind of time.” For a second, my mind went entirely blank. All those fights, all those tears—I had only wanted to know if he still cared. And now, the truth I had been too terrified to admit stared me in the face. He didn’t love me. It was over. I wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. My grandmother was pale with pain, her eyes squeezed shut. I stood up from the floor, wiping the tears from my face. And then, I bent my spine. Victoria scoffed. “That’s barely an effort.” I lowered myself further, bowing deeply to both of them. “I’m sorry.” A single tear fell, splashing onto the polished floor. With it, the final remnants of the love we had built since high school shattered into dust. Fortunately, my grandmother was strong for her age. It was only a hairline fracture. She squeezed my hand from her hospital bed. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I only made things worse for you.” “I saw you in that video… you looked like you were about to cry. It broke my heart.” “I knew how much you loved him. I just wanted things to be okay between you two.” I buried my face in her palm, my tears soaking her skin. Adam and I “had” been happy once. I remembered high school, when he would take a detour across the entire city just to walk me home after evening study sessions. I remembered our trip abroad when we got pickpocketed. With only fifty dollars left to our name, Adam went hungry, insisting I use the money to get a warm meal. I remembered the night we graduated college, when he slipped a ring onto my finger and promised I could be as difficult as I wanted for the rest of my life, because he would always be there to hold me. Adam used to hate the smell of smoke. He never touched a cigarette around me. Once, after our worst fight, I had gone on a business trip to another city. He drove through the night to find me, pulling me into his arms and whispering that no matter where I went, he would always chase after me. He had loved me then. Truly. My grandmother stroked my hair. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. Just you and me. Okay?” I stopped crying and nodded quickly. “Yes. Let’s go home.” Adam showed up at the hospital later, but it wasn’t to check on my grandmother. The tables had turned. Someone had filmed the incident in the lobby and posted it online. The public hadn’t forgotten about the “dramatic girlfriend” from the previous viral video. Seeing the sudden plot twist, the internet turned its wrath on Adam and Victoria. Adam looked exhausted, his expression tight. “I already had the video taken down.” “Victoria posted a statement explaining we’re just friends.” “But people are still harassing her in the comments and DMing her horrible things.” “I need you to post a clarification. Just say your grandmother tripped and fell on her own, and that Victoria had nothing to do with it.” “And clarify that you know Victoria and I are just friends. There’s nothing going on.” “After all, your grandmother was the one who insulted her first.” Right then, his phone rang. It was Victoria. Her voice, thick with tears, came through the speaker. “Adam, did she agree to post it yet?” “People are being so mean to me. I’m so scared. Can you please come back and stay with me?” Adam looked up at me. “You hear her?” “Victoria is in a really bad place right now. Let’s keep our issues between us and leave innocent people out of it.” I let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I thought you said getting dragged online was no big deal? It’s just some strangers on the internet, right?” Adam raised a hand, cutting me off. “Don’t start with the dramatic act again. You walked away fine, didn’t you?” “Amelia, don’t be suffocating. We have real problems to deal with, and you’re still obsessing over your petty jealousy.” Disgusted, he reached out to grab my phone to write it himself. I stepped back, keeping the screen out of his reach. “No need. I’ll post it.” Adam froze, slowly dropping his hand. His phone kept buzzing in his palm—Victoria was losing her patience. In his contact list, my name had been moved to the bottom, marked with a mute icon. Since I had agreed to his demands, he didn’t care to linger. After he left, I helped my grandmother discharge from the hospital. On our way home, the taxi drove past the apartment Adam and I used to share. The familiar building flashed by, quickly swallowed by the city skyline. I unlocked my phone, drafted the post, and hit upload. Within ten minutes, my phone began to vibrate violently. Texts flooded in from friends, acquaintances, and people I hadn’t spoken to in years. And then came Adam. The man who hadn’t initiated a conversation with me in weeks sent a barrage of texts. The final notification was a voice note, his tone dripping with barely controlled fury: “Amelia, what the hell did you just post?” “What is your problem?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538966”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My best friend, Cheryl, was the absolute queen of the “BOGO” deal. She was the kind of person who lived to manipulate algorithms for a discount. She’d bundle online orders to hit the free-shipping threshold, split Uber rides down to the exact cent, and drag me out to dinner every single day just to exploit a “buy-one-get-one-half-off” coupon. My boyfriend, Douglas, used to complain about it constantly. “Can’t you get her to give us some space? You’re with her so much that I barely get to see you anymore.” I’d always smile and try to soothe him. “She just grew up having to pinch pennies. Don’t let it get to you.” Until Valentine’s Day. Douglas and I were at a romantic dinner when Cheryl texted, saying the restaurant had a “parties of three get a free dessert platter” promo. She practically begged to join. When I looked up from my menu, I froze. They were wearing matching leather couple’s bracelets. It was the exact set I had fawned over last week while shopping with Douglas. He’d scoffed at them, called them tacky, and refused to buy them. Noticing where my eyes had landed, Douglas offered a perfectly casual, rehearsed explanation. “Oh, Cheryl said they were buy-one-get-one-free. I just helped her make up the difference.” Cheryl slid her arm through his, entirely at ease. “Thanks, Doug. Saved me another twenty bucks.” He looked down at her and smiled, dropping a piece of steak onto her plate. I calmly pushed the complimentary dessert platter toward them. “Enjoy,” I said softly. “I’m going to go powder my nose.” At the front desk, I smiled at the cashier and handed her my card. “Table eight. The couple over there will be paying for themselves. Charge them full price, please. No discounts.” If you both love bundling so much, you can be bundled together forever. … 1 “Isabel, did you really have to pull a stunt like this on Valentine’s Day?” The moment I stepped out of the restaurant and into the crisp February air, Douglas’s call came through. He sounded livid. In the background, I could hear Cheryl’s soft, theatrical whimpering. I stood on the sidewalk, watching happy couples walk by under the city lights, my voice entirely flat. “What stunt?” “What stunt?” Douglas’s voice spiked. “You have the nerve to ask me that? What did you say to the hostess? ‘The couple will be paying for themselves’? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?” “Cheryl was just trying to keep things lively. She was trying to save us a buck, and you humiliate her in front of the entire waitstaff?” I raised my hand and hailed a passing cab, pulling open the door. “If it was all about saving money, what does it matter who paid?” I replied, stepping in. “She said the dessert was on her anyway. Consider the dinner your treat to each other.” The line went dead quiet for two seconds. Douglas exhaled sharply, pivoting to that condescending, coaxing tone he always used when he wanted me to back down. “Izzy, you used to be so generous. You aren’t like this.” “Cheryl just went through a brutal breakup. She’s alone on Valentine’s Day. She just wanted to be around some love, to catch some of our good energy.” “And besides, the bracelets—that was a complete misunderstanding.” So he was finally addressing it. I leaned my head against the cold glass of the cab window, watching the streetlights blur into long yellow streaks. “A misunderstanding?” “Yeah. Last week, when we were looking at them, I honestly thought they looked cheap. They weren’t right for you. But today, Cheryl mentioned she was buying one and the second was free, so I figured I’d help her out. It was a practical choice.” He explained it with such absolute, righteous certainty, as if my discomfort were a hysterical overreaction. “Izzy, you know how hard I’m working to climb the ladder at the firm. I’m stressed out of my mind trying to save up for a down payment on a house for us. She was trying to help us save money, and instead of being grateful, you humiliate her. Where is the supportive, understanding girl I fell in love with? Since when did you become so materialistic and petty?” I looked down at my bare wrist. Last week, standing in front of that display case, I had lovingly held the bracelet against his wrist, imagining us wearing them. He had pushed my hand away, scowling, saying wearing something that childish would make him look like a joke in front of his clients. And now, that “childish joke” was sitting snugly on his wrist, matching Cheryl’s. “Right. I’m the petty one.” I had no energy left to argue. I hung up. My screen buzzed almost immediately with a text from him. “I’m going to drop Cheryl off first. I ordered an Uber for you, so we’re even. Let’s just put this behind us.” “I’ll bring home those spicy tuna rolls you love on my way back. Be good. Stop throwing tantrums.” I stared at the glowing words, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I didn’t reply. It was his classic playbook: inflict a wound, then throw a cheap bandage over it. No matter how deeply he hurt me, a mild peace offering was supposed to buy my immediate forgiveness. When I got back to the apartment we shared, it was pitch black. I left the main lights off, allowing only the dim yellow glow of the entryway nightlight to guide me. I walked over to the coffee table, intending to pack away the marketing pitch I’d been drafting the night before. But as I opened the drawer, a thick white envelope caught my eye. It was unsealed. The corner of a blue ticket stub peeked out. I pulled it out. Two VIP, side-by-side tickets to the Celtics game in Boston this upcoming weekend. And printed clearly in the billing details were two names: “Douglas Fitch, Cheryl Dennis.” 2 I stared at those tickets. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, I slipped them back into the envelope and placed them exactly where I had found them. I didn’t tear them up. I didn’t take a picture to use as ammunition for a screaming match. I just closed the drawer. My palms felt numb, and somewhere deep inside me, a door swung shut, locking out the cold. Cheryl and I had been friends for seven years. Right after college, her family had gone through a massive financial crisis. She could barely afford groceries. My heart bled for her. I took her into my tiny apartment, paid for her food, and covered her rent. Later, when she finally got a job, she developed this pathological obsession with splitting costs and hunting down discounts. I had always categorized it as a trauma response—a deep-seated lack of security. So I accommodated her. Even when Douglas and I went on dates, and she’d ask to tag along to “make up the numbers” for a group discount, I’d agree just to spare her feelings. Every time Douglas complained and told me to keep my distance from her, I was the one defending her. I told him she was just set in her ways, that he shouldn’t judge her. It turns out, giving people an inch only invites them to take a mile. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was Harvey, my business partner. “Isabel, you need to get to the studio right now! The pipe on the second floor burst, and the water is pouring straight down into the server room!” Harvey’s voice was laced with pure panic. “The main servers are completely waterlogged. If we don’t save the data tonight, the gallery exhibition project we’re delivering next week is completely dead!” I bolted upright, nearly dropping my glass. “I’m on my way. Shut off the main power first!” I grabbed my car keys and sprinted out the door. As I navigated the wet night streets, I called Douglas. He was the one who had helped set up our local servers; he was a systems architect. In an emergency like this, he was the only one who knew how to rescue the data without corrupting it. The phone rang for a long time before he finally picked up. “Izzy, didn’t I tell you I’d be home a bit late? I already picked up the sushi.” He sounded relaxed. In the background, I could hear the faint murmur of a television show. “Doug, a pipe burst at the studio. The server room is flooding.” I gripped the steering wheel, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Can you get over there right now? We need to migrate the local databases immediately. Harvey doesn’t know how.” There was a brief pause on the other end. Then, Cheryl’s sweet, high-pitched voice drifted through the receiver. “Doug, the toilet is still leaking. Can you tighten that screw for me again?” My foot froze over the gas pedal. “Izzy, look, the toilet in Cheryl’s rental is totally busted, and her landlord isn’t responding. She’s just a single girl, and her bathroom is flooded. She can’t handle it.” Douglas lowered his voice, speaking into the receiver. “If your studio is flooding, call the building manager. I’m not a plumber.” “But the servers—the database—” “Don’t you have a cloud backup?” he interrupted, his tone sharp and irritated. “You always blow these minor things out of proportion. Cheryl’s place is literally underwater. She doesn’t even have a dry spot to step on.” “I’ll head over as soon as I’m done here. Just handle what you can.” With that, he hung up. I listened to the dial tone, utterly numb. My studio, my livelihood, was on the verge of ruin. And in his eyes, it didn’t even rank higher than a leaking toilet at Cheryl’s place. When I arrived at the studio, the water on the first floor was already ankle-deep. Harvey was drenched in sweat, desperately pushing a broom to sweep the water out the door. Without a word, I rolled up my jeans, waded into the freezing water, and began lifting heavy equipment. It took us three agonizing hours, and a small fortune to hire an emergency restoration crew, to minimize the damage. By 2:00 AM, I was sitting on the damp, muddy concrete floor, shivering, completely soaked. My phone lit up. It was a notification. Cheryl had updated her Instagram story. In the photo, Douglas was wearing his old, faded loungewear t-shirt, crouching on the bathroom floor to fix a pipe. The angle captured his focused profile perfectly. Her caption read: “The ultimate Valentine’s Day savior. Even when life is a messy flood, there’s always someone who shows up to make you feel safe.” The location tag was her apartment building. I locked my phone and stared at the water-stained blueprints pinned to the wall. Douglas had drawn those himself last year. He had promised me that once we saved enough money, we’d buy this studio space and convert it into our dream home. I pulled out my phone and dialed our landlord. “Hi, Mrs. Adler. Sorry to call so late.” “Our lease is up this weekend. We won’t be renewing.” 3 The next morning, when I walked back into our apartment, Douglas was asleep on the sofa. On the coffee table sat a bag of sushi. The receipt taped to the box proudly displayed a BOGO discount. Hearing the door, he rubbed his eyes and sat up. “Where were you last night? I brought the sushi back and you were gone.” He frowned, his voice laced with accusation. “The studio flooded. I told you on the phone,” I said, setting my keys on the counter. I didn’t look at him. Douglas blinked, as if only now remembering the call. “Did you get it fixed? I was exhausted after helping Cheryl last night, so I just crashed on the couch. I didn’t check my phone.” He stood up and walked toward me, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. I stepped aside, slipping past him. His arms remained suspended in mid-air, and his face instantly darkened. “Isabel, that’s enough. I apologized for Valentine’s Day, and I brought you the food.” “What else do you want from me? Am I supposed to grovel forever?” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I felt a profound sense of exhaustion. I didn’t even want to fight. “It’s fine. I’m not mad. I’m going to take a shower. I have a client meeting later.” I walked into the bathroom and turned the lock. As the hot water poured over me, I closed my eyes, but all I could see was the image of him crouching on Cheryl’s floor, fixing her toilet. That afternoon, I went back to the studio to organize the salvaged files. Harvey approached me, his expression troubled. “Isabel… did you lease out the exhibition space on the East Side to someone else?” I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, confused. “No. That’s the venue we secured for next month’s gallery. I already paid the non-refundable deposit.” Harvey sighed and handed me his phone. “Then you should take a look at this.” On the screen was Cheryl’s public social media profile. In a video, she was standing in the middle of our rented gallery space, directing a group of workers who were setting up tables. A banner hanging behind them read: “Cheryl’s Curated Thrift & Vintage Flea Market.” The caption read: “So incredibly grateful to a certain someone for making this happen. Zero venue fees! The ultimate thrift queen’s dream come true.” My ears started to ring. I had spent two weeks pleading with the venue owners, pulling every favor I had, just to lock down that space. I grabbed my keys and drove straight to the East Side gallery. When I pushed open the heavy double doors, Douglas was standing on a stepladder, helping Cheryl string up fairy lights. Cheryl was holding the ladder, laughing up at him. When they saw me walk in, both of their smiles instantly evaporated. “Isabel? What are you doing here?” Douglas climbed down, looking slightly flustered. I walked past them, pointing at the cluttered racks of secondhand clothes scattered across the polished concrete. “Who gave you permission to use my venue?” Cheryl shrank behind Douglas, her voice dropping to a meek whisper. “Isabel, please don’t be mad. Doug said you guys aren’t using this place until next month anyway. It was just sitting empty.” “I just wanted to host a little weekend market to make some extra pocket money.” Douglas stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed in irritation. “Isabel, the venue was going to waste. Cheryl is tight on cash right now. What’s the harm in letting her use it for a couple of days?” “A couple of days?” I let out a dry, cold laugh. “This is a professional exhibition space. You’re dragging dusty, used junk over specialized flooring. Who’s going to pay if the finishes get ruined?” “I’ll pay for it!” Douglas raised his voice, clearly losing patience. “Why have you become so incredibly cold? So business-minded? Where is your decency?” Looking at his familiar face, I realized he felt like a complete stranger. “Fine. Pay me.” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “The security deposit was five thousand dollars. Since you’re being so generous, transfer it to my account right now.” Douglas’s face faltered. He avoided my gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I don’t have the funds in my checking account right now,” he mumbled, lowering his voice. “I used it to help Cheryl buy inventory.” 4 The air in the gallery grew thick and suffocating. I stared at Douglas, watching the quick flash of embarrassment turn into defensive anger on his face. “You used the limit on my authorized user card?” Douglas frowned, immediately defensive. “What do you mean, “your” card? I’m the one who pays the monthly bill on that account.” “Cheryl needed short-term capital for her inventory. The interest rates on personal loans are predatory. I just gave her a temporary bridge loan. She’ll pay you back as soon as the flea market wraps up.” He stepped forward, trying to grab my hand. “We’re all friends here. We help each other out. Don’t be so petty.” I pulled my hand back, turning my gaze to Cheryl, who was cowering behind him. She kept her head low, looking like the victim of a terrible injustice. “Cheryl, you wanted inventory, so you used my venue, spent my money, and put my boyfriend to work.” I stared at her. “That is an incredibly efficient way to run a business.” Cheryl’s eyes welled with tears on cue. “Isabel… I didn’t know! I don’t have that kind of money. The clothes haven’t even sold yet. Doug told me he was lending me “his” money. He never said it was yours…” Douglas panicked. “Isabel, do you really have to make a scene out of this? The market starts this weekend, and you’ll get every cent back! You have a successful business; do you really care about a measly five grand?” I didn’t bother arguing. I unlocked my phone and dialed my bank’s customer service number. “Hi, I need to report my card ending in 4589 as stolen. I have unauthorized charges.” Once I hung up, I walked out and drove straight back to the apartment. For the next two days, Douglas didn’t come home. He sent me a few texts, claiming the market was chaotic and he needed to stay on-site to help manage the vendors. I didn’t reply. I simply went online and booked a moving company. On Sunday morning, just as I taped up the last cardboard box, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification from Cheryl. It was a photo of her and Douglas sitting in first-class seats on a train, holding VIP tickets to the Celtics game in Boston. Her caption read: “The market was a massive success! Huge thank you to my favorite person for bundling this weekend getaway together to see my favorite team play.” In the corner of the photo, Douglas’s wrist was clearly visible. He was still wearing the matching bracelet. I scrolled past the post with complete detachment. I opened my contacts, selected both of their names, and blocked them. The movers arrived shortly after. “All of this goes, ma’am?” the driver asked, gesturing to the stack of boxes in the living room. “Yes. Everything.” I took one last look around the apartment where I had lived for three years. The framed prints we had picked out together still hung on the walls. The mint plant he had potted sat on the balcony. But I left nothing behind. I cleared it all out—including the space he had once occupied in my heart. Two days later, Douglas walked out of the elevator, carrying a bag of pastries from my favorite bakery, humming a light tune. He pressed his thumb against the biometric lock, but the keypad flashed red, beeped, and denied him entry. Confused, he pulled out his key and tried the deadbolt, only to find the key wouldn’t even slide into the slot. As he reached for his phone to call me, the building’s security guard came down the hall on his rounds. The guard stopped, looking surprised to see him. “Oh, Mr. Fitch. That unit was vacated. The tenant moved out all her things. What are you doing here?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538967”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was my twenty-sixth birthday, and the clock on the office wall had ticked two hours past closing. For the fifth time, I spoke up, my voice tentative. “Can we go eat now?” A few desks away, Gary, my boyfriend of five years, and Camille, my childhood best friend, were huddled over a laptop. They were completely lost in a heated debate over whose pitch deck they should present to the clients tomorrow morning. Neither of them even blinked. Ever since Camille joined Gary’s boutique investment firm three months ago, this scene had replayed itself in an endless, agonizing loop. They were both finance majors. They shared the same sharp, fast-paced rhythm, the same vocabulary of margins and acquisitions. I, on the other hand, had been a contemporary dance major. Shortly after graduation, Gary had practically begged me to take a job at his reception desk, only because he said he wanted me close to him. “Laurie,” Camille called out, using my nickname without looking up from the screen. “We need an outside perspective. Don’t you think my risk assessment strategy is much cleaner?” I stood up, smoothing down my skirt, ready to walk over. But Gary didn’t wait for me to reach them. He glanced up, his brows knitting together in that familiar gesture of irritation. “She’s a receptionist, Camille. All she’s thinking about right now is where we’re going for dinner. Why are you even asking her?” My feet froze on the carpet. The humiliation was a cold, sharp needle in my chest. He had heard me. He had heard me every single time, and he had simply chosen to ignore me. He turned back to Camille, his expression instantly softening into that warm, indulgent smile he used to reserve only for me. “Fine. You win. I can never argue with you anyway. We’ll use your deck.” They leaned back in, their shoulders practically touching, sealing the invisible wall that kept me on the outside. I stood there, suspended in my own awkwardness, my hands clutching my purse. It was a miserable feeling—being a ghost in a room you were supposed to belong in. Looking at the easy, intimate slope of their shoulders, a sudden, heavy exhaustion washed over me. If you have to beg for a seat at the table, maybe it’s time to stop trying to sit down. … The fluorescent lights of the office suddenly felt too bright, burning the backs of my eyes. I balled my hands into fists, trying to find my voice. “I’m going to go grab dinner,” I said. Still, nothing. They didn’t even spare me a passing glance. The realization that I was entirely disposable settled over me. I grabbed my coat and walked out of the glass-walled office. Just before the heavy door clicked shut, I looked back through the glass. Camille said something that made Gary throw his head back and laugh. He reached out, his hand moving with an effortless, practiced familiarity as he tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. The intimacy of it felt like a physical blow to my collarbone, leaving me breathless. I walked down the street to the small, lively Cajun seafood shack on the corner. It was loud, crowded, and smelled of Old Bay, garlic, and cayenne pepper. I sat in a booth by myself and ordered a steaming bag of their extra-spicy Cajun crawfish and shrimp boil. While waiting, I opened our group chat and scrolled back to the message I’d sent at noon. Me: Don’t forget it’s my birthday tonight! Let’s get that messy, spicy Cajun boil downtown! Camille: Can’t wait! Gary: Camille and I don’t really want to get our hands dirty. Let’s do the steakhouse instead. I had agreed instantly, even though I hated the stuffy, heavy meals at that steakhouse. We had been so busy lately, and we hadn’t sat down for a proper meal in weeks. Before Camille moved back to the city, Gary and I used to crave spicy, casual food together. We used to seek out the messiest crab shacks in town. But ever since she became a permanent fixture in our lives, spicy food had been quietly erased from our vocabulary. I felt incredibly foolish. How did it take me this long to see that his consideration for her had quietly eclipsed his love for me? The steaming bag of seafood was brought to my table, drenched in a fiery red garlic butter sauce. Through the window, across the rain-slicked street, I watched Camille and Gary step out of our office building. Camille had her hand resting casually on Gary’s forearm. In his other hand, Gary was carrying a small, elegant bakery box with a pink ribbon. My throat tightened. I had ordered that cake myself and had it delivered to Gary’s office so we wouldn’t have to carry it from home. They had seen the cake, picked it up, and walked out with it, completely forgetting who it belonged to. I pulled my gaze back, cracked open a crawfish, and forced myself to eat. The cayenne burned my tongue and my throat, but I welcomed the heat. An older man sitting at the booth next to mine gently slid a bottle of mineral water toward me. “A bit too much cayenne, huh? Looks like it’s making your eyes water, kiddo.” I wiped my cheeks, grateful for the excuse. “Thank you. Yeah, I guess I can’t handle the heat like I thought.” “Hates the heat but still orders the extra-spicy boil,” the man muttered with a fond, puzzled shake of his head. “Kids these days…” I kept my head down, pretending to focus on my phone. By the time I finished the meal, my phone remained entirely silent. No text from Gary, no call from Camille. When I got back to our apartment, the living room lights were on. Gary was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his laptop. The moment I closed the front door, his voice flared with irritation. “Laurie, where the hell did you go? You just walked out without saying a word. Do you have any idea how late it is? I was worried sick.” He was so worried that he couldn’t manage a single text. “I told you I was leaving,” I said, my voice flat as I hung up my coat. “You were just too wrapped up in Camille to hear me.” A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face. Then, his speakerphone crackled to life. It was Camille. “Is Laurie back? Oh, thank God. She’s always been so skittish in the dark. Now that she’s home safe, I’ll let you go, Gary.” I looked down at his screen. The call duration was thirty-two minutes. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You say you were worried about me, but you spent the last half hour chatting on the phone?” Gary’s face hardened. “Does everything out of your mouth have to be so passive-aggressive? Camille was genuinely concerned about you. She’s been waiting on the phone this whole time.” I didn’t say another word. I turned on my heel and walked toward the bathroom. Behind me, Gary’s tone shifted back to that soft, comforting register as he spoke to Camille. “Don’t mind her. She always throws these childish tantrums. She has no idea how hard we’re working. She thinks the world revolves around her…” I locked the bathroom door, pressing my back against it, fighting the tremor in my chest. After showering, I crawled into bed. A text from my mom popped up: Happy birthday, my sweet girl! Did Gary take you somewhere special? My mom had no idea that Gary hadn’t actually spent a birthday with me in three years. The first year, he had an emergency business trip with Camille and left me with a half-eaten takeout box. The second year, he agreed to play Camille’s fake boyfriend to get her overbearing parents off her back. And now, today. The dam finally broke. Tears, hot and silent, streamed into my pillow as I typed back: Mom, I made a mistake. I want to come home. I want to move down to Charleston with you and Dad. Gary didn’t come to bed. When dawn filtered through the blinds, the bedroom door clicked open. He tugged gently at my blanket, using that patronizing voice reserved for placating a stubborn toddler. “Alright, it’s a new day. Are we done pouting?” This was his playbook. He never explained, never apologized. He just froze me out until he decided I’d had enough time to get over it on my own. I looked up at him. The morning light caught the sharp lines of his jaw—a face I’ve known and loved since we were kids playing in adjacent backyards. I spent my youth chasing after him. When my parents relocated to Charleston for business after my graduation, I begged them for a month to let me stay behind. I turned down an apprenticeship with a prestigious contemporary dance company—giving up a passion I’d poured fifteen years of my life into—just to sit at his reception desk and feel close to him. But ever since I introduced Camille to the firm, everything changed. The man who once promised to put me first now only asked: “Why can’t you be more mature, like Camille?” Decades of shared history made me hold on to a final shred of hope. “Gary, yesterday was my birthday. You promised we’d have dinner. You forgot.” His composure faltered, but only for a second. Then his brow furrowed again. “So this is what this whole dramatic display is about? You’re taking your frustrations out on Camille because of a missed dinner? Laurie, you have a birthday every year. Missing one isn’t the end of the world.” I stared at him, numb. Even now, his instinctive reflex was to protect Camille’s feelings. Sensing my silence, his tone softened slightly, and his phone buzzed. He Venmoed me $500. “Here. Go buy yourself something nice.” He sighed. “We’re drowning in work, Laurie. I don’t have the bandwidth to keep coaxing you out of these moods.” We. When did he and Camille become a “we”? My fingers clenched the edge of the duvet until my knuckles turned white, then slowly let go. The last embers of whatever I felt for him quietly turned to ash. “I understand,” I said quietly. Relieved by my compliance, his shoulders relaxed. “Good. I have to run and pick up Camille for our lunch meeting. Make sure you eat some breakfast.” Gary never drove me to work. He claimed it was to “maintain professional boundaries” at the office. In the five years I’ve worked there, no one except Camille knew we were together. But for Camille, there were no boundaries—he drove her back and forth constantly. When I asked him about it once, he said she was his top producer and my closest friend, so keeping her happy was just good business. What a convenient lie. When I arrived at the office, Katie, the other receptionist, leaned in with a look of pure gossip. “Laurie, did you see? Mr. Cross and Camille arrived together again today. Since you’re so close to her, tell me—are they together?” I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. “Maybe they are.” “Oh, they definitely are! I teased them about looking like a power couple in the elevator, and Mr. Cross just smiled. He didn’t even deny it!” The words pinned me to the spot. It wasn’t professional boundaries he was protecting. It was just me he was hiding. A strange sense of peace washed over me. I sat down at my computer, typed up my formal resignation, and hit submit. Around noon, Gary and Camille walked into the lobby. Camille was sporting a brand-new designer handbag—a gorgeous leather piece I had seen on Gary’s phone screen under his recent orders. It cost over three thousand dollars. The birthday transfer he sent me was five hundred. A month ago, when the collection first launched, I had pointed it out to him. He’d asked, “Do girls really like these?” and I’d replied eagerly, “Absolutely, Camille and I both love this brand.” I had allowed myself to hope it was a birthday surprise for me. As they passed my desk, Gary stopped. “Laurie, bring two coffees to my office, please.” In front of others, his tone was always that of a cool, detached boss. When I carried the tray inside, Camille was sitting on his leather sofa, her blouse draped off one shoulder. Gary, his ears slightly flushed, was carefully dabbing antiseptic onto a scrape on her collarbone. Seeing me enter, Camille quickly pulled her shirt back up. “Oh, Laurie, don’t get the wrong idea. An electric scooter clipped me when I was getting out of the car. Gary was just helping me clean it up.” I set the tray down, my voice flat. “It’s fine. You can take your shirt off. Let him finish.” Gary’s face darkened immediately. “Laurie, what is wrong with you? Apologize to her.” I looked him dead in the eye, a cold smile touching my lips. “Did I say something incorrect?” My defiance only angered him more. “Camille got hurt because of you in the first place, and you have the nerve to stand there acting bitter!” I blinked, caught off guard. “What?” “She heard you submitted a resignation in some fit of pique. She was so worried she ran out to find you and got hit! You need to stop this childish behavior. Honestly, if I knew you’d act like this, I never would have hired you.” Even knowing where his loyalties lay, his words hit like ice water, chilling me to the bone. I couldn’t do this anymore. “Gary, we’re done. It’s over.” The office fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Finally, Camille reached out to grab my hand. “Laurie, what is going on with you? Gary is under so much pressure right now. Please don’t do this. There’s nothing going on between us. Don’t let me ruin your relationship. Just apologize to him…” I wrenched my hand out of her grip, staring her down. “Is everything always my fault in your eyes, Camille? I recommended you for this job so you could build a career, not so you could stand beside my boyfriend and lecture me.” Camille’s face turned pale. “Enough!” Gary snapped, stepping between us and pulling Camille behind his shoulder. His eyes held nothing but cold irritation. “Camille actually has talent. Unlike some people who can only handle filing and making coffee but still demand the world revolve around them.” He picked up his desk phone and dialed HR. “Process Laurie’s resignation immediately. I want her out of here in two days.” Camille feigned distress. “Gary, don’t do this. Don’t let her walk away like this!” Gary placed a hand on her arm, looking down at me with cold condescension. “She wants to play games? Let her. Go ahead, Laurie. Walk away. But tell me—without me, with your degree, where do you think you’re going to go?” So that was my worth to him. A helpless dependent. A charity case. I touched my eyes. They were dry. Thank God I’d run out of tears for him. I straightened my shoulders, my voice completely steady. “Then I’ll expect HR to have the paperwork ready shortly, Mr. Cross.” I turned and walked out, leaving them behind. Camille made a half-hearted move to follow, but Gary caught her wrist. “Let her go. It’s always the same drama. She’ll crawl back and apologize in a couple of days.” He was right. Every fight we’d ever had ended with me swallowing my pride, begging for his attention. The few times he had reached out first were only because Camille convinced him to. But not this time. Back at the front desk, Katie was chatting up a middle-aged couple. She spotted me and whispered frantically, “Laurie! You won’t believe this. Camille’s parents are here. They said they came to meet their future son-in-law!” She grinned. “Guess who it is? Mr. Cross! I knew they were together!” My mind flashed back to last winter. Camille had claimed her parents were pressuring her into an arranged marriage and begged Gary to pretend to be her boyfriend for a weekend. I had begged him not to go, but he brushed it off as “just helping out a friend.” I guess if you play a role long enough, you start to believe it. I picked up the desk phone and dialed Gary’s extension. “Mr. Cross, your future in-laws are at the reception desk to see you.” A heavy silence stretched over the line. Then, his voice comes back, dripping with irritation. “Laurie, what kind of game is this? Are you trying to use her parents to make a scene? Grow up.” Camille rushed out of the back office. She bit her lip, whispering, “Laurie, I am so sorry. My parents just dropped by unannounced. I just need Gary to play along one last time to keep them quiet. I promise, this is the absolute last time.” I looked at her, feeling nothing but a profound sense of exhaustion. “We broke up, Camille. You don’t need my permission.” Gary stepped into the lobby, greeting her parents with a smooth, polished charm. Then, he turned to me, his voice commanding. “Laurie, don’t just stand there. Bring some tea up to the conference room.” Camille’s mother cast a critical look at my uniform. “Gary, dear, you really should set higher standards for your front desk. Obviously, we can’t expect everyone to be as accomplished as our Camille, but you don’t want just anyone representing your firm.” Gary offered a polite, agreeable smile. “Of course, Mrs. Porter.” I stood there, listening to their polite chatter, and realized that the hollow ache in my chest had gone completely numb. At five, Gary left with Camille and her parents for dinner. I went back to the apartment we shared, packed my life into two suitcases, and checked into a quiet boutique hotel down the street. The next morning, I returned to the office to sign the final exit papers. The moment I stepped into the lobby, Katie rushed over, her face pale. “Laurie, it’s a disaster! The major acquisition deal we were closing today? It fell through!” I stopped in my tracks. “Word is, someone leaked the valuation model to the competitor. The client is threatening to sue.” My phone buzzed. Gary’s name flashed on the screen. Come to my office. Now. When I walk in, Camille was already there, her eyes red-rimmed. “Laurie, how could you do this?” she gasped. “Do you have any idea how many people’s bonuses were riding on this deal?” The accusation hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Gary. “You think I did this?” Gary looked at me with a complicated, heavy expression, but he didn’t say a word to defend me. Panic and anger flared in my chest. “On what grounds? Why would you think it was me?” Gary stood up and walked over to his desk. “Yesterday, you were the only one who came into my office unsupervised while the files were out.” My hands shook so hard I had to ball them into fists. “That’s a lie. Camille was in here. Her parents were in here. They all had access. Why aren’t you checking the security cameras?” Camille broke into fresh sobs. “Laurie, I know you were angry about yesterday. I know my parents made you feel unwelcome. But this project was the lifeblood of this firm. If you had a problem with me, you should have taken it out on me, not ruined everyone else’s hard work!” Gary looked at me, his eyes cold and utterly drained of warmth. “You’ve gone too far this time, Laurie. The damages are severe. The penalty clause is a hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You’re going to pay for this.” The blood rushed to my ears. I looked him dead in the eye, my voice tight and dangerous. “I will not take the fall for something I didn’t do. If you think I’m a thief, call the police.” I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving my desk completely untouched. As I crossed the open-plan office, whispers trailed in my wake. “I heard she did it to get back at Camille.” “Always thought she was too quiet. Guess she wanted a payoff on her way out.” “She’s going to get sued. Serves her right.” A text from Gary lit up my screen: Laurie, if you issue a formal apology to the team, I will cover the settlement fees myself. I let out a dry, bitter laugh, powered down my phone, and stepped out into the crisp morning air. That evening, Gary returned to his parents’ house in the suburbs, utterly exhausted. Managing the fallout and pacifying the staff had taken all day, and the loss of the account left a heavy, sour taste in his mouth. He sank into his childhood sofa, staring at his screen, refreshing our text thread. Still nothing. His mother entered the living room, setting down a cup of tea. She looked at his worn face and sighed. “Laurie has really crossed a line this time. You’re working yourself to the bone, and instead of taking care of you at home, she runs off in the middle of a tantrum.” Gary froze, looking up. “What do you mean, Mom?” “She’s gone, Gary. You didn’t know? Her parents came and picked her up this afternoon.” Gary stood up so fast his phone clattered to the hardwood floor.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538968”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day before my father’s scheduled kidney transplant, Chris redirected his donor kidney to someone else. I stood frozen outside the Chief of Surgery’s office, listening to my husband’s calm, measured voice filter through the heavy oak door. “Charles is sixty-five,” Chris was saying to the lead transplant coordinator. “He’s lived a full, rich life. But Sadie is only twenty-two. Her life is just beginning.” “Dr. Miller, the allocation list is highly regulated—” “Even if Charles gets the kidney,” Chris interrupted, his tone carrying that absolute clinical authority I had once admired, “his body might not survive the post-op rejection phase at his age. But Sadie? She’s young. She has a future. Schedule the surgery for Sadie tomorrow. I’ll sign off on the clinical override.” Sadie. His late mentor’s daughter. His favorite student. … She was only a senior in college when she was diagnosed with end-stage renal disease. When her parents died in a car accident four years ago, Chris had stepped in as her self-appointed guardian, her protector, her constant shadow. The heavy door swung open abruptly. My eyes locked with Chris’s. I was holding a past-due notice from the hospital’s billing department, the paper trembling slightly between my fingers. For a long moment, neither of us said a word. Chris blinked, looking momentarily startled, before his features settled into a tired, familiar mask. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a soft sigh. “Since you heard everything, I suppose I don’t need to explain it to you.” He stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. “Your dad is stable on dialysis. As long as we keep up the treatments, he isn’t in immediate danger. I have a consultation in ten minutes, Grace. Go home.” I looked down at my worn flats. “Okay,” I whispered. Chris reached out, patting my head with a small, satisfied smile. “I knew you’d understand. Thank you for not making this difficult.” He turned back toward the office, and through the closing gap of the door, I heard his voice soften into a tone he never used with me anymore. He was already dialing his phone. “Don’t worry, Sadie. I’ve secured the kidney. I’ll perform the procedure myself tomorrow morning… No, don’t worry about the deductible. I’ve taken care of it. Just be a good girl, get some rest, and I’ll come by your room to check on you in a bit.” I turned around, and the tears finally spilled over, hot and silent. Deep down, a cold, surreal wave of realization washed over me. I wasn’t even surprised. It was the quiet, hollow feeling of a heart finally breaking for the last time. Four years of swallowed bitterness, of quiet endurance, of convincing myself that I was just being paranoid—it all evaporated in an instant. The final thread of love I held for Chris was cut. When my father first fell ill, Chris had claimed he couldn’t act as his primary physician, citing a rule about treating immediate family to avoid emotional bias. But now, he had no qualms about abusing his position to strip my father of the organ he had waited two agonizing years to receive, all to save Sadie. The doctors had warned me that while my father’s condition seemed stable, dialysis was a ticking clock. A transplant was his only real chance at survival. I had spent twenty-four months coordinate-calling UNOS, praying for a match, only to have my husband steal it away with a single clinical sign-off. Since we married, I had put my own career on hold to manage our home and care for my father. Every month, Chris gave me an allowance. I spent only what was absolutely necessary, saving every spare penny in a joint account. The account was in his name, but it was funded by my thriftiness and the thirty thousand dollars I had secured by selling my father’s modest cottage in Oregon. It was our collective safety net—our fertility savings, my father’s medical fund. We needed fifty thousand dollars to cover the hospital’s transplant deposit and post-op care. But when I had walked up to the billing desk this morning, the clerk told me the account was empty. Chris had cleared it out. Every single cent. My best friend, Paula, had warned me. “The day Chris brought Sadie into your home,” she’d said, “was the day he stopped being your husband.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, felt the cold weight of the voice recorder in my purse—a habit I’d picked up to log Dad’s complex medical instructions—and walked out of the ward. “Hi,” I told the administrative assistant at the front desk, my voice devoid of emotion. “Could you point me toward a notary? I need to print some divorce papers.” When I returned to the hospital wing with the paperwork tucked into my bag, Chris wasn’t in his office. The man who claimed he was too busy with pre-op consultations was sitting comfortably in Sadie’s private room. They were sharing a quiet, intimate moment, their heads bent close over a book of poetry. I stood at the threshold, watching them. I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel jealous. I just felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment for the foolish girl I had been for seven years. Sadie’s eyes were bright, a delicate flush on her cheeks as she looked up at him. “I wish we had met when the world was younger,” she quoted softly, her voice dripping with romantic melancholy. “Or perhaps, I wish I had been born a little sooner.” Chris chuckled, reaching out to gently pinch her chin. “What kind of game is this? Are you trying to tell me I’m getting old, kiddo?” Sadie wrapped her fingers around his wrist, her touch lingering. “Never. It’s just… a tragic sort of timing, isn’t it?” Chris’s expression softened into something intensely tender. “We make our own timing.” “If I don’t survive tomorrow…” Sadie whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Will you carry me in your heart, Chris?” “Don’t talk like that,” Chris said firmly, brushing the tear away with his thumb. “You’re going to live, Sadie. I’ll make sure of it. I promise you.” She leaned forward, burying her face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his white doctor’s coat. I cleared my dry throat twice. Sadie flinched as if she had been struck, pulling away from Chris in a flurry of panic. Before I could even open my mouth, her eyes filled with tears and she began to stammer. “I-I’m so sorry, Grace. I was just… I’m so scared about tomorrow, and Chris is the only family I have left to comfort me. Please don’t be mad at him. There’s nothing going on between us, I swear.” Chris stood up, clearing his throat, his face hardening slightly as he looked at me. “Sadie has severe pre-surgery anxiety, Grace. She’s incredibly dependent on me for support. Don’t start making up scenarios in your head.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my phone vibrated violently in my hand. “Is this Grace Collins?” a sharp voice asked from the other end. “Your father has just gone into acute cardiac distress. We need you in the ICU immediately.” The world tilted on its axis. I forgot about Chris. I forgot about Sadie. I turned on my heel and ran toward the elevators. My mother had passed away when I was a toddler. My father was the only person in the world who had ever loved me unconditionally. As I ran, the tears finally broke through. “Please, Dad. Just hold on. Please.” Four excruciating hours later, the red light above the ICU operating room finally turned off. The attending physician stepped out, looking exhausted. He pulled off his mask and offered a sympathetic, weary look. “We stabilized him, Grace, but his kidneys are failing rapidly. We can’t keep doing this. He needs that transplant. If we don’t get him into surgery within the next forty-eight hours, I don’t think his heart will survive another episode.” I nodded, my chest aching so acutely I could barely breathe. As we wheeled my father back to his room, the charge nurse caught my arm, pulling me into a quiet corner. She handed me a slip of paper. “Mrs. Collins, with this latest emergency intervention, your father’s outstanding balance is at ten thousand dollars. More importantly, the hospital requires a forty-thousand-dollar deposit to keep him on the active recipient list for emergency matching. If we don’t receive the payment by tonight, the system will automatically bypass him.” I stared at the numbers. Fifty thousand dollars. Since my father’s illness had progressed, I had exhausted every resource. I had borrowed from every relative, every old family friend, until their voices turned apologetic and distant. Paula had already lent me her savings—five thousand dollars—but it was a drop in the ocean. My husband was my only remaining option. I called Chris’s cell phone over and over. It went straight to voicemail. I checked Sadie’s room, but he was gone. Desperate, I drove back to our suburban home. I walked into our bedroom and found him sleeping deeply, preparing for Sadie’s surgery the next morning. My father was fighting for his life in a sterile room, and my husband was tucked safely under our duvet. A wave of blind fury took over. I grabbed the edge of the blanket and ripped it off him. Chris jolted awake, his face twisting into instant irritation. “Grace! What the hell is wrong with you? I just got to sleep. You know how critical Sadie’s surgery is tomorrow. I need my rest!” I threw the empty joint debit card onto the mattress. “Where is the money, Chris?” His eyes flickered with a brief, guilty shadow before settling into defensive coldness. “Your dad doesn’t need the transplant immediately. I used the funds to cover Sadie’s deductibles and secure her surgical slot.” I stared at him, a terrible, dry laugh escaping my throat. “That was joint marital property. How could you clear out our account without telling me?” “Because I earned every cent of it, Grace!” he snapped, sitting up and glaring at me. “I am the provider in this house. I have the right to allocate my income where it actually matters.” The words cut like a physical blade. This was the man who, on our wedding day, had kissed my knuckles and promised that his success would always be our success. This was the man who had insisted I quit my stressful job to manage our life. My stomach cramped violently. I folded over, clutching my midsection. “You earned it? Chris… thirty thousand dollars of that money came from the sale of my father’s house. How dare you call that yours? How dare you give it to Sadie when my dad is dying?” Chris threw his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his face. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Charles is stable. He can wait.” “He was in the ICU today!” I screamed, my voice cracking. “He almost died, Chris! The doctor said if he doesn’t get the transplant tomorrow, there won’t be a next time. Please. I am begging you. Go to the hospital, reverse the transfer, and reinstate my dad’s priority. Please.” Chris stood up, gently but firmly removing my hands from his shirt. “Grace, look at the reality here. Your dad is old. Even if we put him on the table tomorrow, there’s a high chance his heart won’t take the anesthesia. We’ve spent a fortune on his dialysis already. And even if the surgery works, the anti-rejection medications are thousands of dollars a month. We don’t even have children of our own yet. Do you have any concept of our future? Why put him through the trauma of a major surgery at sixty-five?” “Shut up!” I cried, slapping my hands over my ears. “Shut your mouth! My dad has no pre-existing conditions other than his kidneys. He passed every single cardiac clearance! He would survive it! You stole his chance. You stole his money!” Chris remained silent, his jaw clenched. I sank to my knees on the hardwood floor, the last shreds of my dignity crumbling. I grabbed the hem of his trousers, looking up through a blur of tears. “Chris, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll sign whatever post-nuptial agreement you want. I’ll work three jobs. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying you back. Just save my dad.” He didn’t move. When I looked up, I didn’t see sympathy in his eyes. I saw disgust. He pulled away, leaving me kneeling on the floor. “Get up, Grace. You’re acting like a hysterical, manipulative child. If you want the truth, fine: I did it on purpose. I knew that if you couldn’t clear the deposit, the donor match would automatically default to Sadie. She’s young, she’s brilliant, and she has her whole life ahead of her. This kidney belongs to her. Let your dad wait for the next list. I’ll make sure he’s prioritized next time.” He grabbed his coat and keys from the dresser. “I’m going to stay at a hotel tonight. I can’t deal with your drama before a major operation.” The front door clicked shut. The house fell into a deafening, suffocating silence. I sat on the cold floor, staring at the empty wall. There was only one person left who could stop this. I wiped my face, picked up my phone, and dialed Sadie’s number. “Grace?” her soft, innocent voice answered. “Sadie,” I said, my voice trembling but clear. “Please. I’ve helped take care of you for four years. I cooked your meals, I washed your clothes, I sat by your bed when you were sick. Please tell Chris to give my dad back his match.” There was a brief, chilly pause on the other line. When she spoke again, the sweet, childlike tone was gone, replaced by something smooth and cold. “Grace, I don’t know what you’re talking about. The hospital handles the donor lists. I have nothing to do with it.” “Don’t play dumb with me, Sadie,” I whispered. “I know Chris transferred my dad’s deposit money to your account. I will make a deal with you. If you give the money back so my dad can have his surgery, I will divorce Chris tomorrow. You can have him. Just save my father.” Silence stretched over the line. Then, Sadie let out a quiet, mocking laugh. “Honestly, Grace, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. It’s just that all my money is tied up in Chris’s investment portfolios. He handles everything for me. He told me that if I liquidated my accounts now, I’d lose thousands in interest. Besides… Chris wants me to have this kidney. Why would I reject his gift? This kidney was always meant for me.” Before I could say another word, she hung up. I stared at the screen as the dial tone beeped in my ear. I sat in the darkness of our bedroom, laughing and crying until my throat was raw. How blind had I been? For four years, I had treated this girl like a younger sister. I had managed her diets, massaged her aching limbs, and cleaned her bathroom. And she had looked me in the eye every day, waiting for the perfect moment to strip away the only family I had left. I sat in that room all night, watching the shadow of the window frame move slowly across the floor. The next morning, when I arrived at the hospital, Chris was already in the operating room, performing Sadie’s transplant. I didn’t even make it to my father’s room before the head nurse grabbed my arm, her face pale. “Mrs. Collins! Your father went into sudden, acute renal failure ten minutes ago. He’s in the emergency resuscitation room now! Come with me!” My legs turned to lead. I felt as if I were moving through water. Over the next three hours, doctors and nurses rushed in and out of the double doors. I lost count of how many consent forms I signed, my hand scribbling my name automatically. Then, the doors swung open one last time. The attending physician walked out, his head bowed. He didn’t have to say a word. “I’m so sorry, Grace,” he said softly, putting a hand on my trembling shoulder. “His system just couldn’t fight anymore. The toxins built up too quickly, causing a domino effect of multi-organ failure. We did everything we could.” My father was dead. He was gone. Only twenty-four hours away from the surgery that would have saved him. If Chris hadn’t stolen his kidney, if Chris hadn’t cleared out his account, my father would be recovering in a warm room right now. I didn’t cry. My chest felt cold, empty, and perfectly still. I pulled out my phone and dialed Paula’s number. “Paula,” I said, my voice flat. “Help me. I’m divorcing Chris.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538969”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the biological daughter the Aldridge family only bothered to find after eighteen years of wandering. Yet, my own brother, Christian, found my rough edges too embarrassing to bear. He stood by and watched when his beloved foster sister, Daisy, pushed me down the grand staircase of their estate. I ended up in a sterile hospital room with a shattered leg and zero family visits. Only Thomas—my fiancé, Thomas King—showed up every day, bringing me warm soup and wiping my feverish skin. He fought Christian for me, kicked Daisy out of the house, and eventually staged a grand proposal that felt like a movie. He promised to love me forever. I thought I finally had a home. Until I stumbled upon a viral thread online. “Have you ever seen what real favoritism looks like?” A comment with millions of likes caught my attention. “I’m technically the foster sister, but my brother refuses to acknowledge his blood-related one. Even the real sister’s fiancé is completely wrapped around my finger, loving me to the absolute core. To make it up to me, he said he’s going to dump her at their wedding tomorrow—right in front of everyone.” “Surely no one is favored more than me!” Then, a brand-new reply appeared: “My sweet girl deserves to be a princess forever. Anyone who makes you upset—I’ll handle them.” The avatar was hauntingly familiar. It belonged to the secret burner account of Thomas King, the man who had sworn to love me for the rest of his life. … My fingertips turned white, and my phone nearly slipped from my hand. I tapped on Thomas’s private burner account, my thumb trembling as I scrolled through his past posts, one by one. Not a single one was about me. Instead, they were filled with flirtatious exchanges with Daisy. Every word cut like a knife. I scrolled back to two weeks ago—my twenty-eighth birthday. It was the first birthday I had celebrated since returning to the Aldridge house four years ago. I remembered closing my eyes and making a wish as the candle flickered, my heart full of hope. I wished for a peaceful life, for Thomas to love me forever, and for us to finally build a home of our own. But at that exact second, Thomas had sent a message to Daisy: “Got the strawberry cake you wanted.” Daisy’s reply came a second later, dripping with affection: “Hurry up and come see if the flowers I bought look pretty.” Thomas’s indulgent reply followed immediately: “Wait for me. I’ll head over as soon as I deal with this nuisance.” While I had been closing my eyes, praying for our future, he was flirting with my sister. The pain was so sharp it made me choke. The heavy rain pouring outside my window today was identical to the storm on my birthday. We had been at a bakery when Daisy called. He stood up immediately, without even bothering to wish me a happy birthday. He told me there was an urgent crisis at the office and he had to leave. I had foolishly held onto his sleeve. “The rain is too heavy outside. Can you please just stay until we finish the cake?” He had ripped his hand away with so much force that I stumbled, hitting the corner of the table. Frosting smeared onto my clothes. “Maeve, be reasonable. The company’s business is important.” Back then, I had kept lying to myself, whispering that Thomas simply had no choice. I sat alone, eating the bitter cake in silence. But the truth was, he simply didn’t belong to me. My hands shook violently as I dialed his number. It rang twice before he answered, his voice dripping with impatience. “Maeve, what is it? I’m exhausted trying to coordinate everything for the wedding tomorrow.” Beneath his voice, a woman’s soft, deliberate giggle drifted through the receiver. “Hang up. Focus on playing with me.” My lips trembled, but before I could utter a word, the line went dead. I stared blankly at the screen. Below the chat log on the burner account was a photo of two holding hands. The larger hand had a small mole on the index finger and wore the matching band I had bought him last month. Inside were engraved the initials “M & T”—Maeve and Thomas. But the hand he was holding wasn’t mine. Thunder rumbled outside, echoing the hollow ache in my chest. I deleted every single photo of Thomas from my phone, then dialed Wyatt Mercer’s number. The sound of the rain drowned out my quiet, resolute tears. I spoke clearly, letting every syllable land. “Wyatt, I’m not going to the wedding tomorrow. I’m choosing a different groom.” Hearing my shaky breath, Wyatt was silent for a brief moment before he spoke with absolute certainty. “Wait for me. I’ll marry you.” Barely ten minutes after I hung up, the front door clicked open. Thomas stepped inside, bringing the cold night air with him. In his hand was a box containing a strawberry cake—the exact same brand he had taken from the bakery on my birthday. His eyes held nothing but tired obligation. “I know you’re upset,” he said, his tone flat. “I bought your favorite strawberry cake. Stop throwing a tantrum.” I sat on the sofa, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I don’t like strawberry cake.” Thomas froze, his impatience showing. “How is that possible? You literally ate it on your birthday.” “For as long as I can remember, I have loved mangoes and hated strawberries.” I stared into his cold, unfamiliar eyes. “Thomas, you’ve never actually remembered a single thing I like, have you?” He seemed to notice my pale face for the first time, but he remained silent. My legs throbbed with a dull, familiar ache. “The woman’s voice on the phone earlier… who was it?” His tone turned defensive and self-righteous. “It was Daisy. She was kicked out of the Aldridge house because of you. She lost everything that should have been hers.” He took a step closer, looking down at me. “You took her brother, and you took the fiancé she loved for years. Maeve, my spending time with her and comforting her is just my way of paying back your debt.” “Paying back my debt.” How laughably absurd. Nobody paid back “my” debt when I was pushed down the stairs and left to heal alone. Nobody paid back my debt when I was shivering and neglected in the orphanage. The girl who caused all the pain received nothing but adoration, while I, the victim, was expected to carry the weight of her sins. A quiet, hollow laugh escaped my lips. It turned into a sob, and tears spilled down my cheeks without warning. In the middle of the suffocating silence, the doorbell rang. The maid opened it, revealing Daisy standing there in a white dress, looking timid and frail. “Maeve, Thomas left his wedding gift for me at his place, and I forgot to take it. I came to return it.” She walked slowly into the living room and set down a gift box. With one glance, the blood in my veins turned to ice. Hanging around her neck was my jade pendant. It was the only piece of my past I had kept during my eighteen years of wandering. It was the token that proved my identity to the Aldridges, and eventually, the token of love I had given to Thomas, believing he would treasure it. I had told him it was the most precious thing I owned. But he had given it to Daisy. I bolted upright, the old injury in my leg screaming in pain as I stumbled forward. “Give it back! That’s mine!” Daisy shrank back, deliberately letting her grip slip. The jade pendant fell, striking the marble floor. A sharp, agonizing shatter echoed through the room. In the chaos, Daisy fell to the ground with a cry, her forehead grazing a sharp edge. “Sister, don’t push me! I was giving it back!” But my hands were already on the floor, ignoring her, trying to gather the broken shards. The sharp stone sliced into my palms, and blood welled up instantly. The physical sting was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. I crouched there, weeping, trying to piece together the fragments. This was the last piece of myself I had left. The next second, a harsh force ripped me away. Thomas rushed over, shoving me aside so hard that I crashed onto the floor. He lifted Daisy into his arms with absolute care. When he looked back at me, his eyes held nothing but pure disgust. “Maeve, you are genuinely wicked. You couldn’t even let her keep a pendant? You deliberately hurt her. You’re vile, and you will never compare to Daisy.” He carried Daisy out of the house, his steps hurried, never once looking back at me as I lay bleeding on the floor. Outside, the rain poured. Inside, I was left alone with shattered jade and bloodied hands. I had lost the pendant, lost my hope, and finally, lost myself. Blood dripped from my fingers onto the floor. The coldness of the tiles seeped into my skin, and my phone began to ring. It was Mother Martha’s nurse from the hospital, her voice trembling with panic. “Maeve! You need to get to the medical center right now! Mr. King’s men turned off Mother Martha’s ventilator! Her oxygen levels are dropping fast! He said… he said if you don’t behave and apologize to Daisy, he won’t let them turn it back on!” My entire world crumbled. Mother Martha was the only light in my eighteen years of darkness. She was the one who shielded me when others beat and bullied me. Thomas had found my only weakness, and he was crushing it. I scrambled to my feet, stumbling out of the house into the downpour. The rain lashed against my face, blinding me as I hailed a cab. By the time I reached the hospital, I was soaked to the bone. At the end of the long hallway stood Thomas, immaculate in his black suit, holding Daisy, who had a small bandage on her forehead. When he saw me shivering and drenched, a cold, mocking smile touched his lips. My knees gave out, and I fell onto the hard floor. I looked up, stripping away every ounce of my dignity. “Thomas, please. Turn the ventilator back on. Save her. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fight you anymore.” Daisy leaned into his chest, her voice sweet and fragile. “Thomas, Maeve didn’t mean to push me. Let’s just forget it…” But Thomas’s voice was merciless. “If you want to save her, fine. Wear those wet, dirty clothes and crawl from this ward all the way to the outpatient clinic. Apologize to Daisy with every step.” Nurses, doctors, and patients stopped to stare, their eyes burning into me. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. For Mother Martha, I had to do it. I dragged my broken, aching body forward, my knees hitting the cold tiles over and over. Every movement felt like my leg bone was being snapped in half. The wind howling through the corridor was freezing, and my vision began to fade. With trembling hands, I dialed Christian. “Christian… please, tell Thomas to stop. Ask him to save Mother Martha. It hurts so much.” On the other end, my brother’s voice was ice. “Maeve, you brought this on yourself by hurting Daisy. Don’t humiliate the family any further.” He hung up. The last string holding me to sanity snapped. I kept crawling, repeating my apologies like a broken machine. My knees were raw and bleeding, completely numb. When it was finally over, I looked up at Thomas. “I did it. Turn it on.” Thomas gave a curt nod, instructing his assistant to restart the machine. He didn’t even spare me a glance. The adrenaline faded, and the world went black as I collapsed. When I opened my eyes, the nurse beside my bed looked at me with deep pity. “Maeve, you’re four weeks pregnant. And… the elderly woman from the orphanage passed away thirty minutes ago. We couldn’t save her.” Pregnant. And orphaned again. The double blow left my mind completely blank. I was carrying Thomas’s child, while his hands had effectively pulled the plug on the only person who had ever truly loved me. My tears soaked into the white sheets. I didn’t scream or wail. I just felt an empty, freezing void in my chest. The door opened, and Thomas walked in, looking perfectly calm. He walked to my bedside, his voice flat. “The wedding schedule is finalized. Get up and try on your dress. Don’t be late.” I kept my eyes closed, silent. He didn’t seem to care. He walked out to the balcony to take a call, leaving the glass door slightly ajar. His assistant’s hesitant voice drifted in: “Mr. King, are you really going to humiliate Maeve at the wedding by broadcasting those private photos? She’s been by your side for so long. Do you really want to put her through that publicly?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into the fresh stitches on my palms. The scent of blood filled my nose as I held my breath, waiting for his answer. After a brief silence, Thomas spoke with cold determination. “Just this once. Making her apologize publicly is the final peace offering for Daisy. Once the wedding is over, I’ll put the past behind me and build a quiet life with Maeve.” “Just this once.” The agony I was forced to endure was merely a gift to appease another woman. I closed my eyes, the final spark of my love for him dying out. Thomas stepped back inside, his warm fingers brushing my cheek. He leaned down and kissed away my tears, his voice tender, just like all the times he had comforted me before. It was as if he hadn’t been the one who forced me to crawl on my knees just yesterday. “Maeve, did you have a bad dream? Don’t blame me. You love me too much to stay angry, right?” I trembled, my tears spilling onto his lips. “Wake her up in five minutes if she doesn’t get up,” he instructed the nurse as he left. As soon as the door closed, I pressed the call button and requested a medical abortion. The procedure was agonizingly painful, but compared to the hollow ache in my chest, it was nothing. Afterward, I discharged myself, went to the crematorium, and held Mother Martha’s ashes close to my chest. In this vast, cold world, it was just her and me again. I packed my belongings and quietly left the city behind. Before I left, I had a courier deliver three items to the wedding venue. A certified medical record of the abortion, a signed document legally cutting ties with the Aldridges, and a gold-embossed red wedding invitation. The invitation read: “Groom: Wyatt Mercer. Bride: Maeve Henderson.” At the Aldridge estate’s wedding hall, guests were waiting for the bride. Christian crushed his cigarette under his shoe and looked at Thomas. “This is the last time. Maeve is still my sister.” Thomas gave him a mock shove. “I know. If I didn’t want your family to finally appreciate her and accept her fully, I wouldn’t have gone through with this ‘apology’ stunt.” Daisy ran over, holding a box. “Look! Maeve sent this.” The box was opened, and both Thomas and Christian turned deathly pale.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538970”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For three years, my life had revolved around my mother’s hospital bed. Today, as I was wiping her down with a warm, damp cloth—just as I did every Saturday morning—she suddenly looked up at me, her expression hardening into a cold, unfamiliar mask. “You’re quite the actress, aren’t you, Lauren?” she said, her voice dripping with venom. I froze, the washcloth dripping onto the linoleum floor. “What?” “Don’t act dumb. You think I don’t know why you’re playing the dutiful daughter? You just want everyone to praise you, and you want a cut of my estate.” She let out a dry, rasping laugh. “Well, don’t even dream about it. I’ve already had my will notarized. My two houses are going to your sister and your brother. You get nothing.” A cold numbness spread from my chest to my fingertips. For thirty-six months, I had given up my weekends to care for her. On weekdays, I rushed to the clinic after work, barely having time to breathe. I paid for her private nurses, her medications, her co-pays, and her specialized meals entirely out of my own pocket. I had done it out of love, believing that she would eventually see my devotion. Instead, she saw a performance. I thought about the social media posts I had scrolled past on my phone just minutes before entering her room. My older sister, Clara, was posting photos of a beachside dinner in Hawaii. My younger brother, Austin, was sharing videos of his family splashing around at a resort in Orlando. While they chased the sun, I was knee-deep in antiseptic smells and hospital bills. And this was my reward. I squeezed the washcloth, then let it drop heavily back into the plastic basin. I looked at her, letting a slow, bitter smile touch my lips. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “I was playing a part. And you know what? I’m done. Let your actually ‘devoted’ children take care of you from now on.” … The washcloth hit the soapy water with a splash, spraying a few drops onto her arm. “See? I knew it!” she shrieked, wiping her skin with a tissue. “I expose you, and you immediately drop the act! You don’t even have the decency to pretend anymore!” She glared at me, her voice sharp and mocking. “Clara and Austin are the only ones who actually love me. At least they’re genuine. They don’t have a calculating bone in their bodies. Every time you walk in here looking so worried, it makes me sick.” I stared at the puddle on the floor, a quiet, hollow laugh escaping my throat. For three years, I had bled myself dry for her. Clara and Austin only showed up once a month, bringing a cheap gift basket and staying for ten minutes. Yet, they were the golden children. I was the viper in the grass. The warmth left my body, replaced by a profound, freezing indifference. Without looking at her, I took out my phone. “Fine. If they’re so devoted, let’s see them step up.” I dialed Clara first. As soon as she picked up, I bypassed the pleasantries. “Clara, Mom needs you. She wants you to come and take over her care.” The background noise on her end was a mix of ocean waves and laughter. She clearly thought I was just asking her to pay a quick visit when she got back. “What do you mean, take over? Aren’t you there? You’re her primary caregiver, Lauren.” “Mom wants you to do it,” I repeated, my voice flat. “Permanently.” The silence on the other end stretched for several agonizing seconds. When Clara finally spoke, her tone had lost its relaxed vacation vibe. “Lauren… what are you talking about? You’ve been managing fine. Why would you just stop? Besides, I have so much on my plate once I get back from Hawaii. How am I supposed to find the time?” I didn’t argue. “It’s what Mom wants. The message has been delivered. Do what you want with it.” I hung up and immediately called Austin. He was currently at a water park, his kids screaming happily in the background. I repeated the exact same words. Austin gasped. “Lauren, are you out of your mind? I have a full-time job and a family to support. I don’t have the luxury of sitting in a hospital room all day.” I let out a soft laugh. Because, apparently, I didn’t have a job or a life of my own. My mother listened to both conversations. Even though she heard them make excuses, she didn’t look angry. Instead, she tossed her crumpled tissue into the basin and sneered. “Do you think making those calls makes you look good? They love me, they’re just busy with real responsibilities. They aren’t like you, constantly calculating.” She believed I was throwing a tantrum, staging a little show to force her into apologizing. I picked up my coat from the chair. “I hope they don’t keep you waiting too long.” I walked out, shutting the heavy door behind me. Almost instantly, my phone buzzed with a notification from the hospital’s billing department: “Dear Ms. Davies, your mother’s account currently has an outstanding balance of $3,000. Please settle this immediately to avoid service disruption.” For three years, I had absorbed every single cent of her medical expenses. During the first year, I had tried to ask my siblings for help. Clara had texted back: “Lauren, I’m strapped for cash. She’s your mother too, and you make decent money. Just cover it for now.” Austin had replied: “I’ve got a mortgage and preschool fees, Lauren. I literally have nothing to spare.” Yet, one was in Hawaii, and the other was at an expensive Florida resort. I checked my bank account balance: $5,000. Five years of hard work, and my savings had been entirely devoured by this hospital. All to be branded a liar. I stared at the screen, took a deep, shuddering breath, and locked my phone. I wasn’t paying it. Not anymore. The next morning, I was sitting at my desk at work, holding a cup of coffee, when my phone chimed. It was a text from my mother. “Where is my breakfast? Are you trying to starve me to death?” For three years, I had ordered her favorite breakfast diner delivery to her room at exactly eight in the morning. I typed back: “Call your devoted son and daughter.” I set my phone face down and focused on my spreadsheets. Thirty minutes later, the sibling group chat erupted. Clara @’ed me: “Lauren, what is wrong with you? Are you seriously trying to starve Mom? I had to log into my delivery app all the way from Maui to get her food. Can’t you do anything right?” I felt a cold rage bubble up, and I let myself type freely. “Wow. You ordered one breakfast in three years and you’re already exhausted?” “I’ve done it every day for a thousand days. Tell me again who isn’t doing enough?” The chat went silent. It took Clara several minutes to type her response. “But you’re right there in the city! Why should I have to manage this from thousands of miles away?” Then, she did something so profoundly petty I almost couldn’t believe it. She sent a split-bill request to the group chat for $50. “I paid for the delivery. We split it three ways. That’s only fair, right?” $25 each from me and Austin. She pressed a button on her phone and expected a medal. Meanwhile, my three years of labor and savings were treated as my default duty. I ignored the request. Suddenly, a voice message from my mother popped up in the chat. “You think I care about your miserable breakfasts? Those bland, tasteless meals were practically elder abuse!” She attached a photo. Clara had ordered her a greasy spread of bacon, pancakes, and syrup. It was exactly the kind of food the doctors had strictly forbidden for her recovery. I had spent hours researching low-sodium, high-fiber diets to keep her healthy. What a fool I had been. I locked my phone and spent the rest of the day burying myself in my work. When the clock struck five, I thought I could finally go home and rest. But then, the hospital’s head nurse texted me directly, asking about the monthly caregiver payment. The private nurse’s agency fee was $3,500 a month, always paid by me. I didn’t hesitate. I copied Clara and Austin’s contact details and sent them over. “Please contact these two numbers for all future financial matters.” The nurse replied with a polite acknowledgment. But an hour later, she messaged me again. “Ms. Davies, I’ve tried calling both numbers and sent several messages, but no one is responding.” Of course they weren’t. As soon as money was involved, they turned into ghosts. I sent her their husbands’ and wives’ phone numbers. “Try these.” An hour after that, the sibling chat exploded again. Clara @’ed me, furious: “Lauren, are you insane? The nurse called Tyler while he was in a business meeting demanding money! If you don’t care about your reputation, I care about mine!” I replied calmly: “If you cared about your reputation, you would have paid the bill when they called you first.” Clara sent a flurry of angry voice notes, her voice screeching through the speaker. “We thought it was a scam! You’ve always handled the bills! Have you lost your mind?” I typed: “I handled them. Key word: handled. I am no longer responsible.” Austin, who usually stayed quiet to avoid conflict, finally piped up. “Lauren, you can’t be serious. She’s our mother. We’re a family. Why are you being so calculated about this? If you don’t take care of her, who will?” The absolute entitlement of his words made my blood run cold. “You will,” I replied. “Which is exactly what you should have been doing for the last three years.” He stopped typing. A moment later, Clara posted another split-bill request. “The nurse costs $3,500. I just paid it. We split it three ways. Send me your share.” She added: “And don’t forget the $25 from breakfast.” I didn’t reply. A few hours later, the private nurse herself messaged me. “Ms. Davies, I’ve been let go. Your sister told the agency that a full-time nurse is a waste of money and that they are switching to a part-time home health aide who only visits for three hours a day. I’m so sorry. I know how much work your mother requires.” Clara thought she was saving money. She had never had to empty a bedpan or clean up after a paralyzed patient who had lost all bladder control. She had no idea what she was doing. The part-time aide wouldn’t be enough, and my mother would soon realize what it felt like to be left completely alone in her own mess. But that was no longer my concern. Over the next few days, an unspoken truce of silence settled between my mother and me. We didn’t exchange a single text. On the third day, Clara returned from Hawaii. She posted a selfie from the hospital room. In the photo, my mother’s hair was greasy and uncombed, and her hospital gown was stained. The part-time aide only did the bare minimum before her shift ended, leaving no one to help her with personal hygiene. On the fifth day, Austin returned. On the sixth, he took his wife and kids to visit. Right after his visit, he messaged me in the group chat. “Lauren, why hasn’t the hospital bill been paid? The nurse literally cornered me in the hallway. Do you know how embarrassing that was? Wire me the money right now so I can pay them.” I had received the late notices on my phone earlier that day. I had simply deleted them. I replied: “If you’re embarrassed, pay it yourself.” Austin started typing, but Clara cut in first. “Lauren, when are you going to pay me back for the nurse and the food? I have to pay my daughter’s tuition. Send me the $1,200 now.” Clara had been sending payment requests daily, which I had consistently ignored. Austin chimed back in: “Fine, I’ll pay the hospital bill. But we are splitting it. Every single cent.” They both sent new split-bill requests. I actually laughed out loud. I had been waiting for them to bring up the finances. They had just handed me the perfect opening. I pulled up the spreadsheet I had spent the last week compiling. It was a meticulous record of every single co-pay, nurse fee, medication cost, and dietary expense from the last thirty-six months. I uploaded the PDF to the chat. Then, I sent a split-bill request of my own. $80,000. “Three years of expenses. $120,000 total. Your share is $40,000 each. Pay me, then we can talk about splitting this month’s bills.” The group chat went dead. It stayed silent for a long, heavy minute. Finally, Clara typed: “Lauren, is this really necessary? We’re family. Why are you dragging up things from years ago?” Austin followed: “Exactly. She’s our mother. Why are you acting like a debt collector?” They had no problem requesting $25 for a delivery order, but when it came to their actual responsibilities, we were “family.” “If we aren’t counting pennies,” I replied, “then let’s talk about the houses. We’re family, so I should get my equal share, right?” Austin quickly typed: “No way!” He deleted the message two seconds later, but I had already seen it. My heart sank, though I wasn’t surprised. My father had left two properties when he passed away ten years ago. They had been kept under my mother’s name. I had foolishly assumed that, as one of three children, I would be treated equally. Instead, the three of them had quietly sliced up the pie and left me with the crumbs. Then, my mother sent a furious voice note. I tapped it, and her voice echoed in my quiet apartment. “I knew it! I knew you were only sniffing around for the properties! Thank God I saw through your little act and left everything to Clara and Austin. Take your miserable money, and don’t you dare call yourself my daughter ever again!” A moment later, a notification popped up on my phone. To my shock, a bank transfer of $120,000 had hit my account. It seemed my mother had used the entirety of her personal savings—money she had been hoarding—just to pay me off and prove she didn’t need me. I tapped “Accept” without a single shred of guilt. I stood up, walked to my desk, and pulled out a letter of resignation I had drafted days ago. Over the past three years, five different major firms had tried to recruit me, offering double my current salary. Every time, my answer had been the same: “Thank you, but my mother is paralyzed, and I need to stay close to her hospital.” The recruiters had always been understanding, offering their sympathies. And so, I had stayed at a high-stress, low-paying job just to be near her. She had been my entire world. I walked into my manager’s office and placed the letter on his desk. He looked at it, sighed, and nodded. He knew I was overqualified for the position anyway. Within twenty-four hours, my exit paperwork was finalized. A few days later, I had an interview with a firm I had always admired. The HR director smiled warmly. “Ms. Davies, we’d love to have you, but the position is based at our corporate headquarters.” “Where is that?” I asked. “Seattle.” Nearly two thousand miles away. I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it.” We agreed on a start date for the beginning of the next month. With a few weeks of freedom ahead of me, I decided to treat myself to a vacation. I booked a flight to Miami. I muted the sibling group chat, but I couldn’t help but see my mother’s public social media updates occasionally. On the first day of my trip, she posted: “So blessed to have my wonderful oldest daughter bring me these amazing health supplements.” Then, she messaged me privately: “My life is so much more peaceful without your fake attitude. Clara is ten times the daughter you’ll ever be.” I read it and chose not to reply. On the second day, she posted a picture of a takeout box: “My son bought me dinner tonight. Real love.” She messaged me again: “You think I can’t survive without you? You really thought you were indispensable. Keep ignoring my messages, let’s see how long you can keep up this childish silent treatment.” Again, I ignored her. By the third day, her messages stopped. On the seventh day of my vacation, I was standing in the airport, dragging my suitcase toward the security line, when my phone rang. It was the hospital. As soon as I answered, the nurse’s stressed voice filled my ear. “What is wrong with you people? Your mother is sitting in her own waste, she hasn’t eaten in twelve hours, and she’s practically delirious. Does anyone in your family actually care about her?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538971”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three days after Chris blindsided me with a brutal, sudden breakup text, a local life-update video popped up on my feed. The cover was a registry photo against a vibrant red background. She was beaming, her eyes crinkled into happy crescents as she rested her head on Chris’s shoulder. The caption read: “From mentor to husband—our exclusive eight-year chapter!” My mind went entirely blank. The comment section was a cascading waterfall of congratulations, and familiar avatars began popping up one after another. Chris had commented: “You were worth every second of the wait.” I scrolled down. There was a comment left by my best friend, Bridget, just minutes ago: “The storm has passed, and my ultimate ship has finally sailed! It’s official! I’m crying!” My fingertips wouldn’t stop shaking. Chris and I had been together for eleven years. He had been dating his student, Mia, for eight. Bridget knew. His friends knew. And they had all spent nearly a decade keeping me in the dark. I read those words over and over until they blurred. A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest, blocking my airway. I tapped back into the post and left a single comment beneath the sea of congratulations: “So it turns out my eleven-year relationship was just the backdrop for your exclusive eight-year chapter.” … Almost instantly, my phone began to vibrate. The first call was from Bridget. “Rachel… you saw it?” I didn’t say a word. She hesitated for a beat, her voice softening into a placating tone. “Could you… maybe delete that comment? Mia is really sensitive. If she sees it, it’s going to ruin her day.” The girl’s name was Mia. I stood by the elevator doors of my apartment building. A draft swept through the hallway, sending a sharp chill down my neck. Just last night, Bridget had been sitting on the curb with me, sharing a six-pack of cheap beer and calling Chris a spineless piece of trash. Today, she was fiercely shielding the woman who had taken my place. “When did you find out about them?” I asked, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. A heavy silence stretched over the line. “Rachel, playing detective now… it doesn’t change anything,” Bridget sighed. “You and Chris are over. You need to move on and find peace. I’m only telling you this for your own good.” For my own good. Keeping me looking like a fool while everyone laughed behind my back—that was for my own good. I opened my mouth to speak, but a young, bright voice cut in on her end. “Bridget, come on! We’re waiting for you to cut the cake!” The line went dead. My words died in my throat. A few seconds later, a text from Chris popped up. “Rachel, leave Mia alone. She didn’t know anything about us.” A hot, stinging wave of tears flooded my eyes. This was the first time Chris had reached out to me since he abruptly ended things. Three days ago, on our eleventh anniversary, I had spent the afternoon cooking a massive dinner. I sat at the table and waited for him all night. He never showed. The next morning, he sent a single text: We’re done. Don’t contact me. Then he blocked my number, blocked my social media, and vanished. I had spent the last seventy-two hours behaving like a madwoman, calling anyone who might know where he was, sending pathetic, begging emails into the void. Just minutes ago, I had been draft-typing another desperate plea for him to talk to me. My fingers felt frozen as I stared at the screen. A tear slipped from my cheek, splashing onto the glass. As I wiped it away, my finger accidentally replayed the video. Mia’s voice drifted from the speakers, sweet and thick like melted sugar. “Where our story began,” she chimed. She flashed a peace sign at the camera. In the background stood Chris, wearing his doctoral gown at his graduation ceremony. A flood of memories rushed over me. The year Chris graduated with his master’s, I had traveled over two thousand miles to Boston to surprise him. I remember the sheer excitement of pulling out the simple silver band I had saved up months to buy, ready to propose. But he had only looked down, wrapping his arms around me with a heavy sigh. “Rachel, I want to pursue my Ph.D. Give me three years. Just three years, and I promise we’ll get married.” Three years turned into five. He went from his master’s to his doctorate. From Boston to Chicago. I followed him everywhere, packing up our lives time and after time, taking whatever odd jobs I could find to pay our rent. Every time I brought up marriage, he told me to wait. Wait until I graduate. Wait until I’m stable. And in the end, the only thing I waited for was a text message telling me it was over. Dozens of red hearts floated across the screen of the video. The top pinned comment was from Chris’s college roommate, Tyler: “I knew you were a goner the second she walked into your lecture hall. You had no shot, buddy.” Just last week, Tyler had texted me: “Don’t worry, Rachel. Chris is keeping his head down at the lab. I’m keeping an eye on him for you.” The video cut to a scenic beach. “Our fifth trip to Key West. Still absolute paradise,” Mia’s voiceover narrated. They were holding hands, running through the surf, the camera shaking with their shared laughter. Chris and I had never gone on a trip together. Not once. He was always too busy. There was always a grant proposal to write, a paper to finish, a conference to attend. Whenever he canceled on me, he would pull me close, looking incredibly guilty. “Next time, babe. I promise, next summer we’ll go somewhere beautiful.” There was always a next time. A promise that existed only to keep me quiet. On screen, they were having a candlelight dinner by the water. Chris was meticulously peeling shrimp, placing them one by one onto Mia’s plate. “He’s incredibly spoiled me,” Mia boasted to the camera. “In eight years, I’ve never had to peel a single piece of seafood when I’m with him.” I looked down at my own hands, my nails trimmed down to the quick. Chris loved seafood but hated the messy hands that came with it. For eleven years, I was the one who sat there peeling his shrimp, leaving a small mountain of shells on my plate while he ate. By the time I could finally eat, the food was always cold. In the video, Chris reached out and gently wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of Mia’s mouth. “Eat up,” he murmured softly. “It’s no good when it gets cold.” So he knew. He knew food was miserable when it was cold. He knew how to be attentive, how to be tender, how to cherish someone. He just didn’t want to do it for me. My phone buzzed again. Mia had just posted a new clip to her story. The lighting in the room was warm, dim, and intimate. Bridget was the first one to stand up in the video, clinking her glass. “Toast! Toast!” Tyler started drumming on the table, and the entire room erupted into a chant. Mia blushed, wrapping her arm through Chris’s in a classic wedding toast. He looked down at her, his eyes slightly hazy and softened by alcohol. They raised their glasses, their wrists locked, and drank. The crowd went wild, cheering and recording on their phones. Bridget’s voice was the loudest: “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Mia, her cheeks flushed pink, stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick, shy kiss to the corner of his lips. The shouting grew louder. Chris smiled, his hand sliding to the back of her head to pull her back in, deepening the kiss. His face was flushed with a warm glow. The alcohol had completely softened his usual rigid demeanor. I had never seen him like this. Chris didn’t drink. He didn’t just avoid it; he despised it. If anyone around him drank, he would lose his temper. He had told me his father was a violent alcoholic, that alcohol was the dirtiest, most destructive thing on earth. Once, at a mandatory corporate dinner, I had been forced to take a single sip of champagne to toast a client. I was so terrified of his reaction that I stopped at a drugstore on the way home, bought a bottle of mouthwash, and rinsed my mouth five times. I stood in the freezing, seventeen-degree wind outside our apartment for thirty minutes to let the scent dissipate before unlocking the door. But Chris smelled it anyway. His face went entirely cold. “You drank?” My voice shook. “Just a tiny sip. I had to.” He took a step back, opening the front door wide. “I’ve told you a thousand times how much that smell sickens me. You smell disgusting right now. I feel like throwing up just looking at you.” I tried to explain, but he grabbed my arm and shoved me out into the hallway, slamming the door shut. I sat on the cold concrete steps all night. It was freezing, and my tears literally turned to ice on my cheeks. From that night on, I never touched a drop of alcohol again. I genuinely believed it was his trauma. But here he was, drinking wedding toasts, looking like the happiest man alive. Using the geotag from the video, I found the private lounge where they were celebrating. As the taxi sped down the highway, my mind spun. What was I going to do when I got there? Scream? Fight? Make a scene? Throw a drink in someone’s face like a scene from a movie? But as I stared out the window, I realized I didn’t even know who I wanted to hurt more. Chris? Mia? Bridget? Or the entire circle of friends who were currently toast-clinking to their “eternal love” in the comments? The cab pulled up to the curb. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the lounge, I could see them gathered around a massive cake. Mia was laughing against Chris’s shoulder, and Bridget was clapping beside them. I walked up to the heavy glass doors. My hand rested on the handle, but I couldn’t bring myself to push it open. I was the one who had been discarded after eleven years. I was the one who had every right to storm in there and flip their tables. But my hand remained frozen. Suddenly, the door swung open from the inside. Chris stood there. Before I could say a word, his hand clamped around my wrist. He dragged me quickly down the corridor, pulling me around the corner into a quiet alcove near the restrooms. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. He smelled heavily of whiskey. He glanced back toward the main room, making sure no one had seen us. “Go home, Rachel. I’ll explain everything about Mia later.” “Explain how you cheated on me for eight years?” My voice was so hoarse it barely sounded like mine. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking deeply irritated, as if dealing with a petulant child. “I know this is hard for you to accept, but we are broken up. What’s done is done. We both need to move on.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Broken up for three days, and you’re already married?” He went quiet, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Mia… she doesn’t know anything about you. If you’re angry, take it out on me. Just please, don’t say anything to her.” His eyes actually began to redden. “She’s pregnant, Rachel. She can’t handle that kind of shock right now.” “She’s… what?” The words felt like dry cotton in my throat. Chris looked away, unable to meet my eyes. “We found out three days ago. She’s fragile, Rachel. Seriously. Her doctor said she needs absolute peace.” “I’m begging you. Don’t tell her about us.” So that was it. No wonder he had to end things so brutally. He had to rush to build her a family. I slumped against the wall, the cold tile biting through my coat. Every ounce of energy drained out of my limbs. Instinctively, my hand drifted to my own lower abdomen. There had been a baby here once, too. Three years ago, I had stood in front of him, holding a positive pregnancy test, my hands shaking so hard I could barely keep my grip. He had kept his eyes glued to his research papers, not even bothering to look up. “Rachel, I haven’t even graduated yet. How are we supposed to support a child? You don’t want our kid growing up in a shoebox, eating ramen, do you?” I told him I could take on another shift, that we could make it work. He had only sighed, shaking his head. “Rachel, be smart. Now is just not the time. Once I graduate and get a real faculty position, we’ll do it right. Okay?” Wait. It was always wait. I had begged him so many times. I told him I wanted a wedding, a family, a home of our own. And every single time, he told me to wait until he graduated, wait until he got tenure, wait until we bought a house. I waited for eleven years. Now, at thirty-three, while all my friends were driving carpools and hosting birthday parties, I was still waiting. Only to find out he was giving that life to someone else. A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I bent over, dry-heaving into the empty air of the hallway. Nothing came up. Eleven years of grief and humiliation were lodged in my throat, choking me. Chris reached out to steady me, but before his hand could touch my shoulder, the heavy door at the end of the hall opened. Mia’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Chris? Who are you talking to? The cake is going to melt…” She stopped at the entrance of the alcove, tilting her head as she looked at us. Bridget slipped out from behind her. The moment she saw me, the smile froze on her face. Mia’s gaze shifted between the three of us. Sensing the sudden drop in temperature, her expression tightened, her eyes narrowing as she locked onto me. “Do you guys know each other? Who is she?” Before I could open my mouth, Bridget jumped in. “She’s my cousin!” She forced a bright, fragile smile, her eyes practically pleading with me. “Right, Rachel?” I looked at Bridget, then slowly turned my gaze to Chris. He kept his eyes lowered, his chest rising and falling, saying absolutely nothing. He was waiting for me to play along. Mia let out a soft “oh,” the tension leaving her shoulders. “Bridget’s cousin! Well, come on in and join us then!” She reached out, wrapping her arm tightly around mine, pulling me toward the room. She sat me down at the table, acting like the perfect hostess. As she leaned over to hand me a glass of juice, her collarbone exposed a thin red silk cord around her neck. I recognized it instantly. It was a protective medallion from a famous mountaintop shrine upstate—one meant to bless and protect unborn children. Three years ago, after I lost my pregnancy, I had spent months in a daze. I would wake up in the middle of the night, convinced I could hear a baby crying in the corner of our room. I had read about that shrine, about how families went there to find peace. I asked Chris to take me. He had scoffed. “That’s superstitious nonsense, Rachel. I’m a scientist. Don’t waste your time with that garbage.” Mia noticed me staring at the necklace. She pulled the silver medallion out from under her shirt, a tiny, proud smile playing on her lips. “Chris climbed three thousand stone steps on his knees to get this blessed for the baby last week,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet affection. “His knees were completely raw and bleeding when he got home. I was so upset with him, but he’s just so devoted.” Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple. “Anything for you and the little one.” My heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. Three days ago, when he vanished and blocked my number, I had run through the streets of Boston like a lunatic, crying, searching for his car. I had called Bridget, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. And Bridget had told me: “Don’t drive yourself crazy, Rachel. You know how Chris gets when he’s stressed about research. Give him space. You’re smothering him.” I had actually believed her. I spent those three days starving myself in our dark apartment, dissecting every text message, every conversation, trying to figure out what I had done to make him hate me so suddenly. And all the while, he was climbing a mountain on his knees, praying for his new wife and child. The room began to spin. I bolted from the table, ran into the restroom, and collapsed over the sink, dry-heaving violently. Nothing but bile came up, burning my throat as tears streamed down my face. The door to the restroom clicked open behind me. “You’re Chris’s ex, aren’t you?” Mia was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. The warm, bubbly girl from the dining room was completely gone. I wiped my mouth, stunned. “You knew?” She took a few slow steps toward me, looking at my disheveled reflection in the mirror. “I’m not stupid. You two were together for eleven years. Of course I knew.” She let her eyes trail over my tear-stained face, a faint, mocking smile tugging at her lips. “Honestly, Chris always said you were sweet. Great at keeping house, great at cooking. But… not exactly someone he could introduce to his colleagues. Let’s be real, Rachel—any maid can do laundry.” She gently patted her stomach. “He needs a partner. Someone who can actually stand beside him in his academic circle. Someone like me.” She met my eyes in the glass. “So, tell me. How does it feel to play housewife for eleven years, only to be thrown out like garbage?” The sheer, venomous arrogance of her words snapped something inside me. The grief turned into a blinding, white-hot rage. “You knew about me the whole time,” I screamed, turning on her. “You’re a disgusting, pathetic homewrecker!” She didn’t even flinch. She just smirked, her eyes cold. “Who’s the homewrecker? You think anyone is going to take your side?” Before I could comprehend what she was doing, she lunged sideways, throwing herself hard against the marble sink basin, and let out a piercing, terrified shriek as she tumbled to the tile floor. Before I could even take a step, the restroom door was violently shoved open. A heavy force slammed into my shoulder, throwing me back against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me, a sharp pain radiating through my spine. Chris was already on his knees, throwing his arms around Mia. He looked up at me, his face twisted in absolute disgust and disappointment. “Rachel, what is wrong with you?” he roared. “Attacking a pregnant woman? When did you become so utterly heartless?” “I didn’t touch her…” I choked out, my voice trembling from the pain in my back. But Chris wasn’t listening. He was whispering soothing words to Mia, lifting her gently into his arms. Mia buried her face in his neck, but over his shoulder, her eyes met mine. She flashed me a tiny, triumphant smile. The final string of my sanity snapped. I lunged forward, desperate to tear that smirk off her face, but before I could reach her, a heavy, solid object struck the back of my head. The room tilted. As I stumbled backward, my vision blurring, I saw Bridget’s face swim into view, holding her heavy leather purse. Through the fog of pain, the last thing I saw was Chris carrying Mia out of the restroom, not once looking back at me. When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I was in a hospital bed. Bridget was standing by the mattress, her eyes red, looking thoroughly miserable. “I’m so sorry, Rachel… I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” “But you were out of control. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have hurt Mia and the baby.” Mia. Always Mia. I let out a weak, raspy laugh. “Bridget, do you even remember that I’m supposed to be your best friend?” She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Rachel, you have to understand. Mia is actually a wonderful person. She’s bright, she’s warm, she’s like a little pocket of sunshine. Anyone who hangs out with her just feels good.” “And she’s got her master’s from an Ivy League. She and Chris actually make sense together. They’re equals. While you…” “While I what?” I stared at her, my throat burning. “Are you going to say I’m uneducated too? That I’m not good enough for your circle?” “Bridget, let’s not forget who paid for your rent when you were struggling to find a job. Let’s not forget whose money Chris used to buy his lab equipment. I worked seventy hours a week at two different diners so you two could sit in classrooms and feel superior. And now you look down on me?” Bridget went pale. She mumbled a pathetic excuse about needing to check on the paperwork and practically ran out of the room. The hospital door was left slightly ajar, and the quiet murmurs of the nurses in the hallway drifted in. “Is that the stalker girl in room four?” “Yeah. Apparently, she cornered the pregnant wife in a bathroom and tried to push her. Some people are just psycho.” “Disgusting. Why do we even waste beds on people like that?” Confused, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and opened my social media apps. A video of the lounge incident had already been uploaded. It was trending locally. Underneath, Bridget had posted a public apology under her real name, claiming to be my “concerned best friend” and stating that I had been suffering from “severe mental instability” since the breakup. She had tagged my public handle. My direct messages were a toxic wasteland of hate. “You homewrecking psycho, I hope you rot.” “Imagine stalking a pregnant woman because you can’t accept you got dumped. Someone needs to dox this bitch.” My phone vibrated. It was Bridget. “I had to do it, Rachel…” she sobbed over the line. “Mia is about to secure a major federal research grant, and Chris is on the track for a tenure position. A scandal right now would ruin their entire careers. We had to control the narrative. I’m sorry, but you have to take this one.” Then a text from Chris arrived. “Rachel, I saw the video. Don’t look at the comments, people are just venting online. Just keep your mouth shut for a few days and let it blow over. If you fight back, it ruins everyone’s lives.” It was laughable. They wanted the actual homewrecker to remain spotless. And they expected the victim to carry their shame so they could live happily ever after. The last lingering shred of love I had for Chris vanished, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. I hung up on Bridget. I sat up in bed, ignoring the throbbing pain in my head, and opened my laptop. I took screenshots of every single message Chris had sent me over the last eight years. I exported the audio recording of the call I had just had with Bridget—I had set my phone to auto-record years ago for work. I gathered bank statements, wire transfers, lease agreements, and a meticulously detailed timeline of our eleven years together. Once everything was compiled into a single, massive folder, I turned on my laptop camera, looked directly into the lens, and pressed record. “Hi, everyone. My name is Rachel. I’m the woman currently being dragged across your feeds as a mentally unstable stalker. I think it’s time you hear the actual story.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538956”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I spent five years chasing Beck King, and he had finally agreed to marry me. But on our very last anniversary before the wedding, he showed up an hour late, holding a marriage certificate with Claire. “Iris, Claire has severe schizophrenia,” he said, his voice entirely too calm, too rational. “Just bear with her for a little while.” I didn’t say a word. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a velvet box, and opened it. Inside was a brilliant blue sapphire necklace. “Our wedding is still on, Iris. Nothing changes. I bought this for you. I know how much you wanted it.” My eyes drifted past him, landing on Claire, who was standing just a few feet away. Right there, around her neck, was the exact same blue sapphire necklace. Beck didn’t understand. A divided heart is a broken thing. It never ends well. Right then and there, I decided to leave him and go far away. Six months later, Beck finally remembered my existence. He called me. “Iris, stop acting out. Come home and marry me.” But at that exact moment, I was standing in a white dress, holding my new husband’s hand. I heard that later, Beck lost his mind. … When Beck placed the sapphire necklace before me, the murmur of the crowd in the ballroom swelled. It was a multi-million-dollar piece, the kind of jewelry that made people gasp. The fact that Beck was handing it over so casually seemed, to everyone else, like the ultimate proof of my victory. “Look at that. Beck really does adore her. I heard he outbid everyone at the charity auction just to get it.” “He did say it was meant for the woman he loved.” The whispers drifted through the warm, expensive air of the lounge, settling over me like a suffocating blanket. Everyone was watching, waiting for my reaction. But I didn’t move. I didn’t reach out to touch the velvet box, nor did I look at the deep blue stone catching the chandelier light. I just looked at him. The silence stretched too long, and the whispers turned sharp. “What is she doing?” “Iris has been chasing him for five years. She’s basically been his shadow. Everyone knows she’d do anything for him.” “And now he’s proposing, and she’s just standing there?” “Maybe she’s trying to play hard to get.” “That’s the problem with giving a woman too much. She starts thinking she’s the one in charge.” Someone let out a quiet, mocking laugh. “If you ask me, she has a right to be pissed. Beck made her wait in this lobby for an hour on their anniversary, and he spent that hour getting legally married to Claire.” “Yeah, that’s a pretty loud slap in the face.” “Even a lovesick puppy has some pride.” Beck must have caught those words. I watched his fingers twitch as he instinctively tried to push the marriage certificate deeper into his breast pocket, trying to shield his betrayal from the light. But when he met my cold, unyielding gaze, he realized he couldn’t hide it anymore. He cleared his throat, stepping closer to lower his voice. “Iris, Claire’s been in a terrible place since her divorce. Her schizophrenia has gotten severe. She’s having delusions, thinking I’m her ex-husband. The doctors said if I didn’t play along, she might hurt herself. I only signed the papers to keep her stable.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a persuasive whisper. “We’re completely platonic, I swear. Nothing happened. I’ll handle the divorce before our actual wedding day. You’ve loved me for so long, Iris. Surely you have the grace to understand this?” Before I could answer, his friends stepped in, eager to smooth things over for him. “Come on, Iris, Beck’s just trying to do the right thing.” “Yeah, he’s basically doing a charity deed. Don’t be difficult.” “You guys have been together for five years. You’re not going to throw away a lifetime of love over a sick girl, are you?” I remained silent. The easy, confident smile on Beck’s face slowly began to curdle. After five years, I knew every line on his face. I knew that slight tightening of his jaw meant he was losing his temper. He was annoyed that I was making him look bad in front of his peers. Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, his best friend lost his patience entirely, scoffing openly. “Iris, be smart. Take the necklace and let it go. Don’t ruin his night.” They spoke in chorus, their voices a united front of condescension. None of them cared about my humiliation. None of them thought Beck had done anything wrong. In their eyes, because I had spent five years earning his affection, I had volunteered for this treatment. I had volunteered to be second best. I looked past Beck’s shoulder at Claire. She was standing near the entrance, her chin tilted up, wearing the exact same sapphire necklace. And suddenly, the exhaustion hit me. It was a physical weight, settling deep into my bones. This entire relationship felt incredibly cheap. Under the watchful, mocking eyes of the room, I ignored Beck’s outstretched hand. I reached out, took the velvet box, and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Five years of devotion, discarded in a single, quiet second. The dim light of the hallway hid the stinging redness in my eyes as I looked at him, my voice steady and cold. “Beck, we’re done.” By the time I walked out of the venue, a light snow had begun to fall. The cold flakes melted against my cheeks, shocking me back to reality. I got into a cab and pulled out my phone to call my brother, Declan. Our parents spent most of their time overseas managing the family business, so Declan had practically raised me. When I told him I was coming back home to Boston, I could hear the immediate relief in his voice. “I’m booking your flight right now,” Declan said. “It’s only a couple of hours. I’ll be waiting for you at Logan tomorrow morning.” “Thanks, Dec,” I murmured. My voice must have sounded thin, because he paused. “Iris… did Beck do something?” Declan had been against the relationship from the very beginning. He believed that a man who let a woman chase him for five years was a man who would never know how to cherish her. He saw how Beck treated my affection as a given, a commodity he could draw upon whenever he pleased. Back then, I was too blinded by my own hope to listen. I thought if I just loved him hard enough, he would eventually see me. Now, the irony of it was bitter. I had spent my youth on a man who didn’t respect me, but at least I was stopping now. I was cutting the cord before I sank any deeper. “You’re doing the right thing,” Declan said softly, sensing my quiet grief. “He never deserved you anyway. Let the trash stay in the past. When you get back, I’ve got someone I want you to meet. A proper setup. You deserve to be cherished, Iris.” When I got back to the apartment, I started packing. I gathered all of Beck’s things. They were expensive—designer watches, Italian leather shoes, bespoke suits. I didn’t want them in my space, but throwing them in the garbage felt like invited drama. I decided the cleanest way to handle it was to hand them back directly. I called him, but the line just rang out. I hated loose ends, so I took a deep breath, loaded the bags into a cab, and drove back to the venue. The party was still going. Beck hadn’t left. In fact, he didn’t look like a man whose fiancée had just walked out on him. He was standing in the center of the private lounge, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing with his friends. I reached for the doorknob, but stopped when I heard my name. “Iris actually leave me?” Beck’s voice drifted through the gap in the door, dripping with arrogance. “Please. She’s been obsessed with me for five years. She’d tolerate a lot worse than this. She’s just throwing a tantrum because she’s embarrassed. I’ll buy her a nice dinner tomorrow, and she’ll be begging for my forgiveness.” He took a sip of his drink, his laughter echoing. One of his friends grinned. “So you really do like her, huh? I’ve never seen you bother to apologize to anyone.” Beck scoffed. “Like her? You guys don’t get it.” He leaned in, his voice taking on a locker-room cadence that made my stomach turn. “She looks like a pure, innocent girl on the outside, but she’s incredibly submissive in bed. She does whatever I want. A girl that obedient is hard to find. It makes my life so easy.” The room erupted into crude laughter. “I thought you liked girls with a bit of a bite, Beck. You’ve been playing with this sweet girl for so long, aren’t you bored?” “Yeah, especially now that Claire’s back and you guys are legally married. Why don’t you just keep both?” Beck chuckled. “If Claire weren’t so unstable, maybe. But Iris is clean, she looks good on my arm, and most importantly, she stays quiet when I’m busy.” “Busy? Like those frequent check-ins at the hotel downtown?” Beck didn’t deny it. He just offered a knowing smirk and drained his glass. “A man needs variety. Iris is sweet, but she can be incredibly boring.” The laughter that followed felt like physical blows. Every word was a knife, carving away the last remnants of my foolish hope. My five years of patience, my quiet accommodation of his moods, my love—it was all just a joke to him. A convenience. I looked down at the bags in my hands. “Thank you, Beck,” I thought, the tears finally spilling over my cold cheeks. “Thank you for making this so easy to walk away from.” I didn’t open the door. Instead, I walked down to the lobby, scheduled a courier to deliver his bags to his penthouse, and left. While packing the last of my things at the apartment, I found the ring he had given me. I remembered how happy I had been the day he slipped it onto my finger. But later, when Claire had returned from abroad and saw it, she had smiled a cold, mocking smile. “Oh, Iris. You actually wear that?” she had said. “Beck bought that for me years ago. He was going to propose, but I chose Paris instead. I’m glad it’s not going to waste, though.” At the time, I had made excuses for him. I had told myself it didn’t matter because he was with me now. But my endless capacity for forgiveness had only taught him that my boundaries didn’t exist. I tossed the ring into the box with his other jewelry, sealed it, and handed it to the courier. Shortly after the courier left, the apartment doorbell rang. When I opened it, a heavily intoxicated Beck was leaning against the doorframe, supported by Claire. “Iris, he’s drunk,” Claire said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I brought him back. And please, don’t be mad about the marriage license. I had an episode because I heard you two were getting married. Beck only did it to keep me safe. We’re just friends, I promise.” I looked at her. Her small, triumphant smile was entirely visible beneath her feigned concern. If she truly cared about my feelings, she wouldn’t have brought a drunk man to my door in the middle of the night. I didn’t move to take Beck from her. I just stood there, blocking the doorway. Claire struggled under his weight. “Beck, wake up. I brought you to Iris. I’m going to go now.” Beck mumbled, his arms tightening around Claire’s waist. “Don’t go, Claire… stay with me. I don’t want to be with Iris. She said we’re done anyway. Let her go. She’ll come crawling back to apologize tomorrow anyway. She loves me too much.” He was right. I had loved him too much. But that person didn’t exist anymore. As I began to close the door, Beck’s hand shot out, catching the frame. His eyes flared with a sudden, ugly flash of sober anger. “Iris, are you really doing this? You’re actually breaking up with me?” I nodded. “I’m not joking, Beck. Your things have been sent to your place. We’re done.” He stared at me, shocked by the finality in my voice. “Fine!” he snapped, his pride reasserting itself. “Break up. But don’t you dare regret it, Iris. Because once you walk away, there’s no coming back.” I didn’t answer. I just shut the door.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538972”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three days after waking up in the body of this spineless heiress, my childhood friend-turned-fiancé demanded I give up my last piece of my grandmother’s legacy to our adopted sister. “Just do it out of pity for her, Natalie. Is that so hard?” His voice was cold, clipped. I couldn’t help myself. The words spilled out before I could stop them: “If you hate seeing her deprived so much, why don’t you buy it for her yourself?” Both he and the golden child froze. Looking at their stunned faces, I smiled. The revenge script of my new life had only just begun. 01 When Chase’s call came in, I was clasping the antique jade pendant my grandmother had left me around my neck, letting the cool stone settle against my collarbone. “Natalie, give grandmother’s jade pendant to Isla.” His voice through the receiver was utterly devoid of warmth. I gripped the phone, staying silent. It was my third day inside this body. Over the past forty-eight hours, I had absorbed twenty years of the original Natalie’s memories. Every single one of them was a record of endless concession and silent defeat. “Isla has a very important gala to attend next week, and she doesn’t have the right accessories,” Chase continued, his tone laced with a familiar, sharp impatience. “That pendant would match her gown perfectly.” Isla. The sweet, fragile girl my parents had adopted. Chase. The boy I had grown up with, my supposed fiancé. Together, they played a perfect game: one acted helpless, and the other demanded sacrifices on her behalf. “Are you listening to me?” “I’m listening,” I said, my voice remarkably even. He seemed to let out a brief sigh of relief on the other end. “Bring it down now. Isla is waiting for you at the house.” “Chase,” I interrupted. “Yeah?” “Who the hell do you think you are?” The line went dead silent. I could practically picture the scowl on his handsome face, the familiar look of “what kind of tantrum is she throwing now?” taking over his features. “Natalie, what is that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like. By what right do you expect me to hand over my belongings to your little darling?” “Isla isn’t—” he started, a knee-jerk defense, before cutting himself off. When he spoke again, his voice was like ice. “We grew up together. Since when did you become so incredibly petty?” “We grew up together, and yet you watched me give up my toys to her, my clothes to her, my parents’ affection to her. And now, you want me to give her the only thing my grandmother left me.” I walked over to the window, looking down at the sleek black car parked by the curb. Chase was sitting inside, holding the phone to his ear. “Chase, do you honestly believe I was born just to be sacrificed for her?” “I never said that!” he snapped, raising his voice. “Isla’s health is delicate, and her background is so tragic. Can’t you just show some compassion and do this for her?” There it was. That exact phrase. It was identical to the dialogue in the novel’s original timeline. In that past life, the original Natalie had been utterly crushed by those words. She had wept, handed over the pendant, and returned home to fall so sick she nearly died. I smiled. “If you hate seeing her deprived so much, why don’t you buy it for her yourself?” “Are you broke? The great heir to the luxury empire doesn’t have the cash to buy a piece of jewelry? You have to resort to mugging an orphan of her inheritance?” “Natalie!” he roared. “You are being completely unreasonable!” “Oh, you think this is unreasonable?” I pushed open my door and began to descend the stairs, my steps light and deliberate. “Just watch me.” I walked out to his car and tapped on the tinted window. Chase rolled it down, his face dark as a thundercloud. In the passenger seat sat Isla. She was dressed in a delicate white silk dress, her eyes rimmed with red, looking precisely like a startled, fragile fawn. A picture of pure innocence. “Natalie…” Isla spoke, her voice trembling softly. “Please don’t blame Chase. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have said I liked your pendant. I had no idea it belonged to your grandmother…” As she spoke, a single, perfect tear slipped down her cheek. What a brilliant performance. If I didn’t already know the plot, I might have actually believed her. “Right,” I murmured, staring at her. “And?” Isla blinked, momentarily thrown off. Chase was equally stunned. In their usual script, I was supposed to soften, apologize, and hand over the pendant in shame. “So, are you planning to give it back to me?” I asked, looking directly at Isla. Oh, wait. The pendant was still in my hand. I turned my gaze back to Chase. “So, are you going to buy it from me for her?” “You—” Chase choked, his face turning an angry shade of red. “I’ll name a price,” I said, holding up three fingers. “Thirty million. And since we grew up together, I’ll even throw in a discount.” “You’ve lost your mind!” Chase hissed. “The only ones who’ve lost their minds are the two of you,” I replied, dropping my hand into my pockets. “One of you is addicted to stealing, and the other is addicted to giving things away. Now that the charity show is over, you don’t know how to act, do you?” Isla’s tears fell faster now. She clutched Chase’s arm, sobbing softly. “Chase, let’s just go. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want anything… Natalie hates me so much…” “I don’t hate you,” I corrected her, keeping my voice mild and precise. “I’m just incredibly, deeply disgusted by you.” Isla’s face went completely white. Chase slammed the car door open, stepping out to tower over me, his tall frame radiating pure, intimidating anger. “Natalie, apologize to Isla right now!” I looked up at him, finding the entire display suddenly hilarious. “Chase, you’re missing the point here.” “This pendant belongs to the family. I am a blood relative. But Isla? What exactly is her connection to this bloodline?” “Would you let a complete stranger walk into your family estate and start taking whatever they fancied?” Chase’s expression shifted through a rapid succession of colors. Without another glance, I turned on my heel. After a couple of steps, I paused, looking back at the weeping girl in the passenger seat. “Oh, and a quick word of advice, Isla.” “Next time you play the destitute orphan, make sure to clear your shopping history for that limited-edition designer bag you bought yesterday.” “A starving, pitiful girl carrying a forty-thousand-dollar bag… don’t you think the aesthetic is a bit inconsistent?” Isla’s crying came to an abrupt, screeching halt. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was my mother. I smiled. The real show was finally beginning. 02 “Natalie! Get back to this house this instant!” The moment I answered, Victoria’s shrill voice pierced through the speaker. “Is there a problem?” I asked, my tone flat. “Is there a problem? What did you do to Isla? She called me crying, saying you bullied her! That you tried to steal from her!” Listening to her distorted version of reality, I wasn’t even mildly surprised. “First, the pendant is mine. You can’t steal what you already own.” “Second, I only stated facts. If the truth feels like bullying to her, then yes, I suppose she was bullied.” “You…” Victoria choked on her own rage, taking a sharp breath. “Natalie, Isla has looked up to you since she was a little girl. If she likes your things, it’s only because she loves you like a sister. What is so wrong with letting her have it?” “I’m not letting her have anything anymore.” “And why on earth not?” “Because starting today, I don’t want to.” With that, I hung up. When the phone immediately began to ring again, I powered it off entirely. Silence. It was beautiful. I went up to my room, pulled out Natalie’s old diary, and began flipping through the pages. The neat, delicate handwriting was a testament to years of quiet agony and suppression. Every single page revolved around the word “yielding”. Yielding the beautiful bedroom with the bay window because Isla said she loved the morning light. Yielding her spot in the competitive academic track because Isla wanted to prove herself to the family. Giving up the cashmere sweater Victoria had hand-knitted because Isla complained of the chill. Giving up the birthday gift from Charles because Isla cried that she had never received a father’s gift before. Even giving up Chase… “Chase is the brightest star in the sky,” Natalie had written in one of the entries. “But he told me that Isla’s world is too dark, and she needs his light more than I do.” How incredibly noble of him. I closed the diary and threw it directly into the paper shredder beside my desk. These memories were too heavy, too suffocating to keep. I was not the old Natalie. I would not let anyone define my worth, and I certainly wouldn’t burn myself to keep someone else warm—least of all a calculated fraud. Isla had been brought into our home when she was eight. Charles had sponsored a small elementary school in a rural, impoverished county, and she was presented to him as their most brilliant, tragic student. Orphaned, living with an ailing grandmother. When Charles and Victoria visited the school, they were deeply moved. They claimed they saw a rare, pure resilience in her. They told me, “Natalie, you are so incredibly privileged. You need to learn from Isla’s humility and gratitude.” And so, Isla became a permanent fixture in our lives. At first, she played her part perfectly. She helped the housekeeper, told me stories about her old life, and called me “sister” with sweet, timid eyes. Everyone adored her. Including the old Natalie. Until the day she broke my favorite porcelain doll. She had wept, begging for forgiveness, insisting it was an accident. Victoria had gathered her into her arms, looking at me with disapproval. “Natalie, you’re the older sister. We can buy another doll. But Isla is traumatized. You can’t be so heartless.” From that moment on, Isla discovered her master key. Tears. All she had to do was cry, and she got whatever she wanted. And I was expected to step back. I watched the shredder turn those years of meek surrender into meaningless confetti. Then, the doorbell rang. I glanced through the security camera. It was Chase and Isla. Isla had changed her clothes and touched up her makeup, though her eyes remained artfully swollen. I didn’t open the door. Chase began to knock loudly, then pound on the wood. “Natalie! Open the door!” “Natalie! I know you’re in there! Stop hiding!” I put on my noise-canceling headphones, cranked up my music, and ignored them. About thirty minutes later, the pounding finally stopped. I pulled off my headphones. Isla’s soft, pathetic voice floated through the crack under the door. “Natalie, please… I know I made a mistake. Can you please open the door? It’s so cold out here, and my head is spinning…” I walked over and unlocked the door. Isla clearly hadn’t expected me to actually open it. She was leaning heavily against Chase’s chest, looking pale and ready to swoon. Seeing me, she immediately straightened up, a flicker of panic darting through her eyes before she masked it. “Natalie…” “Done acting?” I leaned against the doorframe, looking at them both. Chase held her protectively, glaring at me. “Natalie, do you have to be this cruel? Isla is fragile. You kept her standing out here in the cold. What is wrong with you?” “Oh, so her health is my responsibility now?” I retorted. “Who told her to stand here? Did I invite her?” “You—” “Chase, let’s just go…” Isla whimpered, clutching his coat. “Natalie… she doesn’t want to see me.” “You see that?” I pointed to the security camera mounted at the end of the hallway. “It’s been recording the entire time. If she decides to faint or have a medical emergency, it’s all on tape. Is this a new scam to frame me?” Isla’s face turned completely white. Chase looked up at the camera, his jaw tightening as his expression curdled. “Natalie, I don’t even recognize you anymore,” he said, his voice dripping with disappointment. “And you probably didn’t realize your little angel was such a terrible actress, did you?” I looked at Isla, offering her a cold smile. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” “When my parents brought you home at eight years old, did you really come from that school in the mountains?” Isla’s pupils dilated instantly. “What… what are you talking about?” “Nothing special,” I said, shrugging. “Just curious. You don’t look like someone who grew up in poverty. Your skin is flawless, your manners are perfectly calculated, and you carry yourself like someone who’s had voice training. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the real heiress here.” Chase frowned. “Natalie, what are you implying?” “Nothing at all,” I said, stepping back and gripping the handle. “Just reminding certain people that a counterfeit is still a counterfeit. No matter how good the imitation is, it’ll never be the real thing.” I shut the door in their faces. Outside, there was a dead, heavy silence. A long while later, my father’s number flashed on my screen. This time, his voice carried a strange, exhausted hesitation I had never heard before. “Natalie, come home.” “Isla… she’s in the hospital.” 03 When I arrived at the family estate, the atmosphere in the living room was suffocating. Victoria sat on the velvet sofa, her eyes swollen and red, clutching a tear-soaked tissue. My father, Charles, sat beside her, his face grim, silently drawing from a cigarette. The family doctor was just coming down the stairs. When he saw me, he paused, looking as though he wanted to say something, but ultimately just shook his head and left with a heavy sigh. Chase was leaning against the banister. He watched me approach, his gaze a complex mix of suspicion and wariness. “You finally decided to show up?” Victoria hissed the moment she saw me, springing to her feet and pointing a finger at me. “Look at what you’ve done! You threw her into such a panic that she had a heart attack! She’s still unconscious up there! If anything happens to her, I swear I will never forgive you!” A heart attack? I had to actively restrain myself from laughing out loud. If Isla had a weak heart, it was a medical miracle. How could someone with a heart condition stay up all night clubbing, drink like a fish, and stand in line for five hours just to buy a limited-edition handbag? “What did the doctor actually say?” I asked, ignoring Victoria’s theatrics as I looked at my father. Charles stubbed out his cigarette, his voice hoarse. “He said it was acute palpitations brought on by severe stress. She needs absolute rest.” “Ah, palpitations,” I nodded. “So she’s not dying. Good to know.” “Natalie!” Victoria shrieked, lunging toward me. Charles caught her arm, pulling her back. “Enough! Haven’t we had enough drama for one day?” “It’s her! She did this to Isla!” Victoria struggled against his grip, glaring at me with raw hatred. “She’s a curse on this family! Ever since we brought her back, we haven’t had a single moment of peace!” I looked at her, my expression perfectly cold. “Brought me back? Mom, you seem to have forgotten that this is “my” home. I am your biological daughter.” Victoria trembled with fury. “Dad,” I turned to Charles. “Did you call me back just to make me watch this ridiculous performance?” Charles’s eyes flickered, avoiding my gaze. “Natalie, apologize to your sister. Let’s just put this behind us.” “Apologize?” I repeated, finding the request utterly absurd. “For what? What exactly did I say or do?” “You cornered her!” Chase stepped away from the stairs, marching over to stand right in front of me, trying to use his height to intimidate me. “I was there, Natalie. I heard what you said to her outside your apartment. You deliberately provoked her.” “And what did I say that wasn’t true?” I met his gaze directly, refusing to back down. “I said she didn’t look like an orphan from the mountains. I said she was acting. Which part of that was a lie?” Chase hesitated, momentarily caught off guard. “Regardless of whether it’s true, you don’t say things like that! You know how sensitive she is about her past!” “So because she’s sensitive, she gets to claim my inheritance? She gets to fake illnesses to turn everyone against me?” I took a step closer, forcing him to look down at me. “Chase, did you leave your brain at the door?” “Natalie!” Charles barked. “Watch your mouth when you’re speaking to your fiancé!” “Dad, let’s get one thing straight. I am your daughter,” I said, my voice cutting through the room. “Isla is an outsider.” The air in the room instantly turned to lead. Both Charles and Victoria looked incredibly uncomfortable. The word “outsider” was like a needle popping the bubble of artificial peace they had maintained for over a decade. “That’s enough,” Charles said, rising to his feet and walking over to me. “Hand over the jade pendant to Isla. Then go to your room. You are not to leave the house for the next few days.” It was an ultimatum. “And if I refuse?” “You don’t have a choice.” Charles’s patience had completely evaporated. He gave a subtle nod to the security detail standing near the foyer. Two burly guards immediately stepped forward, flanking me. So they were resorting to physical intimidation. “Dad, are you sure you want to do this?” I looked at him, my eyes devoid of any warmth. “You’re going to use force on your own daughter for her?” Charles’s jaw worked silently, but he hardened his expression and nodded. “Fine,” I smiled. “Perfect.” I reached behind my neck, unclasped the antique jade pendant, and lifted it over my head. The moment the smooth, cool stone left my skin, a chill washed over me. Victoria’s eyes lit up with triumph, and Chase let out a quiet breath of relief. They thought I had broken. Holding the pendant, I walked over to the center of the living room, stopping right before the massive marble coffee table. Under everyone’s bewildered gaze, I raised my hand high. Then, I slammed it down with all my strength. “Crack!” A sharp, deafening sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The exquisite, irreplaceable jade shattered into dozens of jagged pieces against the hard marble. Fragments flew in every direction. One tiny sliver grazed Victoria’s cheek, leaving a thin, red line of blood. The entire house fell into a horrified, breathless silence. They stared at the shards, utterly paralyzed by the sheer violence of my action. “If I can’t have it,” I said, turning to look at their pale, stunned faces, “no one will.” “Least of all her.” I looked Charles dead in the eye, making sure my voice was steady and clear. “Now, you can lock me up.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked up the stairs. As I passed Chase, I could feel the rigid tension in his body and his burning gaze on my back. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t find a single word. Once inside my bedroom, I locked the door from the inside. I knew this was only the beginning. Shattering the pendant was step one. I had to let them know that the quiet, yielding girl they used to manipulate was dead. Now, I was going to make them return everything they owed her—with interest. I opened my laptop and logged into an encrypted email account. There was a single unread message waiting for me. It was from the private investigator I had hired. The subject line read: “Preliminary Report on Isla’s True Origins.” I clicked it open. As I read through the contents, a slow, cold smile spread across my face. Isla. Your little fairy tale is about to end.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538957”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Whenever Victoria does interviews, she loves to smile and tell the press that I’m the man behind her success. She says it’s my unwavering support that allowed her to become the undisputed queen of corporate law. And I’ve just spent the last six months negotiating the final pieces of her biggest triumph yet—a massive, multi-billion-dollar cross-border merger. Once the ink on this contract dries, Shaw Legal will officially secure its place among the global elite. I was heading to the airport, folders of final merger documents tucked under my arm, preparing to board my family’s private jet to fly to Wall Street for the signing. But I was stopped right at the boarding gate. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hayden,” the gate agent said, looking down at her tablet. “Ms. Shaw gave explicit instructions. Today’s flight is reserved for the young master and Mr. Ward’s vacation to Switzerland. No outsiders are permitted on board.” Outsiders. The word struck my ears like a physical blow, leaving me momentarily speechless. Through the glass door of the VIP lounge, I saw Victoria sitting inside. She was holding a little boy, about three years old, in her lap. Sitting right next to her was Adrian Ward—her college sweetheart, the one who had walked away years ago. The child was snuggled deeply into her chest, his tiny fingers clutching her lapel. He held her with an ease that suggested he had been carried this way since the day he was born. “Mommy, Daddy said we’re going to fly on the giant plane to see the snow!” Victoria didn’t correct his choice of words. Instead, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. The tenderness in her expression was entirely foreign to me. “That’s right, sweetie. Are you excited?” The three of them leaned in close, forming a picture-perfect family portrait. I watched them for a long, quiet moment. Finally, a soft, dry laugh slipped past my lips, and I pulled out my phone to dial my personal attorney. “I need you to pull up every authorization, funding agreement, and power of attorney I’ve signed over to Victoria Shaw and Shaw Legal over the last ten years.” If she truly believed she had built this empire entirely on her own strength. Then I would gladly tear up the road I had spent a decade paving for her. … The voice on the other end of the line faltered, audibly stunned. “Mr. Hayden, what… what is happening?” I didn’t offer an explanation. I only added in a cold, level voice: “And one more thing. Freeze the flight path for my private jet immediately.” The second I hung up, a wave of commotion broke out inside the VIP lounge. The pilot walked quickly over to Victoria, bowing his head apologetically. “Ms. Shaw, I’m terribly sorry, but the flight path has been suddenly frozen. We cannot take off today. I’m waiting for further instructions…” Victoria’s gaze finally drifted away from Adrian and the boy. She looked up, and her eyes met mine through the glass. A flash of genuine delight washed over her face, and she quickly rose, walking toward me. For one absurd, fleeting second, my mind tried to rationalize the scene. I wanted to believe it was all a terrible misunderstanding. But the domestic tableau remaining behind her in the lounge anchored me to the reality of the betrayal. “Joseph! What are you doing here?” She reached out, attempting to wrap her arms around me as she always had. I took a quiet, deliberate step backward, letting her arms fall through empty air. “Why is that child calling you Mommy?” The easy smile on Victoria’s face stiffened. Her brow furrowed, her eyes reflecting nothing but irritation and confusion. “Joseph, please. That’s Adrian’s son, Toby.” “Adrian’s wife passed away recently, and Toby is so young to be without a mother. I only wanted to give him a bit of warmth so his childhood wouldn’t feel so empty.” She softened her tone, stepping closer, speaking to me as if she were coaxing a stubborn child. “You’ve always been the most generous, compassionate man I know. I knew you’d understand, right?” Before I could respond, a flight attendant approached us. “Ms. Shaw, the master bedroom on board has been completely remodeled. It’s now the young master’s private playroom.” “We followed the exact specifications sent over by your firm’s administrative director. I hope you find it to your liking.” My fingers clenched around the folder in my hand, the paper crumpling under my grip. That jet had been left to me by my father. Every piece of custom furniture in that master bedroom had been personally used by him before he passed. Years ago, because of my stubborn refusal to stop funding Victoria’s ambitions, my father had stripped me of my inheritance at Hayden Enterprises. Since then, that cabin was the only place left on earth where I could still feel his presence, surrounded by the things he loved. Yet Victoria hadn’t even bothered to ask before gutting it to build a playroom for Adrian’s son. She simply gave the flight attendant a brief, indifferent nod, as though the destroyed pieces of my father’s memory were nothing more than eyesores she had finally cleared away. Then she turned back to me, her voice tinged with a mild, exhausting sigh. “Joseph, Adrian is going through such a difficult time. He’s trying to raise a toddler alone while attempting to rebuild his career from scratch.” “We’ve all known each other for so long. Helping him out a little is only natural, isn’t it?” I took a slow, deep breath, but my chest felt so tight it ached. Helping him out? To the point where the entire staff of her firm was instructed to call this child ‘the young master’? Adrian walked out of the lounge, cradling Toby in his arms. He wore an expression of perfect, fragile contrition. “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Are we… are we causing a fight between you two?” Toby reached his small arms out toward Victoria. “Mommy! Carry me!” Without a single second of hesitation, Victoria took the boy into her arms, her touch incredibly gentle. They stood shoulder to shoulder—peaceful, harmonious, complete. And I stood opposite them, a stranger who had overstayed his welcome in his own life. The pilot walked out to join us. “Ms. Shaw, we’ve received updated clearance. The jet’s flight path has been modified. We are cleared to fly to New York.” Victoria blinked, a sudden look of triumph lighting up her face. “Joseph, the merger papers—you got them signed?” Without waiting for me to answer, she immediately turned to Adrian, her voice soft and endlessly patient. “Adrian, we have to make a quick detour to New York for a very important contract signing.” “Once we finish there, we’ll fly straight to the Swiss Alps so Toby can see the snow, okay?” With that, she turned, carrying the boy toward the shuttle bus on the tarmac. Only when she reached the doors did she look back, offering a bright, effortless smile. “Joseph, Adrian, come on! Hurry up!” Her tone was so natural, so utterly convinced that I existed solely to sweep away her obstacles and facilitate her life. Adrian offered her a small smile, then paused beside me, keeping his voice incredibly low. “You see it too, don’t you, Joseph?” “Victoria is always so exhausted when she’s with you. Around you, she has to be the partner—cold, powerful, never allowed to make a mistake.” “But with Toby and me, she actually gets to be a woman.” I let out a quiet, hollow laugh. Exhausted. Ten years ago, a tearful Victoria had sat in my apartment, pouring out her grand ambitions, her desperate hunger to prove herself. I hadn’t hesitated for a single second. I gave her everything I had. To secure the capital for her startup, I knelt outside my father’s study for three days and three nights. I begged him to divert Hayden Group resources to her fledgling firm. My father’s face had turned ash-gray with fury, his hand trembling as he pointed at me. “Joseph, are you throwing away basic business logic for a woman?” “Fine. If you’re going to be this stubborn, you are no longer the heir to this family!” I traded my birthright, my future, just to give her the leverage she needed. At the time, she had clung to me, sobbing against my chest. “Joseph, I’ll make them see. I’ll build an empire so great the Hayden family will have to admit you didn’t choose wrong!” And now, Adrian was telling me she was too tired around me. By the time my mind drifted back to the present, I had already been pulled onto the jet. Toby saw me, shrinking back into Victoria’s embrace. “Mommy, that uncle looks mean. I don’t like him.” With a cold expression, I turned on my heel and walked toward the restroom. Adrian followed, shutting the door behind him. “Are you still lying to yourself, Joseph?” “Deep down, Victoria has only ever loved me. You were nothing but a convenient stepping stone.” “Do you honestly believe she stayed with you all these years out of love?” “Do you remember that night she got drunk during the conference? She called me to her hotel room…” The blood rushed to my head, and I spun around, my voice a low, lethal snarl. “Shut up.” The door was pushed open, and Victoria immediately stepped inside, physically putting herself between Adrian and me. “Joseph! What is wrong with you? Adrian is dealing with enough trauma right now, and you’re acting like a jealous child over nothing! Do you have even a shred of basic empathy left?” I looked at her, and a profound, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. I nodded slowly, my voice sounding so cold it surprised even me. “You’re right. I have no empathy. I’m the bad guy.” Without another word, I pushed past them, walked into the small restroom compartment, and pulled out my satellite phone. “Are the documents finalized?” “Yes, Mr. Hayden. Everything is prepared.” “Good. As of this moment, revoke every single authorization, license, and asset transfer under my name associated with Victoria Shaw and Shaw Legal.” When I stepped back into the cabin, the three of them were sitting close together. They were laughing, sharing a quiet, domestic warmth, as if my brief outburst had never happened. Adrian gestured toward the leather armchair across from him, his tone effortlessly polite. “Grab a seat, Joseph. Don’t be polite.” He spoke as though he were the host, and this was his living room. Victoria held Toby, a soft smile lingering on her lips. She looked up at me, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, Joseph, about this merger signing… I’ve decided to let Adrian act as the lead counsel.” “He was a brilliant international corporate attorney before his setback. This merger is exactly what he needs to rebuild his reputation and get back into the field.” Lead counsel. I had literally just revoked the entire deal. There was no merger left for anyone to lead. I nodded calmly. “Sure.” Victoria’s brow pinched. “Joseph, what is that supposed to mean?” I looked her dead in the eye. “Using a man who was disbarred two years ago for corporate bribery to head a multi-billion-dollar international acquisition.” “Victoria, is this really how you handle your fiduciary duty to your firm?” Adrian’s eyes immediately welled with tears. He lowered his head, his voice cracking slightly. “Victoria, forget it. Joseph doesn’t want me here. I’ll step down.” “I don’t want to be the reason you two fight.” I had no desire to watch him perform. I walked over to a corner sofa, sat down, and closed my eyes. The temperature in Victoria’s voice plummeted. “Joseph, when did you become so incredibly petty? You honestly disgust me.” Toby began whimpering. “Mommy, is Daddy not allowed to work anymore?” Victoria quickly hushed him, her voice dripping with sweetness. “No, sweetie, Daddy is going to work. Mommy has the final say here.” Then she turned her frigid glare back to me. “Joseph, you already have everything. Can’t you just let him have this one victory?” I opened my eyes, staring at her blankly. “What exactly do I have, Victoria?” “A forfeited inheritance?” “A law license that was suspended for two years because I took the fall for your firm’s compliance scandal?” “Or the fact that I wasn’t even there to hold my father’s hand when he died because I was halfway across the world fixing your mess?” Victoria’s face drained of color for a brief fraction of a second. “Joseph, I… I haven’t forgotten those things.” “But right now, Adrian needs the help more.” So she hadn’t forgotten. She remembered exactly what I had lost. She knew the exact depth of my sacrifices. It was just that none of it mattered compared to Adrian’s fragile ego. In that exact moment, whatever flickering ember of affection I had left for her died completely. But then, a violent, tearing pain exploded in my stomach. For years, I had run myself ragged keeping Shaw Legal afloat. There were months where I lived on nothing but black coffee and adrenaline. Over time, it had eroded my stomach, leaving me with a severe, chronic ulcer. The spasm hit me now with a vicious intensity, like a fist grabbing my internal organs and twisting. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead, and my breathing grew shallow and ragged. I pressed a hand hard against my abdomen and rasped toward the flight attendant in the forward galley. “Go to the medical bay… grab my medication…” The flight attendant stepped forward, her face twisted in a look of sheer awkwardness. “Mr. Hayden, I’m so sorry… Ms. Shaw had the medical bay cleared out. It was converted into Mr. Ward’s walk-in closet for his suits.” My head snapped up, staring at Victoria in absolute disbelief. She was the one who had insisted on installing that medical bay in the first place, terrified of my sudden flare-ups. She knew exactly how dangerous my condition was. Victoria’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before she recovered her defensive armor. “Joseph, the flight is only a few hours. Just push through it.” I stared at her, my mind flashing back to a night years ago. She had held my hands, tears streaming down her face as she pressed a bottle of pills into my palm, swearing she would never let me suffer like that again. A sudden, warm rush of fluid surged up my throat. The world went dark around the edges. I doubled over. A thick spray of dark crimson splattered across the light gray carpet. The flight attendant shrieked. “Mr. Hayden! Oh my god!” She spun toward Victoria, her voice trembling with panic. “Ms. Shaw, Mr. Hayden is throwing up blood. We need to contact air traffic control immediately and request an emergency landing!” But Victoria merely stared down at me, her expression hardening into profound disappointment. “Joseph, is this how low you’re willing to go? Throwing up fake blood just to keep Adrian from getting this signing?” I was in too much agony to speak, my body curling into a tight, trembling ball on the floor. Victoria stepped closer, a bitter sneer on her lips. “The last time you had a stomach hemorrhage, the blood was dark, almost black. This is bright red.” “And it just happens to flare up the exact moment I hand Adrian the lead counsel position.” “You really disappoint me, Joseph.” Adrian stood up, his voice filled with a beautifully calculated panic. “Victoria, look at him, he’s coughing up blood. Don’t push him anymore.” Toby buried his face in Victoria’s chest, crying loudly. “Mommy, I’m scared!” Victoria’s eyes grew completely dead. “Joseph, cut the act. You’re terrifying Toby!” I lay there, clutching my stomach, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Victoria turned to the flight attendant, her voice clipped and cold. “Drag Mr. Hayden into the utility hold so he can rest. Don’t let him stay out here and traumatize the child.” The flight attendant hesitated, looking down at me with pure dread. “Ms. Shaw…” Adrian stepped up, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Let me help you.” He reached down, grabbing my arm to hoist me up. To anyone else, it looked like a supportive lift. But his fingers dug deep, hard, directly into my agonizingly tender stomach. A spasm of pure agony racked my body, but I didn’t even have the breath left to scream. With the flight attendant holding my other side, they dragged my dead weight down the narrow corridor and poured me onto the floor of the dark utility hold. The pain in my abdomen was a white-hot knife, twisting over and over. Once we were inside the small room, Adrian turned to the flight attendant with a gentle, soothing tone. “I’ve got him from here. Go back and check on Toby; the poor thing was terrified.” The attendant hesitated for a second, then nodded and slipped out. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the warmth drained from Adrian’s face, replaced by a cold, sharp sneer. He knelt down in front of me, letting out a soft, amused chuckle. “Look at you, Joseph. Victoria herself ordered you to be locked in here.” I forced my eyelids open, staring up at him through a haze of tears and sweat. He slowly straightened the cuffs of his expensive shirt. “You really are pathetic. The great, powerful heir to the Hayden fortune, reduced to a dog on the floor all for a woman.” “And now she can’t even bear to look at you.” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Honestly, if you were to just slip away in here, it would make things so much easier for everyone.” “Victoria would finally be free of the guilt of holding you back.” “And Toby would officially have a mother, inheriting the multi-billion-dollar empire you built for her.” I glared at him, my throat burning as I choked out three words. “Don’t… flat… ter yourself.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed my shoulders and hauled my upper body up, forcing me head-down over a low storage chair. The sudden gravity sent the blood from my stomach rushing directly up my esophagus. Within seconds, my trachea filled with thick, metallic fluid. My eyes widened in terror as I tried to inhale, but only drew more blood into my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream. Adrian smiled, thoroughly satisfied. “Save your strength, Joseph. No one out there is coming for you.” He turned on his heel, walked out, and I heard the heavy deadbolt click into place from the outside. For the rest of the flight, Victoria never once checked on me. She was busy helping Toby build a Lego set, feeding him slices of fresh fruit. She was whispering quiet, intimate jokes with Adrian. The bright, happy sounds of the child’s laughter drifted through the thin gaps of the utility door. They were loud. Piercingly loud. When the plane finally touched down, the cabin doors opened. The three of them walked down the steps together. Not a single person asked where Joseph Hayden was. The moment Victoria stepped onto the tarmac, she turned her phone back on. Within seconds, her screen lit up with an avalanche of urgent messages and missed calls. “Ms. Shaw, all of the firm’s bank accounts have been frozen!” “Ms. Shaw, four of our anchor clients just sent over immediate termination notices!” “Ms. Shaw, federal investigators are at the office with a warrant regarding Adrian Ward’s fraud case from three years ago.” “Ms. Shaw…” The color drained from Victoria’s face, leaving her entirely hollow.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “538973”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel