Category: English

Carter found me too clingy, so he tossed me to his roommate. Because of that, every message I sent was answered by his roommate. Every anniversary gift I received was carefully picked out by his roommate. I was completely in the dark, eagerly counting down the days until our three-year anniversary meet-up. When we finally met in person, my boyfriend was tall, gorgeous, loved holding hands, and got shy incredibly easily. I couldn’t stop looking at him; I was beyond satisfied. The only thing was that he didn’t like to talk much, and he guarded me against other guys like they were trying to steal his wallet. I used to laugh and tell him he was making a big deal out of nothing—it wasn’t like I was some highly sought-after prize. That was until one day, an arrogant guy blocked our path on campus. His eyes were dark and furious, glaring dead at the person standing beside me. “Ethan, where the hell did you get a girlfriend?” 1 I had noticed that “Carter” had been acting a bit different over the past year. Before, when we chatted on Instagram, he didn’t talk much, but every sentence felt alive. But over this last year, his tone became stiff. Sometimes, the words popped up one by one, feeling almost forced. It was a bit like… I thought about it, a bit like the cold, unfamiliar feeling of a robot executing a command. I tentatively asked him once: “Do you… not like me anymore?” The reply came back fast, anxious and urgent. “No!” “I like you!” Before I could even respond, he started typing again. The typing bubble stayed on the screen for a long time. “Very busy today. Basketball game. Not ignoring your messages.” I shook my head, smiling as I typed back: “Okay, babe. I was wrong for doubting you. My bad.” But you couldn’t really blame me for overthinking. Online dating just lacked that sense of security. I hummed to myself, suddenly remembering something. I sent a few happy puppy emojis and followed up. “Do you still remember our promise? We get to meet in a few days.” The typing indicator popped up again. He was typing… and typing… and typing… I waited patiently at first, but my patience eventually ran out. “What is this supposed to mean? If you want to break up, just say it. If you don’t want to meet, just block me.” Carter seemed to panic. His message popped up instantly. “We can. Meet!” I smiled triumphantly. That was more like it. Immediately after, he transferred $15,000 to me via Apple Pay. I sent a question mark: “?” “Buy,” he replied quickly, adding two more words a second later: “Flight tickets.” Speaking of which, apart from talking less, the other big change in Carter over the past year was his love for sending me money. He used to send small gifts for holidays or my birthday, but this past year, the transfers came at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes, I’d just send him a random photo I took on my walk, and if there happened to be a pretty flower in the frame, he’d spot it and immediately send a few thousand dollars with the note: “Buy flowers. Pretty.” It gave me the impression that, in his own clumsy way, he couldn’t think of any other way to make me happy besides spending money. I didn’t accept the transfer. Instead, I snapped a selfie and sent it to him. “I already got approved for a one-year exchange program at Boston University!” I typed excitedly. “Carter, I can come find you at your campus. Are you happy?” I loved the ocean, so when we originally promised to meet, we agreed our first meeting would be in Miami. I went to the University of Miami, and he went to BU—two top-tier schools on opposite ends of the East Coast. The two universities had a long history of academic exchange, and students with top GPAs could apply for a semester or a year. It took Carter a long time to reply. I was clutching my phone, almost falling asleep, when his message finally came through. Just one word. “Happy.” 2 The moment I landed in Boston, my mom’s phone call chased me down. “I set up a meeting for you. Just treat it as making a new friend, and remember to visit old Mrs. Vance to pay your respects. Don’t be rude.” I hadn’t dared to tell my mom that I had an online boyfriend. Because of that, she had been relentlessly reminding me that once I got to Boston, I absolutely had to visit the family we supposedly had a childhood “verbal betrothal” with. I figured it would be a good opportunity to clear the air face-to-face, so I didn’t refuse. Plus, I heard the guy’s last name was also Hayes. Because of Carter, I had a bit of a soft spot for that name. However, I waited at the agreed-upon coffee shop from the afternoon straight into the evening, and the guy never showed up. Honestly, I kind of expected it. My mom told me the Hayes family used to live in our small town in Florida when I was five, but later moved to Boston. Word was they had clung to the coattails of the incredibly wealthy and famous Vance family, and their social status had skyrocketed. Naturally, they probably looked down on a small-town girl like me. They were probably terrified I’d try to leech off them. My mom was a hot-tempered chatterbox. I was a mild-tempered chatterbox. We stayed on the phone for half an hour, taking turns roasting the Hayes family. Finally, my dad’s slow, calm voice chimed in from the background. “Honey, don’t swear in front of the kid. You’ll teach her bad habits.” I laughed, suddenly remembering something. I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture of the Boston skyline. I opened my Instagram DMs with Carter, tossed the photo into the chat, and rapidly typed a few words. “I’m here! Countdown to meeting: 1 day!” 3 Meanwhile, outside the Computer Science dorms at BU. A group of guys were walking back from the athletic fields when one of them let out a surprised shout. “Whoa, isn’t that the Vance family’s car? Ethan Vance? What is he doing on campus?” Carter Hayes, wearing simple grey sweatpants and a white tee, holding a basketball, looked over at the sound. A low-profile, custom black Bentley was parked not too far away, one of the rear doors wide open. From his angle, Carter could only see a pale, distinctly knuckled hand gripping the door frame so tightly the veins were popping out. Carter knew that look. It was a look of absolute, paralyzing terror and a deep-seated aversion to stepping into a crowd. Ethan… Carter frowned. He couldn’t fathom why Ethan would try coming to campus again, especially since he had failed so miserably the last time. His roommate, Jake, looked confused too. “Doesn’t he have crippling social anxiety? Last year he came to our dorm saying he wanted to ‘overcome’ it. The rich kid lasted exactly two days as our roommate before he cracked.” “It’s getting late, and they drove him all the way out here. Don’t tell me they expect you to play babysitter again, Carter,” Jake said carelessly, before catching the look on Carter’s face. He quickly backpedaled. “I mean, who cares if he’s the sole heir to a billion-dollar empire? The guy can barely string a sentence together. How’s he supposed to run the Vance Corporation?” “No wonder old Mrs. Vance values you so much, Carter. When she kicks the bucket, that grandson of hers is going to have to rely entirely on you.” Carter didn’t say a word. He pulled his gaze away from the Bentley and walked away, acting like he didn’t care. Inside the car, Ethan pressed his lips together. His stunning, aristocratic face was pale, his porcelain skin dotted with cold sweat. His hand was still locked onto the door frame. It took him a long time before he finally whispered, “Will she… think I’m a freak?” Arthur, the family’s silver-haired butler, felt a pang of heartache. But he didn’t dare comfort him with the same confident reassurances he used to offer: Our young master is brilliant and handsome, who would ever think you’re a freak? When Ethan was little, he had a playmate who acted incredibly fond of him to his face. But behind his back, the boy called Ethan a “freak” and an “idiot.” Young Ethan had been hiding behind a door and heard every word. Since that day, he had completely shut down and refused to make friends. Thankfully, over the last few years, he had Carter Hayes around. Arthur didn’t know what kind of method Carter was using, but over this past year, Ethan had become so much more alive. He was always on his phone, he’d sometimes smile to himself as if no one else was in the room, and now he had actually volunteered to attend classes on campus. Because of this progress, the Vance family had poured massive resources into the Hayes family over the last few years, elevating their status immensely. As for this “she” Ethan was talking about, Arthur had no idea who it was, assuming it was just the anxiety talking. Arthur gently tried to change the subject. “Why don’t we head back home for tonight? We can try again another…” Ethan looked up, his eyes gorgeous and resolute. He shook his head. “Have to meet her.” 4 The Sociology 101 lecture hall at BU was packed. By the time I rushed in with my textbooks, there were only a handful of empty seats left. My eyes swept over the room and landed on a specific spot. In the third-to-last row by the window, a single person was sitting all alone. The seats in a full circle around him were completely empty, as if someone had drawn a quarantine line that no one dared to cross. The guy sitting there had a perfectly straight posture, almost rigidly so. He wore a simple white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to reveal pale wrists. The lecture hall was loud and chaotic, but he kept his head down, his long eyelashes casting small shadows under his eyes. He was so quiet it felt like someone had hit the pause button on him. I took a deep breath. I was almost entirely certain. As I walked toward him, a nervous-looking guy tried to intercept me. “Hey, you can sit over here. No one’s allowed to sit next to him.” Perhaps hearing the exchange, the guy at the window snapped his head up. The moment our eyes met, he froze completely. His light brown eyes flickered with shattered, nervous energy. I gently shook my head at the guy who stopped me and whispered, “Thanks, but I’m looking for him.” I plopped down into the seat right next to him. For a split second, the noisy area around us went dead silent. I didn’t care. I tilted my head, looked at him, and softened my voice. “Carter?” He couldn’t speak for a long time. Finally, he let out a tiny, barely-there “Yeah.” His voice was low, slightly raspy. I happily reached out and hooked my pinky finger around his, whispering, “I knew it was you. I recognized you instantly. Aren’t I amazing?” He didn’t speak, but the tips of his ears turned a violent shade of red that visibly spread down to his cheeks. I was stunned. Afraid he might spontaneously combust from embarrassment, I quickly let go of his hand. But a second later, he looked at me with wide, shocked eyes, looking exactly like an abandoned puppy. So, I slipped my hand back into his and asked casually, “By the way, what’s your real name? You said when we finally met, you’d tell me.” When we chatted online, neither of us used our real names. It started because I was going through an abstract internet phase and insisted on using weird screen names, and eventually, we just got used to it. Hearing this, he pressed his lips together, his expression suddenly very serious. “Ethan. My name is Ethan Vance.” I swung his hand lightly, smiling until my eyes were half-moons. “Hi Ethan. It is so incredibly nice to meet you.” 5 Ethan’s condition was a bit worse than I had imagined. When I first matched with “Carter” on the app, the system showed our compatibility at 98%. His tags were: Withdrawn, Aloof, Fearful. From the very beginning of our chats, I knew Ethan had a condition—a severe form of social anxiety and trauma that didn’t have a simple name. Because of severe emotional trauma when he was young, he was terrified of face-to-face interactions and crowds. He couldn’t live normally in the real world, couldn’t speak to strangers, couldn’t make friends. So, he hid himself away on the internet. Honestly, at first, I just felt a bit of pity for him. It was like seeing a stray cat shivering in an alley during a rainstorm; the natural instinct is to hold an umbrella over it. But unexpectedly, we clicked. It was a deep, soul-level alignment. We read the same books, watched the same obscure movies, listened to the same instrumental music. He always managed to catch the unspoken emotions behind my words perfectly. My roommate, Mia, used to lean over my desk, looking at me in the mirror with utter confusion. “Why are you doing the online dating thing? With your looks, you could stand in the quad for five minutes and have eighty guys begging for your number.” I thought about it for a long time, but my answer sounded like a textbook hopeless romantic. “He’s different.” Everyone in my family was ridiculously good-looking, which meant I had a built-in immunity to pretty faces. To me, the cookie-cutter standard of attractiveness was nowhere near as precious as a brilliant, fascinating mind. And Ethan was brilliant. Almost terrifyingly so. During my senior year of high school, when the pressure of AP classes was crushing me, he practically became my tutor. No matter how impossible the calculus problem, he could break it down perfectly through a screen, typing out thousands of words of step-by-step logic just to help me grasp a weak subject. I looked down. Ethan was holding my hand. He was gripping it very, very tightly. I smiled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Relax, babe. I’m not going to run away.” He pressed his lips together, switched hands, and held on even tighter. I sat next to him, happily chattering away about everything under the sun. I talk a lot, and unlike most people, I love adding dramatic, colorful details. A story about someone stepping on the back of my shoe at the airport could be a one-sentence anecdote for a normal person; I could stretch it into a ten-minute comedy routine. After talking so much, I unconsciously swallowed, my throat feeling dry. The next second, a pale, elegant hand appeared in my vision, holding an opened, flawlessly clean thermos. My eyes lit up. I took it and drank a huge gulp. The water wasn’t too hot or too cold—it was the perfect temperature, and it even had a faint, soothing hint of lemon and mint. “Babe, you are way too sweet!” I teased, looking at him with a grin. “Thanks, boyfriend.” The tips of Ethan’s ears went bright red again. He stammered, “Y-you’re welcome.” I smiled and reached up to smooth his dark hair. It was soft, like silk. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like to talk, I thought. I talk enough for the both of us. 6 “I heard Ethan Vance is back on campus.” “You should buddy up to him. Keep a close eye on him. If you can get that kid to say even a single word when he goes back home, the Vance family will owe you big time.” “You hearing me, Carter?” Carter Hayes let out a scoffing laugh and hung up the phone. His roommate, Jake, noticed he looked annoyed and tried to think of something entertaining. His eyes lit up. “Hey, did you hear? We got a new exchange student in the CS department. Holy crap, bro, she is stunning.” “She walked past the courts this afternoon and someone snapped a pic for the campus confession page. Half the comments are already shipping you two.” “Look, the comments are crazy… ‘Help! They don’t even know each other but I’ve already written a 100k-word college romance in my head!’” “Nothing else matters, just based on their faces, I’m fully on board!” Jake pulled up the photo and slapped his thigh. “Dude, Carter, this girl is exactly your type!” He looked up and realized Carter wasn’t listening at all, his eyes glued to the game on his monitor. Jake scratched his head. “Oh, right, I forgot. You have that online girlfriend visiting. When are you guys finally meeting up?” Carter didn’t even look away from the screen. “She was just something to kill time when I was bored. Who said she’s my girlfriend?” “Besides, with the way she looks…” Carter thought back, almost forgetting why he had started talking to her in the first place. He had accidentally hit the video call button once and caught a glimpse of her face from a terrible angle—a round, puffy face with tiny eyes. Definitely not attractive. At the time, he could have just ghosted her. But then he looked over at Ethan. His online girlfriend needed someone to reply to her messages 24/7. Ethan needed an excuse to never open his mouth 24/7. So he tossed the girl he was annoyed by to the guy he despised. A chatterbox and a mute. A cold smirk touched the corner of Carter’s lips. A match made in heaven. He had specifically warned Ethan—he could chat with her, but he was strictly forbidden from meeting her in person. Carter didn’t want the hassle of dealing with the fallout. After all, Ethan was just a fake stand-in; he definitely didn’t have the guts to show up to a real-life date. The very next day, Carter and his crew were hanging out near the basketball courts when a girl walked toward them. The afternoon sun hit her perfectly. Her skin was luminous, her features striking and bright, and she carried herself with tall, confident grace. There was no one this gorgeous at BU. This had to be the transfer student Jake was raving about. Carter’s throat bobbed, and he smiled to himself. Jake really did know his type. Used to being the center of attention, he was always the one being approached. For the first time in his life, he took the initiative and walked up to someone. “Hey. I’m Carter Hayes. Mind if we be friends?” 7 I froze for a second, looking up at him. The guy standing in front of me was undeniably handsome in a very sharp, aggressive way. He had an arrogant, careless energy about him. If Ethan’s beauty was like fragile, cold porcelain, the guy in front of me was like a drawn sword—sharp and full of himself. He’s also named Carter Hayes? What a coincidence. Ethan probably never imagined that the random fake name he picked would belong to a real guy on his campus. I snapped out of it and smoothly handled the approach. “Hi, I’m Chloe. Nice to meet you, friend.” Remembering that Ethan was waiting for me, I gave him a polite nod and kept walking toward the campus exit. Behind me, Jake and the other guys started howling and teasing him. “Oh man, she ran away! She’s totally blushing!” “Carter, you’ve still got it. There isn’t a girl alive you can’t charm!” Carter just shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled like it was an everyday occurrence. Ethan still couldn’t adapt to the dorms, so he had only stayed on campus for one day before returning to the Vance estate. I had a few afternoon classes today, and his car was already waiting at the campus gates. “You didn’t have to get here so early,” I said as I climbed in, reaching out with both hands to squish his cheeks. “It’s so boring waiting out here.” He sat perfectly still, letting me squish his face. “Not boring. Not seeing you… is boring.” I pouted slightly, amazed that this little introvert was actually so good at sweet-talking. The car pulled into a luxury high-rise building not far from BU. Ethan led me into a massive penthouse apartment. I turned to look at him, confused. “For you,” he said, pulling a property deed seemingly out of nowhere. “For school.” I panicked and waved my hands frantically. “No way, absolutely not.” An apartment in this building had to be worth millions. There was no way I was accepting that. I spoke quickly: “I’m totally fine living in the dorms, it’s super convenient.” I had seen the BU dorms. They were standard four-person suites, nice enough, with decent space. “Plus, I’m only here for a year, it’s not like I’m staying forever—” Before I could finish, the light in Ethan’s eyes dimmed. I quickly backpedaled. “Ah! I just mean, who buys someone an apartment the second time they meet? No, no, no. Even boyfriends don’t do that.” “Dorms are bad,” he insisted softly. He paused, looking like his brain was running a desperate search algorithm for a logical argument. Finally, he added, “The bathrooms aren’t big enough.” …I literally could not argue with that. Ethan didn’t push it. He just stood there, looking down at me. His long eyelashes hid most of his eyes, making him look quiet and wronged, like a giant dog that had been left in the rain. I had no defense against that look. I poked him in the nose with my index finger and huffed. “Fine. I will live here temporarily, but I am absolutely not taking this deed.” Ethan pressed his lips together, but the corners of his mouth curved up ever so slightly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392097”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I slept with the Supreme Commander of the Federation. My goal was to borrow his S-class pheromones to cure my genetic disease. After the treatment, I ran, casually leaving a single coin on his nightstand. It was an acknowledgment of his… services. I thought my plan was flawless. Until three months later, I was pinned to the ground while buying suppressants in the black market. Arthur pressed his gun against the back of my head, his tone freezing cold: “Finally caught you.” “Ethan, I was very dissatisfied with that one-dollar tip you left that night.” I instinctively shielded my stomach. No other reason. Just that this “job” had resulted in a little surprise. 1 When Arthur caught me, I was throwing up. Leaning against the filthy wall of the black market, I was retching so hard I thought I’d bring up bile. Being pregnant… this whole thing was way too out of bounds for a guy who had been an Alpha for twenty-six years. I should have just stabbed Arthur that night instead of getting soft-hearted and merely using him as an antidote. “Are you done throwing up?” A voice as cold as ice came from above. My spine stiffened. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That pheromone scent, like frozen earth after a blizzard—there was no second person in the entire Federation with it. Arthur. The Supreme Commander of the Federation, an S-class Alpha known as the “Mad Dog.” He was also my former partner and my current mortal enemy. I wiped my mouth, slowly stood up straight, turned around, and flashed him a grin. “Well, Commander Arthur. Long time no see. Missed me that much?” Arthur didn’t smile. Behind him stood a fully armed special forces squad, their muzzles pointing uniformly at my head. This kind of lineup was a bit excessive, even for my funeral. Arthur, his black-gloved fingers resting on his holster, ran his dark, brooding gaze over me. Finally, his eyes settled on my stomach. My heart skipped a beat. I was wearing loose clothes, so I wasn’t showing much, but his eyes were as venomous as a snake’s. “Your skills have slipped, Ethan.” “You used to be able to smell me three streets away. Now I’m standing right behind you, and you’re dealing with morning sickness?” He used the term “morning sickness.” Not “nausea.” My pupils contracted slightly, and the dagger in my hand quietly slipped into my palm. “My stomach’s been acting up lately. Ate something bad.” “What, does Commander Arthur care about my diet now?” Arthur let out a cold laugh. The next second, he struck without warning. If it were the old days, I could have gone three hundred rounds with him. But now? First, my legs were weak from throwing up. Second, the aftereffects of my genetic disease, combined with the little vampire in my belly, meant my stamina was currently worse than a Beta’s. I only had time to raise my arm to block. Crack. Sharp pain shot through my wrist. Just like that, he twisted my arms behind my back and slammed me hard against the grimy wall. “Ugh… Arthur, you son of a…” “Shh.” The cold barrel of the gun pressed against the back of my head. Arthur leaned in close to my ear, his tone freezing: “Finally caught you.” “Ethan, I was very dissatisfied with that one-dollar tip you left that night.” 2 I was taken back to Federal Prison No. 3. This place was specifically for S-class felons, known as the “Living Tomb.” And I was enjoying the highest level of treatment—personal interrogation by Arthur. The heat was off in the interrogation room, and it was bone-chillingly cold. I was locked in a specialized interrogation chair, my hands and feet tightly shackled. These shackles could suppress pheromones; if I struggled too much, they would release a high-voltage shock. Arthur sat across from me, slowly and methodically cleaning his gun. It was the birthday present I gave him back in the day. I didn’t expect him to keep it until now, much less plan to use it to shoot me. “Ethan, three years on the run, and this is what you’ve reduced yourself to?” He looked up at me, his gaze critical. I was definitely looking rough right now. I’d been stripped down to a single, thin T-shirt. My abdomen was throbbing dully from the violent struggle earlier. I gritted my teeth, fighting back the waves of nausea welling up in my throat. “I’m doing alright.” I forced a smirk. “Just came back for a family visit, you know.” “Family visit?” Arthur acted like he’d just heard a joke. “Visiting who? That former partner you shot through the shoulder and left in the ruins?” Arthur had a through-and-through scar on his body. I did that. Three years ago, the first signs of my genetic breakdown appeared. To avoid dragging him down, and to find a banned drug only available on the black market, I orchestrated a defection. I deliberately missed his vital organs with that shot, but I didn’t expect him to hold a grudge until now. “That was an accident.” “The gun misfired.” SLAM! Arthur slammed his hand on the table. “An accident?” “And sneaking into my residence, drugging me, and using me like a cheap gigolo for a night—was that an accident too?!” I didn’t expect things to turn out like that either. Three months ago, I desperately needed Arthur’s bone marrow fluid or highly concentrated pheromones as a catalyst for my medicine. I sneaked into his residence, originally planning to just draw a vial of his blood. Who knew I’d walk right into the middle of his explosive rut? The whole room was filled with that maddening scent. As an Alpha whose genes were on the verge of collapse, being stimulated by that top-tier oppressive aura caused an immediate, massive rejection reaction. I went crazy too. Only one thought remained in my mind: I need him. What happened next was a blur. I only remember biting, tangling, and him calling my name in the haze of passion. But I couldn’t admit it. If I admitted it, not only would I lose the cub, I’d lose my life too. “Commander Arthur, you need evidence for those claims.” I stared into his eyes, forcing myself to stay calm. “Your residence is heavily guarded. How could I possibly get in? Besides, I’m an Alpha, you’re an Alpha. How do two rock-hard men sleep together? A sword fight?” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You’re an Alpha?” He suddenly reached out, his hand moving toward the scent gland on the back of my neck. There was a heavy-duty blocker patch stuck there. “Ethan, your pheromone scent has changed.” “It used to smell like strong liquor, now…” He leaned in closer and sniffed, frowning. “Why does it smell like milk?” 3 A herd of wild horses was trampling through my heart. That was the specific scent of an Omega during pregnancy. Even a blocker patch couldn’t completely hide it. “It’s a new cologne. You wouldn’t get it.” “Is it?” Arthur sneered. His fingers suddenly tightened, ready to rip off the blocker patch. “Then let me smell what brand this cologne is.” “Don’t touch me!” I panicked and struggled violently. If he discovered my scent gland had mutated into an Omega’s, everything was over. The shackles sensed my struggle and instantly released a high-voltage current. Zzzzt—! “Ugh!” Agony ripped through my entire body. My vision went black, and I slumped in the chair, convulsing. The electricity didn’t just shock my nerves; it stimulated my already unstable reproductive cavity. It felt like someone had viciously kicked my stomach. The pain made me curl up, and cold sweat instantly soaked my back. “Ethan!” Arthur didn’t seem to expect me to react this violently. He immediately cut the power and reached out to slap my face. “Stop playing dead! That was nothing!” I didn’t have the energy to play dead. I was in real pain. I could even feel something slowly slipping away. “Medicine…” I gripped his sleeve. “Give me my medicine…” “What medicine?” Arthur’s face changed; he must have realized something was very wrong. My body temperature was dropping rapidly, and my lips had turned a purplish-blue. “I have a genetic disease… I need my suppressants…” I shivered, speaking half-truths. I couldn’t say “pregnancy-preserving drugs.” If I did, it would be two lives lost. Arthur stared at me dead on, his eyes unreadable. Just when I thought he was going to watch me die in pain, he suddenly turned and pulled a syringe from the drawer of the interrogation table. It was a military emergency med-kit. Without hesitation, he injected it into my jugular vein. The liquid pushed in, freezing cold. The pain eased slightly. I gasped for air, like a fish just pulled out of the water. Arthur threw away the syringe and grabbed my chin again. “Ethan, what exactly are you hiding from me?” “I’ve checked your physical data. An S-class Alpha’s constitution wouldn’t collapse from that little bit of electricity.” “Unless…” His gaze moved down again, locking onto my abdomen. It was still spasming from the pain. “Unless your physical structure has mutated.” “Take off your clothes.” “What?” I froze for a second. “I said, take off your clothes.” Arthur stood up straight. “Or do I have to do it for you?” “Right here? Are you crazy, Arthur?” “I do what I want, where I want.” He didn’t give me a chance to refuse, grabbing the hem of my T-shirt directly. Riiiip— The fabric tore. My upper body was exposed to the air. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Because my body was covered in scars. Knife wounds, bullet wounds, burn marks—crisscrossing like an ugly web. Arthur’s gaze didn’t linger on those old scars. He stared at my lower abdomen. There was a slight bulge there. If you didn’t look closely, you’d think it was just relaxed muscle. But Arthur reached out and placed his hand over it. I shuddered, instinctively trying to pull back, but there was nowhere to hide. “What is this?” His voice trembled. It carried extreme shock and disbelief. “A lump? A tumor?” He pressed down slightly. I let out a muffled groan. The little cub inside, as if sensing the approach of its other half’s bloodline, actually moved at that very moment. It was a very faint movement. But Arthur froze completely. “It moved…?” I closed my eyes in despair. It was over. This time, it was really over. “Ethan.” Arthur’s voice was hoarse, laced with desperation. “Are you… pregnant?” “An Alpha… pregnant?” 4 Since I couldn’t hide it anymore, there was no need to keep playing the submissive fool. “Yes.” I opened my eyes and looked at him provocatively. “If you don’t believe me, you can cut it open right now and see if it’s a freak or a miracle.” “Whose is it?” He thought I had been sleeping around with wild men out there, knocked up, and came back just to disgust him. I suddenly found it a bit funny. “It’s not yours, anyway.” I deliberately provoked him. “You know what the black market is like. To stay alive, sometimes you have to pay a price…” “Shut up!” He grabbed me by the throat, his eyes bloodshot. “Ethan, how dare you… how dare you let another Alpha touch you?!” The feeling of suffocation rushed in. My vision started to go black, but a smile still hung on my lips. “Cough… Commander Arthur… we broke up a long time ago… who I sleep with… is none of your damn business…” “I forbid it!” Arthur seemed to have lost his mind, his pheromones violently washing over the entire room. “You are mine! Even if you’re a corpse, you’re mine!” “Who does that bastard child belong to?! I’ll kill him! I’ll tear him to pieces!” His grip tightened. I was really going to be strangled to death. The fetus in my abdomen sensed the mother’s crisis and began to struggle violently. It hurt so much. A hundred times worse than the electric shock just now. “Ugh…” I finally couldn’t hold it in and let out a painful groan. That sound seemed to bring back Arthur’s sanity. He looked at my pale face and my starting-to-dilate pupils, and his hand violently released. “Cough, cough, cough…” I coughed violently, greedily sucking in air. Arthur stumbled back two steps, his chest heaving heavily. He looked at his hands, then at me, curled up in pain, confusion and fear flashing in his eyes. “Ethan…” “Get lost…” I was sweating profusely from the pain, gritting my teeth and cursing: “Arthur, if you want to kill me, just do it… stop torturing me…” “Medic!” Arthur roared toward the door. “Get the military medic in here! Now!” “I dare anyone to come in!” “Arthur, if you dare let anyone else touch me… I’ll die right in front of you.” I still held the broken half of the dagger blade in my hand. I pressed it against my carotid artery. “Let me go.” “Impossible.” Arthur refused without a second thought. “With your physical condition, walking out that door means death.” “Staying here means death!” I stared at him. “Arthur, I’m a mutated Omega from a secondary gender differentiation. This child is a monster; it’s eating my life!” “You need top-tier Alpha pheromones to soothe it. Nobody else can save you.” Arthur calmed down. “Ethan, no matter who this bastard child belongs to, we’re saving your life first.” “Once you’re cured…” A ruthless glint appeared in his eyes. “I will personally abort this abomination, and then I’ll find your wild man and tear him to pieces.” I looked at him. I had a lot of mixed feelings. Are you going to tear yourself to pieces? Idiot. But I didn’t dare say it. This child was his. If he found out the truth, given his obsession with blood purity and his controlling nature, this child wouldn’t live to see tomorrow. And he would lock me up, lock me up for the rest of my life. “Ah—!” A tearing, agonizing pain suddenly erupted in my abdomen. My vision went black, and I completely lost consciousness. But in the last second before I passed out, I heard Arthur’s panicked shouts. “Ethan! Ethan!” And that momentary, trembling embrace that wrapped tightly around me. 5 When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed in the infirmary. There were no shackles on my hands or feet, but there was a collar around my neck. It was the kind of suppression collar with GPS tracking and electric shock capabilities. Arthur sat by the bed, peeling an apple. Seeing I was awake, he cut a slice of the peeled apple and held it to my lips. “Eat.” I didn’t open my mouth, watching him warily. “It’s not poisoned.” He took a bite himself, chewing loudly. Then he said suddenly, “The child is still there.” I froze for a second, instinctively touching my stomach. “Why didn’t you abort it?” Arthur tossed the rest of the apple onto a plate and wiped his hands with a tissue. “The doctor said your reproductive cavity is underdeveloped and the walls are too thin. Forcing an abortion right now carries a 90% chance of massive hemorrhage.” He looked up at me, his eyes cold. “I don’t want you dying on the operating table. That would be letting you off too easy.” “So you’re planning to let me give birth to it?” “Give birth to it, and then I’ll strangle it right in front of you.” A chill ran down my spine. This mad dog would actually do it. I took a deep breath. “Arthur, let’s make a deal.” “I’ll help you find the person who broke into your residence, and you let me and the child go.” Arthur paused his movements. “You know who that person is?” “Of course.” I lied effortlessly. “I saw him in the black market. He’s also an Alpha, very skilled in disguises.” “Oh?” Arthur leaned in close to me. “Then tell me, why does that person have the exact same beautiful peach-blossom eyes as you?” I stopped talking. This bastard was bluffing me. Arthur reached out and gently patted my stomach. “Ethan, do you really think I’m stupid?” “Even though the security footage from that night was deleted, you left behind plenty of biological samples.” “I ran a DNA comparison.” My heart skipped a beat. I was screwed. “The results aren’t out yet.” Arthur slowly added another sentence. “But I have time.” “Until the results are out, you’ll stay here quietly and focus on your pregnancy.” “If you dare to run…” He pointed at the collar on my neck. “This thing can only be unlocked by my fingerprint. If you dare take one step out of this room, it will explode.” “And turn that pretty head of yours into a smashed watermelon.” 6 I was under house arrest. Right under Arthur’s nose. I have to admit, aside from his venomous tongue and ruthless nature, this mad dog really knew how to take care of someone. Three meals a day of top-tier nutritious food, and he watched me finish every bite. He practically gave away his pheromones for free to soothe my restless reproductive cavity. My current body was like a bottomless pit, greedily devouring his pheromones. Sometimes when I woke up in the middle of the night, I’d find him sleeping right next to me. Not back-to-back like we used to. He held me in his arms like a body pillow, his hand resting protectively on my stomach. Even in his sleep, he would unconsciously nuzzle the top of my head with his chin. It gave me an illusion. As if we had never fallen out, as if these three years were just a dream. As if… we really were just a normal Alpha/Omega couple, anticipating the arrival of a new life. But when I was fully awake, I knew this was a dead end. Once that DNA report came out, once he knew this child was his—and also the tool I used to exploit him— What awaited me would undoubtedly be a captivity worse than death. I had to run. The opportunity came quickly. Arthur had to attend a high-level Federation meeting and would be away for three days. He tripled the guards, turning the entire building into an iron fortress. But he underestimated the escape skills of a former S-class agent. On the second night of his absence, I pried open the ventilation duct. The collar was a problem. But I took a gamble. I gambled that Arthur wouldn’t actually blow my head off. I tampered with the collar’s sensor, using a thin wire pulled from the mattress to short-circuit its signal transmitter. I only had three minutes. After three minutes, the system would report an error, and Arthur would receive an alarm. I had to sprint out of this building and jump into the moat within three minutes. Everything went smoothly. Until I climbed out of the vent and stood on the roof, ready to jump. A familiar voice that made my scalp tingle came from behind me. “Ethan.” “Where do you think you’re taking my seed?” I turned around stiffly. In the pouring rain. Arthur hadn’t gone to the meeting. He was wearing that black trench coat, standing in the rain, holding a freshly printed document in his hand. He held up the report, the paper snapping in the wind and rain. “100% match.” He grinned, revealing his stark white teeth. “Ethan, you have some nerve.” “You slept with me, got pregnant with my seed, and then lied to me that it belonged to some wild man?” “Tell me, how should I punish you?” I took a step back, my heels hanging over the edge. Below me was a hundred-meter drop into a rushing river. “Arthur, I don’t owe you anything.” I shouted loudly, my voice torn apart by the wind and rain. “That shot from three years ago, I paid it back! This child… consider it payback too!” “What are you paying me back with?!” Arthur roared furiously, throwing the report aside and charging toward me. “Your body is mine! Your life is mine! This child is mine!” “Get over here!” “In your dreams!” I didn’t want to be his canary anymore, let alone a baby-making machine. I leaned back and spread my arms. Just as Arthur’s fingertips brushed mine, I fell backward. The wind howled past my ears. I saw Arthur lunge to the edge of the roof, half his body leaning out. On that always-calm face, I saw an expression called “despair” for the very first time. “Ethan—!!!” In that moment, I actually felt a twisted sense of satisfaction. So the mad dog feels pain too? Then let him hurt. This was the final bite mark I was leaving him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392117”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

As graduation approached and it was time to settle the cohort dues, I stared at the message in the group chat: [Cohort Fund Balance: $368.60] I fell into a deep silence. Since freshman year, all fifty of us in the business cohort had paid $500 annually in chapter dues. We even bought our own textbooks out of pocket. How could there be almost nothing left? Liam, our Cohort President, sent another message: [We would never embezzle the cohort funds. Every single transaction is recorded.] But a few seconds later, he unsent it. Everyone in the chat started shouting, demanding to see the ledger. That was when my roommate, Chloe—our VP of Academics—started to panic. 1 I was just about to lie down for a nap. A notification popped up in our cohort’s GroupMe: [Cohort Fund Balance: $368.60] All the sleepiness vanished from my body. I jumped out of bed. I stared hard at the screen, analyzing those three digits, the decimal, and the change, completely lost in thought. We had been paying these dues since freshman year. Four years, $500 a person, fifty students in the cohort. That was $100,000 total. Even our daily class materials and textbooks were bought with our own money. How on earth was there only three hundred bucks left? Immediately, classmates began raising questions, asking Liam if his math was wrong. Liam sent another message: [We would never embezzle the cohort funds. Every single transaction is recorded.] Some fast-typing classmates immediately tagged him, demanding to see the expense sheet. A minute later, the screen showed: Liam unsent a message. At first, I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he really had just miscalculated the total. I was already daydreaming about how to spend my cut of the massive refund. But then I looked closer. Liam hadn’t unsent the balance. He had unsent the second message. Meaning, after four years and $100,000, our collective fund really was sitting at a pathetic $368.60. The group chat absolutely exploded. 2 Noah, the designated chatterbox of our cohort, was the first to tag the President. [Liam, how did you get $368.60? Did you put the decimal in the wrong place?] [Stop trolling us, man! Everyone’s waiting for that refund so we can be rich for a week!] Other classmates chimed in: [Even with a misplaced decimal, it should be way more than that, right?] Noah then led the charge, demanding to see the official ledger for the cohort’s expenses. Back when we first collected the dues freshman year, Advisor Davis had sworn to us: “The use of the cohort funds will be entirely public and transparent.” She handed full control of the money over to us students. To ensure everything was tracked, she even made Liam open a specific, separate bank account just for the cohort dues. It was supposed to keep the money safe, leave a paper trail, and allow for quick audits. So Noah’s request to see the ledger wasn’t out of line at all. It was perfectly reasonable. I chimed in and sent: [I want to see the ledger too +1.] Liam quickly replied: [Still organizing the spreadsheet. Please wait.] Didn’t they say we could check the accounts at any time? Besides, he had already announced the $368.60 balance, which meant he had obviously already run the numbers. I glanced over and noticed my roommate, Chloe—the VP of Academics and Liam’s girlfriend—sitting at her desk with her brows knitted tightly together. I patted her shoulder. “Chloe, there’s no way our fund only has three hundred bucks left. Don’t stress. Your boyfriend probably just made a spreadsheet error. He just needs to clarify it with everyone.” She hesitated for a second before forcing a smile. “Yeah, exactly.” But I could see the panic in her eyes growing stronger. An hour passed. Liam still hadn’t posted the itemized ledger. I sent a message to the group: [Liam, is the itemized list ready yet?] The very next second, I was hit with a one-hour mute from the group admin. Seeing the mute notification, Chloe walked over to me and defended her boyfriend. “Emma, Liam has a lot on his plate managing the cohort. Don’t push him so hard. It disrupts his ability to serve the students.” I mentally gave her a standing ovation for her breathtaking double standards. When Chloe and Liam got into a fight a few months ago, she stayed up until 2 AM loudly arguing with him on the phone for three hours straight. The entire dorm couldn’t sleep. As her roommate, all I could do was comfort her and try to calm her down. The next day, when they made up, Liam somehow blamed me for their argument. Then there was the group project incident. We were less than an hour away from the Canvas submission deadline. Our entire dorm group was just waiting on Chloe to finish her section. I urged her to hurry up. Instead, she snapped at me: “I’m the VP of Academics! I’m close with the professor. It doesn’t matter if we submit it a little late.” The rest of us sat in stunned silence as she spent an entire hour doing a full face of flawless makeup at her vanity. Then we watched her leave the dorm looking gorgeous to go on a date with Liam. The result? We missed the submission window. Our group got a flat zero. But Chloe? She used her administrative access to adjust the peer-evaluation scores, secretly giving herself maximum participation points. She ended up passing the class with flying colors. The three of us took the zero, but since we had high grades otherwise, we didn’t fail the course. Since she was our roommate, we swallowed our anger and didn’t report her. And now, I simply asked a question in the group chat… And I was branded as “disrupting the busy President from serving the students.” What a joke. 3 Three hours later, Liam finally sent a few pictures to the group. It was a piece of notebook paper covered in chicken scratch, listing the total expenses over the last four years. The chat lit up immediately: [I knew it! It was just a math error. There’s no way Liam would embezzle our money.] [Exactly. We paid $100,000 total. There’s no universe where only $300 is left.] But then, Noah cropped the bottom of Liam’s photo and sent it to the chat: [Remaining Balance: $386.60.] So after three hours of “auditing,” the balance hadn’t gone up a single cent? Chloe, acting as the loyal girlfriend and VP, immediately turned on the “Admin Only” messaging restriction. She sent a long paragraph: [Every penny is accounted for. We would never steal from our classmates. If you want to see the detailed itemized spreadsheet, DM me privately.] Me: ? So those scribbled photos posted in the chat were just the “rough draft”? This couple really had a system going. The guy posts a messy, illegible handwritten note, while the girl hoards the actual detailed spreadsheet. If they ever broke up, handing over the cohort documents would require an escrow service. I DMed Chloe: [Can you send me a copy of the detailed ledger?] She turned around, smiling sweetly, and linked her arm through mine. “Of course! Sending it now. Perks of being roommates, right? Our dorm always gets the inside scoop first.” Huh? I sat in silence. A moment later, a file popped up in our dorm’s private group chat. This “detailed” ledger didn’t clarify Liam’s messy notes at all. In fact, it was stuffed with bizarre, inexplicable charges. Even Mia, the roommate who usually got along best with Chloe, gasped out loud. “What?! $20,000 for the Spring Gala props?! Were they made of solid gold?” “Wait, why is there a $2,500 charge for the Business Ethics Certification Exam for 50 people? Half of us never even registered for that!” Chloe’s face shifted. She forced a laugh and quickly explained: “Those categories also include Advisor Davis’s travel stipends and catering costs. I just bundled them together to make the math easier.” I was even more stunned. Advisor Davis needed our cohort funds for her personal travel? Bundled for convenience? Since when is accounting done by mashing random expenses together? Since dozens of classmates were furious and demanding the detailed list, I simply downloaded the spreadsheet and forwarded it directly into the main cohort GroupMe. Chloe glared at me, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Why did you put that in the main chat?” I replied casually, “Everyone wanted to see it. You and Liam are so incredibly busy serving the students, I figured I’d help lighten your workload.” Since freshman year, Chloe had always tried to “buy” our loyalty with petty favors. She’d give us a heads-up on pop quizzes or casually delay telling the rest of the cohort about lucrative internship opportunities so we could apply first. Through shady tactics like that, she wiped out half her academic competition. Her title as “VP of Academics” was nothing more than a tool for personal profit. Three minutes later, Noah broke the silence in the group chat. 4 [Wait, the CPR Certification fee is $50. $50 times 50 people is $2,500. Why is this charged to the cohort fund?] [Didn’t we all Venmo the Treasurer separately out of our own pockets for that exam?] As soon as Noah pointed it out, other classmates started posting screenshots of their old Venmo transactions. The chat was instantly flooded with payment receipts. [Yeah! I literally Venmoed Liam directly for this. Why is it being deducted from the communal fund again?] Liam hurried to do damage control: [It was a long time ago. It might be a clerical error. We definitely spent that money, I just might have logged it under the wrong category name.] A wall of question marks materialized in the chat. [Insert meme of confused old man looking at his phone.] I typed: [So you double-charged us?] Liam deleted my message at lightning speed. He was so fast I genuinely wondered if my Wi-Fi had glitched. Liam rapidly started typing out new, fabricated expense categories to cover the gaps. Everyone was stressed with graduation right around the corner. The only reason people were even active in the chat was because of the refund money. To a broke college senior, getting back a slice of a $100,000 pie is life-changing money. Noah then dropped a screen-recorded video of himself doing a line-by-line audit of the spreadsheet. In the video, he said: “There’s a flat $5,000 withdrawal here with no receipt, and a $1,212 ‘tech fee’ that literally makes no sense.” Someone else asked: [If the math is this bad, where did all the missing money actually go?] The uproar grew deafening. In just ten minutes, the chat hit 999+ notifications. Liam finally sent one ominous message: [Noah, DM me right now.] 5 Gradually, the group chat fell silent. When I came back from grabbing lunch, Chloe was hunched over her desk, furiously writing. I looked closer. She was manually recalculating the cohort funds. Didn’t she say the math was already finalized? Why was she crossing things out with white-out? Then I witnessed a masterclass in fraud—she quietly deleted the $1,212 tech fee. Then she added $602 to “Tailgate Supplies.” And bumped up the “Spring Gala” budget by another $610. I watched her operate in pure awe. She was a prodigy at cooking the books! Noticing me, she smiled smoothly and explained: “There were a few minor discrepancies earlier. But it’s all fixed now! The ledger is perfectly balanced, every penny matches up.” “As long as it balances,” I replied flatly. “Everyone is just waiting for the final, accurate version.” I opened GroupMe. Strangely, Noah—our resident chatterbox—had completely vanished from the conversation. The chat had returned to its usual dead silence. Later that afternoon, I bumped into Noah on campus. I stopped him and asked: “Why so quiet all of a sudden?” He laughed awkwardly, lowering his voice. “You know how it is. Graduation is coming up. Too busy. No time to check group chats.” Was that the truth? I walked with him to the dining hall and we sat in a quiet corner. I whispered, “Did Liam threaten you? “If he did, just nod.” Noah shook his head aggressively like a rattle. Then, he gave two very heavy, deliberate nods. He didn’t want to get into the details, and I didn’t press him. It was exactly on-brand for that toxic power couple. Back in our junior year, Liam and Chloe had entered a National Business Case Competition. A classmate discovered they had blatantly plagiarized their winning presentation. At the end of the semester, Liam and Chloe used their authority to tank that classmate’s peer-review scores to the absolute minimum. The poor guy was forced to retake the entire course. If you can’t solve the problem, just eliminate the person pointing it out. Before leaving, Noah looked deeply conflicted. “Emma, just let it go. We’re about to graduate. He’s the President, his girlfriend is the VP. It’s not worth the fight.” I nodded and waved goodbye. When I opened TikTok later, a familiar image popped up on my For You page. Someone had leaked our cohort’s spreadsheet! The creator captioned it: [This is my college cohort’s expense ledger. Can you guys help me spot the red flags?] There were already hundreds of comments. The internet sleuths immediately tore the ledger apart. Everyone agreed the remaining balance was completely fabricated and the missing funds had to be massive. By the time I got back to my dorm, the video had been taken down for “violating community guidelines.” I had to marvel at Liam’s speed. He worked fast. Behind me, Chloe was texting so fast her thumbs were a blur. “Chloe, who are you talking to?” I asked. She glanced over her shoulder. “Just my mom. Talking about graduation stuff.” But the profile picture on her screen was unmistakably Liam’s. I took a screenshot of the deleted TikTok post and dropped it into the group chat. Less than five minutes later, Liam privately messaged me, demanding I come downstairs for a “talk.” I found a furious Liam waiting outside the dorm building. “Emma, how could you post internal cohort documents on the internet? “Delete it immediately. If you have a problem, you bring it to me directly.” I pulled out my phone and played an audio comment someone had left on the video: “Why is there a $6,000 catering fee for five people? Did they eat gold-leaf steaks at a diner…” Before the audio finished, Liam snatched the phone out of my hand and started furiously tapping my screen. He used so much force he nearly knocked me over. I rubbed my bruised arm as he stepped back, creating distance between us. After ensuring the post was deleted from my phone, he reluctantly handed it back. His eyes were dark and menacing as he lowered his voice: “You really need to stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your diploma in June, would you?” 6 A smart woman knows when not to fight a losing battle. I took my phone, muttered a quick goodbye, and walked away. What he didn’t realize was that his little physical altercation had been captured in crisp HD by the dorm’s security cameras. When I got back to the room, Chloe saw my slightly shaken expression and immediately handed me a Starbucks iced latte, playing the sweet peacemaker. “Emma, my boyfriend has a terrible temper, but he doesn’t mean any harm. Just ignore him.” With everyone swamped with graduation prep, the chatter about the refunds began to fade. The topic even shifted completely when someone in the chat started congratulating Liam and Chloe for surviving four years of college as a couple. People were praising them as the “perfect campus sweethearts.” The legendary romance between the President and the VP started all the way back in our freshman year. Back then, Chloe had caught a lot of attention for her flawless makeup and trendy outfits. Liam, as President, was assigned to hand-deliver some administrative paperwork with her. After a few trips to the Dean’s office together, they grew close. One sunny afternoon, Chloe returned to the dorm looking incredibly flushed and giddy. She squealed, announcing they were officially dating. From that day on, our dorm became ground zero for all her relationship drama and complaining. But that wasn’t even the worst part. During our sophomore year, there was a notoriously strict Ethics professor who called roll personally. When he called Liam’s name, the class murmured that he wasn’t there. The professor sighed and asked the VP of Academics to take over roll call. The class erupted into laughter. They informed the professor that the VP wasn’t there either. Just as the professor was getting confused, someone shouted: “The President took the VP out for bottomless brunch!” The professor nodded and marked them absent. This professor was infamous for failing students over attendance. We all thought Liam and Chloe were doomed. Then, a miracle happened. At the end of the semester, both of them had perfect attendance scores, and their final grades were a sparkling ‘A’. The dark magic behind that grade change was an open secret. After they started dating, Chloe ditched her “girl-next-door” aesthetic entirely. She rebranded as a hypebeast fashionista. Prada bags, limited-edition Dior lipsticks, rare designer perfumes—you name it, she had it. Where did the missing cohort funds go? Looking back now, her sudden influx of wealth that completely mismatched her actual financial background definitely had something to do with our missing money. 7 A few days later, Advisor Davis finally spoke up in the group chat: [The cohort funds are entirely student-managed. Please direct all refund inquiries to Liam.] I instantly typed: [Professor Davis, could we get a PDF of the actual bank statements for the cohort’s debit account?] Dozens of classmates immediately echoed the request. Advisor Davis replied: [Liam, please upload the statements for the students.] Liam immediately sent me a threatening DM, telling me to remember what he said outside the dorm. After all, the last guy he threatened (Noah) had been silenced completely. But I had put up with them for four years. Now, they were playing dumb with our money. This time, I wasn’t backing down. What was wrong with defending the money I paid out of my own pocket? Under pressure from the Advisor, Liam reluctantly uploaded screenshots of the bank statements to the group. The statements clearly showed the exact timestamps of every massive withdrawal. Some eagle-eyed classmates quickly realized that the dates of the massive expenditures perfectly aligned with the exact days Chloe showed up to class flaunting new designer items. The chat exploded into a forensic investigation: [Wait, that May 20th withdrawal for $4,820… isn’t that the exact retail price of that Chanel bag in this pic? attaches photo] [Hold up, what about that $3,700 charge? Didn’t Liam start wearing those limited-edition Dior sneakers the very next week?] The horrifying truth dawned on everyone: Liam had been using our cohort’s bank account as his personal debit card! Everyone finally knew exactly where the $100,000 went. [Liam, are you gonna say something?!] [You were our President for four years! Explain yourself, we still want to give you the benefit of the doubt!] Seeing the outrage, Advisor Davis ordered Liam to give the cohort a proper explanation. Liam went radio silent. Meanwhile, back in the dorm, Chloe’s face was ashen. She was frantically shoving her designer bags into the deepest corners of her closet. Clearly, the internet detectives had hit the nail on the head. She looked at me in a pure panic, stammering: “D-don’t get the wrong idea! I bought these bags with my own money! It has nothing to do with Liam!” I gave her a slow, deliberate nod. “Oh.” I hadn’t asked a single question, yet she had essentially confessed to everything. The uproar in the group chat reached a boiling point. Chloe quickly fired off a message to the group: [We are currently verifying every single transaction. If there are any mistakes, we will refund the missing amounts out of our own pockets!] I was actually looking forward to seeing what kind of creative accounting this Bonnie and Clyde duo would attempt next. 8 Surprisingly, two days later, Chloe wasn’t panicking at all. She was lounging on her bed, casually scrolling through TikTok. Meanwhile, I noticed two expensive bottles of perfume sitting on my desk that definitely didn’t belong to me. As I stared at them in confusion, I saw Chloe actively typing into the shared Google Doc ledger: [Emma’s Spring Gala Perfume Expense: $250.] While I was processing that, I glanced over and saw several performance outfits draped over Mia’s chair. They were the exact same outfits Chloe had worn during the sports festival last year. Seeing that Mia and our other roommate had returned, Chloe locked the dorm door and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper: “Guys, the ledger is a little messy right now. Since we’re roommates, I need a favor. Just claim these items as your expenses. “You guys can keep the stuff as a gift.” Mia and I exchanged bewildered looks. When they were living large, we didn’t see a dime. Now that the feds were closing in, we were supposed to be accomplices? She was trying to drag the entire dorm down with her to muddy the waters! “Chloe, I don’t think this is a good idea. We never used this stuff. Giving it to us now doesn’t change anything,” Mia said hesitantly. Chloe practically shoved the clothes into Mia’s arms. “It’s fine, just do me this favor! If you see anything else you like in my closet, just take it.” The other roommate eventually caved and agreed to follow her “arrangement.” When Chloe turned to me, trying to pin a $2,000 fraudulent expense on my name, I held my hands up and backed away. “Leave me out of this. I don’t know anything about it.” Hearing this, Chloe’s face twisted in fury. She pointed a manicured finger right at my nose and screamed: “I’ve been your roommate for four years! Do you have any idea how many perks you got because of me? Now that we hit a little bump in the road, you won’t even help out? “How can you be so selfish?! Do you really want to make things ugly right before graduation?” I was genuinely stunned by her sheer delusion. Did she actually think that pinning fake expenses on her roommates would convince the rest of the cohort? Did she think that legally absolved her of stealing $100,000? In her twisted mind, I was the ungrateful villain. It was laughable. I slammed my hand onto my desk, making sure everyone in the room could hear me loud and clear. “What perks?! You waking me up at 2 AM with your screaming matches? “Or how about when you begged me to buy you breakfast, then changed your mind, leaving me to pay for two meals? “Or was the ‘perk’ when you refused to do your part of the group project, earning me the only flat zero of my college career?!” Having her hypocritical mask ripped off, Chloe’s face turned beet red with rage. We didn’t speak another word to each other. Later, while walking out of the campus gates, I spotted Liam. Driven by curiosity, I glanced in his direction—and witnessed something explosive. The girl he was holding hands and laughing with was not Chloe! The cohort’s legendary “campus sweethearts” were officially a sham.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391837”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend’s roommate suffered a traumatic brain injury in a car accident and developed a severe case of identity dysmorphia. He spends his days staring into the mirror, calling himself “Arthur.” But Arthur is my boyfriend’s name. He genuinely believes he is Arthur, which means he also believes I am his girlfriend, and he constantly sends me highly inappropriate messages. I awkwardly showed my boyfriend a shirtless mirror selfie his roommate just sent me. But he just begged me to endure it a little longer: “Julian only got into that accident because of me. I can’t afford the legal settlement if his family sues. Just play along and humor him for me, please?” Later, separated only by a single door. Enduring it became incredibly difficult. Even my muffled cries were completely shattered by Julian. 1 Waiting outside the emergency room with Arthur, his hands were ice-cold with fear. He kept muttering frantically under his breath: “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I was just replying to a text…” I didn’t catch everything he said, but I tried my best to comfort him: “I heard the injuries aren’t life-threatening. Don’t worry, if there’s a financial settlement, I’ll help you figure it out.” However, my words did absolutely nothing to calm Arthur down. It wasn’t until the surgery was over and his roommate finally opened his eyes in the recovery room. Arthur snapped out of his daze and sprinted to the bedside. “Julian! You’re awake!” “Thank God you’re okay!” But Julian’s reaction was incredibly bizarre. He frowned, tilting his head as he scrutinized my boyfriend. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice dripping with an oppressive, chilling authority: “Who are you?” My boyfriend froze in shock: “Me? I’m your roommate, Arthur.” A cold, uncanny smile spread across Julian’s face. His eyes flashed with pure mockery: “Where did this pathetic imposter come from?” “I am Arthur.” 2 According to the doctors, Arthur’s—or rather, Julian’s—condition was incredibly complicated. During the crash, Julian was in the passenger seat and suffered severe head trauma. Because Arthur, sitting in the driver’s seat, was the last person Julian interacted with before losing consciousness… Upon waking up, Julian developed a profound, catastrophic cognitive dissonance. Julian genuinely believed he was Arthur. Because they were close roommates, Julian knew everything about Arthur’s life. As a result, Julian started speaking with Arthur’s exact cadence and mannerisms. He transformed from his naturally aloof, introverted self into someone highly talkative and outgoing. He perfectly internalized Arthur’s zodiac sign, his birthday, and even his entire social circle. Arthur frantically asked the doctors when Julian would recover. The doctors admitted there was no immediate medical solution. The best course of action was to discharge him and let him reintegrate into a normal routine. Hopefully, his self-awareness would eventually reboot, and he’d remember his true identity. But days turned into weeks. Julian showed absolutely zero signs of improvement; if anything, his behavior became even more extreme. 3 My final class before winter break ended. I stood outside the boys’ dorms, waiting for Arthur. The winter snow fell heavily, slipping down my collar and making me shiver violently. Suddenly, a pair of large hands wrapped a black-and-white checkered scarf snugly around my neck. A familiar scent washed over me. It was the crisp, cedarwood cologne I had specifically picked out for Arthur. “Arthur?” My heart leapt with joy. Before I could turn around, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me completely into his embrace. His hot breath ghosted across my ear, standing impossibly close, sending a shiver down my spine. His long arms wrapped around my waist, his fingers intertwining with mine. The heat radiating from his palms felt like it was seeping straight into my heart. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” “Why are your hands so cold?” That voice… that wasn’t Arthur. I froze completely. Looking up, I saw Arthur practically sprinting down the dorm steps. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw us, his face turning an ugly shade of green. “Julian, why the fuck are you hugging my girlfriend?!” 4 Starting that day, Julian began relentlessly texting me. At first, it was just mundane, everyday updates. Nothing too crazy. I completely ignored him. I assumed that if I gave him the silent treatment long enough, he’d eventually get bored and stop. But Julian only escalated. I awkwardly handed my phone to Arthur. The illuminated screen displayed a blatant, post-shower selfie of Julian’s perfectly sculpted abs. Even though his face was cropped out, the distinctive flame tattoo on his forearm made it undeniably clear who it was. “This is getting out of hand. I’m really uncomfortable with this.” Arthur let out a heavy sigh. “Mia, please, listen to me.” “I know how insane this is, but I talked to a lawyer the other day. If the Thorne family decides to pursue legal action, I’m going to owe a catastrophic amount of money.” “I was the one driving when the crash happened. The Thorne family is insanely wealthy and powerful; I literally cannot afford to piss Julian off.” Arthur hesitated for a second before continuing: “Could you just… play along for a little bit? If Julian recovers quickly, he probably won’t press charges against me.” I was absolutely floored by Arthur’s suggestion. “Are you out of your mind?!” He looked at me with pathetic, puppy-dog eyes: “Mia, I’m begging you.” “Didn’t you tell me the other day that you’d help me figure this out?” “But…” I desperately tried to reason with him. “Look, Julian doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’m sure he just wants someone to talk to; he won’t do anything crazy.” “Besides, if Julian actually tries anything inappropriate, I am your actual boyfriend! I’ll be the first one to step in and beat the shit out of him!” He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. “You’re the best, Mia.” As he spoke, Arthur actively unblocked Julian’s contact on my phone. 5 That evening, I was supposed to video chat with Arthur. I was lying on my stomach in bed, wearing a simple nightgown, and dialed his number. “Hey, Mia.” On the other end of the screen, Arthur was aggressively mashing his keyboard, deep into a video game. His eyes were glued entirely to his monitor. But I couldn’t ignore the intense, piercing gaze shooting toward me from right behind Arthur’s shoulder. Julian was leaning casually against a wardrobe, staring at me with freezing, predatory eyes. A bizarre, deeply uncomfortable feeling washed over me. I’m literally talking to my actual boyfriend, why does it feel like I’m being caught cheating?! “Arthur, could you pause your game for a second…” Arthur turned around. He saw Julian pick up his phone, yank off his headset, and yell: “You guys talk, my match just started.” Before turning back to his game, Arthur actually had the audacity to wink at me. I glared angrily, my eyes locking with Julian’s. Those dark, abyssal eyes were staring straight through me. My face flushed bright red. I instinctively yanked the neckline of my nightgown higher and blurted out: “I am not your…” I swallowed the word “girlfriend” before it could escape. I remembered Arthur’s pathetic pleading. I had no choice but to suppress the intense disgust and awkwardness I felt. Julian retracted his gaze and adjusted the phone’s camera angle. “You blocked me, but you’re video chatting with my roommate.” “Why are you avoiding me?” Why am I avoiding you?! Because I am literally not your girlfriend! “I’m not avoiding you. I just… had something to ask your roommate.” I sighed helplessly, realizing this was the perfect opportunity to express my boundaries. “Also, could you please stop sending me those kinds of pictures?” “What kind?” Julian raised an eyebrow. “The ab pictures… and the ones where you aren’t wearing…” My face was burning. “Just stop!” “Fine.” This time, Julian agreed shockingly fast. But he immediately laid out a new condition. “Ever since I was discharged, you haven’t come to see me once.” “If I don’t send those pictures to bait you, you wouldn’t even talk to me, would you?” My ears burned even hotter. This was getting completely out of hand. I was forced to bite the bullet and continue pacifying him: “As long as you promise not to send inappropriate pictures, I promise I’ll keep talking to you.” “And… I’ll come see you.” “Then how about tonight?” Julian’s gaze flicked casually toward Arthur. Arthur was completely absorbed in his game, acting like a braindead dog, aggressively fighting a boss battle. He had absolutely zero idea what kind of predatory, borderline-insane things his usually aloof roommate was saying to his girlfriend. 6 It was almost time to meet Julian. I had sent Arthur multiple texts and called him several times, but got absolutely no response. With no other options, I had to go to the meetup alone. Julian’s car was parked directly beneath my dorm building. Being confined in such a small space with him was incredibly suffocating and awkward. Julian, on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater—another exact copy of Arthur’s wardrobe—looking incredibly sharp and poised, showing absolutely no signs of being a recently discharged trauma patient. Watching how smoothly and flawlessly Julian drove, I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. If he has a traumatic brain injury and amnesia, how is he driving this perfectly?! It was bizarre. While stopped at a red light, Julian suddenly turned to look at me. “What’s wrong?” His intense stare gave me goosebumps. Beneath his dark eyes, there were churning, predatory undercurrents that felt like they were trying to swallow me whole. Julian didn’t answer. He suddenly leaned completely over the center console, reaching toward the side of my face. I instinctively flinched backward. My palms were sweating profusely. But he was just reaching over to buckle my seatbelt for me. I had absolutely no idea that his gaze had briefly, intentionally locked onto someone standing right behind the car. Outside the window. Arthur, arm-in-arm with a younger girl, was standing frozen on the crosswalk, his jaw practically on the pavement, watching everything happening inside the car. 7 The car pulled into the driveway of a luxurious, multi-story townhouse in the suburbs. This was Julian’s home. “Thirsty?” Seeing me hovering awkwardly in the entryway, Julian offered me a bottle of coconut water. “No, I…” I was just about to invent an excuse to decline. Julian suddenly remembered something, pulled his arm back, and tossed the bottle back into the fridge. “Almost forgot. You’re on your period.” My brain completely short-circuited, and I froze in place. Hold on. How the hell did Julian know I was on my period?! That was way too accurate for a random guess! “Why aren’t you sitting down?” Julian pulled me over to the plush sofa. He was over 6’2″, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Even sitting casually on the sofa, the oppressive, dominant aura he radiated was impossible to ignore. I intentionally sat a safe distance away from him, desperately trying to keep my head clear. And, more importantly, to state exactly why I was here: “Julian, I need to talk to you.” “We can talk about absolutely anything, except breaking up.” Julian lowered his eyes, his fingers gently, rhythmically tracing the pulse point on my wrist. Furious that he had perfectly anticipated my move, I snapped: “Fine! Let’s talk about something else.” “I came here today to tell you the truth. You were in a car crash, you suffered a traumatic brain injury, and you have identity dysmorphia. You think you are Arthur. But the truth is, Arthur is your roommate, and I am Arthur’s girlfriend.” Julian let out a lazy, cynical chuckle: “You say I’m not Arthur. Do you have any proof?” “Check your ID.” Julian pulled out his wallet and handed me his ID card. But the card clearly displayed Julian’s photo expertly photoshopped onto Arthur’s personal information. I didn’t even have to guess; this was 100% Arthur’s doing. If you looked closely, you could even tell the photo was slightly crooked. It was such a pathetic, obvious fake, yet Julian actually bought it. My shoulders slumped in total defeat. I honestly had no idea how else to explain it to him. Suddenly, Julian’s voice drifted lazily from above my head: “I actually have a way to prove it. But I’m going to need your cooperation.” I grabbed onto the offer like a drowning person grabbing a lifeline: “Tell me! I’ll do whatever it takes!” 8 The exact second the words left my mouth. Julian reached out and effortlessly lifted me onto his lap. He casually wrapped one arm around my waist, using his other hand to brush my bangs aside. His fingertips trailed down my earline, coming to a rest at the nape of my neck. Beneath me were Julian’s solid, muscular thighs. The overpowering scent of a strange man’s pheromones violently shattered every social boundary, aggressively invading my senses and forming an inescapable cage. By the time I finally realized what was happening, there was nowhere left to run. My brain practically exploded. All my composure evaporated instantly. I vaguely realized I had just guessed exactly what “method” he intended to use. I instinctively pressed my hands against Julian’s chest to push him away. But he effortlessly captured my wrists, pulling them to his lips and leaving a trail of wet, tingling, agonizingly slow kisses across my skin. Even though his facial features were significantly sharper and more devastatingly handsome than Arthur’s… He was wearing the exact same black turtleneck sweater, and he was enveloped in the exact same crisp, cedarwood cologne. It was incredibly disorienting. He was too close. So close our lips were practically brushing. So close the scorching heat radiating from his neck was burning the tips of my ears. I was losing the ability to distinguish whether the man in front of me was Arthur or Julian. I snapped out of my daze instantly. I babbled frantically: “Don’t touch me! I’m on my period!” Julian finally released me. He stared intently at the flushed, red marks on my neck, smiling with absolute satisfaction: “Well, the timing of the period matches up perfectly.” “And you taste incredible. There’s absolutely no way you aren’t my girlfriend.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391856”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years after I died saving my best friend, I was reincarnated and born again into her womb. The baby inside her had tragically died due to the fake heiress, driving my friend to despair and the brink of jumping from a window. Inside her belly, I kicked and shouted: 【Girl, don’t be scared, I’m back! Give birth to me, and I’ll kick that jerk and his mistress to the curb for you!】 【You can’t die! I owe a mountain of debt in the underworld all for you; you have to help me pay it back!】 My best friend, Skylar, who was standing on the windowsill, froze. I quickly did a little flip in her womb and revealed a secret only we knew. 【Skylar, that Lamborghini you burned for me last year? I couldn’t even drive it. Did you forget I don’t have a license?】 【And that villa with the pool and all those male models? I sold them all. I really went broke to come find you!】 … Skylar was too shocked by my thoughts to speak. She lowered her head to look at her belly, then gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Kiki, I must be missing you so much to be hallucinating like this.” “Just wait, I’m coming to find you now!” With that, she leaned out the window again. 【No, no, Skylar Bishope! It’s really me, I reincarnated to find you!】 【If you die now, I’ll be completely ruined! Not only will I have to go back and pay off my debts, but no one will burn me fancy villas and paper money anymore!】 I cried out urgently with my thoughts, reaching out inside her belly to make a heart shape. Skylar’s eyes, swollen like walnuts, widened. “Kiki? Is it really you?” I quickly gave her belly a gentle kick. 【You idiot, it’s not a hallucination, it’s me! I’m really back!】 【I went through so much trouble, took out loans in the underworld and pulled strings to save you, and you’re trying to die!】 【Do you want me to lose everything and just let that jerk and his rotten mistress win?】 Skylar covered her face and burst into tears. “Oh, Kiki, I didn’t want this either… But Naomi Vance is already pregnant with Liam Knight’s son, that’s why she dared to hurt me. And the Knight family’s future heir can only be a boy; no one cares about the daughter I’m carrying…” I grinned, both triumphant and sly. 【That’s why I paid extra to change my gender, don’t worry! Just watch me crush them all!】 Looking at Skylar’s bloodless face, her red and swollen eyes, her messy hair, and her crumpled pajamas, my heart ached fiercely. She used to be such a vibrant, lovely goddess, yet that jerk and his mistress had ground her down to this. Those rotten scoundrels deserved to die! 【Skylar, trust me, give birth to me, and watch how I torment those two to get revenge for you!】 My words finally made her stop crying. “Okay, I believe you!” 【Good! Now go eat something nutritious; I’m practically starving to death in here!】 Skylar wiped away her tears, stepped off the windowsill, and started to walk out. “How about sweet and sour pork, steamed fish, and eight-treasure shrimp? I remember you loved those…” My heart warmed considerably. Of course, she was always the one who remembered my favorites. She took a cab straight to the city’s best restaurant and had a wonderful meal, then went to my grave to burn paper money to repay my debt. Hearing that I owed ten billion underworld dollars, she gasped. “Is reincarnation in the underworld really that expensive?” I chuckled, keeping her in suspense: “More than that, I also exchanged for other skill points. You’ll find out later, hehe…” An hour later, as we finished burning a mountain of underworld money. The jerk, Liam Knight, stormed over. “Skylar Bishope, what the hell are you doing?! The doctors can’t find you anywhere! Come back with me for the abortion!” He paused, seeing my tombstone. “Isn’t this that short-lived friend from your orphanage?” He sneered, kicking my tombstone. “What, playing games for sympathy again? Or do you want to go down there and keep being sisters with her?” Three years ago, Skylar was found by the powerful Bishope family, a prominent family in the capital, and became the true heiress. The night before she was officially welcomed back, she was almost kidnapped. It was me who pretended to be her, was taken by the kidnappers, and then murdered. After my death, Skylar was heartbroken and desperately tried to get the Bishope family to call the police for justice. But the Bishope family refused. They believed the matter shouldn’t be publicized, especially since it was just me, an orphan with no background, who died. If things blew up, and someone tried to kidnap her again, it would be real trouble. Skylar couldn’t change their minds, so she could only give me a lavish burial and then diligently investigate the truth herself. It was only after my death that I learned the kidnappers were hired by the fake heiress, Naomi Vance, and Liam Knight knew about it! He feared the Bishope family would trace it back to Naomi, which is why he personally persuaded the Bishope family to drop the investigation. And today, he dares to run his mouth at my grave? He deserves to die! No, I can’t tell Skylar the truth yet. She’s a vulnerable pregnant woman right now and can’t handle any more shock. 【Girl, go back with him. Let him see if you really need that abortion!】 Skylar sneered, retorting, “Don’t worry, how could I bear to die before sending you two rotten scoundrels to hell?” “You! Even at this point, you’re still being stubborn, huh? Let’s see how you explain yourself to my parents back at the hospital!” Liam Knight fumed, angrily dragging her back to the hospital. Naomi Vance, clutching her belly and with teary red eyes, came rushing over. “Sister, please don’t do anything rash. The doctor said you’ll be in danger if you don’t have the abortion soon!” “Even though you accidentally bumped into the corner of the table when you pushed me, we’re still sisters. I won’t blame you!” She cried, her tears like falling pearls, as if she truly feared losing Skylar, her sister. 【You rotten conniving cow, what are you pretending for? Skylar, punch her!】 No sooner had I thought it, than Skylar slapped Naomi across the face. “I accidentally bumped? You deliberately pushed me!” Naomi clutched her face, collapsing into Liam’s arms, sobbing. “Sister, I know you’ve always resented Liam and me, but that night was truly an accident!” “You didn’t want me to have Liam’s baby, that’s why you pushed me… I know losing your baby is painful, you can hit me or curse me, but please don’t try to end your life!” Liam protectively cradled Naomi in his arms, then backhanded Skylar across the face. “Skylar Bishope! You brought this upon yourself with your malicious heart, trying to harm someone, and now you blame Naomi for losing your baby?” “Thank goodness fate had eyes and made you suffer the consequences. You deserve it!” 【Damn it, that rotten scumbag dares to hit my girl? Drop dead!】 I forcefully kicked Skylar’s stomach from the inside. Puke! She precisely emptied the contents of her stomach all over the jerk and the rotten mistress. “Ahhh!” Naomi, who moments ago had been clinging to Liam like a little bird, shrieked, frantically shaking her dress. Liam’s custom-made suit was also covered in vomit. “Ugh—!” Naomi was so disgusted she started throwing up herself. “Who told you my baby is gone? My morning sickness is still this severe!” “Doctor, my baby isn’t dead, he just kicked me! If you don’t believe me, check again!” The doctor looked at her with sympathy, ultimately unable to refuse. After instructing a nurse to help her back to bed, the doctor began the ultrasound examination. The next second, his face changed dramatically. “How is this possible! The fetus’s heartbeat has actually returned, and…” “And its gender characteristics have changed! It was clearly a girl before; how can it be a boy?!” At that moment, Mr. Knight Senior and Mrs. Knight, who had just arrived, immediately brightened. “Dr. Hsu, what did you say? Is that true?!” Their voices trembled with excitement. They had initially believed Naomi’s words and rushed over to confront Skylar. They never expected such a huge surprise! The doctor pointed at the ultrasound image, nodding excitedly. “Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Knight, please look. This is the young master’s first full-face appearance on camera!” “It was a misjudgment due to the angle before. Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Knight, congratulations on your grandson!” The elderly couple grinned, their eyes crinkling with joy. Liam Knight and Naomi Vance’s faces turned ashen. “How can this be? How is this possible?!” If it were true, the boy in Naomi’s belly would no longer be precious! Years ago, the Bishope and Knight families had casually arranged a marriage alliance. After Skylar went missing, the Bishope family adopted Naomi. After years of nurturing, the Knight family also accepted her. She and the Knight brothers, Arthur and Liam, grew up together, their feelings strong. It wasn’t until Skylar was found that, to compensate her, the Bishope family let her choose her preferred spouse for the alliance. My best friend fell for the refined and steady Arthur Knight, but Naomi cried and refused. Liam, feeling sorry for her, cunningly arranged for himself and my best friend to sleep together at a banquet. My best friend had no choice but to marry him. Naomi also got her wish and married Arthur. But soon after the marriage, Arthur died in a plane crash. Her dream of becoming a wealthy socialite was shattered, so she turned her attention back to Liam, the sole heir. Not long after Arthur’s burial, she used the excuse of needing company due to grief and drugged Liam’s drink with an aphrodisiac. After a wild night, she got pregnant before my best friend did! Mr. Knight Senior was furious when he found out and forced her to go to the hospital for an abortion, but Liam protected her, threatening his own life. “Naomi is carrying my child. If you harm the baby, I’ll kill myself! Dad, can you bear to see our Knight family have no descendants?!” Mr. Knight Senior backed down. To cover up the scandal, he could only announce to the public that Naomi was carrying Arthur’s posthumous child. However, my best friend also found out she was pregnant half a month later. Six months into her pregnancy, Naomi constantly played dirty tricks behind the scenes to frame my best friend. She even exploited the fact that she was carrying a boy and my best friend a girl, brainwashing the in-laws. Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Knight Senior always felt guilty towards my best friend, so they still took good care of her. Now seeing that both babies were fine, the elderly couple even recited Buddhist prayers. “Thank goodness, thank goodness.” “Doctor, did you make a mistake? You previously said my sister was carrying a girl, and the fetal heartbeat had already died!” Naomi forced a smile, unwilling to give up. The doctor laughed. “The angle was blurry before, leading to a misjudgment. The young master has a strong will to live and great fortune, which is why he turned the corner!” Naomi was so angry she almost passed out, clutching her stomach and starting to cry in pain. Liam quickly helped her to another room. I sneered inside my best friend’s belly. 【Can’t handle this much? Your good fortune is still ahead!】 Over the next few months, both Skylar and Naomi entered confinement mode. Naomi’s pregnancy was incredibly tough; she suffered from morning sickness, fetal movement, frequent urination, and insomnia all day long. In contrast, I was exceptionally well-behaved in Skylar’s belly, even considerate enough to avoid pressing on her internal organs. Naomi’s complexion grew more haggard, and her temper became more volatile. My best friend, however, had a rosy complexion, radiating gentle maternal glow. Every time we had an ultrasound, I cooperated fully, showing myself off. I would even interact with Mr. and Mrs. Knight Senior when they observed. This amazed even the doctor. “Oh my! The young master seems to be waving hello to Mr. and Mrs. Knight!” “Is this the connection of blood? It seems the young master has a great bond with you!” The elderly couple beamed, their faces flushed with joy. Mrs. Knight Senior even reached out, tentatively placing her hand on Skylar’s belly. The next second, I did something that surprised everyone. I extended my chubby little hand and pressed my palm against hers, through the belly! “My precious grandson! My precious grandson is high-fiving me!” Mrs. Knight Senior trembled with excitement, holding up her hand, tears welling in her eyes. “Old man, look quickly! My precious grandson must have been born to be close to me!” Mr. Knight Senior quickly pulled out his phone and took continuous photos: “Record this! This child is so clever and so connected to us; he’s sure to be a pillar of the Knight family in the future!” The two of them began planning my birth gifts early. Naomi, hiding outside the door, clenched her fists in rage. A malicious smile flickered across her face, as if she had made some kind of resolution.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391903”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Eight years of marriage, and my husband’s “one who got away” just posted a photo of a deed on her Instagram. The caption read: Choosing the right man is choosing the rest of your life. I left a polite comment suggesting that a woman’s best security is her own hard work. It was deleted within seconds. Moments later, my phone shrieked. It was Gavin, my husband. He didn’t ask for my side; he just went straight for the throat. “Jade is struggling with those mortgage payments, Cassidy! It’s not easy for a single woman in this city. I helped her out with one payment—is that really worth you bullying her? I earned that money; I have the right to spend it. Stop being so damn pathetic and stay away from her!” I could hear Jade sobbing in the background, her voice a fragile, breathy thing, surrounded by the murmurs of people comforting her. I stood frozen for two seconds. By the time I found my voice, he had already hung up and blocked my number. An hour later, Jade posted again. This time, it was a scanned document: a fifty-percent equity transfer for Gavin’s company. I knew exactly what it was. It was Gavin’s way of “compensating” her for my comment. It was a trophy held up to my face, a declaration of war. But for the first time in eight years, I didn’t feel the urge to fight. I just felt… finished. 1 When Gavin finally stumbled through the front door, I had just finished tossing the empty progesterone syringe into the hazardous waste bin. This was our second shot at a family. I was eight weeks pregnant, and the doctors had already labeled it a “threatened miscarriage.” I’d spent the morning bleeding in an ER cubicle while the doctor looked me in the eye and told me that if I wanted to keep this baby, I needed bed rest and daily injections. No exceptions. I hadn’t planned on telling him yet. Not like this. I had spent five hours in the kitchen, despite the cramps, preparing his favorite dinner. It was his birthday, after all, and he’d promised he’d be home early so we could celebrate. But I had waited until the sun went down, and all I got was Jade’s celebratory Instagram feed. After that phone call, the numbness set in. I moved like a ghost, scraping the beef bourguignon and the hand-frosted cake—the one I’d spent all afternoon perfecting—directly into the trash. Gavin glanced at the empty dining table, his forehead creasing with that familiar, sharp irritation. “You forgot what day it is, didn’t you?” It was his birthday. Of course I remembered. Every year, regardless of how many board meetings I had or how much my own career as a corporate executive demanded of me, I made sure this day was perfect. I’d done it since we were broke interns, all the way until we were “the power couple” everyone envied. But this was the last time. And he hadn’t even shown up. I didn’t look up from my phone. I was scrolling through Jade’s old posts. It was an education. Ever since Gavin hired her as his “executive assistant” a year ago, she had posted something every single day. Gifts, flowers, “random” acts of kindness from her boss. In twelve months, he had given her more than he’d given me in eight years. I had spent a decade worrying about our savings, about the company’s overhead, about “building our future.” It turns out I was just saving up so someone else could spend it. A bitter, jagged laugh escaped my throat. “So,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You just handed her ten million in equity and a condo. She couldn’t even be bothered to buy you dinner?” He wasn’t expecting the direct hit. His face flushed, the annoyance turning into a defensive snarl. “Are you having another breakdown? Those are year-end bonuses, Cassidy. She’s the hardest worker in that office. If I don’t take care of my top talent, they leave. It’s called management. Maybe you should take a refresher course.” “Oh, is that how it works? Million-dollar condos for the staff? You’re a regular saint, Gavin. Maybe I should quit my VP role and come work for you. I’d love a view of the park.” His eyes flashed with rage, his chest heaving as he prepared to scream, but then his phone chimed. He looked down at the screen, and the transformation was instantaneous. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a soft, almost sickeningly sweet smile. I didn’t need to see the screen to know it was Jade. When he looked back at me, the heat was gone, replaced by a cold, condescending pity. “Look, I already explained it. And I’m not even going to start on the way you attacked her online. If there was really something going on between us, would I be coming home to you? You think I’m a masochist? You think I enjoy looking at your miserable face?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked into the kitchen. He followed me, probably thinking his “logic” had worked and I was going to whip up a late-night peace offering. “Fine, don’t worry about dinner,” he sighed, sounding martyred. “I’ll go down to the bakery and grab a cake. God, I must have done something terrible in a past life to have to beg for a smile on my own birthday.” I walked past him, carrying a heavy, bulging trash bag. When he saw me heading for the door, he froze. His posture went stiff, his eyes darting toward me with a strange, paranoid intensity. “Why are you following me? It’s a ten-minute walk to the bakery. What are you going to do, put a GPS tracker on me? You’re obsessed, Cassidy. You’re literally sick.” 2 I knew why he was defensive. In the past, when he’d stay out until 3:00 AM “networking,” I’d worry. I’d ask him to share his location so I’d know he wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere. He’d weaponized that concern, turning it into a narrative about my “suffocating control.” I knew he hated sweets. He wasn’t going to a bakery. But I didn’t have the energy to peel back the layers of his lie tonight. I just lifted the heavy bag of garbage. “Relax, Gavin. I’m just taking out the trash.” Maybe it was the sight of me—pale, exhausted, carrying a bag of ruined food—that triggered a momentary glitch in his conscience. The edge left his voice. He offered a small, tentative olive branch. “Look, after I drop the trash, why don’t we go to that late-night taco spot? The one you like?” I figured a “last meal” was as good a way to end things as any. I nodded. Twenty minutes later, he pulled the car over in front of a dimly lit, boarded-up food truck in a part of town I didn’t recognize. Before I could even get a good look at the surroundings, he floored the accelerator. The car roared away, leaving a cloud of exhaust and grit in my face. I coughed, shielding my eyes, and realized the “taco spot” wasn’t just closed; it looked like it had been out of business for years. There were a couple of dive bars nearby. Men with glassy eyes and no shirts lounged on plastic crates, their gazes crawling over me like insects. I had left the house in a rush, wearing only a thin silk slip dress under a light coat. I crouched on the curb, feeling small and exposed. It was nearly midnight, and this wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where you could easily catch an Uber. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Just as I was pulling out my phone to call a cab—or the police—a man stumbled toward me, reeking of cheap bourbon. He held a shattered beer bottle in one hand. I noticed a wedding band on his finger as he reached out to steady himself against my shoulder. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred. “Whatcha doin’ out here all alone? I got fifty bucks. Why don’t you come home with me?” My blood turned to ice. I scrambled backward, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” The man’s face twisted. The rejection, fueled by the alcohol, turned him aggressive. He raised the broken bottle, his voice rising into a shout. Fortunately, the commotion caught the attention of a passing car. A middle-aged woman pulled over and stayed on the line with 911 until I could get into her car. She drove me back to my complex, and I spent the entire ride shaking so hard my teeth rattled. By the time I walked through my front door, the dull ache in my lower abdomen had sharpened into a stabbing pain. I was clutching a glass of warm water, trying to breathe through the cramps, when Gavin slammed the door open. He looked livid. “You couldn’t have called me? I’ve been driving around that block for an hour looking for you! I almost called the cops! Is this some kind of sick game to you?” I set the glass down. My hands were finally still, but my heart felt like it had been hollowed out with a spoon. If he had actually been looking for me, he would have seen that the truck was closed. He would have seen me huddled on the curb. “You were looking for me?” I asked, my voice dripping with irony. “You dropped me in a dark alley in the middle of nowhere. Were you worried I’d get hurt, Gavin? Or were you worried I wouldn’t?” “Don’t start with that—” “I tried to call you,” I interrupted, my voice rising. “I called you six times. But I forgot. You blocked me, remember?” God, I had been so scared. As those men circled me, I had actually started rehearsing my last words in my head. He went quiet, his jaw tightening as he realized his mistake. He threw a white cardboard box onto the coffee table. “I got you the damn cake. Happy now?” He stomped into the bathroom to shower. Through the closed door, I could hear the faint, muffled sound of him laughing at something on his phone. I collapsed onto the sofa, my face bone-white. I looked at the cake box. It had been opened; a small, messy wedge had already been carved out of the side. With trembling fingers, I opened Instagram. Jade had just posted. The photo showed the floor-to-ceiling windows of a luxury penthouse, the city lights reflecting in the glass. Two silhouettes were entwined in the reflection. In the foreground sat a perfect strawberry cake with a single, flickering candle. The caption: Every birthday, from now until forever, we’ll be by each side. Love is in the details. I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on my breathing. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t let the stress kill this baby. I forced myself up, picked up the “leftover” cake Gavin had brought me, and dropped it into the trash can. Gavin walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair. When he saw what I’d done, he exploded. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re always whining about ‘romance’ and ‘rituals.’ I drove halfway across the city for that cake, and you just throw it away?” “I’m not doing this anymore, Gavin,” I said, my voice dead. “Keep your money. Spend it on whatever—or whoever—you want. I have a job. I have a life. I’m done fighting for a seat at a table where I’m not wanted.” He cut me off with a scoff. “Oh, here we go. The martyr act. Ever since Jade started, you’ve been a nightmare. Honestly, it’s a blessing the first pregnancy didn’t stick. With a mother as unstable as you, that kid wouldn’t have stood a chance.” The world turned red. Before I could process the thought, my hand had already connected with his face. 3 “Don’t you dare mention my child!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “The only tragedy that baby faced was having a father like you!” I didn’t wait for his reaction. I ran into the bedroom and turned the deadbolt. Outside, the house shook with his muffled rages and curses. Eventually, it went quiet. I sat on the edge of the bed, hot tears streaming down my face. Since Jade entered the picture, I had watched myself turn into a person I didn’t recognize. The security I’d spent eight years building had vanished in a month. I had become needy, paranoid, desperate for a crumb of his affection. I had even thought a baby might fix us. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I showed him the positive pregnancy test the first time. He was busy texting Jade. He didn’t even look up; he just threw his phone on the table so hard the screen shattered. “The company is growing,” he’d said. “We’re cash-strapped. I can’t afford a kid right now. Get rid of it.” I was horrified. Disgusted. I told him absolutely not. A few weeks later, he’d insisted I accompany him to a high-stakes business dinner. We hadn’t been out together in months, so I went, thinking it was a peace offering. I ended up in a private room surrounded by middle-aged investors who smelled like cigars and entitlement. They kept pushing glasses of high-proof whiskey toward me. I looked at Gavin for help. He just laughed and bragged about how “tough” his wife was, how I could out-drink any man in the room. I drank. I drank until I was numb, the tears mixing with the burning liquid. An hour later, I was on the floor of a bathroom stall, my dress soaked in blood. He took his time getting me to the hospital. We lost the baby. That was why I hadn’t told him this time. If he’d had “no money” for a child back then, how did he suddenly have enough for Jade’s condo and her shares? The math didn’t add up. It never had. He hadn’t been protecting the company; he’d been protecting his “future” with her. My baby was just an obstacle to his true love. Looking at Jade’s post, I realized the lie was over. This marriage was a corpse I’d been dragging around for years. The next morning, he was gone before I woke up. I didn’t waste time. I called my lawyer and told her to draft the papers. As I was about to head out, I saw a notification on LinkedIn. Gavin’s company had posted a “Celebration” video. Jade had been promoted to “Partner.” She was no longer the girl who got the coffee; she was an owner. In the video, they were standing in front of the office staff, arms linked, drinking from the same champagne glass. I zoomed in on Gavin’s hand. His wedding ring was gone. In its place was a heavy, designer band—white gold and diamonds. Jade was wearing the matching female version. I recognized them immediately; they were the “Eternal” set from a boutique we’d visited years ago. I felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up. When we got married, his company was just a dream in a garage. To save money, I’d picked out the cheapest bands in the store. He’d cried that day, promising me that as soon as he made it, he’d buy me the most expensive ring in the world. I’d waited eight years. He finally bought the ring. He just gave it to someone else. 4 I had just finished signing the initial filing when my phone rang. Gavin. “I’m picking you up at six,” he said, his voice clipped and professional. “Company retreat. Jade wants to clear the air and explain the ‘misunderstandings.’” He hung up before I could say a word. I looked at the phone, feeling a strange mix of irony and coldness. He’d finally unblocked me. Did she want to explain? Or did she want to gloat? It didn’t matter. I didn’t care anymore. I spent the afternoon at the doctor’s office. The news wasn’t good. My stress levels were skyrocketing, and the bleeding hadn’t fully stopped. The doctor handed me a stack of prescriptions and a stern warning: “If you don’t find a way to stay calm, you’re going to lose this one, too.” I took the meds and went home. I didn’t pack a suitcase; I just started looking for a new apartment. I’d already put down a deposit on a furnished rental by the time Gavin’s car pulled into the driveway. I went down in my leggings and an oversized sweater, no makeup, my hair in a messy knot. I just wanted to hand him the papers and be done. He took one look at me and his face twisted in disgust. “You’re going out like that? Could you try not to embarrass me for once? People will think I don’t give you enough of an allowance for a decent lipstick.” The passenger door opened, and Jade stepped out, looking like she’d just walked off a movie set. Her skin was glowing, her makeup flawless. Before I could get a word out, she was ushering me into the backseat with a sugary sweet smile. “Oh, Gavin, leave her alone. Cassidy looks beautiful naturally. Besides, if she dolled herself up too much, you’d never want to let her out of the house, right?” She slid back into the passenger seat, and for the entire forty-minute drive, they chatted incessantly about office politics and “their” new vision for the company. I sat in the back, a ghost in my own life. In eight years, Gavin had never talked to me like that. He’d never shared his day with such enthusiasm. The car pulled over. I looked out the window and realized the “retreat” was at the exact same dive-bar area where he’d abandoned me two nights ago. The “taco truck” was open tonight, and the sidewalk was crowded with his employees. They cheered when they saw the car. “Mr. Miller! Ms. Whitmore!” they shouted, ushering them toward the center table like royalty. I scanned the crowd. There was no seat for me at the main table. Jade tapped her chin, looking performatively shocked. “Oh no! I totally forgot to count Cassidy in the seating chart. Everyone, can we squeeze—” “Don’t worry about it,” Gavin interrupted, not even looking at me. “She’s fine. It’s just dinner.” I didn’t argue. I walked to a small, greasy table in the far corner and sat down. The people at this table were new hires. They didn’t know who I was, and Gavin didn’t bother to introduce me. I sat in the shadows, listening to the chatter. Apparently, Jade had picked this spot. She told everyone it was “sentimental”—the place where she and Gavin used to grab food back in college. I had just taken a bite of a lukewarm taco when a shadow fell over the table. “Well, well,” a familiar, raspy voice said. “If it isn’t the girl who wouldn’t take my fifty bucks. Back for more? I’ll give you a hundred tonight. You look like you need it.” 5 The blood drained from my face. My skin crawled. Gavin looked over from the main table. He saw the man leaning over me, saw the shattered bottle on the ground from the night before, and his expression turned cold. But he didn’t move. It was one of the junior developers who finally stood up and pushed the man away. Gavin just raised his beer bottle and let out a short, sharp laugh. “Is that where you were the other night, Cassidy? I wondered why you weren’t answering. I didn’t realize you’d started a new… side hustle.” The insult hit me like a physical blow. The humiliation and rage boiled over, drowning out the doctor’s warnings. I stood up, my chair screeching against the pavement. I turned to leave. Jade was on me in a second, grabbing my arm. “Oh, Cassidy, don’t go! It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have picked this place. I’m so sorry. I wanted this to be a night of healing. Let me make it up to you. A peace offering!” She grabbed a shot of tequila from a passing tray and downed it in one go. The light caught that massive diamond ring on her finger. It felt like a needle in my eye. Gavin finally stood up and walked over, looking bored. “She apologized, Cassidy. Let it go. Stop making a scene in front of my staff.” I looked at him, truly looked at him. “She apologizes, and I’m just supposed to forget everything? Is that how your world works, Gavin?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a threatening hiss. “She just did a shot for you. The least you can do is show some respect. You’re being a pathetic, jealous brat.” He grabbed a bottle of beer and shoved it into my hand. I gripped the bottle, my knuckles white. “I can’t drink. I’m leaving.” I turned to walk away, but his hand shot out, grabbing me by the back of my neck. “I’m tired of your games, Cassidy. You’re going to stay, and you’re going to be a part of this team.” He jerked me backward, slamming my spine against his chest. He snatched the beer bottle, forced my jaw open, and began pouring the liquid down my throat. I choked, the bitter foam stinging my lungs. I tried to push him away, my hand instinctively flying to my stomach. He threw the empty bottle onto the pavement, the glass shattering. “Stop being so damn dramatic!” he roared. “Apologize to Jade! Now! Or don’t bother coming back to the house. I’m done!” The crowd had gone silent. Every eye was on us. I felt the warm sting of tears, but I didn’t let them fall. I just wiped my mouth and nodded slowly. “Fine,” I whispered. “Let’s get a divorce.” I turned to walk away. Jade tried to grab my arm again, her face a mask of fake concern. “Wait! Don’t be impulsive! This isn’t worth a marriage—” “Get your hands off me!” I shoved her back. She stumbled and fell onto the gravel. Gavin snapped. He grabbed a heavy glass pitcher from the table and swung it with everything he had. It caught me right on the back of the head. The world tilted. I hit the ground hard. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was the dark, crimson stain spreading across the seat of my light-colored leggings.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391923”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

During the weekly wrap-up, the new intern suddenly switched the projector to my attendance record. The eyes of the CEO and the entire company locked onto me in an instant. The intern, Madison, tilted her chin up with a smug grin and slammed a stack of photos onto the mahogany conference table. “Nate, I’m reporting her. She’s been using the company’s luxury vehicle to pick up her kid every single day. It’s a blatant misuse of company assets for personal gain. I move for immediate termination!” Nate’s face turned as dark as a thundercloud. I looked at this ambitious intern with a flicker of genuine pity. She was so desperate to climb the ladder she hadn’t noticed the rungs were made of glass. The “company car” she was referring to? That was my Rolls-Royce Cullinan. A three-hundred-thousand-dollar piece of machinery. For the sake of closing deals and keeping the firm’s image afloat, I had let the company use it for free for two whole years. 1 The silence in the room was absolute, the kind of heavy quiet that precedes a storm. The central AC was humming at a steady sixty-eight degrees, but a chill crept into my bones that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was the coldness of human nature. In the photos, the black Cullinan gleamed under the streetlights, parked in front of an elite private preschool. The angles were sharp, intentional—capturing me leaning down to lift my daughter, her small arms around my neck, with the last four digits of the license plate clearly visible. Madison leaned her hands on the table. Her face, young and flush with the misplaced zeal of a “corporate crusader,” burned with a self-righteous fire. She looked at me as if I were a common thief caught with my hand in the vault. “Nate, according to the Employee Handbook, company vehicles are strictly for business use. As a senior executive, Ms. Mercer shouldn’t just be setting an example—she should be the standard. Instead, she’s turned our most expensive client-facing asset into her personal nanny-cam on wheels. School runs, grocery trips, weekend getaways. It’s all here.” Her voice was crisp, echoing off the glass walls. She clicked to the next slide, revealing a detailed Excel spreadsheet. “I’ve done the math. Between the commute and the school runs, she’s putting an extra twenty-five miles on the odometer daily. Between the fuel consumption of a V12 and the depreciation, we’re looking at thousands in hidden costs every month. And that’s not even counting the billable hours she’s stealing from the company driver.” She turned to the head of the table, Nathaniel Cross. Nate. Nate was my college classmate. He was the founder of this firm. In the early days, when he couldn’t even cover payroll, I was the one who dipped into my savings to keep the lights on. Later, when we needed to project an image of success to land the big fish, my five-year-old BMW didn’t cut it. Without a second thought, I brought in the Cullinan I’d bought myself as a thirty-fifth birthday present—a car I’d owned for less than a month. I told him back then, “Take it. Use it. We need the clients to see we’re already in their league.” That “temporary” favor had lasted two years. I paid for the gas. I paid the insurance premiums. I covered the maintenance. Sometimes, when the driver was overwhelmed, I even drove to JFK myself to pick up VIPs. Everyone in this building knew that car was mine. Or at least, they should have. But looking at Nate now, there was no defense in his eyes. His brow was furrowed, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the table—a nervous habit he had whenever he was weighing his own interests against someone else’s. “Diana.” Nate finally spoke. His voice was low, coated in a professional coldness that felt like a slap. “The evidence Madison provided… is it true?” I stared at him, my heart skipping a beat. Is it true? Two years ago, when he begged me for the car to save face, he said, “Diana, I’m so sorry to ask this of you. As soon as we’re in the black, I’ll buy you a brand-new one.” One year ago, when the cash flow dried up, I used that car as collateral for a bridge loan so he could pay his staff. He told me then, “Diana, this car is the company’s lifeline. It’s your badge of honor.” And now, he was asking me if it was true? I scanned the room. George, the sales manager, had used that very car last week to pick up his mother-in-law from the hospital, bragging on Instagram about “company perks.” Now, he kept his head down, intently studying his legal pad. Sarah from HR, who asked for the keys every other month “for supplies” but really just wanted to cruise with her boyfriend, was looking at me with a sneer, as if I were a white-collar criminal. It turns out that in the face of profit, kindness isn’t just cheap—it’s invisible. “What do you think, Nate?” I asked. My voice was calmer than I expected. Nate avoided my gaze. “The photos speak for themselves. Diana, you’ve been with us since the beginning, and we’re friends, but a policy is a policy. We have to separate the personal from the professional. That’s a fundamental principle.” He paused, a look of grim determination settling over his features. “Here’s how we’ll handle this. You’ll hand over the keys immediately. From now on, the vehicle will be managed strictly by the administration department. Additionally, the finance team will calculate the fuel and depreciation costs Madison outlined and deduct them from your next paycheck.” Madison’s lips curled into a triumphant smirk. She looked like a cat that had finally caught the prize canary. “Thank you, Nate. That’s very fair. Also, I think a formal apology in front of the whole staff is necessary. This kind of behavior rots company culture.” Nate hesitated, glancing at me briefly before nodding. “We’ll skip the speech. A company-wide memo detailing the disciplinary action will suffice.” A company-wide memo. A docked pay. Confiscation of my own keys. I looked at Nate’s familiar face and realized I didn’t recognize him at all. It was my car. But I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I didn’t reach into my bag, pull out the title, and throw it in his face. Because I saw the naked ambition in Madison’s eyes, and I saw the calculated greed in Nate’s. She wanted to use me as a stepping stone; he wanted to seize the chance to finally claim the “company limo” as his own, permanently turning my generosity into his asset. Two years is a long time. Long enough for people to develop the delusion that what they’ve been allowed to use actually belongs to them. “Fine,” I said. I stood up, reached into my bag, and pulled out the heavy, leather-bound key fob. I placed it gently on the conference table. The thud it made was small, but it felt like a gavel coming down. “There are the keys. I accept the memo.” I looked at Nate, a slight, knowing smile touching my lips. “I hope this car brings the company all the luck it deserves.” Nate clearly hadn’t expected me to fold so easily. He blinked, a flash of relief—and then greed—crossing his face. “I’m glad you understand, Diana. It’s for the good of the firm.” Madison snatched the keys off the table, gripping them tight as if they were a golden ticket to the C-suite. “See, Diana? If you’d just been honest from the start, it wouldn’t have come to this.” I looked at her with pure pity. She didn’t realize what she was holding. She thought she’d snatched power. In reality, she had just grabbed a live grenade. One that was about to blow this company to pieces. 2 The memo hit everyone’s inbox thirty minutes later. The subject line was a serrated blade: Disciplinary Notice Regarding Misuse of Corporate Assets: Operations Director Diana Mercer. It detailed my “crimes” with surgical precision: the long-term unauthorized use of the firm’s flagship Cullinan for personal errands, picking up children, and shopping trips. It cited a “severe breach of asset management protocols” and “conduct unbecoming of leadership.” I sat in my office, listening to the murmurs drifting over the cubicle walls. “Unbelievable. She always acted so high and mighty, but she’s just another cheapskate skimming off the top.” “Right? A Cullinan? That’s a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car. Using it as a minivan? Some people have no shame.” “Do you think she actually thought Nate wouldn’t notice? Even he doesn’t drive it that often.” “Madison really did us a favor. It’s about time someone cleaned house.” I took a sip of my coffee. The bitterness coated my tongue, but it couldn’t touch the coldness in my chest. The door swung open without a knock. Madison walked in, clutching a clipboard. She didn’t just walk—she marched. “Diana, Finance finished the audit. Based on the mileage logs over the last twenty-four months, you owe the company one hundred twenty-eight thousand dollars in fuel, maintenance, and depreciation.” She slammed the paper onto my desk, looming over me. “Nate already signed off on it. You have three days to settle the balance, or it’ll be liquidated from your year-end bonus and equity dividends.” I picked up the sheet and scanned the numbers. They were incredibly thorough. They had even counted the miles I drove to the dealership for the car’s scheduled maintenance as “personal use.” “One hundred twenty-eight thousand,” I mused. “You’re quite the mathematician, Madison.” “I’m efficient,” she snapped. “I know you’re bitter, Diana. But these are the rules. You enjoyed a lifestyle you didn’t pay for. Now, the bill is due.” “Enjoyed?” I leaned back in my chair, looking her dead in the eye. “Do you have any idea what the insurance on that car costs annually?” Madison hesitated. “The company pays it, obviously.” “No. I do. Fifty thousand a year.” “And the maintenance?” “Also me. Over ten grand a service.” “Well… that was your choice! You’re the one who drove it!” Madison stammered, her logic beginning to fray. “Do you even know who brought that car into this office two years ago?” “Who cares? It belongs to the company now,” Madison said, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t try to deflect. Pay the money. The keys are in my possession now. If you need a car for work, you’ll have to submit a formal request form. I’ll be the one approving it.” She would be approving it. An intern who had been here less than ninety days was going to approve the Operations Director’s travel. The sheer absurdity of it was almost cinematic. “Understood.” I picked up a pen and signed the confirmation slip with a flourish. “I’ll settle the debt.” Madison snatched the paper back, a look of pure, unadulterated triumph on her face. “Smart move. Oh, and Nate told me to tell you: we have a massive client coming in next Monday. He specifically requested the Cullinan for his transport. Make sure you clear out all your personal junk. I don’t want the client seeing car seats or teething toys. It’s embarrassing for the firm.” “Will do.” I agreed so quickly it almost startled her. Madison turned and walked out, her heels clicking against the floor like a victory drum. I watched her go, then pulled out my phone. I checked my bank balance—more than enough—and then dialed a number I had saved under “Legal.” “Hey, Robert? It’s Diana Mercer.” “Yes, I need to consult on a few things. Illegal seizure of private property, back-payment of unauthorized expenses, and potential fraud.” “Evidence? I have everything. Every wire transfer, every service receipt, every insurance binder from the last two years. All in my name.” I hung up and opened my bottom desk drawer. I pulled out a thick manila folder. Inside were the original documents for the Rolls-Royce. The sales contract. The title. The tax certification. And there, in bold ink under Registered Owner, were two words: Diana Mercer. Two years ago, I had “loaned” the car to Nate to help him look the part of a successful CEO. He’d offered to sign a lease agreement—twenty thousand a month. I had said, “Don’t worry about it, Nate. We’re partners. Keep the cash in the business until we’re stable.” We never put it in writing. I thought it was a gesture of loyalty. Now I realized it was just a weapon I’d handed him to use against me. If they wanted to play by the book, if they wanted to “settle accounts,” then we were going to count every single penny. I stood up and walked down to the executive garage. The Cullinan was sitting in the CEO’s reserved spot. Madison was there, directing two junior assistants as they swarmed the car. “Throw these floor mats out, they’re hideous,” she barked. “And this charm hanging from the mirror? Toss it. It looks like a kindergarten project.” “Check the trunk. Clear out any personal boxes. We don’t want their private clutter in here.” Those “hideous” mats were custom-ordered leather, worth eight hundred dollars. The charm was a lucky tassel my daughter had made me with her own hands. The boxes in the trunk contained high-end gift sets I’d bought with my own money for our upcoming client gala. I stood behind a concrete pillar, watching them like scavengers, throwing my belongings onto the dirty garage floor and stepping over them. Madison even climbed into the driver’s seat, gripped the steering wheel, and took a selfie. I saw her post it to her Instagram story a second later. Caption: New whip. Hard work pays off. Keep grinding! #CEOEnergy #GrowthMindset I looked at the post and tapped the heart icon. Keep grinding, Madison. I hope you enjoy the ride. Because this car is temperamental—she only listens to her real owner. 3 The next morning, the HR Manager called me in. “Diana, given the severity of the policy violation, the firm has decided to temporarily suspend your operational authority.” The HR manager, Brenda, was in her late forties and we’d always been on good terms. Now, she wouldn’t even meet my eyes. “Nate feels it’s best if you step back from active accounts this week to… reflect. You’ll be handing over your current projects for the transition.” “Handing them over to whom?” “Madison.” I arched an eyebrow. “To an intern?” “Nate says Madison has shown ‘extraordinary integrity’ and a ‘keen eye for oversight.’ The board—well, Nate—is fast-tracking her to Operations Manager to help shoulder your workload.” Fast-tracked. I see. She used my “corpse” as a ladder to a management title. A hell of a trade for ninety days of work. “Understood.” I went back to my office. Madison was already there, sitting at a makeshift desk they’d squeezed in next to mine. She was wearing a sharp power suit, her hair slicked back into a tight bun. She looked the part, I’ll give her that. “Diana,” she said, dropping the ‘Ms. Mercer.’ Her tone held zero respect. “Nate wants me to take over the client files. Specifically the Beaumont account. He’s coming in Monday, and I need to be lead on the prep.” Arthur Beaumont. Our biggest client. The man who provided sixty percent of our annual revenue. I had landed him two years ago, specifically because I showed up to our first meeting in that Cullinan. Beaumont was a man of old-school tastes. He cared about presentation. He’d run his hand over the leather seats and said, “Ms. Mercer, a car tells you everything about a person’s attention to detail. I think we’ll do great things together.” Now, Madison wanted him. “The files are on the shared drive. Help yourself,” I said flatly. “I’m sure there are details not in the files,” Madison said, leaning in. “What are his preferences? What tea does he drink? Any allergies? Golf handicap?” I looked at her hungry, desperate face. “He drinks Da Hong Pao tea. He’s allergic to shellfish. And he loves golf—usually plays at the club in Westchester.” I told her the truth. Mostly. He did love that tea. He was allergic to shellfish. But what I didn’t mention was that Arthur Beaumont absolutely loathed young people who pretended to know more than they did. He despised “performative excellence.” “Got it,” Madison scribbled in her notebook. “Thanks. Oh, and I’ve given the car keys to Old Joe, the driver. Nate said from now on, that car is strictly for VIPs like Beaumont. It stays locked in the garage otherwise.” “Sounds like a plan.” That afternoon, I drove to the Rolls-Royce dealership. “Ms. Mercer! Good to see you,” the service manager greeted me warmly. “Everything okay with the Cullinan?” “It’s fine,” I said, pulling a spare key from my purse. “I need a full diagnostic run remotely, and I want to upgrade the GPS and anti-theft software. Specifically the remote-kill switch.” “Of course. Did you bring the vehicle in?” “No,” I smiled. “But someone will be bringing it in soon. Very soon.” The manager looked confused but nodded professionally. “Whatever you need. The car is in your name, Ms. Mercer. We only take orders from you.” I walked out of the dealership into a gray, overcast afternoon. I took an Uber back to the office. As we pulled up to the curb, I saw the Cullinan gliding out of the garage. Old Joe was driving. Madison was in the passenger seat, chatting animatedly. In the back, Nate was leaning against the headrest with his eyes closed, looking every bit the high-powered executive. They were off to a lunch meeting with a new prospect. The window rolled down as they got stuck at the red light next to me. Madison saw me standing on the sidewalk, waiting for my ride. She leaned out, a smirk plastered on her face. “Hey, Diana! Waiting for a bus?” She gave a mock-sympathetic pout. “Sorry about this, but Nate has a big meeting and we needed the ‘company’ car. It’s a scorcher out here—maybe you should just head home early and play with your kid.” Nate opened his eyes and looked at me. His expression was a messy cocktail of guilt and arrogance. “Just expense the Uber, Diana,” he said, before rolling up the tinted glass. The black beast roared away, splashing a puddle of dirty rainwater onto the hem of my skirt. I stood there, watching the taillights disappear into traffic. Expense the Uber? Nate, you forgot one very important detail. The gas card for that car is linked to my personal Amex. Right on cue, my phone buzzed. A notification popped up: Spent $185.50 at Shell Station #402. Using my car, burning my gas, to go to their meetings, all while mocking me for being on foot. The audacity of these parasites was truly breathtaking. I took a deep breath and called my bank. “Yes, hello. I’d like to report a stolen gas card.” “That’s right. Freeze it immediately. No more transactions.” Then, I opened the Rolls-Royce remote-access app on my phone. The screen showed the car moving East at 45 mph. My finger hovered over the Remote Engine Lock button. I hesitated for a second. No. Locking it now was too easy. I wanted to lock it at a moment they would never, ever forget. I closed the app and hailed another taxi. “Driver, take me to the best commercial real estate office in the city.” “You got it, ma’am.” If we were settling accounts, we were going to talk about the building, too. The office we were currently in? It was a floor in a boutique building downtown that my father had left me. When Nate started the company, he couldn’t afford a prestigious address. I let him have the space at half the market rate. The lease was a “gentleman’s agreement,” renewed annually. And it just so happened to expire this coming Monday. Madison wanted “efficiency”? Let’s see how efficient they are when they’re working out of a Starbucks. 4 The next few days were remarkably quiet for me. Madison, on the other hand, was frantic. She was trying to manage my entire department while simultaneously planning the “Grand Welcome” for Arthur Beaumont. She treated the Cullinan like her personal trophy. She had Old Joe wash it three times a day. She flooded her social media with selfies from the backseat, her captions dripping with smugness: “Status isn’t just a title, it’s an environment.” “Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but the leather seats help.” Dozens of coworkers liked her posts, calling her a “rising star” and “the future of the firm.” They had no idea she was playing with matches in a room full of gasoline. Friday evening, while I was home helping my daughter build a Lego castle, my phone rang. It was Nate. “Diana, where are you?” He sounded stressed. “At home. Why?” “The gas card isn’t working. Joe went to fill up for the weekend, and it said ‘Card Frozen.’” “Oh, that,” I said casually. “That card is in my name. I thought I lost my wallet earlier, so I reported it stolen and canceled all the cards.” “You…” Nate choked back a frustrated sound. “Well, un-cancel it! We need the car for the Beaumont pickup on Monday morning!” “I can’t do that over the phone, Nate. I have to go to the branch in person with my ID. They’re closed for the weekend, and honestly, I’m pretty booked with ‘reflecting’ on my behavior.” “Diana! Are you doing this on purpose?” Nate’s voice rose an octave. “Just because of that fine? Are you really being this petty? If we lose Beaumont, the whole company is in jeopardy. Do you want that on your conscience?” “Nate.” I cut him off, my voice like ice. “First, it’s my personal card. I manage it how I see fit. Second, why is the company using my personal card for fuel anyway? Doesn’t the ‘administration department’ provide the driver with a corporate card?” Silence on the other end. The company did provide a fuel allowance. But I knew exactly where that money went—it went into Nate’s pocket to cover his country club dues, and Joe just used my card because I never complained. Until now. “Fine, Diana. Fine,” Nate spat. “The company will cover the gas. Don’t expect to use a single company resource moving forward.” “Understood, Nate.” I hung up and looked out at the city skyline. This was only the beginning. Sunday night, I made copies of all my receipts. I pulled out the lease for the office space. It was black and white: Lease expires October 31st. That was tomorrow. If they didn’t sign a renewal—which they couldn’t, because I hadn’t sent them one—they would be trespassing by noon. I sent a quick text to my real estate agent: “Bring the new prospective tenants by tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM sharp.” “You got it, Diana. That floor is hot. I have a hedge fund willing to pay double the current rent.” “Perfect. Anyone but the current tenant is fine by me.” I poured myself a glass of red wine. Tomorrow was going to be a masterpiece. Beaumont was coming for an inspection. The real estate agent was coming for an eviction. Madison was coming for her “big break.” And I was coming for everything they owed me. I took a piece of paper and began to list the numbers. Cullinan Purchase Price: $320,000. Sales Tax & Registration: $28,000. Two years of Insurance: $100,000. Maintenance & Repairs: $80,000. Two years of Fuel: $60,000. Office Rent Deficit: $1,200,000. Unpaid Loans to Nate: $500,000. Total: $2,288,000. And that was just the money I could prove. It didn’t count my blood, my sweat, or the connections I’d handed Nate on a silver platter. I looked at the number and laughed. I had spent over two million dollars to raise a pack of wolves. They didn’t just forget to thank me—they tried to eat me. One hundred twenty-eight thousand dollar “fine”? Tomorrow, I was going to make them vomit up every cent they’d ever taken from me, with interest. 5 Monday morning, 9:00 AM. The office was buzzing with an electric, nervous energy. Madison was dressed in a pristine white power suit, her makeup flawless. She stood by the entrance like a soldier awaiting inspection. Old Joe had the Cullinan idling at the curb, the paint polished so bright it hurt to look at. Nate was in his best charcoal suit, obsessively checking his Rolex. “How far out is Beaumont?” “He just landed,” Madison replied, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. “Joe is heading to the park entrance now to escort his motorcade in.” It was a matter of etiquette. Beaumont’s security detail would park at the main gate, and our “corporate” car would bring him to the door. “Joe! Go!” Madison shouted. Joe nodded, climbed into the driver’s seat, and pressed the Start button. Nothing happened.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391941”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day after I aborted our child, Liam returned home from the military base. He brought me the newest brand of face cream, along with the official divorce papers approved by the military district. The red “APPROVED” stamp on the thin paper was as bright as blood, piercing my eyes. His face showed no guilt. His voice was freezing cold. “I wanted to wait until you had recovered to file this, but Vivian came back from abroad early, so…” The divorce was happening so fast, I almost couldn’t hide the smile threatening to break across my face. I furrowed my brows slightly to mask my amusement. “I understand. It was an arranged marriage. Forcing two people together never works out anyway.” Looking guilty, he handed me a property transfer agreement. “I know I wronged you. I’m willing to leave with nothing. You can have the house, and the thirty thousand dollars my grandfather left behind is yours too.” I took the papers casually and let out a dramatic sigh. “Since this is it, there’s no reason for us to ever see each other again. You know how deeply I loved you. If we meet again…” Liam quickly promised, “We won’t! I won’t ever bother you again.” Looking at the man who would practically kneel and swear an oath just to be with his precious first love, I smiled at him. “In that case, I wish you and Vivian a long and happy life together.” Seeing that I wasn’t going to cling to him and cause a scene, Liam let out a massive breath of relief. A smile I hadn’t seen in a very long time broke across his face. He quickly stood up and started packing his bags. This little western-style house was bought for us by his grandfather on our wedding day. It was incredibly expensive, the kind of property you couldn’t buy even if you had the cash. With him leaving it to me, plus the thirty thousand dollars, I had the perfect seed money to start my own business. Growing up, my aunt always told me, “Marriage isn’t a woman’s only way out. As long as you have the courage to hustle and push forward, your life will never be dark.” With the recent economic reforms encouraging private entrepreneurship, this was my golden opportunity to make real money. Finished packing, Liam looked at my slightly smiling face and seemed surprised. “I’m leaving. Aren’t you sad?” I dropped the smile, stood up, and handed him his last bag. “What’s there to be sad about? You’re going off to pursue your happiness, not to the executioner’s block.” Liam frowned and sighed deeply. “Chloe, you don’t have to pretend you don’t care. I understand.” “…” I forced a tight, perfunctory smile and physically pushed him toward the door. “Hurry up. Didn’t you say you have to go pick Vivian up from the train station?” Seeing me act so accommodating, a thick layer of guilt and pity clouded his eyes. “Chloe, I sincerely hope you find your own happiness.” I nodded and walked him out to the front gate. Liam’s retreating back looked lighter and more carefree than I had ever seen it. I shook off the goosebumps rising on my arms. Looking at the wild roses blooming all over the yard, and the keys in my hand, I happily slammed the iron gate shut. Finally. I’m free. After divorcing Liam, I immediately threw out everything that belonged to him. I cut off contact with all his relatives and sold my miserable job at the propaganda department to a neighbor. With all that done, I started plotting my business. Three months later, my clothing boutique opened for business. On opening day, I received a phone call that was both familiar and strange. It was familiar because, during my five years of marriage to Liam, I would occasionally get calls from this exact woman, her voice dripping with sweetness as she specifically asked for him. It was strange because I had never actually met her. She was Liam’s deeply buried, unattainable first love. Her voice was the same as always, soft and delicate. “Is this Chloe? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to call you.” “Liam told me never to disturb your life, but I’m completely out of options…” I had heard that the very day after we divorced, Liam had already submitted a new marriage application to his superiors. I had never seen him that eager or impatient in the five years we were married. I calmly kept clicking the beads on my abacus. “If you’re out of options, what do you expect your powerless, divorced ex-wife to do about it?” Didn’t Liam know that a good ex should act like they were dead? Vivian’s voice choked with tears. “It’s… Liam got arrested by the police. The higher-ups can’t find out about this, or he’ll get a massive disciplinary mark on his record… I’m begging you to help us.” My hand paused on the abacus. How the hell was I supposed to help with that? I had no power and no connections. I was just about to snap back at her when I suddenly remembered. Oh, right. I have money. I was a 1980s millionaire. Filthy rich. I could literally bury the problem in cash! But why should I? “Sorry, Vivian. You just said yourself that Liam told you not to bother me. If I swoop in to save the day, I’m afraid it might negatively impact your newlywed bliss.” “Besides, I’m just a weak woman. I really can’t help you with something this big. You should ask someone else.” With that, I slammed the phone back onto the receiver. Liam and I were an arranged marriage, set up by our grandparents. Growing up, I was wild. I hated studying and only wanted to follow my aunt—a fashion designer—around, sketching and drawing. My parents could never control me. But Liam was different. He was the famous “golden boy” of the military compound. He was handsome, athletic, incredibly fast on the track, and had top-tier grades. I had a crush on him since we were kids. Whenever he spoke, I listened. When my parents couldn’t control me, they would send Liam to discipline me. Later, he went to a prestigious university out of state, and my aunt, defying our entire family’s wishes, took me to the coast to study design. We lost contact. I thought our paths would never cross again. But our families decided the old-generation marriage pact couldn’t be broken, and they pushed us together anyway. I still remember the day we reunited. The river water flowing under the stone bridge in Suzhou was as smooth as silk. The boy from my memory, who used to tuck his white shirt into his pants, had grown into a refined, elegant young man. My heart felt like it had been hit by a jolt of electricity, tingling and numb. That day, I asked him very seriously, “Do you really want to marry me?” He patted my head just like he did when we were kids, smiling indulgently. “What? You don’t want to marry your big brother Liam?” Of course I did. Both our families were thrilled. We got married shortly after. After the wedding, we got along perfectly. And in the bedroom, our chemistry was terrifyingly good. Except, he only ever asked if I wanted to marry him. He never told me that he actually didn’t want to marry me. In our fourth year of marriage, I found a locked storage box in our room. Inside were four exquisitely wrapped gift boxes. At first, I thought they were surprises Liam had prepared for me. But when I happily opened them, I found small note cards with someone else’s name. [I will secretly save up all my love, to give to the most beautiful white rose in my heart—Vivian.] My heart dropped. My blood instantly turned to ice. Vivian? Who was Vivian? And for whom had he been saving up four entire years of gifts? Liam was out on an overnight mission that evening. I sat on the edge of the bed and thought about it all night. Early the next morning, Liam returned, covered in dust from the road. I held the gift boxes up to his face, demanding an explanation. He looked at me, completely silent. After downing half a bottle of cheap liquor, Liam finally spoke. “She’s the girl I loved. A junior from my university.” “But it’s impossible between us. She went abroad.” Time seemed to freeze. In that moment, I felt a level of betrayal I had never experienced before. “So… that’s why you married me?” He looked down, silently confirming it. After a long time, Liam slowly raised his head and looked at me. “Aren’t things good between us right now? Why obsess over this?” A profound sense of disappointment permeated every cell in my body. I looked at the neatly organized stack of canceled stamps on the desk and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “So every time you made me rush to the post office to buy stamps… those careful, urgent letters were all for her.” Liam didn’t deny it. That day, I smashed all four of those gift boxes to pieces and threw a massive fit. From that day on, Liam and I started having frequent, prolonged cold wars. But fate has a twisted sense of humor. Three months later, I was eating sour hawthorn berries when my stomach suddenly cramped violently. After going to the hospital, I found out I was pregnant. I thought about it calmly for a long time. I didn’t want to bring a child into a miserable, loveless home. I left the ultrasound results on the table, wanting to give us one last chance to fix things. When Liam came home and saw the results, he was ecstatic. He held me tight and refused to let go. “I’m going to be a dad! I have a child! We finally have a baby!” The golden glow of the setting sun spilled through the window, illuminating his genuinely joyful face. I thought that, from that day forward, he would cut off those inappropriate feelings for the sake of our child. But Liam let me down. When I was five months pregnant, I found a fifth gift box hidden in a cabinet, along with a handwritten letter. The letter said Vivian was coming back, and Liam replied that he would always be standing in the exact same spot, waiting for her. That day, I lost completely control of my emotions. I had a hysterical, screaming match with him. Liam looked annoyed and defensive, his hand gripping the letter meant for his precious first love. I broke down crying, collapsing as a sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen. On the way to the hospital, Liam apologized profusely, the regret in his eyes growing thicker by the second. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have made you angry. Chloe, hold on…” He said all the right things. But on the way to the emergency room, he still managed to sprint into the post office to mail that letter to the woman he was obsessed with. The baby was saved, but the doctor said we arrived a little too late. Because of the prolonged lack of oxygen, the child would likely suffer from severe developmental issues. Looking at Liam, who was standing there playing the innocent victim, a deep, poisonous hatred bloomed in my heart. All my suppressed emotions finally exploded. I ruthlessly grabbed anything I could reach and hurled it at him. My tears wouldn’t stop falling. “Did you hear the doctor?! Because you just had to mail a letter to your little white rose, this healthy baby… is going to be born brain-damaged.” “This is all your fault…” Liam took the physical abuse without flinching, trying to comfort me through his guilt. “It’s my fault. I was wrong. I’m so sorry, Chloe.” “You can hit me or curse me. I promise I won’t fight back.” Looking at his face, I only felt that he was incredibly fake. Absolutely disgusting. I stopped acting hysterical. When I came home from the hospital, I became incredibly submissive. I bent over backward to be good to him. I cooked for him, meticulously organized his clothes, and doted on him constantly. I lowered my pride and begged him tearfully, “Liam, I know you have someone else in your heart. I’m not forcing you to forget her. But please, don’t forget you have a wife. Don’t forget I’m waiting for you at home…” Every day, I looked at him with eager, expectant eyes, forcing him to read fairy tales to the baby in my belly. The moment he showed even a fraction of annoyance… I would force my eyes to go red and look at him like I was about to cry. “The baby and I just love you too much.” Saying those words made me physically nauseous, but they were the perfect weapon to disgust Liam. I wanted him to know that he had ruined my life, yet he couldn’t reject me. I would repeat this cycle until, eventually, he would be so repulsed by me that he would finally give me my absolute freedom. Finally, after twenty agonizing days of my relentless clinging, Liam snapped. He begged me, “Chloe, please, just let me go. I really can’t take this anymore. This isn’t the life I want.” I sneered coldly, tears brimming in my eyes. “Oh? Then what kind of life do you want?” A flash of longing crossed Liam’s eyes. His gaze landed on the envelope sitting on the table. It was a letter from his first love that had arrived that morning. I had obediently fetched it from the post office for him, and even obediently bought new stamps for his reply. He had no idea that I already knew his first love was returning soon. All my chaotic, annoying behavior over the past few weeks was just a calculated strategy to push him away faster and more securely. I viciously snatched the envelope off the table, ripped it to shreds, and threw it on the floor, breaking down into loud sobs. “Have I not been good enough to you these past five years?! Why is she the only one you ever think about?! Why can’t you just love me?!” I cried with every ounce of strength I had. Even I couldn’t tell how much of it was genuine heartbreak and how much was an act. Liam looked at me, his expression incredibly complicated. “Chloe, you’ve been very good to me. But feelings… they can’t be forced.” “Go get an abortion. Let’s… let’s get a divorce. I don’t want to string you along anymore.” I cried even harder, the tears flowing like a broken faucet. Liam’s annoyance grew visible. His voice dropped, and he finally said the words I had been waiting for. “Enough!” “I’ll leave with nothing. I’ll leave everything to you.” Unable to stand the sound of my crying for another second, he slammed the door and left. I decisively wiped away my tears and booked an appointment for the abortion. Liam had no idea I had been waiting for this exact day for a very long time. He thought that by giving up the house and his savings, he and his precious white rose could live happily ever after on his military salary and stipends. Little did he know, his “happy ever after” was about to crash and burn. … I sat in the bathtub, carefully replaying everything in my head. I thought about why Vivian would call me. She could have easily asked the other military wives for help. Why come to me? My clothing store had been wildly successful lately. I had some free time, and after Vivian called me three times in a row… I decided I wanted a front-row seat to the drama. When I arrived at the police station, the officers quickly brought Liam out to the visitation room. He looked much rougher than he did six months ago. He was unshaven, and heavy, dark bags hung under his eyes. When he saw that it was me, his eyes widened in surprise, followed by a flash of undeniable awe. I rarely dressed up when I was with him. But after the divorce, I felt liberated, and I looked infinitely more radiant and alive than I ever had during our marriage. “Chloe? Why are you…” He was genuinely shocked. I gave him a polite, distant smile. “Your new wife called me. She said I could definitely help you out. I had no idea I possessed such incredible power, so I came to see what all the fuss was about.” The light in his eyes instantly died. He let out a bitter laugh. “You’re right. How could you possibly help? Vivian shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sorry.” I smoothed out the skirt of my dress and sighed. “It’s fine. Seeing as you aren’t dead yet, I’ll be going now.” Liam jumped up anxiously. “Wait!” He looked at me, lowering his head. “These past few months… I’ve always felt like I owed you an apology.” If apologies actually fixed things, we wouldn’t need the police, would we? And you wouldn’t be locked in a holding cell right now. I waved my hand dismissively, flashing a carefree smile. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks to you, I’m actually living my best life right now.” Walking out of the police station, I bumped right into Vivian. I recognized her immediately. She had a delicate, pure face and a gentle, fragile aura. She looked like a fragile flower made of glass. The exact polar opposite of me. No wonder that after living with me for five years, Liam still only had eyes for her. I had zero interest in exchanging pleasantries with my ex-husband’s new flame. I turned to walk away. But she ran up to me, looking overjoyed, tears brimming in her eyes. She looked at me like I was her savior. “Chloe! Is it really you?” “I didn’t think you’d actually come! I’m so happy. You have no idea, Liam is only in jail because of me. It’s all my fault…” I had pretty much guessed that. Even though Liam was a cheating scumbag, he usually had a strong moral compass when it came to following the law. I replied dismissively, “Oh, is that so…” Seeing that I was engaging, Vivian’s eyes lit up, and she started begging: “So, Chloe… could you please help Liam?” I actually wanted to know what her game plan was, so I smiled and asked: “How exactly am I supposed to help?” Vivian furrowed her brows, looking incredibly distressed and guilty. “Well, I heard from Liam that when you divorced, he left all his assets to you. You know I just got back from abroad, and it was hard for my family to support me. Right now, I have to send half of Liam’s monthly salary back to my parents. The rest just isn’t enough for us to live on. So, I tried to do some black-market trading to make extra cash, and I ended up getting Liam arrested.” “I heard you opened a store and are making really good money. Giving some of that money back to Liam would be really easy for you, right?” I laughed. No wonder she called me. This was her angle all along. It made sense. A penniless Liam, relying solely on a Captain’s salary, was definitely struggling to make ends meet. Of course Vivian was miserable. I looked down at the woman groveling in front of me and fired back without hesitation: “Wow, Vivian. What do you mean ‘give it back’?” “The divorce decree clearly states that money was my compensation. Think about it: if I hadn’t aborted my baby and stepped aside, would you two be living this blissful, romantic life together right now?” Vivian’s face stiffened. A very ugly, forced smile crept onto her lips. “Yes, of course. Liam and I are only together thanks to your sacrifice. But Chloe, we are in serious trouble right now. You loved Liam so much; you can’t just stand by and watch him suffer in a jail cell, can you?” “He’s been charged with illegal profiteering. He’s going to be locked up for a full two weeks.” I widened my eyes and gasped dramatically. “Two weeks?! Won’t that interfere with his military duties?!” Vivian waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, no. I already requested a leave of absence for him beforehand.” I stared at her, slowly exhaled, and offered a soft smile. “Well, that’s wonderful! Honestly, I was worried about Liam suffering in there. But seeing how thoroughly and thoughtfully you’ve handled everything, I feel so much better. I’m sure going through this ordeal together will only make your love for each other stronger.” Vivian realized I wasn’t going to hand over any cash and that her guilt trip wasn’t working. I don’t know what possessed her, but she suddenly threw her pride away and dropped to her knees right in front of me in the middle of the street. “Chloe, please help us! I’m begging you…” The street was crowded. Dozens of eyes instantly locked onto us. I almost burst out laughing. I leaned down and helped her up, putting on an exaggerated look of distress. “Oh my goodness! Vivian, what are you doing?! Where in the world does the homewrecker kneel to the ex-wife?!” “I’ll help! I’ll help, okay?!” With that, I decisively pulled a small notebook out of my purse… I scribbled down a phone number and handed it to Vivian. “This is the direct line to the manager of the garment factory I work with. I heard from Liam that you studied fashion design abroad. Here’s the deal: you draw up some designs, take them to the factory for sampling, and I’ll stock them in my store. I won’t charge you a stocking fee. I’ll help you sell them. Sound good?” Vivian clearly didn’t expect my “help” to require her to actually do any work. Her face turned green, and she glared at me with blatant dissatisfaction. “Chloe, Liam gave you so much money! Even if you don’t care about me, you should care about him! How could you just take all of it?! Don’t you know that was his entire life’s savings?!” Before I could speak, she kept going. “I don’t care. You have to give me twenty thousand dollars right now. And I want half the profits from your new store.” Vivian’s greed was absolutely staggering. She just wanted to sit back and collect a paycheck without lifting a finger. I wasn’t Liam. I wasn’t going to coddle her delusions. I slapped her hand away. My voice turned to ice. “This number is all you’re getting. Take it, or get the hell out of my face.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391957”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the second year of my arranged marriage with Arthur Vance, my first love suddenly returned from abroad. My usually aloof and arrogant husband handed me a divorce agreement. I froze for a few seconds: “What is the meaning of this?” His voice trembled slightly. “Your old flame is back. I’m stepping aside.” Me: “—Huh??” 1 By the time the business dinner ended and I got home, it was nearly eleven o’clock. I kicked off my high heels, rubbing my aching neck as I walked inside, only to find my husband blocking my path. Arthur stared at me with a cold, stern expression. “You’ve been drinking?” “Just a little.” He let out a cold scoff. “You normally never drink. What, are you just that happy to see your old lover?” My alcohol-fogged brain was a bit slow. It took me a moment to realize he was being passive-aggressive. I looked up and met his eyes seriously. “Just spit it out. I’m very tired today.” His gaze lingered on my face before suddenly locking onto a specific spot. His eyes turned ice-cold. “Why is your neck red?” I instinctively reached up to scratch it. “Probably a bug bite?” He mocked lightly, “And is that bug’s name Caleb?” Caleb was my ex-boyfriend’s name. It suddenly clicked why Arthur was acting so bizarre tonight. Just as I was about to speak, his tightly clenched right hand extended forward, holding a document. “Sign it.” I looked down and read the bold words at the top of the page—Divorce Agreement. Without exaggeration, that sobered me up instantly! I looked at him in disbelief. “Why do you suddenly want a divorce?” “Isn’t this what you want?” he said. “Caleb just returned to the country, and you couldn’t wait to run off and drink with him, coming home covered in…” His gaze dropped to my neck again, and he fell silent. “I wasn’t drinking with Caleb tonight,” I argued. “I went to discuss a partnership with the CEO of Apex Industries. I already told you about that project.” “But you drank with Caleb,” he fixated on that single point. “Yes, Caleb was there, but I didn’t know that before I arrived,” I explained. “He’s good friends with Mr. Carter. They were toasting each other; it’s not like I could just kick him out, could I?” I kept the more absurd thoughts to myself. What right did I have to kick Caleb out? I had absolutely nothing to do with him anymore. Arthur remained silent for a moment. “Forget the partnership with Apex. The profit margins aren’t that high anyway. I’ll give you better projects.” A pie falling from the sky—naturally, I was thrilled. But I couldn’t wrap my head around one thing: “Why do you care so much about Caleb?” Arthur and I were in a contractual business marriage. We had been married for a year, yet we were still basically strangers. Our daily conversations revolved entirely around eating and sleeping, with occasional discussions about each other’s work. Nothing more. This robotic routine even extended into the bedroom. He and I would intimately tangle the sheets every Friday night. Exactly three times, no more, no less. In our entire year of marriage, there hadn’t been a single exception. I once complained about this to my best friend, Chloe. After her initial shock wore off, she sighed, “Well, I guess that’s Arthur Vance for you.” Arthur was a legend in our social circle. Almost everyone had heard their elders praise him, and most of our peers lived in his shadow. Excelling in one field is normal, but excelling in everything like he did was incredibly rare. On top of that, he was highly disciplined and emotionally stable to a frightening degree. You couldn’t help but respect him. I used to respect him, too. Until I married him. How did this absolute cyborg become my husband? The “golden boy” archetype is definitely only meant to be admired from afar. Actually living with him truly tests your psychological endurance. My cyborg husband finally spoke: “Why shouldn’t I care?” I clarified, “I did date him for a while, but we broke up years ago. I’m your wife now. There is… absolutely nothing between him and me.” “I hope you keep your word.” “What?” “I have never allowed any flaws to exist in my life, and that includes my marriage,” he said. “I don’t want my marriage to end because of your infidelity.” “…” So that’s what he was afraid of. I promised him sincerely, “It won’t.” Having received a satisfactory answer, Arthur turned and walked into the bedroom. 2 By the time I finished washing up, it was almost midnight. I was lying in bed, drowsy, when I suddenly heard him ask from the other side, “What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” “What are my options?” “Crab roe wontons, beef potstickers, or strawberry pancakes.” “Potstickers,” I said. “I want them a little crispier this time.” “Mhm.” Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten much at the business dinner, but just thinking about Arthur’s beef potstickers made my stomach rumble. The super-cyborg Arthur was also incredibly skilled in the culinary arts. I considered myself a foodie who had eaten at plenty of high-end places, but Arthur’s cooking always managed to give me pleasant surprises. The first time I ate his crab roe wontons, they were so savory I almost swallowed my own tongue. I swallowed hard and asked, “Are the dumplings already prepped?” “Yes, I wrapped them tonight,” he said. “While you were out drinking with Caleb.” “…” I turned my head suspiciously to look at him. For some inexplicable reason, Arthur talking about Caleb didn’t seem very robotic at all… If I didn’t know him better, I would almost think he was jealous. Jealous over me. But how could that be possible? The cyborg asked, “Is something wrong?” “Nothing.” I pushed the messy thoughts out of my head. But thanks to his interruption, I didn’t dare mention that I wanted to eat the beef potstickers right now. I was genuinely afraid he’d pop off with another comment like: Didn’t Caleb feed you any potstickers while you were drinking with him? 3 I woke up late the next morning. Arthur’s beef potstickers were already packed neatly in a thermal lunchbox. He shoved a freshly bottled date-sweetened soy milk into my hand and casually said goodbye. Watching his retreating back, I suddenly felt that even though his personality was robotic, he genuinely took great care of me. I ate my breakfast in my office. Just as I was about to start working, my best friend Chloe texted me. Chloe: [I heard Caleb is back in the country!] I replied: [I know. I actually drank with him last night.] Chloe: [Holy shit!] Chloe: [You move fast!] Chloe: [Babe, don’t forget you’re a married woman now. If you’re going to meet up with Caleb, make sure you keep it discreet.] Me: [……] This was honestly a huge headache for me. In the years since Caleb and I broke up, I hadn’t dated anyone else. It was purely because I didn’t want to, but somehow the rumor mill spun it into me carrying a torch for him. I tried to explain, but the more I talked, the worse it sounded. Even my best friend, Chloe, thought I was just being stubborn and denying my true feelings. I called her directly. “I’ve explained this a million times. I literally feel nothing for him.” “Okay, okay.” Chloe readily agreed, then warned me again, “Just be careful not to let Arthur find out about you drinking with Caleb.” “…” “He already knows.” Chloe gasped. “Holy shit!” When it came to Caleb, I felt helpless. But when it came to Arthur’s un-robotic behavior last night, I was fully energized. I vividly described Arthur’s abnormal behavior. I heavily emphasized his psycho move of handing me a divorce agreement over the incident. “Don’t you think his perfectionism is a little too extreme?” Chloe’s perspective was entirely different from mine. “Why do I get the feeling he was trying to keep you?” “What?” “By handing you a divorce agreement, he was forcing you to stop interacting with Caleb.” “But what if I actually signed it?” “Would you?” “…” No, I wouldn’t. Leaving aside the massive entanglement of our two families’ businesses, from a purely practical standpoint, I couldn’t bear to divorce a premium catch like Arthur Vance. “The god is finally descending to the mortal realm!” I cringed at her dramatic phrasing and corrected her, “The super-cyborg is finally showing signs of human life.” “You should test him,” Chloe said excitedly. “See if his system is just glitching or if he’s actually turning into a real, breathing man.” “How do I test him?” Her voice dripped with suggestion. “Well, today is Friday. Tonight, when you two…” 4 Chloe’s method was simple, though it made me blush. I just needed to cling to Arthur and demand one more round. Since he strictly adhered to his “Friday night, exactly three times” rule, if I could coax him into a fourth round, wouldn’t that prove his robotic programming had been overridden? I hesitated, agonized over it, and ultimately decided to bide my time. Finally, I was sharing the bed with Arthur. He leaned over me, held my gaze for a few seconds, then grabbed a silk tie from the nightstand, draped it over my eyes, and tied a knot behind my head. In the past, I never asked questions, assuming it was just his little kink. But tonight, with an agenda on my mind, I asked point-blank, “Why do you blindfold me every single time?” Arthur didn’t answer. He just lowered his head and kissed me. The damp touch of his lips pulled my thoughts away. Gradually, I forgot to pursue the reason behind the blindfold. Rising and falling, I was held entirely in the palm of his hands—lifted high, set down gently. My heart squeezed and fluttered. Finally, the third round ended. Arthur pulled away the sweat-soaked silk tie from my face, and I met his calm, emotionless eyes. Even though I had seen this look countless times, I still couldn’t help but grit my teeth. Why? Why did he always look so utterly frigid and detached after doing that? He gently stroked my face in a soothing gesture and was about to pull away— Anger flared in my chest, fueling a sudden burst of reckless courage. I immediately locked my legs around his waist. Caught off guard, Arthur was dragged forward, crashing heavily against me! I took the opportunity to wrap my arms around his neck, and under his panicked gaze, I spoke in a sugary-sweet voice: “Can we go one more time?” 5 Arthur clearly hadn’t anticipated this. He froze for a few seconds. His gaze swept over my eyes, my lips, my collarbone, and finally settled… His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily, and he turned his head away, saying stiffly: “No.” “Why not?” I retorted almost instantly. I didn’t even need to ask if he could. Because from the moment he was pulled flush against me, I knew perfectly well that he could. If he could, why was he saying no? He refused to look at me. “Too much… is bad for your health.” That was an answer I never expected. While from a strictly scientific standpoint, his approach was correct, adhering to science in absolutely everything was just too boring. I clung to him, refusing to let him leave. “But what if I want to?” Arthur turned his head back, looking at me with a conflicted expression. In that fleeting moment, I could actually see the intense struggle in his eyes. After struggling for a long time, he said firmly, “No.” He reached out and traced the line of my brow, whispering softly, “Bear with it…” I didn’t want to bear with it. I pulled his head down and captured his lips with precision. I wanted to see if this highly disciplined cyborg could actually lose control. 6 The facts proved that one should not have too much curiosity about a cyborg. An out-of-control Arthur was truly terrifying. It turns out that super-cyborgs also have top-tier battery life. He didn’t stop tossing me around until the sky outside began to turn gray, and only under his soothing touches did I finally close my eyes and fall asleep. Before falling asleep, I vaguely remembered a pair of eyes overflowing with tenderness. I wanted to see them again the next morning, but he had already reverted to his cyborg mode. “Something urgent came up at the company, I have to head over. You…” He paused, a rare occurrence. “Breakfast is ready. Remember to eat when you get up.” “Okay,” I murmured softly, clutching the blanket. Normally, at this point, he would turn and leave without hesitation. But today, he didn’t. I waited quietly for him to finish. He hesitated for a long time. “Does your… does your body feel uncomfortable anywhere?” Influenced by his bashful attitude, my cheeks began to burn. Naturally, it wasn’t as comfortable as stopping at exactly three times, but it wasn’t unbearable either. I looked at Arthur standing before me and felt that the aura of a living, breathing human around him was growing stronger. “You never used to ask before.” “Before…” His voice dropped lower. “I could feel that you were satisfied.” “…” I didn’t want to ask anymore. If I dug any deeper, it would get too taboo for a morning conversation. I simply said, “I’m fine. Go to work.” Only then did he leave. I huddled back under the covers and grabbed my phone, seeing a string of unread messages from Chloe. [How did the test go?] [Why aren’t you answering?] [Are you seriously still asleep?] [Girl, it’s almost noon… Holy shit, was it a war zone last night?] [1:00 PM.] [OK, it’s almost 2:00 PM. Say no more, I understand everything.] Helplessly, I typed back: [I’m awake.] She replied instantly: [Oho~] Even from a single word, I could sense her teasing tone. I couldn’t resist firing back: [Stop giving me terrible advice from now on!] Chloe called me directly. “Did our great God Vance break his vow last night?” I scoffed. “I’m too tired to talk to you.” “Say no more,” Chloe teased. “I can tell just by your voice. It definitely wasn’t just one extra round last night.” “…” She was curious. “Is the super-cyborg finally transforming into a real human?” To be honest, I was a bit curious too. Arthur was exceptional in every way and emotionally stable, which was undeniably a good thing. But most of the time, he didn’t feel like a real person; he felt like a perfect machine manufactured by the Vance family. I wanted to see him break through that disguise. I wanted to see what he looked like when he dropped his defenses. We had been married for a year, and he remained as aloof and proud as ever. I thought I’d never see it in this lifetime, but last night, he lost control again… Did this mean… I still had a chance? So, when he came home from work, I intentionally walked up to him and said something I normally never would: “Did work go smoothly today?” He paused for a moment. “Smoothly.” “The projects I promised you—I’ve already had my assistant email them to you. Pick whichever ones you like,” he added, as if assuming my sudden attentiveness was purely for profit. I was about to explain, but then I watched him toss his suit jacket onto the sofa, unfasten his cufflinks, roll his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and stroll confidently into the kitchen. After tying his apron, he poked his head out. “What do you want for dinner tonight?” “…” I gave up on testing him. Yep, definitely still my cyborg husband. 7 Arthur methodically took care of my three meals a day. He woke up at the exact same time every morning and went to sleep at the exact same time every night. His routine was more robotic than a literal machine, making me wonder if his out-of-control moment last Friday was entirely my imagination. Just as I was about to abandon my quest to uncover the cyborg’s true face, Caleb contacted me. “Why did you suddenly cancel the partnership with Mark Carter?” “It wasn’t canceled,” I said. “That project was just too difficult, so I swapped it for another one.” “Is it because of me?” Caleb asked. “Because I mentioned buying shares that night, you dropped it. You don’t want any excessive entanglement with me, do you?” I let out an absurd laugh. “You don’t hold that much weight with me.” “Does Professor Davis?” “What?” “We’re having a college reunion tonight, and Professor Davis will be there. She said she really wants to see you.” I hesitated. Rationally speaking, I shouldn’t attend any gathering where Caleb was present. But Professor Davis was a mentor who had taken great care of me. If she wanted to see me and I refused, I’d look like an ungrateful brat. While I was torn, Caleb added, “If you’re hesitating because of me, I can leave.” If he left specifically because of me, it would only make things look worse, as if I truly was still hung up on him. I quickly said, “You don’t have to leave. I’ll go.” Caleb sent me the address. Just as I was about to start the GPS, my cyborg husband called. “I’m heading to the supermarket. Anything you’re craving?” I hesitated. “I won’t be home for dinner tonight.” “A business dinner?” “Yes,” my voice grew a little quieter. Arthur was silent for two seconds. “Will you need me to pick you up afterward?” “No, no!” I said hurriedly. “I’ll be back by nine at the latest. You don’t need to pick me up.” “Understood,” his voice instantly dropped several degrees. I wanted to explain further, but he had already hung up. Carrying an uneasy feeling in my chest, I arrived at the address Caleb had given me. A waiter guided me to the private dining room. “This is it.” I nodded and finished typing the last word of a text message. It was to Arthur: [The business dinner got canceled. But I have to work late at the office for a bit. I should be home around 7. Remember to save some food for me.] The message showed as sent. I figured I’d go in, chat with Professor Davis for a bit, and then invent an excuse to slip away early. A room with Caleb in it wasn’t a place to linger. Thinking this, I pushed the door open— The room was completely quiet. There was no professor, no former classmates. There was only my husband, Arthur Vance, with a face as dark as iron. He looked up, a freezing smile on his lips: “Caleb said I could wait for you here. It turns out he was absolutely right.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391976”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Willow Hawthorne, a faded actress, joined a divorce reality show with her business magnate husband. “I want a divorce.” Facing the camera, I spoke calmly. Off-camera, Alaric Hawthorne frowned, reviewing my performance. “You need to show more intense emotion when you say it. That’s what sparks discussion, creates buzz, drives traffic.” “Otherwise, who will believe you actually want to divorce me? They’ll just think you’re acting again.” “Use your head more. I can’t be guiding you every step of the way.” He was right, of course. To outsiders, I was merely a pretty face, vain and shallow, a talentless ornament. He, on the other hand, was a cultured businessman, possessing billions and renowned for his sharp intellect. No one believed I would willingly give up the title of Mrs. Hawthorne, including Alaric himself. But he didn’t know. This time, I was truly getting a divorce. 1 When my agent told me about the divorce reality show, I paused. “Mr. Hawthorne agreed?” “Of course.” She seemed to find my question amusing. “Your last few live shopping streams didn’t do so well. Celebrity divorces are a hot topic right now, so Mr. Hawthorne specially carved out ten days to do this show with you. Perform well this time, try to ride this wave of publicity. It’ll be worth Mr. Hawthorne’s investment in you.” I remained silent. Investment. That word was interesting. It implied a superior-subordinate relationship, like a teacher and student, or business partners. But not like a husband and wife. “Sign it,” she said, tossing the contract onto the table in front of me. I didn’t move, just stared at the thin pages. She glanced at me, a half-smile playing on her lips. “Don’t worry, it’s not a real divorce.” “I need to read the show’s content first. I’ll let you know once it’s signed.” I slowly picked up the contract, clutching it. She frowned, reminding me with a touch of irritation, “Mr. Hawthorne has already reviewed it.” As she stood to leave, her dismissive voice drifted back to me. “Why make things so complicated? You’ll sign it in the end anyway.” 2 That evening, Alaric called. When his steady, magnetic voice came through, I felt a strange unfamiliarity. With his company launching new projects, we hadn’t seen each other in two months. His phone was usually handled by his executive assistant, Andrea, so to reach him, I’d first have to explain my business to her, and then she’d decide if he needed to take the call. So, I generally didn’t try. “Willow.” There was soft, elegant music playing in the background of his call. “I hear you were throwing a tantrum today?” I paused. “You ‘hear’? From whom?” He sounded displeased. “I’ve been busy lately, no time or energy to teach you, but you need to mature. Work is work; you need professionalism, not to act like a child all the time.” I softly uttered, “Oh.” “You mean about the reality show? Word got to you that fast? It seems my agent reported it to Andrea. And as for throwing a tantrum, was it because I said I wanted to read the contract before signing?” The line was silent for two seconds, then his slightly weary voice came through. “You didn’t even finish college. What contract could you possibly understand?” “Everything has been prepared for you. You just need to sign it. Everyone is already very tired. Why can’t you be considerate instead of creating obstacles for the staff?” “Willow, when will you finally mature…” It was that tone again. All these years, whenever I didn’t follow his demands, whenever I voiced even a small opinion, I was met with this attitude from him. A faint accusation, mixed with a hint of helplessness and disappointment. A familiar sense of suffocation rose from deep within me, lodging in my chest, catching in my throat. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. “Mr. Hawthorne!” A soft, pleasant female voice chimed in nearby. “I think I can guess what Mrs. Hawthorne might be concerned about.” It was Andrea. Alaric said nothing. His silence meant he wasn’t objecting. Andrea let out two pleasant laughs, then spoke fluently. “This is a divorce reality show, after all. Mrs. Hawthorne has to announce a divorce in front of a national audience. Since she loves you so much, she’d naturally worry that if things went wrong, it would be hard to recover. So, Mr. Hawthorne, this is actually your fault. You didn’t consider Mrs. Hawthorne’s feelings, you were too blunt. Her sulking is understandable.” I was a bit stunned. Setting aside her presumption that I was just “sulking,” she was actually saying Alaric was wrong. Saying that the always aloof, strategically brilliant Alaric was wrong. I couldn’t help but be curious about his reaction. On the phone, Alaric was quiet for a moment, then softly hummed, “Mm.” “Andrea makes a good point, Willow. I didn’t think things through enough.” In that instant, I smiled soundlessly. It was deep autumn. The few remaining leaves on the sycamore trees outside the window, swept by an unseen autumn breeze, silently fell. “However, besides being husband and wife, we are also business partners with cross-shareholdings in several companies. Divorce would have a hundred disadvantages and no benefits. Such a concern, if you just used your head, you’d know is superfluous. Willow, you’ve been with me for five years. I thought you had learned to analyze and scrutinize things. In this area, you need to settle down and truly learn from Andrea.” Andrea and I were the same age, both twenty-seven this year. We met Alaric in the same year. The difference was, she came from a scholarly family, graduated from Stanford University, was quick-witted, articulate, and a talented, beautiful woman with a graceful demeanor. I, on the other hand, came from a humble background, discovered through a reality TV talent show. I started acting before finishing college. These past few years, I’d gained some fame through my looks, and outsiders often commented, “Beautiful, yes, but soulless.” I actually thought Alaric would choose her back then… At this point, Alaric finished speaking and paused. He was waiting for me to admit my mistake and reflect, as I always did. He would pinpoint my shallow understanding and immature mindset, and I would earnestly reflect, making changes where necessary. But this time, I said nothing. On the phone, only the tireless music continued to flow. After a moment, I asked, “You’ve had it on speakerphone this whole time?” One of the few arguments Alaric and I had in our four years of marriage was when I called him once, wanting to flirt, and heard Andrea’s sudden laughter in the background. Later, finding out he’d had it on speaker, I was so mortified and angry that I cried for hours, making him promise it would never happen again. Back then, our relationship was still strong. He had promised. “Willow.” Alaric clearly remembered the incident. “Andrea just had a bit to drink at a dinner, and I was driving, using navigation, so—” “It’s fine. Just a casual question.” I chuckled indifferently, my gaze falling on the name at the bottom of the contract. Bold and expressive. Somewhat unfamiliar, yet also familiar. “The contract is signed. I’ll give it to my agent tomorrow.” Alaric was satisfied. Satisfied that I hadn’t lingered on the issue of Andrea. Satisfied that I had once again obediently accepted his arrangements. “Didn’t you always want to go to the Altai Mountains? After this busy period, I’ll make time to go with you.” “We’ll see.” I hung up the phone. 3 Alaric and I met again after two months at the filming location. My agent drove me, Andrea drove him. Two cars arrived from different directions, their doors opening simultaneously. He was on a conference call, wearing a sharp suit, standing sideways, outlining his perfect facial features. Andrea, dressed in a navy belted trench coat, her long hair flying in the wind, waited quietly beside him. I tilted my head, observing. I had to admit, they looked very striking together, very well-matched. My agent left me, rushing over with a big smile. “Mr. Hawthorne!” “Ms. Hayes!” Andrea merely gave a faint nod, indicating not to interrupt, her gaze not even straying towards me. Over there, three people stood together. Over here, I quietly took down my luggage. The two cars weren’t far apart, yet it felt like they were separated by a galaxy. I wheeled my luggage into the house. The other two pairs of guests were already seated on the sofa. One pair of singers. One pair of ordinary people. I smiled and greeted them. Through the large floor-to-ceiling window, I clearly saw Andrea bending over, diligently buttoning Alaric’s suit jacket. Her face was near his lower body, her long hair tangled at her waist by the wind, the posture intimately suggestive. The ordinary woman, straightforward and blunt, pursed her lips and asked, with a surprising lack of filter: “Are you divorcing because of her?” I smiled. “No.” The four people in the room clearly didn’t believe me, subtly pursing their lips. Alaric walked in, surrounded by staff. He saw me, came to sit beside me, slightly displeased. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” I picked up an orange from the table and began peeling it. “I came in to understand the process first, so the production team wouldn’t have to wait.” He turned his head to look at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. After all, when I was around him, I would always find ways to assert my claim. “For the first two choices, you must firmly choose divorce. The turning point will come in the final choice, when you give up.” He instructed me in a low voice. I nodded, putting a segment of orange into my mouth. It was incredibly sweet. 4 My agent’s script was this: I want a divorce; he doesn’t. To understand my thoughts and salvage the marriage, he’s on this show. After arguments, reconciliation, and honest communication, I finally reveal that his focus on career has led to too little companionship over the years. He sincerely apologizes and promises to prioritize family. Finally, I tearfully admit I still love him, giving up the idea of divorce. In the end, we reconcile, and everyone lives happily ever after. It was, frankly, quite fake. Seeing me frown, my agent countered with a mocking tone, “Unless you want to make it real?” I had once suggested to Alaric that I wanted to change agents. Andrea opposed it, citing the agent’s extensive resources and professionalism. Alaric supported her opposition, telling me to prioritize work and not be childish. She naturally disliked me. And of course, I didn’t like her either. … The first day had no filming content, only pre-show interviews. In the interview room, couples made their first choice. “I want a divorce.” I calmly spoke these words to the camera. Alaric, beside me, frowned. “You need to show more intense emotion when you say it. That’s what sparks discussion, creates buzz, drives traffic.” “Otherwise, who will believe you actually want to divorce me? They’ll just think you’re acting again.” “Use your head more. I can’t be guiding you every step of the way.” I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but was overwhelmed by a deep sense of powerlessness. I didn’t want to utter a single word. These past two years, I had often been engulfed by this emotion, as if a snare firmly held me. I knew intimately that I had to break free, but I always lacked the strength. When inner energy is depleted, one needs external force. The director was a very young man, still possessing a purity untouched by the mundane world. He reviewed the footage. “The feeling comes across well, actually. After all, she’s an experienced actress, the emotion is conveyed.” When Alaric went for his solo interview, I didn’t want to listen and waited outside. My phone rang. It was Andrea, surprisingly. I was about to hang up, but then I thought about it and answered. “His interview is almost over. You can call him directly later.” “Mrs. Hawthorne, I’m not looking for him, I’m looking for you.” “Me?” “It’s like this, Mr. Hawthorne has never been away from me for several days straight. There are two things I need to remind you about.” Andrea’s tone was gentle and polite. I watched Alaric push open the door and walk out, then put my phone on speaker. “Assistant Hayes, please go ahead.” Andrea’s elegant voice echoed in the hallway. “First, Mr. Hawthorne has been suffering from pharyngitis recently. His medication is in the inner pocket of his black bag. You absolutely must not let him have anything cold or spicy, or it will irritate his throat. Second, he sometimes gets migraines at night. Remember to massage his temples for ten minutes; that’s the only way it’s effective. If you’re unsure of the technique, you can call me anytime.” “Mrs. Hawthorne, did you remember all that I said?” Before I could answer, Alaric snatched the phone from my hand, speaking coldly, “Andrea, who told you to call Willow?” The silence on the other end was abrupt. I suddenly found it somewhat amusing, and thinking that, I actually laughed. Alaric looked at me, his scrutinizing gaze tinged with confusion. Usually, in such situations, I would have caused quite a fuss, angrily accusing Andrea and tearfully complaining to him. Andrea, on the other hand, would always remain composed, elegantly explaining in a soft voice, making me look like a lunatic. “She meant well. Your tone probably scared her.” I took the phone back from him, hung up directly, and walked straight towards the interview room. There was a joint couple’s interview next. As I pushed the door, Alaric, still standing by the window in the hallway, suddenly spoke to me. “You don’t mind?” I looked at him. “Mind what?” A flicker of irritation crossed his composed brow. “Nothing. Let’s go in.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391993”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel