Category: English

I found out Arthur Sterling was keeping another woman on the side. I was much calmer than I ever imagined I would be. After tracking down her address, I headed straight for her house, fully intending to lay all my cards on the table. But when I actually stood in her living room, I froze. “This condo cost $1.65 million. Arthur paid for it in full, in cash. The deed is in my name.” The woman’s expression was perfectly serene, as if she had been expecting me for a long time. She walked into her bedroom and brought out a marriage certificate, placing it right in front of me. “We got married last month.” “So,” the woman looked at me, her eyes brimming with sheer contempt, “legally speaking, you’re the dirty little mistress who can’t see the light of day.” The marriage certificate stung my eyes. It reminded me that Arthur and I had been together for fifteen years. Fifteen years. I never got a marriage certificate, but I did end up with a label: Mistress. … “Chloe Davis.” The woman tapped her manicured acrylic nail against the section of the certificate that bore Arthur’s name, her tone mocking. “You have no right to be here, and you certainly have no authority to strike a pose in front of me. Understood?” She held the marriage certificate like a hard-won trophy. She stood there, looking like a flawless, expensive porcelain doll. I recognized the diamond watch on her wrist. It was the exact one Arthur and I had won at a charity auction last month. It was the one Arthur had told me he was going to give to me as our fifteen-year anniversary gift. But the day before our anniversary… Arthur had come to me in a panic, telling me the watch had been stolen. His eyes were full of guilt—so much guilt that they were red-rimmed and teary as he spoke. “Honey, I promise I’ll give you something even better.” He gently rubbed the calluses on my palms, his tears falling out of sheer heartbreak. “I’ve made you suffer so much over the years building this life with me. Once the company’s IPO goes through, let’s get married, okay?” “Chloe,” Arthur had hugged me tightly. “I want to marry you. I want us to have a real family.” And I had actually believed him. I thought Arthur and I were finally reaching the finish line. I thought that after all the years of grinding from absolutely nothing to immense wealth, I had handed in a satisfactory answer sheet for my life, and we would just live peacefully from then on. But now. I stared at the crushed diamonds on her watch. They sparkled brilliantly, like tiny, invisible needles piercing straight into my heart. It hurt so much I could barely stand, yet I fought to maintain my dignity. “And so?” I snatched the marriage certificate from her hand. I looked at the bride’s name: Mia Harper. I met her perfectly flawless face and her visibly stunned expression, and I smiled. “Are you trying to tell me that after fifteen years with Arthur, it’s time for me to step down so you can enjoy the high life?” “Mia,” I rubbed my thumb over her photo on the document and smirked. “What makes you think I would just hand over the empire I bled to build?” I watched Mia panic. She lunged at me to snatch the certificate back, but I sidestepped her. Losing her balance, she crashed into a display cabinet and let out a sharp scream. “Chloe Davis!” “Are you insane?!” Mia finally ripped off her elegant mask and screamed at me. “Are you trying to ruin my relationship with Arthur?! Are you going to be a shameless homewrecker?!” “Chloe!” “Have you no shame?!” Before Mia could lunge at me for a physical fight… I calmly pulled out my phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo of the marriage certificate, and immediately texted it to Arthur. “Arthur.” “I heard you got married.” “Why wasn’t I invited to the reception?” “Chloe!” “Honey!” The call connected instantly. Arthur’s frantic voice echoed through the living room. “I can explain!” “It’s all a massive misunderstanding!” “Chloe!” I heard a commotion on Arthur’s end, followed by the sound of a car door slamming. “I’m coming over right now.” “Don’t do anything rash.” “Just wait until I get there, we’ll talk!” While Arthur was still rambling… Mia, consumed by rage, screamed into the phone like a lunatic. “Arthur Sterling! Whose husband are you?! Who the hell are you protecting?!” Mia’s hysterical screams bounced off the walls. I took another look around the condo. The decor was warm and luxurious—pale blue silk drapes, a cream-colored cloud sofa, an entire wall dedicated to designer blind-box figurines. There were even cute couple’s magnets on the smart fridge. The plush pink cartoon slippers by the shoe rack perfectly matched the blue ones on Mia’s feet. Even the pristine white walls were covered in framed photos of Mia, mixed with several shots of Arthur’s back. It was obvious. Whoever decorated this place poured their entire heart into it. A $1.65 million condo. Paid in cash. In Mia’s name. Mia’s watch. $3 million. That was supposed to be my anniversary gift. Plus the authentic silk pajama set she was wearing, the expensive custom manicure on her pristine hands, and the artisanal tea set resting on the coffee table, the premium tea leaves… not a single thing in this room was cheap. Every single item. Reeked of elite wealth. Every single item. I looked down at my own hands, staring at my palms, rough with calluses from years of hard labor. I looked at my outfit—my clothes and shoes combined cost less than a hundred dollars. Suddenly, I found it all incredibly hilarious. So hilarious that I actually laughed out loud. “Arthur.” I cut him off mid-sentence. “Since you’re already married,” I took one last glance at the certificate clutched in Mia’s hands: “Then we have absolutely nothing left to talk about.” I didn’t wait for Arthur. I didn’t need to hear his explanations. All I knew was that the fifteen years of blood, sweat, and tears I had given him were reduced to a monumental joke. And Arthur was the one who made me the biggest clown in it. I was sitting in my friend’s law firm, dropping the photo of the marriage certificate on his desk and relaying everything I had just witnessed. Then, I asked him one question. “In a situation like this.” “What are my odds?” My voice was terrifyingly calm, as if discussing the weather. “Arthur and I built the company from scratch. Our equity is split down the middle. All our assets are shared and transparent. But Mia is the wildcard.” I tapped my knuckles against the mahogany desk, thinking of the $3 million watch and the $1.65 million condo. “I refuse to let anyone off easy.” “Stepping on my flesh and blood to sit back and enjoy the spoils? There is no such thing as a free lunch in this world, and I refuse to accept that logic!” I looked my friend, Liam, dead in the eye. “I want them to pay.” “But,” Liam sighed, fighting his own anger to maintain his professional stance: “Your company is at a critical stage for the IPO. If a massive scandal breaks now—” “I don’t care.” “Then that’s all I need to hear!” Liam patted his chest confidently. “I will fight this for you until the bitter end.” Walking out of the bank, I sat in my car, staring at dozens of pages of bank statements. The amounts Arthur had transferred to Mia ranged from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars. Next to every single transaction was a memo: [Voluntary Gift]. It felt like my chest was caving in. A suffocating grip seized my throat, and my eyes burned with hot tears. I remembered a time when I had envied other women for dressing up. Wanting to feel like a normal girl, I had booked a salon appointment, gotten my hair done, and gone home, purposely strutting in front of Arthur, waiting for him to compliment my effort to look nice. Instead… Arthur had met my hopeful gaze with a chilling coldness. “Chloe.” “I know our lives are getting a little better now,” Arthur grabbed my hands, shaking his head in disapproval. “But the scariest thing a person can do is forget their roots.” “We can’t just start throwing money away just because we have a little extra, right?” “What if times get tough again? How will you cope?” “Honey,” Arthur had pulled me into his arms. “I prefer you when you’re simple and unadorned.” My heart full of hope shattered into bubbles. Arthur’s words were like a bucket of ice water over my head. I froze, forgetting to even react, as I watched him ruthlessly smash my only bottle of perfume against the floor. “Flashy, useless things. What’s the point?” Yeah. Flashy, useless things. What’s the point? Yet, Mia was draped in those flashy, useless things, dressed up like a perfect porcelain doll from an entirely different universe. The cruelest irony was that every single cent used to dress Mia up was paid for by the blood and sweat I had shed over the years. Why should she get it? The tears fell despite my best efforts. I wiped them away aggressively, staring at Arthur’s relentless incoming calls, and finally swiped to answer. “Chloe?!” “You finally picked up!” “Thank God!” Arthur’s frantic voice blasted through the speaker. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where are you? Whatever it is, let’s talk face-to-face, okay?!” “Chloe, we’ve been together for fifteen years!” “Not fifteen days! You can’t just hide from me—” “Arthur.” I forced down the lump of acid in my throat, keeping my voice level. “Let’s meet.” I gave him the location. “At the old Northside apartment. We’ll meet there.” There was a clear pause on his end. Silence for a few seconds. “Okay.” “Honey, I’m heading there right now.” Arthur sounded relieved, almost thrilled. “I’ll stop by and grab those soup dumplings you love so much and bring them over!” Before I could decline. Arthur had hung up. I turned to meet Liam’s worried gaze. “I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “Don’t worry.” It had been almost five years since Arthur and I moved out of that old Northside apartment. Staring at the chipped, peeling paint on the front door, I remembered how we had poured our hearts into decorating this place after finally upgrading from a windowless basement. Arthur had said back then. “Honey, this is our very first real apartment. It means everything!” “When we get old, if you want, we can retire here!” “Let’s come back and stay here for a few days every year, okay?” Back then, my heart was so full of joy. I thought my life was perfectly complete. Now, only a few years later. Everything had changed. I pushed the door open. Arthur jumped up from the sofa. “Honey!” Looking like a child seeking praise, he held up the bag of hot soup dumplings and offered them to me. “They’re still warm.” In the past, I used to say how much I loved these dumplings, and how I loved that Arthur would wake up before dawn to wait in line for them. Later on, whenever I mentioned the dumplings… Arthur only had dismissive excuses. “Chloe.” “Time is money. Do you really think I have the luxury of standing in an hour-long line just to buy you breakfast?” Now, the dumplings were right in front of me again, but somehow, they completely lost their appeal. “Arthur.” I ignored his desperate fawning, walked past him, and sat on the old couch. The worn-out springs groaned under my weight—nothing compared to Mia’s cloud sofa. “Do you remember this couch?” I looked up at him. “You and I went to the flea market and hunted for two days to find it.” “Because we were too cheap to pay for delivery,” I recounted the memory like it was just a mundane Tuesday: “You borrowed a flatbed cart, and I held the armrest to keep it steady. In the middle of summer, in hundred-degree heat.” “We walked for two and a half hours to drag it home.” “Back then, you said even if we became billionaires, we would never replace this couch.” “Because it was the ultimate proof of our love.” Arthur’s eyes darted around, unable to meet my gaze. I casually picked up the TV remote from the coffee table. It was wrapped in a layer of duct tape. Arthur had drunkenly dropped it once and shattered the back; I couldn’t bear to spend money on a new one, so I taped it together. I rubbed my thumb over the duct tape. “But the truth is, people change, and everything fades, doesn’t it?” “No!” Arthur rushed forward, dropping to his knees. “That’s not how it is!” His eyes turned red. Just like always, whenever he was desperate, he would cry. “Mia was just an accident!” “I don’t love her!” “I swear to God!” Arthur knelt before me, reaching out to grab my hands, but I shifted sideways to dodge him. I watched the flash of hurt in his eyes as he continued. “There was a business dinner, I drank too much, and I have no idea how Mia ended up in my hotel room.” “When I woke up, I was terrified! I’m not lying to you!” Arthur’s tears spilled over. “I was so scared you’d find out, that you’d break up with me, that you’d hate me! I didn’t know how to face you!” “So I—” “How long?” “What?” “How long,” my voice remained chillingly flat, “have you been with Mia?” Arthur suddenly fell dead silent. He stared into my eyes for a long time before choking out the words. “Three and a half years.” I remembered Arthur promising we would come back and stay here for a few days every year. But as time went on, Arthur was always “too busy.” Turns out, he wasn’t too busy. He was just spending all his free time on someone else. A sharp, stabbing pain twisted in my chest. Then, Arthur offered his ultimate defense. “I wanted to break up with her! But she clung to me.” “She cried about how poor her family was, how her parents favored her sister… I just felt sorry for her…” Arthur’s voice trailed off. He lacked the courage to say the final sentence out loud. “And.” “She’s pregnant.” It felt like a bomb detonated right next to my ear. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Even though I had already deduced the truth before I got here, hearing it from his mouth still sent ice-cold chills down my spine. While I was eagerly waiting for our wedding… Arthur had already given someone else his name, turning me into the outsider. And now, I had to listen to Arthur say: “I thought… since you’re getting older, IVF would take a toll on your body…” Getting older. Take a toll on my body. What an absolute joke. “So,” Arthur looked up at me, “I figured letting someone else have the baby was actually for your own good.” For my own good. My nails pierced my skin, but I couldn’t feel the pain. “As long as you forgive me! I’ll agree to anything you want!” “Really?” I forced down the volcanic rage boiling in my chest and locked eyes with him. “Really!” I suddenly smiled. I stood up from the creaky couch, walked over to the front door, and pulled it wide open. I stared at the person standing outside, my smile growing even wider. “So, did you catch all that?” “Who’s the mistress now?” I looked at Mia’s horrified face, then pulled out my phone, which was on an active video call with Liam. “Don’t bother editing this video. Send it directly to the media, word for word!” “I don’t care how much money you have to burn, I want this to be the biggest scandal of the year!” Before I could finish. Someone grabbed my wrist and yanked me backward. I met Arthur’s furious, panic-stricken eyes and laughed. “Arthur.” “You made your bed.” “Did you really think you could walk away clean?” “How do you like these consequences?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399962”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had this whale of a client who constantly paid top dollar to commission my hand-knit scarves. Until this time, when he tipped me an extra three thousand bucks. “Make this one special. She’s my favorite.” The day after I shipped it out. My gorgeous, brooding, and totally broke boyfriend silently handed me a scarf. I stared at it. “…You knitted this?” He pressed his lips together. “Yeah. Do you like it?” I smiled so hard my teeth ground together. “I love it. Tell you what, why don’t you knit me one every single week?” I gripped the soft fabric of the scarf, gasping in feigned amazement: “These stitches, the cast-off edge… it’s incredible. Silas, you really put so much heart into this!” The more I praised him, the tighter I gripped the scarf. I was squeezing it so hard it was almost losing its shape. His slightly long bangs half-covered his dark eyes. The corners of his thin lips curled up slightly, looking a bit shy. “I’m glad you like it.” I asked, dripping with concern: “It must have taken you forever, right? It’s so detailed. For a beginner, this is honestly amazing.” I stared intently at Silas’s face. He paused for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, and gave a soft “Mhm.” His voice was cool and clear. “It was a little difficult, but if you like it, it was worth it.” I clenched my fists, threw myself into his arms, and laughed. “I love it to death. Tell you what, why don’t you knit me one every single week?” The air in the room froze for a long moment. He agreed. “Okay.” A few seconds passed. He asked, “Are you… trembling?” Oh, I was trembling alright. Trembling with sheer, unadulterated rage. My smile grew increasingly stiff and twisted. I forced a choked sob into my voice. “I’m just so happy. This is the first time anyone has ever hand-knitted something just for me. I feel so lucky… so incredibly lucky…” By the end of my speech, I was practically grinding my teeth to dust. My eyes were red from the sheer anger. Silas awkwardly patted my back. “If you like them, I’ll just keep making them for you.” After Silas dropped me off at my dorm. I got a new notification on eBay. Z: [Knit me one every week. Can you do it?] I typed back: [Five thousand bucks a pop.] Honestly, the prices I usually listed for my custom scarves ranged from a hundred to a few hundred bucks. I’d occasionally get clients, and the transactions were usually pretty smooth. Until this client named “Z” found my page. I was in the middle of explaining the different knitting patterns and how the material costs varied, when he just randomly Venmo’d me a thousand bucks: [Just use the best of everything.] One look and I knew he was an ignorant rich guy with more money than sense! If I didn’t take his money, I’d be an idiot. After that, he became a regular. I even set up a private, thousand-dollar listing specifically for him to buy. Every time he paid, I shipped it to the address he left on his profile. It was in the same city as me. Unsurprisingly, it was in the most notoriously expensive, gated mansion community in the state. But I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined that he could be my sweet, beautiful, desperately poor, brooding boyfriend. The moment I sent the five-thousand-dollar quote. Z: [?] Me: [I’ve got a lot of commissions lately. Demand is high, so the price went up.] The other side stayed quiet for a long time. Just as I was debating whether I should unsend the message, he bought five quantities of my thousand-dollar listing. I let out a cold laugh. I immediately went on Amazon, bought a bunch of fifty-dollar scarves, had them shipped to my dorm with Prime delivery, and then planned to repackage and ship them to his address. Whatever, I was the one receiving these scarves in the end anyway. After placing the order, I opened iMessage. The only pinned chat at the top of my screen had a new message: [At work. Thinking of you.] I frowned. I immediately hit the FaceTime button. It rang for a long time, no one answered, and it automatically disconnected. Twenty minutes later, Silas texted: [My manager yelled at me for being on my phone. What’s up?] I replied: [Nothing, just thinking of you too.] But during those twenty minutes, I had already hopped on my bike and ridden down to the small diner where he supposedly worked. I walked in and asked the owner, “Hey Sarah, about that student I referred to you earlier—” Before I could even finish my sentence, the owner cut me off, her eyes wide with anger. “Don’t even get me started, Chloe. I only agreed to hire your friend because you were such a hard worker when you were here!” “Who knew he would get into a screaming match with a customer on his very first day!” “He was wearing some fancy watch on his wrist—a Patek Philippe or something? A customer saw it, joked around, and asked him to take it off so he could look at it. And your friend actually snapped back, ‘It’s broken, and if you drop it, you couldn’t afford to replace it!’” “Who knows if it was real or fake? If it’s fake, why couldn’t the guy look at it? And if it was real…” The owner clutched her chest in frustration. “Why the hell did you send his royal highness to work in a diner?! I think you were just trying to mess with me!” My body went cold. My voice trembled slightly. “Is he… is he still here?” “He quit on his first day!” the owner scoffed loudly. “Turned my diner completely upside down and didn’t even ask for his day’s pay.” I stood frozen in the middle of the diner. I didn’t know what to say. The night wind carried a sharp chill. It blew through my thin jacket, making me shiver violently. The owner waved her hand at me, her face full of disgust. “Just get out of here. I bet you two just did this to piss me off. Chloe, ask your conscience, did I ever treat you badly when you worked here? Unbelievable!” “I’m so sorry…” I mumbled awkwardly. On the bike ride back to campus. I scrolled through my text history with Silas. I knew he was poor. I knew he skipped meals to save money. So whenever I made a little extra cash from my scarves, I’d Venmo him a few bucks every couple of days. It wasn’t a lot, maybe twenty or thirty dollars at a time. But that was money I scraped together from my own meager living expenses, after putting every other cent toward paying off my family’s debts. When my deadbeat dad died, he left behind a mountain of loans. My mom and I busted our asses every single day just to make the monthly payments. I honestly thought Silas and I were two pathetic, freezing souls huddling together for warmth in a cruel world. Who knew I was just a toy in his little poverty-simulation game. And he was a CHEATER!!! All those other scarves I knitted for him before… they were all given to other people. As his “absolute favorite,” was I supposed to feel honored? But after the violent wave of rage passed, an icy calm washed over me. After some deep, strategic thinking, I decided this wasn’t the right time to expose him. After all, I was currently scamming five thousand dollars a week out of him. And I didn’t even have to knit the scarves myself. If Silas really just had a sick fetish for pretending to be poor and playing poverty-romance games, and I popped his bubble, he might get embarrassed, the novelty would wear off, and I wouldn’t get another dime! While he was still entertained, I needed to milk him for all he was worth. However. Was there a way to make his life miserable without actually breaking up with him? I racked my brain. Three days later. I called Silas. “Want to go on a date tomorrow?” He agreed immediately. “Sure.” My tone was sickly sweet. “Did you finish knitting my scarf? It’s been a few days, right? We haven’t seen each other because you’ve been so focused on knitting my scarf, haven’t you?” Silas paused for a second. “Yeah.” “Great. See you tomorrow.” The exact second I hung up the phone. I got an eBay notification. Z: [Are they done?] I glanced at my dorm desk. Sitting right there were the cheap scarves I had just picked up from the Amazon locker that afternoon. I left him on read. Z: [Expedite this.] [Can you deliver it tonight? Your shipping is always super fast, we must be in the same city.] Me: [That’s a little difficult.] He Venmo’d me five thousand dollars. Me: […Fine.] [Same address as usual?] Z: [Yes.] He Venmo’d me another hundred bucks: [For the Uber. You can drop it off yourself or hire a courier, I don’t care.] I picked up the Amazon scarf and inspected it. Honestly, the machine-knit quality was a little cleaner than my hand-knit stuff. Then I opened the Uber app to look for a package delivery driver. It was the middle of the night. My campus was miles away from his gated community, on the complete opposite side of the city. The app quoted me forty bucks. I gritted my teeth and hit request. No one accepted. I bumped the tip up to sixty bucks, waited another half hour, and still, no drivers took the bait. Bumping it higher would just be bad business. I threw on a baseball cap, dark sunglasses, and a surgical mask. I shoved the scarf into a fancy gift box and snuck out of my dorm. The gated community was massive. Even though the security guard had been expecting me and gave me directions, I still drove in circles for twenty minutes before I finally found the right mansion. I messaged Z on eBay: [I’m here. At the front door.] I pulled my cap down lower, adjusted my sunglasses, and pinched the wire on my mask. Before leaving my dorm, I had even borrowed my roommate’s perfume and sprayed a cloud over myself. I really didn’t want him to recognize me. But as I stood on his doorstep, my mind started racing. What if he did recognize me? What kind of chaotic, disastrous scene would that be? But very quickly, reality slapped me in the face. I was overthinking. A girl wearing a designer trench coat and carrying a Prada bag walked right past me. She expertly punched a code into the electronic keypad on the front door. The heavy mahogany doors swung open. A blast of heated air hit my face, carrying the heavy bass of thumping rock music. I could see a crowd of people inside. It was wild. They were throwing a massive house party. The girl turned her head and glanced at me. Her eyes dropped to the gift box in my hands. “Delivery? Who bought it? Silas? What’s inside?” She curiously tapped the box, but didn’t dare open it herself. I didn’t answer. I was too busy staring at the scarf wrapped around her neck. She rolled her eyes, bored. “Whatever. Want me to take it inside for you?” Right at that moment. A lazy, deep voice echoed from the foyer. “Why are you standing out there? It’s freezing.” The girl and I turned our heads at the same time. Silas was leaning casually against the doorframe. His slightly long bangs were pushed back, revealing a pair of sharp, untamed, arrogant eyes. The quiet, brooding, poor boy act was completely gone. His gaze briefly flickered from the girl to the gift box in my hands. “I ordered that. Bring it in for me.” The girl let out a small “Oh” and took the box from my hands. The warm, golden light from the mansion spilled out onto the porch. Silas stood up straight, about to close the door. He casually swept his eyes over me one last time, but his gaze suddenly locked onto my sunglasses. In that single, frozen second, my heart slammed against my ribs. I had rushed out of the dorm so fast I forgot to take them off. These were the exact sunglasses Silas and I had won at a carnival game a few months ago. He raised an eyebrow, his thin lips parting slightly. “You’re the seller?” I nodded stiffly. He let out a mocking scoff, offering a casual critique: “Wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night? Take the money I just paid you and buy yourself some designer frames.” I stood frozen. After dropping that line, Silas smoothly turned around and slammed the massive door shut. Cutting off the music, the heat, and the party inside. I slowly trudged back to the streetlight, pulled off the sunglasses, and rubbed the plastic frames. The cheap plastic was fading, the color chipping off unevenly. It looked incredibly weird. When we won them at the carnival, I was so excited. I thought they looked edgy and cool. I put them on and smiled brightly at Silas, asking, “How do I look?” His ears had turned bright red, and he gave a small nod. “You look beautiful.” Because he said that, I cherished these cheap plastic sunglasses. Why did they suddenly look— So tragically pathetic and hilarious? The next morning, I walked out of my dorm building. As I approached the campus dumpsters, my hand reaching into my bag, I locked eyes with Silas. When he saw me, the corners of his mouth immediately curved upward into a sweet smile. My hand froze inside my bag. I had forgotten to throw the sunglasses away last night. I was planning to toss them in the dumpster this morning. Silas walked over and gently wrapped a scarf around my neck. The exact same Amazon scarf I had bought. “Do you like it?” he asked softly. I forced a radiant smile, pulling my empty hand out of my bag. “The stitching is flawless. I absolutely love it.” His thin lips curled into an imperceptible, satisfied smirk. “I’m glad you like it.” I let him take my hand. I couldn’t even be bothered to interrogate him about his “knitting process” or his “diner shifts” anymore. He wouldn’t feel guilty; he’d just calmly and confidently invent another lie. Silas and I went to the amusement park. Right as we lined up for the first roller coaster, we bumped into a slender, very familiar silhouette. It was the girl from last night. She was wearing her designer trench coat, carrying her Prada bag. She was staring intently in our direction. I instinctively glanced at Silas. He locked eyes with the girl and gave a barely noticeable raise of his eyebrow. The girl immediately plastered a bright smile on her face and sauntered over to us. “Silas! Is this your girlfriend?” He gave a noncommittal “Mhm.” I looked at him, my expression perfectly normal. “A friend of yours?” Silas stared at the girl for a few seconds, interlacing his fingers with mine. “Not really.” “Hey.” She pouted. “Don’t act like you don’t know me.” She tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… Silas’s family is super poor, right? So back in high school, I hired him to tutor me. I guess you could call me his former employer.” As she said this, she looked at Silas, her eyes dancing with amusement. Silas’s eyelids lazily drooped. “Employer?” “Yeah. Shouldn’t you show a little more respect to the person who used to sign your paychecks? Poor. Boy.” The girl smiled brilliantly. If I didn’t already know the truth, I probably would have felt terrible for Silas right now. Having to swallow his pride and get mocked by his arrogant former boss. But hearing it now? I just wanted to laugh in their faces. Were they seriously flirting right in front of me? “What rides are you guys hitting? Let me tag along.” The girl pulled out her phone and waved it at Silas. “I actually need someone to keep me company. I’ll pay you five hundred bucks to hang out with me today. Pretty sweet deal, right?” Silas’s face instantly went cold. He glared at her. “Stop interrupting my date with my girlfriend.” The girl looked at me. “Five hundred bucks. You’re not going to let your boyfriend make some easy money?” “Do you want to make some easy money?” I asked Silas. Silas paused for exactly two seconds. “Sure.” I fell silent. I didn’t say another word. Silas rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand, lowering his voice. “I’ll Venmo you the money later.” I just smiled. Before we got on the drop tower, the attendant reminded us to take off loose items, including scarves.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399946”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was seven months pregnant. After my prenatal checkup, I dozed off in the passenger seat on the ride home. But when I woke up, the baby in my belly was gone. I instantly freaked out, but my husband just smiled at me with absolute adoration. “Still half-asleep? You were never pregnant, honey. What baby?” I thought it was a sick joke and forced him to turn the car around and speed back to the hospital. But the nurses said I was there for a routine physical, not a prenatal exam. The OB-GYN shook her head and swore she had never seen me in her life. Even my own mother called me, her voice red and teary. “Sweetheart, is the stress of trying to conceive getting to you? Why don’t we go see a psychiatrist?” But just two hours ago, I had literally watched the tiny, beating heart of my child on the ultrasound monitor. How could a seven-month pregnancy just vanish into thin air like a magic trick? I refused to believe I was crazy. I called the cops, demanded security footage, and tore through the clinic’s records. There was absolutely zero trace of my pregnancy or my checkups. Everyone was convinced I had lost my mind. In a haze of heavy sedatives and utter despair, I slipped and fell from the hospital roof. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the morning of my prenatal checkup. 1 “Harper, time to get up. We can’t be late for your checkup today.” Liam’s voice floated through the bedroom door, as gentle and loving as always. I groggily opened my eyes, my hand instinctively dropping to my stomach. I froze for two seconds, then shot up in bed and yanked up my pajama shirt. It was round and heavy. The little one inside seemed to be startled by my sudden movement and gave me a sharp kick. My eyes instantly welled up with tears. In my previous life, today was the exact day Liam accompanied me to the Women’s Clinic for my seven-month checkup. After it was over, I felt incredibly drowsy and dozed off in the passenger seat. When I opened my eyes again, my stomach was completely flat. The baby was gone. My husband claimed I had never been pregnant. The nurses said I was there for a basic physical. Even my own mother told me my anxiety over getting pregnant had caused me to hallucinate. I refused to accept it. I caused a massive scene at the hospital, and eventually, security dragged me away and admitted me to a psych ward. But even as I fell from that rooftop to my death, I couldn’t understand it. How could a seven-month-old fetus, a baby I had felt moving inside me, just vanish without a trace? They all said she was a figment of my imagination. But right now, she was unequivocally resting inside my belly. I stroked my stomach, the tears silently falling down my cheeks. “What’s wrong, honey? Did you have a nightmare?” Liam leaned halfway into the room, pausing when he saw my red, teary eyes. I looked at him, my emotions an absolute tangled mess. In my previous life, he was exactly like this—gentle, considerate, the absolute best husband in the world. But after the baby disappeared, he was the one who swore I had never been pregnant, and he was the one who followed the doctor’s advice to lock me in a psychiatric facility. In this life, I didn’t know if I could trust him at all. But no matter what, until I uncovered the truth, I couldn’t tip my hand. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well,” I forced a tight smile. “I don’t feel like going out today. Let’s reschedule the checkup.” Liam paused, walking over to feel my forehead. “Are you feeling sick?” “Just really exhausted.” “Alright then. I’ll call the clinic and push it back three days,” he said, looking down at his phone. “That specialist is in the office on Wednesday anyway.” Watching his profile, my mind raced. In this life, if I just hid at home and refused to go to the clinic, would my baby be safe? But how long could I hide? I had to figure out exactly what happened in my previous life. Why did every single person swear I was never pregnant? I closed my eyes, pressing my palm against my skin, feeling the subtle movements of the little life inside me. It’s not a hallucination. I had three days to uncover the truth. The first day, I found nothing out of the ordinary. All I could do was take photos of every single prenatal medical record I had accumulated over the past seven months and back them up to a secure cloud drive. I remembered that in my past life, when I frantically searched the house for my old ultrasound printouts, they were all gone. Even the hospital’s security cameras magically had no record of me. But I still felt paranoid, so I booked a last-minute maternity photoshoot at a local portrait studio. During the shoot, I paid the assistants extra to take a ton of behind-the-scenes videos on my phone, clearly documenting me walking around with a massive baby bump. Only then did my anxiety ease slightly. Next, I called my mom. “Mom, I’m really craving your homemade lasagna.” “Of course, sweetie! I’ll make a huge batch and bring it over. You’re eating for two now, you need the calories.” “Mom, do you remember how many months pregnant I am right now?” “Seven months, Harper. How could your own mother forget that?” I recorded that entire conversation. In my past life, my mother had looked a police officer dead in the eye and told him I was never pregnant. In this life, no matter what crazy tricks they pulled, these audio files weren’t going to just vanish. The day of the rescheduled checkup arrived. Liam went to the billing counter to handle the copay, leaving me sitting on a bench in the waiting area. A nurse in standard pink scrubs walked over. Seeing my belly, she offered a warm smile. “Carrying high and pointy like that, I’d bet money it’s a boy.” Liam returned just in time to hear her and chimed in smoothly. “Boy or girl, I don’t care. If it’s a boy, we’ll protect his mom together. If it’s a girl, I’ll protect both my girls.” The nurse covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh my, your husband is so sweet.” I couldn’t bring myself to smile. I remembered this nurse. In my past life, she had said those exact same words: Carrying high and pointy, I’d bet money it’s a boy. But later, when I tore through the hospital looking for her, she had stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Ma’am, are you confused? You were here for a routine physical, not a prenatal exam.” This time, I had quietly opened the voice memo app on my phone and recorded her every word. The examination room was on the third floor. The OB-GYN doing my ultrasound was a middle-aged woman in her early forties with a gentle demeanor. Dr. Evans. In my past life, she was the one who examined me too. When the baby disappeared and I charged into her office demanding answers, she had looked completely bewildered. “Ma’am, I have never seen you before in my life. Are you sure you have the right doctor?” But my memory was crystal clear. It was her. I stared at her face. She was looking down, adjusting the monitor, completely oblivious to my intense glare. “Alright, go ahead and lay back. Lift your shirt for me.” I lay down. The cold gel hit my skin, and the probe slid across my stomach. The familiar, tiny silhouette appeared on the screen. “Developing beautifully,” Dr. Evans said. “The head circumference is slightly above average. Just keep an eye on your sugar intake so the baby doesn’t get too big for delivery.” I stared at the monitor, my eyes tearing up again. “Dr. Evans, could I take a quick picture with you?” She paused, surprised. I quickly added, “First-time mom. I just really want to document the journey.” She smiled warmly. “Of course. Go ahead.” I pulled out my phone, switched to the front camera, and leaned in close. Click. I looked down at the photo. Dr. Evans’s face, my face, and the ultrasound monitor clearly showing the baby in the background. It was all there. Crystal clear. Let’s see you try to deny this in this life, I thought fiercely. Walking out of the exam room, I purposely tracked down that nurse. “Nurse Rachel, could we grab a quick picture?” I held up my phone. “I’m making a pregnancy vlog for the baby.” Rachel was incredibly accommodating. “Where’s your husband? Let’s have him take a full-body shot of us.” Liam was pulled over, and he snapped several photos of Rachel and me. In every single photo, my massive baby bump was front and center. “Why are you so hyper today?” Liam asked with a chuckle. I put my phone in my purse. “First pregnancy, remember? I just want to make a lot of memories.” In reality, I wanted to make a lot of evidence. This time, I had photos, videos, audio recordings, and multiple witnesses. I refused to believe they could pull off whatever they did last time. Walking out of the hospital, Liam helped me into the passenger seat. “Tired? Take a quick nap. I’ll wake you when we get home.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to go home. I want to go to that famous brunch spot downtown.” He paused, then smiled. “Alright. Whatever the queen wants.” In my past life, I had fallen asleep in the car on the way home. When I woke up, my child was gone. This time, I absolutely refused to sleep. And I needed to be somewhere packed with people! The diner wasn’t far from the hospital. We got there in twenty minutes. But there was a massive crowd waiting outside. “Want to go somewhere else?” Liam asked. “No. I want this place.” I waddled over to the crowded waiting area and sat down. Liam offered a helpless smile and went to the host stand to put our name in. The waiting area was packed. A waitress carrying a tray walked over. “Ma’am, please have some crackers while you wait. We can’t have our expecting mothers going hungry.” She handed me a small bag of artisan crackers. I thanked her, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. With so many people watching, nothing could possibly happen to me here, right? I leaned back against the bench, watching the bustling crowd, but my eyelids started to feel incredibly heavy. I had barely slept the night before. Now, sitting in the warm, cozy waiting area, waves of unnatural exhaustion began crashing over me. I fought desperately to keep my eyes open, but my vision rapidly blurred into darkness. … “Harper?” Someone was shaking my shoulder. I jolted awake. My very first instinct was to grab my stomach. It was flat. I froze, and frantically felt it again. Flat. I violently yanked up my sweater. My stomach was completely smooth and flat. “What’s wrong?” Liam crouched in front of me, looking deeply confused. I opened my mouth, my voice trembling violently. “The baby is gone…” “What?” “The baby is gone!” I pointed at my stomach, screaming. “My seven-month-old baby is gone!” Liam froze for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Harper, are you still half-asleep? Since when were you ever pregnant?” I stared at him, my eyes wide with terror, and shrieked: “What do you mean?! We literally just left the prenatal clinic!” Liam frowned slightly, looking genuinely concerned. “Honey, we did go to the hospital today, but it wasn’t for a prenatal exam. You had a routine physical.” Those exact words again. My entire body began to shake. I stumbled out of my chair and lunged at the waitress who had given me the crackers, grabbing her arm. “Earlier! You said I was an expecting mother and gave me crackers so I wouldn’t go hungry! Do you remember?!” The waitress looked terrified. “Ma’am, what are you talking about? We don’t even serve crackers here.” I stood there, paralyzed. Then I frantically dug into my purse, pulled out my phone, and opened my photo gallery. The selfies with Dr. Evans and Nurse Rachel… they were all gone. Refusing to give up, I opened Facebook. Yesterday, after the maternity shoot, I had posted the behind-the-scenes videos. Dozens of friends and coworkers had liked and commented on it. But that post had vanished completely from my timeline. “Impossible…” My trembling fingers kept scrolling. Liam walked over and gently squeezed my shoulders. “Harper, you’ve been under so much stress trying to conceive. You’re having hallucinations.” I violently slapped his hands away and sprinted out of the diner. I had to go back to the hospital. I had to find that doctor, and that nurse. They had to remember me. When I burst through the clinic doors, Nurse Rachel was taking a pregnant woman’s blood pressure. I grabbed her arm. “Nurse Rachel! Do you remember me?!” Rachel jumped, looking at me in utter bewilderment. “Ma’am, do you have the wrong person?” “How could I have the wrong person?! You literally took photos with me this morning!” Rachel thought for a second, then shook her head, cutting me off. “I’ve been working the inpatient ward all morning. I wasn’t even in the outpatient clinic. Were you here for a prenatal exam?” I froze. “Then what about the female doctor who did my ultrasound?!” Rachel flipped through the clipboard on the desk. “All the attending ultrasound technicians on duty today are male. There are no female doctors on shift.” My brain exploded with a deafening ringing sound. A pregnant woman sitting nearby muttered to her husband, “Is she mentally ill?” “Probably drove herself crazy trying to get pregnant. My cousin did the same thing. Tried for three years, ended up having phantom pregnancies and hallucinating babies…” “Seriously, look at her stomach. It’s completely flat. Who is she trying to fool…” I ran into the hospital bathroom like a madwoman, lifted my shirt in front of the mirror, and stared at my stomach. Smooth. Flat. As if I had never been pregnant a day in my life. I slid down the wall of the bathroom stall, collapsing onto the tile floor. My mind was completely blank. No. This is wrong. I must have missed something. My phone rang. It was my mom. I scrambled to answer it. “Harper, did you get the lasagna I dropped off?” I opened my mouth, a desperate spark of hope igniting in my chest. “Mom… do you remember that I’m pregnant?” The line was silent for two seconds. Her voice came back laced with pure confusion. “Pregnant? Haven’t you and Liam been trying for over a year with no luck?” My hand gripping the phone began to shake violently. “Mom, I literally sent you my maternity photoshoot videos yesterday. Did you forget?!” My mom sounded even more confused. “No you didn’t, sweetie. You just called me saying you were craving lasagna. That’s all.” I opened my text messages. The videos in our chat history were gone. My mom’s voice filled with deep concern. “Harper, are you overworking yourself? Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, honey. A baby will come when the time is right…” Sitting on the cold bathroom floor, an icy chill seeped into my bones. Was I doomed to repeat this nightmare? Was I trapped in this impossible loop forever? No. I refuse to be a sitting duck! I splashed cold water on my face and marched out of the bathroom. I immediately heard a commotion down the hall. “That’s her. She’s the one harassing the staff…” “Call security. She’s clearly having a psychotic break…” I looked down the corridor. A crowd had formed outside the OB-GYN clinic. In the center, Liam was explaining something to a nurse. When he saw me, he rushed over. “Harper, where did you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” I stared at him. This man. We had been married for five years, and he had always been loving and perfect. Right now, his eyes were filled with nothing but profound worry and heartbreak. I stared dead into his pupils. “Liam, do you really not remember taking me for my prenatal checkup today?” Liam sighed heavily, reaching out to hold my hand. “Honey, let’s go home first. You need to rest, okay?” “Answer the question!” He paused, his eyes darting away for a fraction of a second. “Harper. You were never pregnant.” I closed my eyes. There it is. “Ma’am, please stop disrupting hospital operations.” Two security guards approached me. “We received a complaint that you are harassing medical staff. Please cooperate and leave the premises.” I took a step back. The hallway was full of people staring at me, whispering loudly. “What a shame. She’s so pretty, but completely out of her mind…” “I’ve seen cases like this. They all end up in a straightjacket…” “Her poor husband…” Liam stepped in front of me, speaking to the guards. “I am so sorry. My wife has been under extreme psychological stress lately. I’ll take her home right now.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the exit. I followed mechanically, my brain totally numb. But right at that moment, I caught a glimpse of the digital calendar hanging on the lobby wall. I stopped dead in my tracks, grabbed the arm of a passing nurse, and asked, my voice trembling violently: “Is… is the date on that clock correct?” The nurse was startled by my intensity but answered anyway. “Yeah, it’s correct. Why?” So that was it! I finally understood why my baby was gone, and why there was absolutely zero trace of my pregnancy!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399963”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The young girl at the front desk of the Starlight Indoor Playground checked her system, looked up, and smiled. “There are two kids registered under this membership card. Should I page both of them to the front?” I froze. I only have one son. “Two?” “Yep,” she said brightly. “A two-and-a-half-year-old boy named Leo Davis, and a three-year-old girl named Chloe Vance.” She swiped the tablet to turn the screen toward me. The registered guardian for the little girl was listed as: Sarah Davis. The emergency contact was: Mark Vance. I had no idea who this Mark guy was. But I absolutely recognized the check-in photo in the top right corner of the screen. It was my wife. She was holding a little girl, and a man with short hair was standing right beside her. All three of them were smiling at the camera. They looked exactly like a happy, picture-perfect family. The timestamp on the photo: Last Saturday. Last Saturday was the day my wife told me Leo went absolutely crazy in the ball pit and was sweating through his clothes. Leo is two and a half. That little girl was three. Which meant that before my wife even gave birth to my son, that girl was already born. My grip on my phone tightened until my knuckles turned completely white. I raised it and took a clear photo of the screen. … “Sir? Sir?” The girl at the front desk was still trying to get my attention. “Which child would you like me to page for you?” I forced the corners of my mouth up into a tight, mechanical smile. “Never mind. I gave you the wrong phone number.” As I turned and walked out the glass doors of the playground, the afternoon sun was so bright it stung my eyes. Behind me, I could hear the muffled sounds of kids playing—screams of joy and laughter all blended together. I didn’t know who Leo was currently playing with in there. And I didn’t know which child Sarah was standing next to right now. On my phone screen, I zoomed in on the photo I had just taken. I zoomed in again and again. The little girl’s facial features… they looked just like Sarah’s. Especially her eyes. Leo has those exact same eyes. I sat in a coffee shop directly across the street from the playground for forty minutes. At the forty-first minute, Sarah walked out the front doors holding Leo’s hand. Just Leo. She buckled him into his car seat and started the engine. I dialed her number. It rang twice before she answered. “Hey honey, we just finished playing. Leo was sweating like crazy, so I’m going to take him to get cleaned up first. We’ll be home a little later.” “Okay.” I hung up the phone. Her SUV didn’t turn north, toward our house. It turned south. I flagged down a taxi and pointed. “Follow that white SUV.” The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror but didn’t ask any questions. The white SUV eventually pulled up to the security gates of a high-end, gated townhouse community on the south side of the city. The Emerald Estates. We lived in a modest suburb on the north side. I watched as Sarah carried Leo, swiped an access card at the pedestrian gate, and walked right in. She did it with the effortless muscle memory of someone walking into her own home. I memorized the name of the community. She finally brought Leo home at 8:00 PM. He had clearly been given a bath, and he was wearing clean clothes. But it wasn’t the spare outfit I had packed in his diaper bag. It was a little blue hoodie with a cartoon race car embroidered on the chest. I had never seen it before in my life. “Where did Leo get this hoodie?” I asked. Sarah kicked off her shoes into the entryway closet. “Oh, I just grabbed it from a boutique next to the playground. His other shirt was completely soaked in sweat.” “How much was it?” “I don’t remember. Like thirty bucks, maybe?” When she walked away, I checked the tag on the collar. Jacadi. A premium European children’s brand. The retail price for their hoodies is usually around $120. I didn’t say a word. I warmed up a bottle of milk for Leo and rocked him to sleep. Later, Sarah was lounging on the living room sofa, scrolling through her phone. I watched her through the crack in the bedroom door. She was smiling. Smiling warmly at whatever was on her screen. When she talked to me these days, she almost never smiled like that. After she finally went to bed and fell asleep, I didn’t try to touch her phone. I knew she had a complex passcode, and if I got locked out, it would only alert her that I was suspicious. Instead, I opened my laptop and logged into the county’s public property tax records database. I typed in Sarah’s Social Security Number. I work as a financial controller; I have all our sensitive information memorized. When the search results loaded, a loud, high-pitched ringing filled my ears. Emerald Estates, Unit 1403. Registered Owner: Sarah Davis. Date of Purchase: Three and a half years ago. Three and a half years ago. We had only been married for six months. Which meant that before the honeymoon phase of our marriage was even over, she had bought a luxury townhouse on the south side of the city. And I knew absolutely nothing about it. Monday morning, I dropped Leo off at daycare, but I didn’t go straight to the office. I drove south to the Emerald Estates. It was a newly developed community, beautifully landscaped. There was an Amazon Hub locker right outside the main gates. I parked across the street and waited for half an hour. At 9:10 AM, a man in a black trench coat pushed a high-end stroller out of the pedestrian gate. Sitting inside was a little girl, maybe three years old. She was eating a banana, smearing it all over her face. The man stopped, leaned down, and gently wiped her mouth with a tissue. His profile was perfectly visible. It was the man from the playground check-in photo. Mark Vance. He walked over to the Amazon Hub and retrieved two packages. One large, one small. The large one was a heavy cardboard box with the logo of an expensive organic toddler formula brand printed on the side. The small one was a padded envelope. He ripped it open, glanced at whatever was inside, frowned slightly, and shoved it into his pocket. I snapped several clear photos from my car, but I didn’t approach him. I put the car in drive and headed to work. During my lunch break that day, I cleared all the search history from my personal phone. Then, I used my secure work computer to access the county’s deed and mortgage registry to look up Emerald Estates, Unit 1403. Paid in cash. $650,000. Three and a half years ago, Sarah and I had a combined total savings of barely $200,000. She grew up in a working-class family; her parents were blue-collar workers with zero generational wealth. That $200,000 was mostly money my parents had given us when we got married as a down payment for our future, plus the savings I had scraped together since I started working. I genuinely believed that money was still sitting safely in our joint high-yield savings account. That afternoon, I logged into our joint bank app. Available Balance: $6,150. I stared at that number until my eyes burned. $200,000. She had drained it down to six grand. Where did the other $450,000 to buy the townhouse come from? I ran a soft credit check on her, looking for credit cards or personal loans. Nothing significant showed up. But with my background in corporate finance, I knew that if someone paid $650,000 in cash for a property, and only $200,000 came from our savings, there were only a few ways to source the remaining $450,000. An untraceable private loan, a massive withdrawal from a retirement account, or— Someone else paid for it. That night, Sarah came home very late. She walked through the door at 11 PM, reeking of alcohol. She collapsed onto the sofa, muttering something about having one too many drinks at a client dinner. I poured a glass of ice water and set it on the coffee table next to her. “Sarah.” “Mhm?” “How’s your mom doing lately?” She rolled over, burying her face in the cushions. “She’s fine. Same old, same old.” “Do you want to take Leo to visit his grandma this weekend?” “We’ll see.” She let out a massive yawn and passed out almost immediately. I picked up her discarded coat and went through the pockets. No secret secondary phone. But my fingers brushed against a thick plastic card. A parking garage access pass for the Emerald Estates. Status: VIP Resident / Auto-Renew. The second Saturday. Sarah stuck to her routine and prepared to take Leo out for the day. “Try to be home a little early today,” I said, wiping down the kitchen counter. “I’m making short ribs.” “Sounds good.” As she bent down to tie Leo’s tiny sneakers, her sleeve hiked up, and I saw a watch on her wrist. It wasn’t the practical Citizen watch I had bought her for our anniversary. It was a Cartier. I had never seen it before. After they left, I drove straight back to the Emerald Estates. This time, I didn’t wait outside on the street. I walked right down the entrance ramp into the underground resident parking garage. I found her white SUV parked on the second subterranean level and snapped a photo of its location. Reserved Spot: B2-073. On the concrete wall next to the spot, a notice from the HOA was taped up: Please ensure all monthly parking and HOA fees are paid by the 15th. I found the elevator bank and rode it up to the 14th floor. Outside unit 1403, there was a small woven welcome mat. Resting on it were two pairs of adult slippers, one pair of toddler sandals, and— I recognized them instantly. A pair of orthopedic walking shoes. They belonged to my mother-in-law, Mary. She always complained about her bad knees and claimed this specific, ugly brand was the only shoe she could comfortably wear. I stood in the quiet, carpeted hallway for exactly three minutes. Through the heavy oak door, I could hear laughter. A little girl’s laughter, Leo’s infectious giggles, and the familiar, grating voice of an older woman: “Chloe, slow down, sweetie! Don’t steal your brother’s snacks.” Brother. She was calling Leo her “brother.” Then came Mark’s voice: “Mom, Leo really loves your baked ziti. You’ll have to teach me the recipe next time.” Mom. He was calling my mother-in-law “Mom.” A wave of icy dread washed over my spine, freezing my blood. I turned around and walked back to the elevator. I didn’t knock. It wasn’t because I was afraid. It was because I couldn’t afford to. I was completely unprepared. If I knocked on that door right now and blew this wide open, all they would do is coordinate their lies, delete digital evidence, and immediately start hiding assets. When the dust settled, I would be left with absolutely nothing, not even the right to cry about it. Driving home, I passed by a sleek, modern law firm. I parked the car and stood on the sidewalk outside for five minutes. In the end, I didn’t walk in. Not because I was hesitating. But because I was still missing the most crucial piece of the puzzle. Where did that $450,000 come from? At 4:00 PM, my mother-in-law, Mary, called me. “Hey, Arthur! Is Sarah home?” “No, Mary. She took Leo to the indoor playground.” “Oh, okay.” She paused for two seconds. “Are you guys free to drive up and visit us in the suburbs this weekend? Your father-in-law’s tomato garden is doing great this year.” “I’ll have to check with Sarah and see what her schedule is like.” “Sure, sure. I know you both work so hard. Don’t exhaust yourselves!” Her voice was so warm. Her tone so caring. Like the perfect, loving mother-in-law. Just thirty minutes ago, she was making baked ziti for another man in a luxury townhouse. Calling another man’s daughter “Chloe,” and calling my son “brother.” When the call ended, my hands were shaking violently against the steering wheel. Not from fear. From pure, unadulterated rage. On Wednesday night, my mother-in-law came over to our house for dinner. She claimed she had taken the commuter train all the way from their house in the suburbs to bring us fresh vegetables. I knew for a fact she didn’t come from the suburbs. She came straight from the Emerald Estates. I could easily prove it by checking her transit card history. Of course, I didn’t say a word. At the dinner table, she bounced Leo on her knee, smiling so hard her eyes crinkled. “Leo is such a good boy. He looks just like his mom did at this age.” “Actually, Mary, I think Leo looks a lot more like me.” “Boys should look like their dads! It’s better that way,” she said smoothly, dropping a piece of short rib into my bowl. “Arthur, you and Sarah really need to start thinking about having a second one.” Here we go again. In the three years we’ve been married, she had brought this up no less than twenty times. “You guys are still young! Have a little girl! Give Leo a sister to play with.” It felt like a golf ball was lodged in my throat. She already had a granddaughter. A three-year-old, chubby, happy little granddaughter. A child who called her “Grandma,” and who called Mark “Daddy.” And here she was, sitting at my dining table, eating the short ribs I spent three hours slow-cooking, pressuring me and Sarah to give her another granddaughter. “We’ll see, Mary. Work has been insanely stressful lately.” “Work isn’t as important as family! A man can be the best CEO in the world, but nothing beats having a sweet little daughter to come home to…” Sarah quietly picked at her food, keeping her eyes glued to her plate. I looked at her. She didn’t look back. That night, after putting my mother-in-law in an Uber, I sat alone on our small apartment balcony. Looking down, I could see the community courtyard. Under the dim, orange glow of a streetlight, a young couple was huddled together on a park bench. The year Sarah and I got married, we sat on that exact same bench. She had looked at me and said: “We’re going to build a beautiful life together. I promise.” That was three years ago. I pulled out my phone and opened our joint banking app again. Every month, Sarah’s $8,000 salary was supposedly deposited here. Our monthly living expenses were roughly $4,000. Logically, over three years, we should have accumulated around $144,000 in savings, just from her income alone. But the balance was $6,150. Where did the money go? I requested a full, itemized three-year transaction history. Every single month, a scheduled transfer of $2,500 went out to an unknown account. Account Holder: Mark Vance. Three years. Thirty-six transactions. Totaling $90,000. Then came the massive, lump-sum withdrawals: Down payment wire to the title company: $200,000. Contractor payments for renovations: $75,000. High-end furniture and appliances: $40,000. Miscellaneous Venmo and Zelle transfers to Mark: $60,000. Combined with the monthly “allowance” she was sending Mark… The grand total: $465,000. Every single dime of the savings we had built since our wedding, plus the $100,000 wedding gift from my parents—completely wiped out. The “salary” Sarah brought home every month was just a smokescreen to cover the basic household bills here. The real money, the serious wealth, was all being funneled directly into her second life. And I was the one who managed the household budget for three years. I cooked the meals, I took care of our son, I worked my stressful corporate job until 8 PM every night. She stole almost half a million dollars to fund a secret family. And I didn’t even know who bought the Cartier watch on her wrist. My temples were throbbing violently. I took a deep, shuddering breath. Enough. I had found everything I needed to find. Now, I needed a ruthless lawyer. During my lunch break the next day, I walked into the law firm I had hesitated outside of last week. The attorney who took my consultation was a woman named Jessica Hayes. She looked to be in her early forties, wore sharp glasses, and had an intimidating wall of legal volumes behind her desk. I laid every single piece of evidence out on her desk. The property tax records. The bank statements. The wire transfer receipts. The photo of the playground membership screen. The 401k early withdrawal penalties I found on our joint tax return. The hidden credit cards I uncovered using a deep-dive credit monitoring service. Jessica flipped through the documents for fifteen solid minutes before pushing her glasses up her nose. “Arthur, you work in corporate finance, don’t you?” “I’m a controller.” “Makes sense. I’ve been practicing family law for fifteen years, and I have never seen a client walk in with a paper trail this airtight.” She closed the heavy manila folder. “What’s your objective?” “Divorce.” “What are we fighting for?” “Full physical and legal custody of my son. And aggressive restitution for the marital assets she fraudulently transferred.” Jessica nodded slowly. “The townhouse in the Emerald Estates was purchased during the marriage. Regardless of whose name is on the deed, it is legally considered marital property in this state. The fact that she used joint marital funds to purchase a home for a paramour is textbook ‘dissipation of marital assets.’ Under the law, we can petition the court to award you the entirety of that equity, or force a sale to recoup your stolen funds.” “How long will the process take?” “If she fights it? Six to eight months. If this evidence is as bulletproof as it looks, and she realizes she’ll be slaughtered in court… three months, if we’re fast.” “I have one non-negotiable condition.” “Name it.” “I do not want her to have a single second of warning to liquidate or hide any remaining assets.” Jessica looked at me, her eyes narrowing in professional respect. “When do you plan on confronting her?” “When the trap is fully set.” For the next two weeks, I acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. I went to work. I cooked dinner. I warmed up Leo’s milk. On Saturday, Sarah took Leo to the playground, just like always. I didn’t follow her. I didn’t need to. I didn’t need any more evidence. I just needed the perfect execution. Jessica drafted a brutal, unyielding divorce petition. She also prepared a massive ex parte motion for a temporary restraining order on all assets. The moment I signed it and she filed it with the clerk, a judge would freeze every single piece of real estate and bank account tied to Sarah’s Social Security Number. Including the townhouse in the Emerald Estates. But I told Jessica to hold the filing. Because I had thought of a much, much better way to play this. I wasn’t just going to take my money back. I was going to make sure they all knew exactly what it felt like to have their lives completely destroyed by a lie.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399947”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my rebirth, I intentionally kept missing my fiancé at every turn. If he left work through the front doors of the command building, I took the back exit. When he took his first love out to the movies, I stayed home alone, quietly organizing my case files. All because in my past life, I forced him to marry me, perfectly aware that his heart belonged to another woman. But after we married, he left me to sleep in an empty bed for the rest of my life. We became the most notoriously miserable couple on the military base. He hated me for pulling strings to get his first love transferred to a remote, desolate border outpost. And I hated him for marrying me but never showing me an ounce of affection. Over ten years of marriage, we tore each other to pieces in countless, bitter arguments. It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer that he finally started treating me with gentleness and taking care of me. I foolishly thought he had finally learned to love me. But when my last round of chemo failed, right as I was about to close my eyes for the final time, he whispered: “I’ve repaid the debt I owed your father.” “In the next life, don’t marry me. I won’t need you or your father to save me. Let’s just spare each other.” When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the military was assigning cross-base transfers. I marched straight into the Chief of Staff’s office. “My military background makes me a much better fit for the remote outpost in Alaska.” Liam, I thought to myself. In this life, I’m leaving your true love right by your side. I’m giving you your freedom back. Colonel Reynolds looked up from his stack of paperwork, his brows furrowing. “You submitted three separate transfer requests last month, explicitly pulling strings so you could stay here at Base Command with your fiancé. That’s the only reason we put Sarah on the deployment roster instead.” “We finally got the orders finalized, and now you want to change it again?” I slid the application form across the desk, standing perfectly at attention. “Sir, I’ve thought it through. I am volunteering for the remote outpost in Alaska.” Colonel Reynolds stared at me for a long time before finally waving his hand dismissively. “Suit yourself. But let me remind you, that base is isolated in the mountains, sitting at sub-zero temperatures with brutal conditions. The last officer we sent up there had a boyfriend waiting for her for two years… she ended up leaving him for a civilian contractor.” I saluted him, turned on my heel, and walked out. Out in the hallway, my colleagues were clustered around the bulletin board. Sarah Jenkins’ name was at the very top of the deployment list. Her head was bowed, her eyes rimmed with red. A few other officers were whispering consolations to her. “You got straight A’s on your psychological operations evaluations. If it weren’t for someone relying on nepotism…” “Seriously. You and Colonel Hayes were practically engaged, and then this happened…” The whispering abruptly ceased the moment I appeared. A dozen pairs of eyes stabbed into me like knives. I walked straight through the crowd, my expression completely blank. In everyone’s eyes, I was the despicable villain who stole Sarah’s man. But it didn’t matter. I would be giving Liam Hayes back to her very soon. In my past life, when Liam was leading a special ops team on a border mission, his unit was ambushed. My father, a General, defied direct orders and led a rescue team to extract him. My father took a fatal bullet and died a hero. I had weaponized that suffocating guilt to force Liam into marrying me. I knew he was deeply in love with his childhood sweetheart, Sarah, so I manipulated the system to deploy her to the frozen wasteland of Alaska. I used to think that as long as I gave enough of myself, I could eventually win his heart. So, I woke up two hours early every day to organize his training schedules. I stayed up all night helping him run tactical simulations. I stocked every drawer in our quarters with his ulcer medication and frostbite ointment. Slowly, he began to tolerate me straightening his uniform collar. He stopped pulling his hand away when I reached for it. He even started accompanying me to midnight movie premieres. I honestly thought he was finally falling for me. Until the night I suddenly collapsed during a joint-forces training exercise. Liam rushed me to the hospital and paced outside the operating room all night. Because of that, he missed an emergency SOS transmission from Sarah. The next morning, the devastating news arrived: Sarah’s recon unit had been ambushed in a blizzard, and she had died covering her team’s retreat. After that, Liam went to Arlington National Cemetery and stood silently in front of her headstone for an entire day. He never spoke her name again. Shortly after my surgery, I was diagnosed with bone cancer. Liam requested a transfer out of his combat unit and spent the next five years exclusively taking care of me. To any outsider, he was the absolute perfect, flawless husband. But I was the only one who knew the truth. When he looked at me, there was never any tenderness in his eyes. There was only a suffocating, mandatory debt that had to be repaid. A wave of bitter acidity washed over my heart. I took a deep breath, forcing down the turbulent emotions. This time, I was going to let them have their happy ending. And I was going to set myself free. After work, Liam came down to the administrative building to pick me up, as usual. The walk to his truck was dead silent. I knew he had already seen the updated deployment roster. I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off: “Sarah is deploying to Alaska next month. A few of the guys from our old unit are getting together tonight for a farewell dinner.” “You stole her spot here at Command. Morally speaking, you need to be there.” I didn’t say another word. I just followed him into the private room of the restaurant. Sarah was sitting in the center of the table, her eyes still red from crying. Someone had deliberately left the seat next to her empty for Liam. He sat down naturally. Without caring, I walked over to the furthest empty seat near the door. As soon as we sat down, Sarah raised her glass of whiskey. “Liam, thank you for always looking out for me all these years. This one’s for you.” Out of sheer muscle memory, I reached out to stop him. “He has a bad stomach ulcer. He can’t drink.” In my past life, I tagged along to every single one of his dinners just to intercept drinks for him. But this time, Liam completely ignored me. He picked up his glass and downed the whiskey in one shot. Sarah smiled softly. “See? Liam can drink just fine.” A guy sitting next to them chimed in, “Major Carter, you clearly don’t understand our Commander. Whether he can drink or not depends entirely on who he’s drinking with.” A chorus of knowing, muffled laughter echoed around the table. Liam didn’t say a word to defend me. The conversation quickly shifted to their shared past—surviving boot camp together, coming home for the holidays from West Point… Every single memory was a timeline I could never be a part of. I ate my food in silence. In my past life, I fought so desperately to force my way into his world, completely forgetting that to him, I was nothing but an unwanted burden. When dinner ended, someone suggested going to the movies. Liam looked at me. “Take an Uber home yourself.” With that, he walked out the door with Sarah and the others. When I got back to the base housing, my phone rang. It was Mrs. Henderson—a Gold Star mother who had reached out for help last week. Ever since her son was killed in action, her survivor housing benefits had been stalled in bureaucratic limbo. I had spent the last few days running around base, compiling all the necessary documentation for her. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Henderson. I’ll go coordinate with the housing office first thing tomorrow morning.” After hanging up, I went into the home office to grab the blue folder containing her files. It was gone. I waited until 9:30 PM when Liam finally returned. I immediately asked him: “Have you seen the housing documents for Mrs. Henderson?” Liam hung his patrol cap on the rack, his tone perfectly flat. “I gave them to Sarah.” “I already spoke to your department head. That case has been transferred to her.” I froze for a second, then marched straight toward the front door. “No. I’m going to go get them back.” Liam grabbed my arm, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “It’s just a routine housing allowance. The stipends add up to a few hundred bucks at most. Why are you being so petty?” “I promised Mrs. Henderson I would handle it personally.” “Sarah is deploying to Alaska soon. When the end-of-year evaluations come around, handling a high-profile veteran’s case like this will look great on her record. She needs this more than you do.” I was just about to tell him that I was the one deploying to Alaska, when Liam’s phone buzzed. It was Sarah. She had questions about the paperwork. Liam turned and walked into the study, his voice instantly softening. “Under the Military Survivor Benefits Act, Section 28… yeah, read that part first.” “For cases like this, you can reference the precedent from the Western Command last year. I’ll email you the file.” I stood frozen in the hallway. I remembered my past life, when I had just transferred to the Family Programs department. I was dealing with a massively complex military dependent dispute, and I went to ask him for advice, since he was an experienced Special Forces Commander. He had merely glanced at the file. “These are basic policy issues. Don’t you know how to look up the regulations yourself?” I tried to explain: “I did look them up, but the criteria for combat-related disability ratings is vague…” He had cut me off instantly. “I don’t have time for this. I have a training sim tomorrow.” I had stayed up for three consecutive nights untangling that bureaucratic mess myself. The day the issue was finally resolved, I excitedly told him about it. He just gave a dismissive “Mhm.” I always thought it was because he was too busy, because my work was too trivial. Now I finally understood the truth—he just didn’t want to waste a single second of his time on me. The phone call in the study lasted for over an hour. I turned and walked back to the master bedroom. My phone vibrated—a photo from Liam’s buddy, Marcus. In the dim lighting of the movie theater, Sarah had her arm looped tightly through Liam’s. He wasn’t pushing her away. Right beneath the photo was a text: [Some things just can’t be forced.] I stared at the picture and let out a self-deprecating laugh. I opened my chat history with Marcus and scrolled up. The entire log was filled with messages I had sent in the past: “Marcus, Liam’s birthday is coming up. Do you guys know what he’s been wanting lately?” “Last time you mentioned your kid likes model jets, I had a friend track down a limited edition one for him…” Every single text I sent reeked of careful, desperate people-pleasing. And every single reply from Marcus was polite, short, and completely dismissive. I had degraded myself to such pathetic depths just for a one-sided love. I tapped Marcus’s profile and permanently deleted him. I turned off the lamp and lay down. There was no phantom, agonizing ache from the bone cancer, and there was no suffocating anxiety over whether Liam loved me. For the first time since my rebirth, I slept incredibly deeply. The next morning, I went to the base hospital for a full physical. In my past life, the oncologist had told me that if my cancer had been caught earlier, the survival rate would have been significantly higher. In this life, a healthy body was my most valuable asset. Just as I checked in at 8:30 AM, Liam called me. “Come to my office right now. It’s an emergency.” “I’m at the hospital getting a physical.” “Your physical can wait,” his voice was dictatorial and unquestionable. “I just got emergency orders to attend a joint-command seminar. You need to take my Spec Ops cadets to their tactical simulation. You already know the entire curriculum.” In my past life, demands like this were a daily occurrence. I edited his cadets’ training reports, coordinated simulation resources, and even drove sick cadets to the ER in the middle of the night. When he’d get back and I’d brief him on everything I did, he would just toss out a casual, “Thanks for the hard work.” As if I was his personal, unpaid assistant. “Those are your cadets. Make your own arrangements,” I replied coldly. The line went dead silent for two seconds before Liam’s voice dropped into a dark growl. “I do not have the time right now—” I hung up on him. My test results came back quickly. The military doctor pointed at my CT scans. “There are no signs of malignant tumors right now. But a few of your blood markers are slightly elevated. I’m prescribing some preventative meds. We’ll need you to come in for regular checkups.” I took the lab results, my fingers trembling slightly. The massive boulder crushing my chest was finally lifted. As I walked out of the hospital, an Instagram notification popped up on my phone. One of Liam’s cadets had posted a video story. In the video, Sarah was at the tactical simulation center leading the cadets. The camera panned, capturing Liam rushing into the room. In the background, the cadets could be heard saying: “Lieutenant Jenkins’ commands were flawless today!” “Commander Hayes and Lieutenant Jenkins look so perfect standing next to each other!” In the final few seconds of the video, Liam suddenly swayed. He clutched his stomach, his face draining of all color, and collapsed to the floor. “Liam!” Sarah screamed in horror. The video cut off. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t reminded him to take his ulcer medication for two days. My phone rang. It was Sarah, her voice thick with tears. “Evelyn, get to the base ER right now! Liam has a bleeding ulcer, he’s in emergency surgery! I don’t have his military ID or his insurance card, they won’t let me process the paperwork!” When I arrived at the hospital, the red light above the operating room was still on. Sarah and several of the cadets were huddled outside the doors. A male cadet spotted me and immediately glared. “You know Commander Hayes has a terrible stomach condition. Why didn’t you remind him to take his meds?” A female cadet chimed in quietly, “If you had just helped cover the simulation like he asked, he wouldn’t have had to rush back in such a panic.” Sarah pulled the girl’s sleeve gently. “Stop it. The most important thing right now is that Liam pulls through.” I ignored all of them, walking straight to the nurses’ station. I used my military ID to process all of his admission paperwork. An hour later, the operating room doors swung open. The surgeon walked straight toward Sarah. “Family?” “I am,” Sarah lied smoothly. “How is he?” “Acute gastric hemorrhage. We’ve stopped the bleeding. Moving forward, he needs a strict diet and has to take his medication exactly on schedule.” As the surgeon gave his instructions, Sarah nodded repeatedly, and the cadets listened with rapt attention. No one noticed me standing in the corner. I waited until the surgeon finished speaking. I walked over, shoved the payment receipts and medical chart into Sarah’s hands, and said: “I’m leaving.” As I turned and walked down the hallway, the sound of their voices faded away behind me. Over the next few days, I buried myself in my remaining paperwork and drafted my formal handover reports. A week later, I came home to the base housing. The moment I pushed the door open, I froze. Liam was sitting on the living room sofa, his face still pale. Sarah was sitting right next to him, peeling an apple for him. Liam’s parents were also there. His mother shot me a cold glance. “You finally decided to come home?” I nodded as a greeting and turned to head to my bedroom. His father barked, “Stop right there! Liam was in the hospital for days, and you didn’t show your face once. Now that he’s home, you’re not even going to ask how he is?!” His mother piled on. “You were the one who practically begged for the joint-assignment paperwork to get him! Now that you’ve trapped him, this is how little you care?!” I turned back around. “Actually, I—” “Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, please don’t be angry,” Sarah interrupted with her soft, gentle voice. “Evelyn has been incredibly busy at work. I’m sure she feels terrible inside.” Liam’s mother’s face instantly softened. She patted Sarah’s hand affectionately. “At least you understand how to treat people.” Liam glanced at me, but ultimately said nothing. The four of them went back to chatting in low voices. The atmosphere was so warm and harmonious, they looked like the perfect family. Whatever. Explaining myself would be a waste of breath. I quietly walked into my room and shut the door. On my final day at Division Headquarters, I cleared out my office bright and early. I gave my potted plants to a colleague next door, archived all my classified files, and emptied my desk drawers. My entire life fit into a single camouflage tactical duffel bag. Just as I stepped out of the command building, a mob of people suddenly swarmed me. Several of them had heavy news cameras perched on their shoulders. “Major Carter! Do you have an explanation for the missing VA benefit files for Mrs. Henderson?!” “As the commanding officer in charge of her case, do you admit to gross negligence?!” Microphones were practically shoved into my eyeballs. I was pushed backward by the aggressive crowd. The sharp plastic edge of a camera lens slammed into my forehead, sending a dull throb of pain through my skull. Realizing things were escalating, I quickly turned around and retreated back into the secure building. The armed guards at the entrance immediately stepped up, blocking the reporters from entering. My heart was pounding wildly. My phone was vibrating non-stop. A colleague sent me a news link: [Military Officer Loses Critical Documents; Gold Star Mother’s Survivor Benefits Delayed for Six Months!] The article claimed that Mrs. Henderson’s son had been killed in action during a border operation. The survivor benefits she was legally entitled to had been stalled because her paperwork was “lost.” Worse, her husband was severely ill and desperately needed that money for life-saving surgery. At the bottom of the article was a leaked screenshot of the internal department task log. Under the “Lead Officer” column, it clearly stated: Evelyn Carter. My colleague sent another text: [Wait, wasn’t Sarah handling this case? When did it get transferred to you?] I frantically opened the internal department server and checked the logs. Two days ago, the name assigned to Mrs. Henderson’s file had somehow been manually changed from “Sarah Jenkins” to “Evelyn Carter.” A chill washed over my entire body. I immediately texted my Department Director: [Sir, why am I listed as the lead on Mrs. Henderson’s case? I have never touched those files.] I received an almost instant reply: [Sarah told me two days ago that she had already officially handed the case over to you, and that you agreed to process it. Why are you suddenly claiming ignorance now that it’s blown up in the press?] I found Sarah’s number and called her. The line was busy. I called her over a dozen times. Still unreachable. It wasn’t until the sky grew dark and the mob outside the building finally dispersed that Sarah answered her phone. I suppressed the boiling rage in my chest. “Where are you? We need to talk face-to-face.” From the other end of the line, I heard the clinking of bowls and spoons. Then came Sarah’s cheerful, smiling voice: “I’m over at your house! Liam just got discharged from the hospital and needs someone to look after him. I knew you were busy with work, so I came over to help cook dinner.” I hung up the phone. I sprinted back to the base housing and threw the front door open. Sarah was sitting right next to Liam, holding a bowl of soup. Seeing me walk in, she stood up. “Evelyn, you’re back! I made some—” I took a massive step forward and slapped her directly across the face. SMACK! The porcelain bowl shattered on the hardwood floor, hot soup splashing everywhere. Sarah clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with theatrical, absolute disbelief. Liam shot up from the sofa and grabbed my wrist. “Are you insane?!” I violently wrenched my arm free and glared at Sarah. “Where did you put the original case files? You are coming with me to the Director’s office right now to confess what you did.” Sarah’s eyes instantly filled with tears, spilling over her cheeks. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry… I was at the hospital taking care of Liam those few days, and I made a careless mistake at work… I’ll go explain it right now!” Liam grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping her. “No. If you step forward now, it will only make the media circus worse. They’ll put a permanent black mark of gross negligence on your record. You might even be dishonorably discharged.” He turned to look at me. “We’ll have Sarah admit there was a minor miscommunication during the handover. You will write the formal incident report and take the primary responsibility. That’s the only way to minimize the damage to the unit.” I let out a cold laugh. “So I’m just supposed to be the scapegoat? I am not taking the fall for her.” Liam stared at me in silence for a few seconds. He stepped closer, lowering his voice into a dark, terrifying whisper. “If you don’t take the fall for this, I will dig up the combat reports from the mission where your father died. I will expose his tactical command failures.” My entire body went rigid. I stared at him, looking at him like he was an alien creature. During that border mission, my father had defied direct orders specifically to save Liam’s trapped unit. He died taking a bullet meant for him. And now, Liam was weaponizing my father’s sacrifice to blackmail me. The living room was terrifyingly quiet. A long time passed before I finally spoke. My voice was completely raw. “I agree.” That night, a formal incident report bearing my name was published across the military’s internal intranet. The comment boards refreshed endlessly, every single message dripping with venom. People cursed me, saying I “didn’t deserve to wear the uniform.” Some doxxed my base housing address. Others took my official military portrait and photoshopped it with a black memorial ribbon. I shut my laptop, but the vicious words continued echoing in my skull. At 4:00 AM, I booted up my encrypted military terminal. I began compiling every single document related to Mrs. Henderson—the initial application logs, the scanned death certificates, the hospital diagnostic records. By the time the sun came up, I had encrypted and archived everything, saving three separate backups. The next morning at 9:00 AM, the doorbell rang. Sarah stood outside, holding an official military body-cam and a small tripod. Her tone was sickeningly sincere. “Evelyn, the Inspector General’s office asked me to record a quick video statement from you regarding the incident.” Liam had already left early for the training grounds. The red recording light blinked on. I sat down in front of the lens. “I am Major Evelyn Carter from Family Programs. Regarding the lost VA paperwork for Gold Star mother Mrs. Henderson, I sincerely apologize…” Just then, loud, chaotic noises erupted from the hallway outside my door. The shouting grew louder. “This is the unit! Evelyn Carter, get out here!” Fists started pounding violently against my front door, accompanied by furious screaming. I sensed something was horribly wrong. I instinctively looked over at Sarah. She was looking down at the screen of the body-cam. Her finger swiped quickly across the glass, a malicious smirk forming on her lips that she didn’t have time to hide. I lunged forward and snatched the device out of her hands. The screen wasn’t recording a private video file. It was an active Instagram Live stream. The viewer count read 178,000 and was climbing by the second. The live chat was scrolling at a blinding speed: [I knew it was her! She doesn’t give a damn about Gold Star families!] [Look at how robotic her apology is. Who is she trying to fool?] [How is trash like this allowed to be an officer?!] I looked up at Sarah. She offered a provocative, triumphant smile. “Evelyn, a live-streamed apology feels so much more sincere, don’t you think?” The pounding on the front door was getting louder, the wood beginning to splinter. I turned around, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed my heavy-duty tactical multi-tool—the one Liam used to use for wilderness survival training. I tapped my smartwatch and sent an emergency SOS alert to the Base Military Police. I walked back to the front door, took a deep breath, and violently ripped it open. I held up Sarah’s live-streaming device, pointing the camera directly at the faces of the people leading the mob: “Trespassing in a restricted military housing zone, right? Come on, let’s get you all on camera clearly. Building 7, Unit 3. I’ve already dispatched the Military Police.” In my other hand, I gripped the tactical knife, the heavy blade pointed toward the floor. The angry mob instantly went dead silent. The man leading the charge froze, glancing nervously over my shoulder at Sarah. She had long since retreated to the back of the living room, her face pale as a sheet. “H-hey! Don’t do anything crazy!” The man took a half-step back. I pointed the camera lens at my heavily dented door lock. “I am standing my ground. The MPs will be here in less than two minutes. Trespassing on a federal military installation is a felony. That’ll get you all locked up for a very long time.” People in the back of the crowd started quietly backing away. “Are you leaving or not?” I took one step forward. Half the mob instantly scattered. Five minutes later, the Military Police arrived and arrested the remaining stragglers. After giving my official statement and filling out the reports, I shut my broken door. I walked into my bedroom, opened the closet, and pulled out my tactical deployment duffel bag. I only packed my military ID, my driver’s license, my debit cards, a few sets of OCP uniforms, and my medical records. Everything else—the photos, the souvenirs, the expensive military watch Liam had gifted me—I didn’t touch a single one. Half an hour later, I carried my duffel bag downstairs. I waited at the gate for twenty minutes before catching a military transport shuttle heading to the joint-forces airfield. The driver was a veteran contractor in his late forties. “Heading to Alaska?” The veteran glanced at my heavy duffel in the rearview mirror. “Rushing home for the holidays?” I froze for a second. “It’s New Year’s Eve, Major,” the veteran said as he put the shuttle into gear. “Didn’t your family call to rush you home?” Outside the window, the sky was growing dark. In the distance, the scattered lights of the base glowed against the snow, and faint fireworks from a nearby town burst into the sky. “Yeah. I’m going home,” I said quietly. The shuttle drove out of the city and merged onto the desolate highway. The streetlights grew sparse, replaced by barren, frozen mountains on either side. Three hours later, the shuttle pulled up outside the military airfield. The massive engines of the C-17 transport plane roared against the freezing, biting wind. Standing in the dim, yellow light of the cargo bay, a profound, crystal-clear realization washed over me for the first time: This time, I was truly leaving Liam Hayes behind forever.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399964”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had just posted a vacation photo with my boyfriend on Instagram when a “Loyalty Tester” slid into my DMs. “Babe, your boyfriend looks like a player. Send me his handle. I’ll run a loyalty test on him for free, how about it?” “Are homewreckers really this bold and self-righteous nowadays?” I replied. After I rejected her, she immediately took a screenshot of our chat, posted it on TikTok, and played the victim. Within hours, thousands of netizens flooded my DMs, cursing me out. To keep the peace, I swallowed my pride and posted a public apology, stating I just wanted a quiet, normal life. But she and her followers decided my apology was proof of a guilty conscience. They insisted I was terrified, and she boldly declared she was going to test him anyway to “save” me. A few days later, the Loyalty Tester smugly posted a screenshot showing she had successfully added my boyfriend on Snapchat. The caption read: “Easy catch. Your man isn’t exactly a saint, babe~” I looked at the post, but all I felt was pity for her. Her new post went viral. Within an hour, it hit ten thousand likes. I stared at the two screenshots in the post. The first was her friend request: “Hey handsome, this is me in the pic. Add me?” The second was a chat interface. She had blurred his username, but I recognized the profile picture instantly. It was a photo of me, taken during our vacation just a few days ago, smiling radiantly at the camera. The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. Hordes of netizens rushed in to mock me. “@Chloe, come look at this! Do you recognize the guy flirting in someone else’s chat?” “Where is that clown who was defending him? No wonder she got so defensive over a free loyalty test. Her precious Prince Charming belongs to the streets.” “Stop hiding, pick-me girl. Come out and beg the tester for an apology.” As the internet demanded, I was tagged in the top pinned comment, right beneath the Loyalty Tester’s smirking emoji. Watching the comments grow increasingly vile, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I posted a response: “I appreciate everyone’s concern for my relationship. However, my boyfriend and I have known each other since high school. We’ve weathered a lot of storms together. I know his character, and I have absolute faith in our relationship. If things ever fall apart, I won’t hesitate to walk away. But until then, I will not subject him to some twisted psychological test, and I do not welcome anyone trying to interfere in our relationship.” Seeing a wave of rational users upvoting my response, I breathed a sigh of relief, praying the mob would disperse. But the Loyalty Tester immediately replied with a crying video: “Babe, I don’t want to ruin your relationship! I’m just terrified of seeing a sweet girl get manipulated by a toxic man. I just wanted to help!” The moment she spoke, her army of followers descended, and the narrative violently shifted again. They decided I was just a desperate, pathetic “doormat” who couldn’t bear to let go of a cheater. They started mocking my post, turning it into a copypasta template, laughing and calling it a “masterclass in delusion.” Even the few comments wishing us a long, happy relationship were downvoted to oblivion. Staring at the vicious, stinging words, my chest tightened. Finally, I just turned off my phone. That evening, I came home exhausted from work. The moment I walked through the door, I saw Mason leaning back on the sofa, staring at his phone with a faint, handsome smirk on his face. Hearing my keys, he instinctively flinched. He quickly placed his phone face-down on the cushions and coughed awkwardly. “Chloe, you’re home early today?” “Yeah. Were you chatting with someone?” “Just one of the bros.” My heart sank. He was lying. Mason had a specific tell—every time he lied, he blinked rapidly. I forced myself to rationalize it. We were adults; everyone is entitled to their privacy. I pretended not to notice. I sat down and started complaining about the drama at my corporate job, just like I usually did. Mason listened quietly, just like he usually did. But his eyes kept darting back to his phone. After talking for ten minutes without getting a single response, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. Remembering the internet circus from earlier, I couldn’t help but test the waters. “Mason, did anyone… weird try to add you online today?” He smiled casually. “Nope.” Hearing that single word, my heart plummeted into the abyss. I subconsciously gripped the hem of my shirt, desperately trying to shake the paranoid thoughts from my head. Mason and I had been through a lot. It wasn’t like other girls hadn’t tried to shoot their shot before—college underclassmen, flirty coworkers—but he had brutally rejected every single one of them. Why would a random internet troll suddenly destroy what we had? Besides, I knew exactly what kind of man Mason was. Comforting myself with that thought, I let out a breath and went to the bedroom to rest. But the moment I opened Instagram, I saw the Loyalty Tester had just dropped a new update. “You poor, naive girl. My heart breaks for you.” I was instantly drawn to the cover photo. It was a screenshot of her chat with Mason. At first, it was just her awkwardly trying to make conversation. But once she “discovered” that Mason loved playing Valorant, they instantly hit it off. He even invited her to a duo queue. After the match, the chat showed him praising her gaming skills, saying she was way better than his “clueless girlfriend” who didn’t know how to play. My grip on my phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. It was true. Mason was an incredible gamer, and I was absolute garbage at it. Whenever we played together, I dragged him down, and he had to constantly save me while reassuring me it was fine. Knowing I was a liability, I eventually just stopped playing with him altogether. The internet mob arrived on cue. “Oh my god, she’s still not dumping him?!” The comments aggressively tagged my handle. “She’s the ultimate pick-me. What do you expect? She’s perfectly happy eating garbage.” “Poor OP, having to force herself to flirt with such a disgusting guy just to prove a point.” The Loyalty Tester replied sweetly: “Babes, it’s not hard work. I just want to help my sisters see men for who they truly are.” The internet erupted in applause, showering her with digital hugs. “The OP is a literal angel. Too bad the pathetic girlfriend is too blind to appreciate it.” “It’s okay,” the tester replied. “Some girls are smart, and some girls are just a little slow. We need to be patient. I’ll keep working hard until she finally wakes up.” She attached a cute finger-heart emoji. Moved by her “heroic” mission, her follower count skyrocketed overnight. I clicked on her profile. Her entire grid was dedicated to exposing other people’s boyfriends. Every cover photo had the words “CERTIFIED TRASH” stamped across it in bold red letters. The comment sections were filled with cheers and women thanking her for saving their lives. So, was it my turn now? Just then, I heard the bedroom door open. I looked at Mason as he walked in. The lighting cast shadows across my face. I asked him one more time: “Mason, I can trust you, right?” Mason tilted his head in confusion, then smiled, walking over and pulling me into a warm hug. He affectionately nuzzled his forehead against mine. “Of course you can.” “Okay. I trust you.” I put my phone down and turned off the lamp. For the next few days, I stayed off social media, and Mason didn’t show any strange behavior. I figured that once the internet found a new target to bully, the mob would naturally disperse. But a few days later, while I was taking a coffee break after a client meeting downtown, I spotted a familiar back across the outdoor promenade. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a sleek black leather jacket. He stood out in the crowd. And standing out just as much was the stunning woman beside him. She was wearing a form-fitting black slip dress, smiling radiantly as she clung to his arm. It was the Loyalty Tester. I gripped my handbag tightly and marched forward. Just as I got close, the Loyalty Tester suddenly let go of his arm and scurried away, as if trying to avoid suspicion. Mason turned around. He looked at me, a mix of shock and panic flashing across his face. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” My gaze shifted from him to the retreating figure of the woman, my voice freezing cold. “Who was that?” He avoided my eyes. “Just an aggressive street promoter. She wouldn’t stop trying to sell me cologne.” “Then what are you doing all the way out here?” Mason owned a high-end automotive tuning club. He was usually at his shop all day. Today, he had driven an hour across the city. He smiled softly. “I heard you had a client meeting in this area. I was waiting for you to finish so I could take you to dinner.” He pulled out his phone to show me a reservation at a wildly expensive, incredibly romantic restaurant. Even though the overly dramatic, candlelit decor wasn’t really my style, I appreciated the gesture and agreed to go. The food was actually fantastic. By the end of the meal, my mood had significantly improved. Bored, I pulled out my phone to check if the internet drama had finally died down. The very first thing on my feed was a new post from the Loyalty Tester. “Babe, you ate my food.” The photo attached showed me sitting happily at the romantic restaurant, chatting with Mason. Mason happened to have his head turned away from the camera. From that specific angle, his back looked somehow lonely and distracted. I whipped my head around to look at the spot where she must have taken the photo, but the area was already empty. My good mood instantly evaporated. A wave of suffocating irritation washed over me. I accidentally glanced at the comment section, reading the sarcastic, mocking quotes from her followers. A lump of pure, unadulterated rage lodged in my chest, completely trapped. Right on cue, the Loyalty Tester sent me a DM. Her tone was still dripping with that fake, patronizing pity. “Babe, I assume you saw it. I bet that trashy man told you I was just a promoter, didn’t he?” The fire in my chest exploded. My typing was aggressive: “I am warning you for the last time. I do not need your so-called loyalty tests. Stay the hell away from me and my boyfriend!” The Loyalty Tester replied with breezy arrogance: “Every woman acts exactly like you when forced to face reality. But it’s fine. I know that in a few days, you’ll be on your knees thanking me.” “Enough. Let me make this clear: intentionally inserting yourself into someone else’s relationship, regardless of your pathetic excuses, makes you a homewrecker.” She replied with a melodramatic sigh: “Fine. I’ll just help you test him a little longer.” She vanished offline. I was so furious I wanted to throw my phone across the restaurant. I looked up. Mason had just checked a message on his phone. He looked at me apologetically. “Chloe, work just blew up. I’m really sorry, but I have to go.” He threw cash on the table and rushed out. I looked out the restaurant window. I watched him get into his sports car in the valet lane. Just as he pulled up to the curb, a woman slipped into the passenger seat. The angle obscured her face, but she was wearing a form-fitting black slip dress. I sat alone at the table for a long time before finally remembering I needed to head back to the corporate office. When I walked in, the pitch deck I had assigned to my team that morning was still sitting half-finished on a desk. “What is the meaning of this? I assigned this at 9 AM, and it’s still not done?!” I slammed the folder onto the desk. A few junior employees lowered their heads in silence. But in the corner, Leo, the new Gen-Z intern, was scrolling on his phone and let out a loud, mocking snicker. “What’s so funny?” He lazily lifted his eyes and turned his phone screen toward me. It was the Loyalty Tester’s newest post. The algorithm was pushing it so hard that everyone in my office had seen it. “Supervisor Chloe,” Leo drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re getting publicly humiliated and cheated on for the whole internet to see, and you’re coming in here to take your anger out on us?” The other employees didn’t look the least bit sympathetic. Their eyes were dancing with suppressed laughter. Just then, the department director pushed the door open. Seeing the absolute chaos and the untouched pitch deck, he lost his mind and screamed at all of us—but aimed the brunt of his fury at me. I kept my head down and took the verbal beating, not daring to defend myself. Behind me, the intern was secretly snapping photos of me getting yelled at. When he was finally done screaming, the director pointed a lethal finger at my face. “Chloe, I am warning you! Your pathetic personal drama is severely damaging the company’s image. Clean up your mess in one week, or you’re fired!” He slammed the door and left. I tried to reassign the tasks. My team listened half-heartedly before sluggishly returning to their desks. But the second I stepped out for a breather, I saw that they had already leaked the photo of me getting screamed at to a gossip forum, laughing about it in the comments. That night, I dragged my exhausted, heavy body home. When I opened the door, the apartment was pitch black. I flicked on the lights. Sitting on the coffee table was a handwritten note. “Chloe, I had to head out of town for an emergency. Take care of yourself. I’ll bring you back a present.” I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. My iMessages were left on Delivered. I sat on the sofa for a moment, then subconsciously opened Instagram. Sure enough, pinned to the very top of the Loyalty Tester’s profile was a brand new update. “Invited by a certain gentleman to go on a trip for a few days! I’ll be doing a paid, exclusive live stream of the final loyalty test results for all my sisters!” Attached was a selfie of her holding a first-class boarding pass. The internet lost its collective mind. Even when they realized they had to pay to access the live stream, thousands of people eagerly bought tickets, declaring they would gladly pay for front-row seats to this drama. A mob flooded my comment section, demanding to know if I was finally going to dump him. I held my ground, pinning a stern message directed at the Loyalty Tester: “I know exactly what kind of man my boyfriend is. I am asking you to stop harassing us. I am telling you this for your own good.” Unlike before, the mockery shifted into a wave of condescending pity. Armchair psychologists began dissecting my entire digital footprint, psychoanalyzing me. Some claimed I was a victim of childhood neglect, which is why I was desperately clinging to a toxic man. They urged parents to love their daughters so they wouldn’t end up like me. Others said I was just pathologically stubborn, terrified of losing face, and willing to swallow poison just to prove the internet wrong. I was too exhausted to argue. I closed the app. Suddenly, a friend request popped up from an anonymous account. As soon as I accepted it, they sent me a stealth photo of Mason, followed by a GPS pin. “He’s here.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399948”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I am the girlfriend of a serial killer. I am also completely brain-dead. At least, that’s what I want him to believe. My boyfriend, Elias Vance, loves me with a terrifying intensity. He adores me precisely because I remain in an endless sleep, unlike the ninety-nine “players” who came before me, always poking around, trying to unearth his dark secrets. The last fool who dared to venture into the basement in search of clues found himself dissolved in high-grade acid and flushed down the sewer pipes that very same night. Every evening, Elias presses his heavy body against mine, his breath ragged in my ear. “I miss you so much. Please wake up, just for me, okay?” I am usually so paralyzed with primal terror that I almost squeeze him back in reflex. I must maintain the charade; I must remain the perfect vegetable. If the graphic details of how he dismembers his victims are any indication, my fate would be infinitely worse if he discovered the truth. I’ve been trapped inside this horrific, simulated horror game for two endless years. Playing dead is my only lifeline. Until today, when the new caregiver arrived. Taking advantage of the moment we were alone, she leaned in and whispered directly into my ear: “Stop faking it. I know you’re wide awake.” … Caregiver Maya’s fingers dug ruthlessly into the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. “Speak to me!” I gave absolutely zero response. The EKG monitor continued its steady, maddening beep… beep… beep… “My System interface shows your brainwave activity spiked at 180. You are absolutely not a vegetable.” Maya increased the pressure, her sharp fingernails almost puncturing my skin. “Don’t imagine for a single second you can fool the System! Those ninety-nine players before me are all dead, and you think you’re the one who gets to survive to the end by lying here like a coward?” “I’m a player too.” “And I have a primary objective.” “The moment I expose your charade, I earn ten thousand points.” “That is my ticket out of this living hellscape!” She leaned in closer, her voice thick with suppressed, desperate madness. I remained perfectly still, my eyes closed, the rhythm of my shallow breathing unchanging. Maya recoiled half a step with a look of pure disgust, finally loosening her murderous grip. “What an actress.” “You miserable coward, using ‘playing dead’ as a survival strategy? Are you even human?” She reached into the pocket of her pristine white lab coat and pulled out a long, silver needle. “System-issued item,” she boasted. “Amplifies physical pain by a factor of ten, leaving zero trace of the puncture.” She raised the needle high, targeting my fingertips, poised to thrust it downward with brutal force. BANG. “I’m home, baby!” The heavy, reinforced security door was violently thrown open. Maya’s hand jerked violently in surprise, and the silver needle went wide, stabbing into the cotton bedsheet instead. She instantly retracted the needle, wiped the malice from her expression, and replaced it with a mask of quiet, submissive professionalism as she retreated to the side of my hospital bed. A thick, metallic stench of fresh blood saturated the room long before Elias himself crossed the threshold. Elias strode into the room. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt, the hem saturated with dried blood that had turned a sickening dark brown. He was casually carrying a pink, cardboard bakery box that was still dripping fresh red liquid onto the hardwood floor. Elias walked directly to my bedside, tossing the bakery box onto my nightstand without a second thought. The impact caused the box to spring open, and a severed human head rolled out onto the wood surface. The hazy, grayish-white eyes were frozen wide open in terror, and the neck was a gory mess of red veins, raw muscle, and shattered cartilage. “Look, my darling.” Elias sat down heavily on the edge of the mattress, reaching out a hand to stroke my bloodless cheek. His fingertips were rough, covered in thick calluses earned from years of gripping various sharp butcher knives. “This belonged to that neighbor who was so eager to call the authorities.” “The one who claimed he was going to expose the secrets in my basement to the Bureau.” “The one who was going to send a SWAT team to raid our home.” Elias let out a low chuckle. It was a pleasant, rich sound on the surface, but it contained an undercurrent that made my blood run cold. “So, I made him watch as his own body was put through a massive industrial meat grinder, piece by piece.” I remained perfectly still, my eyes closed, giving absolutely zero reaction to the gory trophy resting just inches from my face. Maya, standing in the dark corner of the room, clapped her hands over her mouth too late, letting out a violent, dry heave. “Gag!” The motion of Elias’s hand stroking my cheek instantly froze. He slowly turned his head to the corner, focusing on Maya. “A new hire?” Maya’s face went chalk-white, her legs shaking so violently that she collapsed onto her knees with a loud thud. “Mr…. Mr. Vance…” “No manners.” Elias casually raised his hand. A flash of silver light flew from his sleeve with terrifying speed. A scalpel, honed to a razor edge, transfixed Maya’s left shoulder, the massive force of the throw driving her backward and pinning her mercilessly to the pristine white plaster wall. A blood-curdling shriek shattered the dead silence of the room. Elias didn’t even grant her a second glance as he turned back to me. Using that same blood-stained hand, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his smartphone, and tapped on a video link. He held the glowing screen directly in front of my closed eyelids. The audio exploded from the speakers: the high-pitched, terrifying whine of a chainsaw tearing through solid bone, mixed with a man’s final, guttural screams of utter despair. “Just listen to that sound, my sweet. Isn’t it exquisite?” “You know, the neighbor was begging for his life right up until the very end.” “He claimed he had a wife and children waiting for him.” “But why should I care about any of that?” “My world begins and ends with you.” “Anyone who tries to interfere with us, anyone who tries to disturb our peace… they must die.” I continued to lie there in perfect silence, zero micro-movements of my eyes beneath my lids. Maya was struggling violently, unable to dislodge the blade, fresh blood saturating the wall. [System! Why can’t I trigger a primary objective completion confirmation?! I know she’s faking!] She was screaming inside her head to her System interface. I couldn’t see the visual interface she was looking at, but I could imagine her sheer desperation at that moment. Elias switched off his phone and casually wiped the blood from his fingers onto the clean sleeve of my hospital gown. “Did you like it?” I was as silent and still as a fresh corpse. The corner of Elias’s mouth curled into a look of pure, twisted fascination. “So perfectly obedient.” “You are the only one who will never betray me, right?” He stood up from the bed, strolled over to where Maya was pinned, and casually ripped the scalpel from her shoulder with one violent yank. Fresh blood sprayed across the room. Maya collapsed onto the floor, clutching her shoulder, her eyes wide with a horrific cocktail of terror and pure hatred. Elias slapped the flat of the bloody blade against Maya’s cheek several times, a sickeningly casual gesture. “Don’t imagine for a single second I don’t see through the games of you ‘players’.” “You’re all looking for clues, hoping to find my weaknesses.” “But none of you are useful. You aren’t even worthy of being preserved as taxidermy specimens in my collection.” “I don’t care who planted you as her caregiver.” “But if you fail to take perfect care of her, the next time this blade leaves my hand, it gets pinned into your brain.” Maya spent the next three days recovering from her injury. During that time, she didn’t dare lift a hand against me. She just sat on the chair by my bedside, a nervous wreck, whispering under her breath over and over again. “Points… redeem… System items…” She was exchanging her earned points for an item. I remained perfectly still, maintaining my breathing at a constant twelve breaths per minute. Elias wasn’t home. Due to the recent string of high-profile serial murders in the city, the Bureau was cracking down hard, and he had a lot of “loose ends” to process. Maya stood up from the chair. She was holding a syringe filled with a terrifying, neon pink liquid. “A customized cocktail of neuro-stimulants and a systemic truth serum,” she sneered, looking down at me like I was an insect. “I spent five hundred points on this premium System item.” “Once this enters your system, even a fresh corpse would sit up and recite Pi to the hundredth decimal place.” She aggressively purged the air from the syringe, and a nauseating, chemical odor instantly drifted into my nose. “Go ahead and take it. When this is over, you’ll finally be free.” She roughly grabbed my arm, slamming the needle mercilessly into my vein. I felt the freezing liquid being forced into my bloodstream. Maya let go of my arm, took two steps back, and a horrific, fanatical grin spread across her face. She pulled out a miniature high-definition video camera and aimed the lens directly at my face. “Answer me! Are you faking this?!” “Tell the camera who you really are!” The liquid burned like gasoline as it coursed through my veins. My nerve endings started misfiring, sending random signals, and my muscles began to twitch uncontrollably, desperate to spasm. An intense, overwhelming compulsion to speak, to confess everything, hammered at my brain like a physical force. Maya shoved the camera right against my mouth. “Say it! Tell the lens the truth!” I felt my Adam’s apple bob violently. “Blech!” I violently threw my head to the side. A massive stream of acidic stomach fluid and bile exploded from my mouth, splashing directly onto her designer sneakers. Maya froze in sheer disbelief. “Impossible! A System-issued serum cannot fail!” “Tell me! Tell me who you are!” Panicking, she grabbed my shoulders, violently shaking me back and forth. My mouth opened again, a reflexive action beyond my control. “Blergh!” Even more vomit sprayed from my stomach, saturating the bottom half of her pants. Maya let out a piercing shriek, jumping back in disgust. “Damn it! My limited edition Jordans!” She raised her leg high, aiming a brutal stomp directly at my exposed stomach. “Don’t you dare.” A voice as cold as absolute zero drifted from the bedroom doorway. Elias stood there, casually holding a massive firefighter’s axe that was dripping fresh blood onto the hardwood floor. He glanced at the disgusting mess on the floor, then at the vomit covering Maya’s expensive clothes. His brows knotted together in deep revulsion. “What is this?” He gestured with the bloody axe toward the acidic pool on the floor that was saturating the air with a horrific, pungent stench. Maya froze in primal terror, retracting her leg instantly, frantically trying to hide the miniature camera behind her back. “Mr…. Mr. Vance, this is… it’s just a liquid nutritional supplement I was trying to feed her.” “Supplement?” Elias took several strides toward us. His custom dress shoes made an agonizingly heavy clack… clack… sound against the wood. “Funny. It smells exactly like an emetic drug.” He walked directly to my bedside, reaching out a cold hand to feel my forehead. No fever. “Did my baby throw up?” I remained perfectly still, my eyes closed, a trace of bile on the corner of my mouth, giving zero reaction. Elias turned his head, staring dead at Maya’s shoes. The camera lens hadn’t been hidden properly, and the light from the overhead lamp glinted off the glass, exposing it. “What is that?” Maya’s face went instantly chalk-white, a cold sweat saturating her back. “This… this is…” Elias delivered a brutal swing with the axe. The blade completely cleaved through the front tip of Maya’s limited edition shoe and smashed the camera into unrecognizable pieces. Plastic shards and splinters of bone flew across the room. “AGHHHH—!” Maya collapsed onto the floor, clutching her bloody, mutilated foot, rolling and screaming in agony. “I utterly despise spies and hidden surveillance,” Elias announced coldly, letting the heavy axe fall to the floor with a dull thud. “Drag her away. Sever the hand that was holding that camera.” “If she dares to use a device like that against her, this hand is useless to her.” The iron door to the basement was thrown open, and several massive, vicious guard dogs that Elias kept in the basement lunged out, dragging Maya down the stairs by her legs. The shrieks of terror turned into desperate gurgles, before being completely silenced by the heavy, reinforced metal door clicking shut. Elias filled a basin with warm water and grabbed a clean white towel. His movements were heartbreakingly gentle as he meticulously wiped the bile from the corner of my mouth. “Baby, you mustn’t eat anything anyone gives you from now on.” “It’s dirty.” Maya didn’t die. She spent three thousand of her accumulated points to buy a System-issued item called “Limb Regeneration Fluid.” The very next day, she appeared in the living room with both hands completely intact. However, her face was even paler than usual, and the look she directed at me was no longer just malice—it was the look of someone staring at a specimen about to be dissected. Elias displayed zero surprise at her miraculous recovery. In this simulated horror game world, he had witnessed plenty of bizarre and supernatural events. Regenerating limbs was just a standard “player perk.” As long as that perk didn’t threaten his dominance, he could tolerate it. He actually seemed to view her recovery as an amusing magic trick. “That medicine of yours is actually more effective than anything the local hospitals carry.” Elias was lounging on the designer sofa, idly spinning a perfectly honed scalpel between his fingers. Maya was kneeling on the floor, her body trembling with terror. “This… it’s an ancient family recipe, passed down for generations.” “An ancient family recipe? Then hand it over.” Elias said it casually, but the tip of the scalpel dug into the glass surface of the coffee table, creating a grating screech. Maya gritted her teeth, a flash of ruthless intent crossing her eyes. “The primary ingredient… it requires a living human heart.” “Specifically… the brain of someone in a deep coma!” She violently snapped her head up, pointing a trembling finger directly at me as I lay on my hospital bed. “Mr. Vance, she’s never going to wake up. She is the ultimate catalyst!” “If you allow me to harvest her brain, I can synthesize the ultimate potion for you: the elixir of Omniscience and Omnipotence!” She dropped the act entirely. She wanted me dead. Omniscience and Omnipotence. That was the ultimate endgame for every Big BOSS inside this entire horror game universe. The motion of Elias’s hand spinning the scalpel stopped instantly. He jammed the scalpel deep into the gap of the coffee table. He tilted his head, subjecting my lifeless expression to a cold, calculating analysis. I continued to lie there in perfect silence, the heart monitor producing a flat, unwavering wave. “Omniscience and Omnipotence?” Elias ripped the scalpel out of the table and casually blew the glass dust from the honed blade. “All I want in this entire world is for her to stay by my side forever. Why would I want to be omniscient?” “Knowing too many secrets and watching the universe slowly rot? That sounds like absolute torture.” He stood up from the sofa and strolled to my bedside. Maya refused to give up, her voice screaming in desperation. “Mr. Vance! Keeping this vegetable alive is a complete waste of expensive medical resources! It would be much better to…” “Shut up.” Elias cut her off, his voice absolute zero. He casually raised both hands, placing them securely around my throat. He applied sudden, brutal force, completely cutting off my supply of oxygen. As my lungs were aggressively robbed of air, my body’s natural survival reflex began to scream in protest. But I maintained my perfect role as a living doll. Zero struggle. Zero furrowing of my brow. Zero movement of my eyelids. The EKG monitor began producing a frantic, piercing alarm. The wave patterns on the display screen became utterly chaotic. Elias stared dead into my eyes, watching as my pale face turned red, then a bruised purple, and finally a sickening, breathless blue. One minute. Two minutes. Right at the very final second before I would have descended into irreversible asphyxia and shock, Elias released his grip. Fresh oxygen aggressively flooded into my lungs, but I forced my muscles not to convulse in a gasp. I continued to lie perfectly still, relying entirely on the mechanical ventilator to slowly stabilize my breathing rhythm. Elias’s expression transformed into one of pure, twisted fascination at my zero reaction. “She is my girlfriend. She is my exclusive property.” “Whether I kill her or not depends entirely on my mood.” He turned his back on the bed, looking down at the kneeling Maya. “You want to kill her?” Maya’s body gave a violent shiver, and she dropped her head to the floor, terrified to speak. “Plenty of people have wanted to kill her.” Elias cracked a grin, but there was zero warmth in his eyes. “Last month, that player who claimed to be ‘high-ranking’ also wanted to kill her, saying she was the primary objective of his level-clearance task.” “Later, I flayed him alive and turned him into the custom rug in the living room.” Elias walked directly to Maya, using the spine of the bloody scalpel to casually slap against her cheek. “Would you like to try your luck?” Maya’s System interface was flashing frantically. She collapsed onto the floor, saturated in cold sweat. “I… I wouldn’t dare.” Elias let out a cold snort and retracted the scalpel. “Tonight is the standard monthly convergence at the Crimson Moon Club. The Big BOSSes from all the districts will be attending.” “Get her cleaned up.” “Put her in that black formal gown.” “After all, this is going to be her final public appearance.” He said the final part with a soft whisper. But I heard it clearly. Elias wants to kill me? Maya heard it too. The terror in her eyes evaporated instantly, replaced by a fanatical, greedy fire. She scrambled up from the floor, marched to my bedside, and violently ripped the blankets off my body. Her sharp fingernails dug into my flesh again as she pretended to adjust my clothes. This time, she lowered her voice and let out a rich, malicious giggle. “Did you hear that, you useless trash?” “Tonight is your execution date.” “That brain of yours is officially mine.” The Crimson Moon Club’s convergence was hosted inside a massive, retrofitted underground fallout shelter. The facility was blindingly bright, and heavy industrial metal music was deafening. I was strapped tightly into my specialized wheelchair and pushed to the absolute center of the grand main hall. Elias was lounging on the opulent leather sofa beside me, wearing a blood-red designer suit, his powerful aura completely dominating everyone else in attendance. I was trapped in a pristine black evening gown, my neck locked into place by a specialized brace. I had to act like a perfect plastic mannequin, staring vacantly forward. Maya stood behind my wheelchair, holding a goblet filled with a thick, crimson-red liquid. Her eyes were constantly darting to the center of the room, focusing on a man holding a massive industrial chainsaw. That was her backup plan. If she failed to complete her objective through Elias, she was going to try and conquer the Chainsaw Killer. “Elias, I’ve heard rumors that you’ve been bored lately.” The Chainsaw Killer stood up from his chair, raising his glass. His voice sounded like rusty metal scraping together. “Is bringing a vegetable to a party your idea of entertainment?” Every single eye in the grand hall instantly snapped to me. I saw expressions of cruel mockery, gleeful anticipation, and brutal calculation. Everyone in this simulated universe knew Elias Vance, the most psychotic of them all, kept a completely insensate piece of trash by his side. Elias casually peeled a dark purple grape. The juice stained his naturally pale fingertips a violent red, looking exactly like blood. “What I choose to bring to my own convergence is none of your damn business.” He casually popped the grape into his mouth, crunching through the skin and seeds with deliberate force. “As long as she remains perfectly obedient by my side, that is all that matters.” The Chainsaw Killer let out a piercing, roaring laugh. “Perfectly obedient? Then she is no different than the dead pigs hanging in a slaughterhouse!” “Elias, you’re the Big BOSS of District A, and you keep a dead pig as a pet?” The room erupted into high-pitched, mocking laughter. These psychopaths, who were usually terrified by Elias’s dominance, were taking advantage of the alcohol to vent their frustration. Elias didn’t get angry. He simply tilted his head, subjecting my bloodless face to a heartbreakingly affectionate gaze. “Baby, they are calling you a pig.” I stared forward with wide, empty eyes, giving zero reaction. A small stream of drool slowly dripped from the corner of my mouth, staining the front of my expensive black gown. Elias smiled. He reached out an incredibly gentle hand to stroke my hair. “So good.” And then, Maya moved. She suddenly stepped forward and dropped to her knees in the center of the grand hall. “Bosses! Mr. Vance!” “She isn’t a vegetable at all! She is… hiding her true nature!” The deafening industrial metal music was cut off instantly. The massive hall descended into a terrifying, dead silence. Elias’s hand froze on my head, his fingers clenching into a tight fist. He grabbed a fistful of my hair tightly. “Oh?” The Chainsaw Killer looked intrigued, stepping forward with his heavy weapon. “How, exactly, is she hiding?” Maya threw her head up, staring dead into my eyes with a look of pure, poisonous malice. “She has been faking this entire time. Her intellect is incalculable; she is actually manipulating everything from the shadows.” “I saw the anomalies on the EKG monitor with my own eyes. She is utilizing her brainwave frequencies to leave… an encoded SOS signal.” Encoded SOS signal. Those words caused the atmosphere in the room to turn completely frigid. Inside the horror game world, trying to contact the outside for help was the ultimate taboo. Elias’s grip on my head violently yanked backward. Head-splitting, tearing agony ripped across my scalp. I was forced to tilt my head back, locking eyes with his, which were now bloodshot and utterly lethally cold. “An SOS signal?” Elias’s voice was soft, but it sent a violent shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Bring it here.” Maya pulled a thermal-paper printout of an EKG graph from her lab coat. She had utilized the System to forcefully forge the evidence. The paper clearly displayed an irregular pattern of wave spikes, with the deciphered Morse code annotated next to it. [HELP. I AM IN THE BASEMENT.] This was a simulated death trap. Elias casually took the paper. He subjected it to a cold, contemptuous glance. Then, he slammed it down onto the table directly in front of my face. Furthermore, he reached into his bag and pulled out a solid silver lighter. Click. A ghostly blue flame flickered to life. He grabbed a bottle of high-proof imported vodka from the table and aggressively poured it directly over the front of my formal gown. The pungent, suffocating stench of pure alcohol saturated the air. He held the lighter flame right at my chest, just one centimeter from the soaked fabric. “Baby.” Elias’s voice was vibrating with a sick, psychotic tremor. “Did you leave this signal?” Maya knelt on the ground, screaming hoarsely. “Stop pretending! Confess! As soon as you admit it, the System will pull you out of the game!” She was trying to force my hand. Elias’s patience was dropping rapidly. The flame inched closer to my body. “Three.” “Two.” The flame licked the edge of the gown.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399965”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years into my marriage with Tristan Vance, everyone around us still firmly believed his carefully crafted “single and available” persona. At the company’s annual success gala, his personal assistant sang a love song dedicated entirely to him. She even got down on one knee, delivering a deeply passionate confession of her love. I thought, surely, this was the moment he would finally announce our relationship to everyone. But instead, faced with the roaring encouragement of our colleagues, he simply offered a helpless, indulgent smile, nodded, and accepted Chloe’s confession. The cheers erupted like a tidal wave, each wave louder than the last. I stood in the shadows, my entire body trembling with a cold so deep it chilled my bones. Tristan’s gaze met mine across the room. His eyes carried a sharp, unmistakable warning. But this time, I didn’t pull him aside to demand an explanation like I usually did. I just stood there and clapped along with the rest of them. “Congratulations, Director Vance. Congratulations, Chloe.” “Such a happy occasion! Doesn’t this mean the Director owes everyone here a round of drinks on his tab?” … The moment the words left my mouth, the crowd’s cheering grew even more frantic. Tristan’s brows knotted together. He shot me a covert, furious glare. But, trapped by the sheer enthusiasm of the crowd, he had no choice but to bite the bullet and pull out his black card, paying for a massive round of expensive champagne for everyone. When he finally made his way over to me, he waited until no one was looking, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the breakroom. “Why are you joining in and making a scene? Do you have any idea how much money I just dropped buying drinks for this entire department?” “What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” He genuinely believed my comments out there were just me being petty. I forced a bitter smile. I wanted to speak, but it felt like something was suffocating me, blocking my throat. I couldn’t force a single word out. I just let out a heavy sigh. “Tristan, we’ve been married for three years. You promised me.” “You promised that once your career stabilized, we would make our relationship public. What exactly are you doing right now? Are you cheating on me?” Tristan’s eyes had been darting toward the breakroom window, nervously checking if anyone was listening. Hearing my accusation, his head snapped back to me. “What kind of nonsense are you spewing?!” Realizing his voice had spiked, he forcibly swallowed his anger. “Harper, yes, I made a promise.” “But have you stopped to think about your mother? If I hadn’t been financially supporting her treatments, do you really think she’d still be alive today?” “I have to climb higher. I have to make more money. Otherwise, how many months of her medical bills do you think your pathetic little salary could cover?” Every single word he spat out hit my eardrums like a physical blow. “So you accept Chloe’s confession right in front of my face? What am I to you? I am your wife!” I growled, keeping my voice low but fierce. This only made Tristan angrier. “Can’t you be a little understanding?! If it weren’t for me these past few years, your mother would be dead and buried by now!” I had heard these exact words countless times over the years, but they had never ripped my heart apart quite like this. In Tristan’s eyes, our marriage, our home, our entire future… They would always, always be secondary to his ambition. And all of this was simply because Chloe was the CEO’s daughter. That was why he desperately maintained his single persona, while brazenly flirting with Chloe in front of the entire company. He was affectionate with her right in front of my eyes, yet he demanded that I be “understanding.” From the day we started dating to the day we got married, he had always been this intensely ambitious. After we got married, he even took control of all my bank accounts, insisting he manage our finances. As he worked harder and harder, and the money piled up, his heart grew colder and colder. Whenever we had an argument, he always, without fail, weaponized my terminally ill mother’s life against me. “Then give me back my bank cards. From today on, my mother doesn’t need a single cent from you…” My words were cut off by the sound of the breakroom door being pushed open. Chloe leaned against the doorframe, looking at Tristan and me with a surprised expression. Tristan immediately took a huge step away from me, acting as if nothing had just happened. “Oh, Manager Harper, you’re here too. I was looking everywhere for you guys. I thought something was wrong.” Chloe beamed a massive smile, walking over and naturally intertwining her fingers with Tristan’s. She affectionately pressed her cheek against his. “I’ve already told my parents about us. They want to meet you.” I could clearly see the flash of absolute ecstasy in Tristan’s eyes. He instinctively shot me a glance, then tightened his grip on Chloe’s hand. “Of course. I’m available whenever they are.” My hands, hanging loosely at my sides, clenched into tight fists. My nails dug deep into my palms; only the sharp, stinging pain kept me grounded in reality. Chloe walked over to me and shoved a thick, bulging envelope into my hands. She flashed a radiant, triumphant smile. “Manager Harper, you work so closely with Tristan and handle so much. Consider this a little bonus for all your hard work.” As soon as she finished speaking, Tristan gently pulled her away. Before he walked out the door, he didn’t even spare me a single glance. I was left completely alone in the breakroom. Outside, the celebration continued to rage. The notifications in the company group chat were exploding with congratulatory messages for the new couple. I looked down at the hidden photo album on my phone. It was a scan of our official marriage certificate photo. He had forbidden me from using it as my lock screen, so I could only hide it deep in my camera roll. Every time I looked at it, I somehow convinced myself I could hold on a little longer. I stared at that photo with its bright red background for a very long time. Then, I uploaded it directly to the company’s internal message board. I had endured this for three years. I had absolutely no strength left to keep pretending. It took exactly one day for that photo to circulate to every single screen in the building. When I walked into the office, the way my coworkers looked at me was entirely different. The relentless, hushed whispers drifted into my ears from every direction. [What the hell is going on? Manager Harper and Director Vance are married?] [Then what was all that yesterday? Chloe is the other woman…?] Some of the bolder employees walked right up to my desk and asked me directly. “Manager Harper, you never mentioned you were married. Is that photo photoshopped?” Before I could even open my mouth to answer, Tristan summoned me into his private office. The moment the door clicked shut. A splash of scalding hot water was thrown directly into my face. Tristan’s face was twisted with absolute fury. He violently smashed the glass mug onto the floor right at my feet. The flying shards of glass sliced a shallow cut near the corner of my eye. Drops of blood hit the floor. “Harper, are you intentionally trying to ruin me?!” “Didn’t I explicitly tell you that absolutely no one could know about our marriage?! The entire company is gossiping about it right now!” “Did you even stop for one second to think about how this would affect Chloe?! Everyone out there is calling her a homewrecker!” I wiped my face. The skin where the boiling water had hit was searing red. “I just posted the truth. Is telling the truth a crime?” I didn’t feel I had done anything wrong. “Are you afraid of losing face, or are you just terrified of ruining your perfect image in Chloe’s eyes?” “Does the CEO’s precious daughter know she’s sleeping with a married man?” Tristan’s lips parted, a flash of undeniable guilt crossing his eyes. He aggressively rubbed his temples, then, predictably, brought up my mother. “Don’t you dare forget that your half-dead mother is currently laying in the most expensive VIP suite at that care facility, being kept alive by the most expensive imported drugs.” “If I get suspended over this scandal, how the hell are you going to pay her medical bills?!” I let out a dry, exhausted chuckle. The fatigue weighing on my soul felt infinitely heavy. Always this. It’s always this. “Give me my bank cards back. I can pay my mother’s medical bills myself.” Tristan looked at me in shock, which was quickly replaced by utter contempt. He let out a mocking scoff. He marched over to his safe, pulled out a thick, heavy stack of hospital bills, and slammed them onto his desk. “You want to settle accounts with me? Fine! Let’s go through it line by line. Let’s see exactly how much money you and your mother have bled from me!” He stabbed his finger at the stack of bills, speaking through gritted teeth. Only then did I realize that from the day we got married until this exact moment, he had meticulously tracked every single penny he had spent on me. Three years ago, when he asked me to marry him, he had looked me in the eye and said: Your mother treated me like her own son. She saved my life once. I will give everything I have to help her. He did keep his word. But Tristan turned that help into a weapon to control me. Every time. Every single time. Whenever I did the slightest thing that displeased him, he weaponized my mother’s life against me, forcing me to surrender over and over again. He climbed higher and higher, eventually becoming the highly respected Director Vance everyone admired. And then he told me: “Harper, my career is on a massive upward trajectory right now. I can’t let the executives know we’re married. It’ll ruin my image as a fully dedicated company man.” “You have to understand. Mom’s life is more important than anything else right now.” I believed him. I watched him meticulously build his “single, eligible bachelor” persona, while simultaneously getting closer and closer to his new assistant, Chloe. Whenever I confronted him about it, he would look at me with sheer impatience and say: “Chloe is the CEO’s daughter. She is going to inherit this entire corporation one day.” “I’m just trying to climb the ladder and secure our financial future. What exactly am I doing wrong?” The office door was violently shoved open. Chloe burst into the room, her eyes completely bloodshot. She held up her phone, the screen displaying our marriage photo, and screamed at Tristan. “Tristan Vance! You lied to me?! Are you two actually married?!” Tristan didn’t miss a beat. He shook his head with absolute conviction. “No, I have always been single. Harper has already admitted she made a terrible mistake. She’s going to issue a public clarification right now.” His expression didn’t change as he pulled out his phone and opened a live security feed. The camera was pointed directly at my mother’s hospital bed. He lowered his voice into a vicious, lethal whisper. “The private nurse at the hospital works for me. If you don’t go out there and clarify this right now, I will order him to pull her oxygen tube.” My pupils dilated in sheer, unadulterated terror. I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Tristan?! Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Tristan raised his hand, counting down on his fingers. “Three. Two…” “Fine.” I clenched my fists so tightly my nails drew blood. The agonizing, tearing pain in my chest was the only thing reminding me I was still alive. I stood in the center of the bullpen, facing the entire company, and confessed. “I photoshopped that image. Director Vance and I have absolutely no romantic relationship whatsoever.” Because of my “confession,” Tristan was immediately reinstated and cleared of all suspicion, while I was indefinitely suspended pending an investigation. As I packed up my desk into a cardboard box, I could feel the malicious stares piercing my skin like needles. The hushed whispers had escalated into open, blatant verbal abuse. “I knew Harper was shady. She’s been acting so desperate for a sugar daddy lately.” “Exactly. Director Vance always said he was single. How could he possibly be married to someone like her? She was clearly trying to force his hand and be the other woman.” “She’s so disgusting.” I bore the brunt of their malice, fleeing the corporate building like a cornered rat. When I finally got back to our apartment, my phone buzzed with a text from Tristan. [Harper, no matter what happens, we are still husband and wife. Once my promotion to VP is finalized, I’ll fix all of this, and I’ll cut ties with Chloe completely.] [Just wait a little longer. You have my word.] Staring at those empty promises, I realized I didn’t believe a single syllable anymore. I don’t know who did it, but someone had recorded a video of my forced confession and leaked it onto the internet. Overnight, I became the city’s biggest laughingstock. “Tarnishing the company’s reputation.” My suspension was quickly converted to a termination for cause. I didn’t even receive a severance package. The internet mob relentlessly attacked me, flooding my social media with vile, degrading insults. Some deranged vigilantes even tracked down my address and splashed red paint all over my front door. I was terrified to step outside. Every single day, people would gather outside my door and scream abuse. “You desperate, homewrecking slut! If you want money so badly, go find an old creep to pay you!” “People like you are the absolute scum of society!” No matter how I tried to defend myself, no one was willing to listen to the truth. I sat on the couch, completely hollowed out, scrolling mindlessly through Tristan’s Instagram. He had just posted a new carousel of photos. Aside from a series of romantic couples’ portraits with Chloe… There was a close-up shot of two hands, both wearing matching Cartier diamond rings. The diamonds caught the light flawlessly. The caption read: [The love of my life.] I covered my face with my hands, hot tears pouring through my fingers. I grabbed my heavy glass water bottle and hurled it violently at the massive framed wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The glass shattered, raining down in a thousand pieces. I took a deep, shuddering breath and dialed the number of a lawyer friend. “Draft divorce papers for me and Tristan Vance. I want to completely maximize my financial settlement.” “He committed adultery. I have irrefutable proof.” During the days I spent finalizing the divorce strategy, Tristan never came home. He never even called. A week later, it was company payday. When I was terminated, HR had assured me that my final month’s base salary would be paid out normally. But when I checked my bank account, the only deposit was a pathetic $200 attendance bonus. At the exact same time, my former colleagues in the departmental group chat were throwing a digital party, celebrating Chloe for single-handedly closing a massive, highly lucrative corporate contract. I stared at the signature on the finalized project brief. A deafening ringing filled my ears. That was the contract I had literally drank myself into a stomach hemorrhage to secure during a brutal negotiation dinner. I was the one who had built the relationship with that client from the ground up. If that commission had paid out to me, I would have had enough money to cover my mother’s bills. I wouldn’t have needed Tristan’s money anymore. My hands shook violently as I tried to message the client, confused as to why they had signed early without me. But the message bounced back. The client had blocked my number. I called Tristan. The phone rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up. It wasn’t until my nineteenth call that the line finally connected. Before I could even speak, the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing came through the speaker. Chloe’s voice, thick with annoyance, snapped at me. “Harper, you’ve been fired. Could you stop harassing my boyfriend?” “Can’t you take a hint?” I instinctively slammed the ‘End Call’ button. But those repulsive, wet sounds kept echoing in my brain. The hand holding my phone was trembling uncontrollably. A sharp, piercing agony radiated from my heart, spreading through my entire body like venom. But reality didn’t give me a single second to catch my breath. My phone rang again. This time, the caller ID showed the hospital. It rang relentlessly, sending me into a blind panic. “Hello…” “Ms. Harper, there has been a critical incident regarding your mother.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399949”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was in the middle of a business trip when my husband suddenly called. He told me he was selling the restaurant my late father had left behind. “Harper, I’ve already decided to transfer the restaurant to someone else. One point eight million.” I froze for two seconds, demanding to know why he hadn’t discussed something this massive with me first. He answered with absolute self-righteousness, “My name is on the LLC as the managing member. I have the right to make the call.” “That’s exactly what your dad said when he was alive.” “A point eight million is a lot of money. I think it’s a good deal, so I’m selling it. Is that a problem?” With that, he hung up the phone. When I tried to call him back, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off. I was shaking with rage. I sent him a single text. “Nolan, if you actually sell that restaurant.” “We are getting a divorce.” …… I canceled all my meetings and booked the very next flight home. I landed at 5:00 PM and took a cab straight to our condo complex. Just as I was walking up to the building, I saw a sleek black Mercedes idling by the entrance. Nolan was sitting in the passenger seat, laughing and chatting with the person behind the wheel. I quickly stepped back and hid behind a row of delivery lockers. The driver was a woman I didn’t recognize, probably in her early thirties. She rested her arm on the open window, smiling. “So, it’s a done deal?” Nolan nodded. “Don’t worry. Harper is out of state on a business trip. She won’t be back for another week.” “Are you sure she won’t try to blow this up? It was her dad’s place, after all.” Nolan scoffed. “I’m the sole signatory on the LLC. I can sell it if I want to, and nobody can stop me.” “Besides, when her dad was alive, he explicitly said the restaurant was mine to manage.” “She’s constantly traveling for her corporate job anyway. What is she going to say?” “Worst case scenario, we just get a divorce.” The woman smiled. “Good.” Nolan smiled back, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. The woman reached out, wrapped an arm around his neck, and they started passionately making out right there in the car. I gripped the handle of my suitcase so hard my knuckles turned white. They murmured a few more things to each other before the woman drove off. Nolan grabbed his briefcase and strolled into the building, his leather dress shoes clicking cheerfully against the pavement. I stepped out from behind the lockers and stood in the courtyard, lighting a cigarette. The early March wind was biting. The ash blew off the tip of my cigarette and landed on my shoes. I stared down at the gray ash, remembering my dad lying in his hospital bed right before he passed. He had held my hand and said: “Harper, sweetie, I’m leaving the restaurant in your husband’s hands. Don’t overthink it.” “Your job keeps you too busy to run it. He’s got ambition, and he’s always wanted to be involved in the management side. I don’t want you two fighting over this.” I had told him I understood. He wheezed for a long time before adding, “It’s good for a husband to have drive. But you have to remember… that restaurant is the roots of our family.” I nodded. Three days later, he was gone. I stayed awake all night at the funeral home. Nolan stayed right by my side, crying harder than anyone else in the room. At the time, I actually thought my dad had been right to trust him. Looking back now, it was a sick joke. I dragged my suitcase out of the complex and found a small, dimly lit tavern down the street. I ordered a steak and a bottle of bourbon. The bartender came over to pour me a glass, glanced at my suitcase, but didn’t ask questions. When the food arrived, I didn’t touch a single bite. I just downed my first glass of bourbon straight. The cheap liquor burned the back of my throat, making my eyes sting. My mom walked out on us when I was three. My dad never remarried. He started from absolute scratch, waking up at 3:00 AM every single day to push a food cart to the wholesale markets to buy fresh ingredients. In the winters, the cold cracked the skin on his hands until they bled. In the summers, the sun peeled the skin right off his back. He worked that cart for eight years until he finally saved enough to rent his first brick-and-mortar diner. He worked another ten years to finally buy the entire three-story commercial building. He had no other hobbies in life. He just loved standing behind that grill. When I was a kid, I would go straight to the restaurant after school and do my homework in the back booth while he flipped burgers and seared steaks. The grease and smoke always made his eyes red, but he would just chuckle and say he was used to it. Later, when I got a corporate job and started traveling constantly, I always made sure to visit the restaurant the second I got back into town. He would personally cook my favorite meals, sit across from me, watch me eat, and ask me about my life. The last time I visited the restaurant was a week before he was hospitalized. He had been standing by the front doors smoking a cigarette, watching the customers come and go, his eyes full of a deep, profound reluctance to let it all go. At the time, I thought to myself, Give me a few more years. Once I’m not so busy, I’ll quit and come back to help him run the place. Unfortunately, he didn’t live to see that day. I poured my second glass of bourbon and pulled out my phone. I texted Jessica, my childhood best friend who now ran her own CPA firm. “I need you to run a license plate for me. I’ll send you the number.” She replied instantly: “What’s going on?” I sent her the plate number. “A Mercedes. Why do you need this? Whose car is it?” “A woman. I don’t know her.” There were a few seconds of silence before my phone rang. “Harper, talk to me. What exactly is going on?” I gave her the short version. She cursed loudly on the other end of the line. “Where are you right now?” “Drinking.” “Stay there. I’m coming over.” “No need. Just find out exactly who this woman is.” She cursed a few more times before hanging up. I went back to my drink. Half a bottle of bourbon later, the steak remained untouched. The bartender came over with the check, glancing at the bottle, looking like she wanted to say something but deciding against it. I paid the bill, stood up, and walked out. When I got home, Nolan was lounging on the sofa watching TV. Seeing me walk in, he froze, his brows instantly furrowing. “Why are you back?” “My trip got canceled.” He let out an “Oh,” his eyes shifting back to the TV. “Did you eat? There are leftovers in the fridge.” Looking at his profile, I suddenly felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. In seven years of marriage, I had to travel out of state dozens of times a year. Every time I came back, he would eagerly ask me what I wanted to eat and rush into the kitchen to cook it. Even if I got home at midnight, there was always a hot meal waiting on the stove. Now, he was telling me there were leftovers in the fridge. I didn’t say a word. I dragged my suitcase into the bedroom and dropped it on the floor. When I came back out, he was still watching TV. He had just shifted his position, resting his legs on the coffee table. “I want to talk about the restaurant again,” I said, standing in the middle of the living room. He turned his head, looking deeply annoyed. “What is there to talk about? I’ve already negotiated the deal. We’re signing the contract tomorrow.” “1.8 million. Don’t you think that’s way too low?” “They ran an appraisal. That’s what it’s worth. Besides, the restaurant industry is brutal right now. We need to offload it while we still have a buyer.” “But that was my father’s life’s work!” He stood up, his voice rising. “It’s always your dad! Your dad! If I hadn’t been managing that place, it would have gone under months ago!” “Do you have any idea how hard it is to run a business right now? Do you know how exhausting it is dealing with entitled customers and shady vendors every single day?” “You don’t know anything! All you do is go to work and travel!” I stared at him, enunciating every word. “That still doesn’t give you the right to sell it without even discussing it with me.” “Discuss what? I’m the owner on paper. I have the right to decide.” “Did you see the text I sent you? I told you, if you sell it, we’re getting a divorce.” Nolan froze for a second, then let out an incredibly condescending laugh. “Harper, are you a child?” He crossed his arms and tilted his head at me. “You want a divorce just because I’m selling a restaurant? Do you think marriage is a game?” I pressed my lips tightly together. “It’s not just a normal restaurant!” “How is it not normal? It’s just a building, some booths, and a few tables.” “Yeah, your dad worked his whole life for it, but that was his life. What does that have to do with me?” “I married you. I didn’t marry a building.” I frowned. “That’s not what you used to say.” “What I used to say?” He scoffed. “You said it yourself—that was the past. In the past, I humored you because I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to ruin our marriage.” “But now I’ve thought it through. I can’t spend the rest of my life chained to a greasy diner, serving drunks who throw tantrums over their steaks.” “I have my own ambitions. I don’t want to manage a kitchen anymore. I want a better, more relaxed life. Is that a crime?” After a long silence, I asked him, “Who are you selling it to?” “I’m selling it to Victoria Sterling. An old high school friend of mine,” he said. “Honestly, thank God she’s a friend, or I wouldn’t even be getting this much for it.” I looked at him, saying nothing. My stare made him uncomfortable. He looked away. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I had the property appraised a while ago,” I said slowly. “With the brand recognition my dad built over decades, plus the monthly revenue, there is absolutely no way it’s only worth 1.8 million.” He flinched, then quickly frowned. “Who did your appraisal? They were lying to you. Do you even know the current market for hospitality?” “I know perfectly well.” I nodded. “And deep down, so do you.” “What do I know?!” He stood up defensively. “Victoria gave me a very fair price! Do you think selling a commercial restaurant is easy right now?” “I had to negotiate with her for a long time before she finally agreed to take it off my hands!” “Negotiated for a long time? Since when?” He opened his mouth but no words came out. “Since I’ve been on this business trip?” I pressed. “Or earlier?” “What are you implying?” He glared at me. “Harper, if you have something to say, just say it. Stop acting so passive-aggressive.” “I’m not implying anything.” My face remained perfectly calm. “I just want to know when exactly you decided to sell, and how you negotiated it.” “We talked about it last year. Victoria is building a restaurant franchise. She liked our location and wanted to acquire it to rebrand it.” I continued my interrogation. “The 1.8 million—did you pitch that number, or did she?” His eyes flickered. “Does it make a difference?” “Yes,” I said. “If she pitched it, then she’s taking advantage of the fact that you don’t know the market.” “If you pitched it, then you’re actively selling my father’s legacy for pennies.” His face changed. “Harper! Watch your mouth! Who’s selling it for pennies?!” “I’ve been breaking my back running that place for the last two years! I know exactly how much it’s worth better than anyone!” “Then tell me. How much is it worth?” He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. I looked at him, waiting for an answer. “Whatever. The contract is basically signed.” He turned his head away. “There’s no point in arguing about this.” “Signed?” “I’m signing it tomorrow,” he said. “The Letter of Intent is already signed.” I didn’t say anything else. He waited a moment, and seeing that I wasn’t going to speak, he added, “Harper, I know you feel attached because your dad left it behind.” “But think about it. What’s the point of keeping it?” “You don’t manage it, and I’m done managing it. We have a buyer willing to pay a good price. Why not just sell it and be done with it?” “You think 1.8 million is a good price?” “Maybe not to you, but it is to me.” His tone grew agitated. “I’ve been with you for all these years, and what have you ever given me?” “You travel constantly. Do you ever take care of the house? Do you ever help with the restaurant?” “Now that I want to sell it, suddenly you care.” I shot back, “So you’re selling the restaurant because I travel too much?” “Don’t flatter yourself.” He sneered. “I’m selling the restaurant because I don’t want to serve people anymore. I want an easy life. Is that a crime?” “No.” “Great.” He stood up. “I’m signing the contract tomorrow. When the money clears, we split it fifty-fifty. If you want a divorce after that, fine by me.” I stared right into his eyes. “Are you serious?” “Dead serious.” I nodded. “Alright. Don’t regret this.” He let out a scoff, turned around, and walked into the master bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls. I stood in the living room for a moment before grabbing a blanket from the guest room and lying down on the sofa. I couldn’t sleep. My phone vibrated. I picked it up. It was a message from Jessica. “Harper, I ran the plates. The car is registered to a Victoria Sterling. She runs a hospitality group.” “This chick is bad news!” She attached several PDF files. After reading through them carefully, I replied: “Do you have time tomorrow? Come with me to the restaurant.” “Absolutely.” I put the phone down and closed my eyes. I don’t know how much time passed. I was just drifting off to sleep when my phone rang. It was my mother-in-law. I answered it. Before I could even say hello, she started screaming through the receiver: “Harper! What is wrong with you?! You want to divorce Nolan?!” “What did he ever do to wrong you?! He manages this entire household and runs that massive restaurant all by himself! Do you think that’s easy?!” “Now you’re threatening him with a divorce? What kind of monster are you?!” I listened without making a sound. “Let me tell you right now, if you divorce him, I am going to make your life a living hell!” “Don’t think our family is easy to push around! Nolan has been with you for seven years. What have you ever given him?!” “He broke his back running that rundown diner your dad left behind. And now that he wants to sell it, you’re throwing a fit?!” “Is it even yours?! His name is on the LLC! He can sell it whenever he wants, and you have no say in it!” I finally spoke. “Are you done?” She paused, clearly caught off guard. “What did you say?” “If you’re done, I’m hanging up.” “Don’t you dare! You need to explain yourself right now!” I hung up the phone and powered it off completely. The living room was pitch black. I sat up and lit another cigarette. The smoke drifted upward, dispersing against the ceiling. I thought back to my dad’s funeral, when Nolan had hugged me and wept. He had sworn through his tears that we would build a beautiful life together. He promised he would manage the restaurant perfectly so my dad could rest in peace. At first, he went to the restaurant every single day. He worked with the chefs on new menu items, held meetings with the waitstaff, and diligently balanced the books at the end of every month. But over time, he started going less and less. I asked him about it a few times, and he claimed he was just exhausted and wanted to hire a general manager. I agreed. Eventually, he stopped checking the books altogether. Whatever the GM reported, he just blindly accepted. He couldn’t be bothered. I assumed he was just burned out, so I didn’t push him. Looking back now, that must have been when he started planning to sell it. When my cigarette burned out, I lay back down. I drifted into a restless sleep. When I opened my eyes again, the sun was up. The next morning, Jessica and I arrived at the restaurant. It was right before the lunch rush. The servers were setting the tables, and the rhythmic sound of chopping echoed from the kitchen. Seeing me walk through the door, a few veteran employees paused in surprise before quickly greeting me. I smiled and replied to them. They looked at me with hesitant expressions, clearly wanting to say something but holding back. Someone opened their mouth, but ultimately stayed quiet. Jessica followed close behind me, whispering, “Harper, the vibe in here is weird.” I didn’t respond. When we reached the kitchen doors, Chef Marcus was prepping ingredients. He looked up, saw me, and his knife stopped. “Harper?” He set the knife down, wiped his hands on his apron, and walked out. “You’re back in town? Why didn’t you tell me?” “It was a last-minute decision,” I replied. He glanced at Jessica behind me, then looked back at me, pulling me into the adjacent stairwell. “Tell me the truth. Is your husband trying to sell the restaurant?” I looked at him. He had worked here for twenty-three years. He had been with my dad since the very beginning, working his way up from a dishwasher to Head Chef. He had watched me grow up. “Yes, Chef.” I gave a bitter smile. His face dropped. He was silent for a few seconds before asking, “Is he really going through with it?” “He’s already in negotiations.” “Then you…” “Don’t worry, Chef,” I interrupted him. “This restaurant is not being sold.” He stared at me for a long time, then nodded heavily. “Good.” “No matter what happens, the crew and I are on your side.” My chest felt warm. “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Your dad treated me like family. This restaurant was his life’s work. I won’t let anyone destroy it.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “By the way. Yesterday, your husband brought people in to tour the place. A woman driving a Mercedes, and a few of your in-laws.” “They walked around the whole building, pointing at things and whispering.” “I know.” “Alright. Just making sure you’re aware.” He patted my shoulder and walked away. Jessica and I sat down at a booth in the main dining area and asked for two glasses of water. At 11:30 AM, a black Mercedes pulled up to the front entrance. Victoria got out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door. Nolan stepped out, linked arms with her, and they walked toward the doors. A white Buick pulled up right behind them. Four people got out. My mother-in-law, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and Nolan’s cousin. When they walked through the doors and saw me, they didn’t look surprised at all. My mother-in-law actually smirked—a smug, theatrical smirk, like she was ready for a show. Victoria walked right up to me and extended her hand. “Harper, right? I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Victoria Sterling.” I stared at her outstretched hand and didn’t move a muscle. Her hand hung in the air awkwardly for a second before she pulled it back, completely unbothered, and smiled. “Nolan told me you were away on business. I didn’t expect you back so soon. Perfect timing, actually. We can chat.” “Chat about what?” “About the acquisition, of course,” she smiled sweetly. “Nolan and I have already finalized the details. We’re signing the contract today. After this, the restaurant will be mine.” “Yours?” “Exactly. 1.8 million. It’s an incredibly fair price. I plan to rebrand this place and turn it into the flagship location for my new hospitality chain.” I looked at her, saying nothing. Nolan walked over, dropping his briefcase onto the table. He pulled out a thick stack of documents. “Victoria, I brought the contracts,” he said. “You can sign them now.” My mother-in-law pushed her way to the front, glaring at me, instantly issuing a warning. “Harper, I’m telling you right now, do not cause a scene.” “Nolan is the owner on paper. He makes the decisions here. You don’t have a say.” I ignored her completely and looked at Nolan. “I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you really selling it?” “Of course he is!” my mother-in-law barked. “Why else would we be here? You think we don’t have better things to do?” The rest of his family immediately chimed in: “Exactly. Victoria is a major CEO. Her wanting to buy this dump is doing you a favor. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Nolan’s been with you for seven years, and what have you done for him? Now he’s giving you half the money from the sale, and you’re still complaining?” My brother-in-law’s son was standing in the back, holding up his phone recording a video, muttering: “Let’s post this on TikTok so everyone can see what a stingy bitch my sister-in-law is.” Jessica stood up instantly, pointing a lethal finger at him. “What the hell are you filming? Put the phone down right now.” He flinched and took a step back, but his mouth kept running: “Who the hell are you? Mind your own business!” Nolan slid the contract across the table to Victoria. “Victoria, ignore them. Just sign it.” Victoria took the contract and pulled a designer pen from her blazer pocket. “Harper, don’t worry. The restaurant will be in much better hands with me. You’re welcome to come back and eat anytime. It’s on the house.” She uncapped the pen. “Hold on.” I reached out and blocked the contract with my hand. Victoria looked up, her pen hovering in the air. Nolan frowned deeply. “Harper, what are you doing?” My mother-in-law immediately screeched, “I knew she was going to cause a scene! Victoria, ignore her! Just sign it!” My sister-in-law stepped in front of me defensively. “Harper, I’m warning you, don’t push your luck!” I ignored all of them. My eyes were locked entirely on Nolan. “Don’t be in such a rush. Wait until you read these documents. Then you can decide if you still want to sell it to her.” I took a thick manila envelope from Jessica and slammed it onto the table. Nolan froze. “What is this?” “Read it and find out.” He looked at me suspiciously, picked up the envelope, and pulled out the stack of papers inside. He only had to look at the very first page before his pupils violently shrank.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399966”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In front of the classified cleanroom doors, my manager was throwing an absolute fit, pointing a trembling finger right at my nose and screaming at me. I had missed his voice memo because I didn’t have my phone on me. “Do you have a single brain cell in your head?! I sent you a message, and you dare to ignore me?!” I pointed at the red-lettered warning sign bolted to the wall: ABSOLUTELY NO COMMUNICATION DEVICES PERMITTED BEYOND THIS POINT. Then, I pointed to the young woman standing right next to him. It was the Plant Director’s niece, Chloe, who was currently holding her iPhone up on a ring light, aggressively live-streaming the assembly line. “Manager, company policy strictly forbids phones in the cleanroom.” The manager violently slapped my hand down. “Chloe is executing a corporate culture marketing campaign! Who the hell do you think you are to compare yourself to her? One of her videos gets tens of thousands of likes! What is a day of your manual labor worth?!” Chloe shoved her camera right into my face, her voice sickeningly sweet and dramatic. “Look at this, chat! This is exactly the kind of stubborn, rigid boomer that ruins companies. No wonder she’ll be tightening screws for the rest of her miserable life.” Desperate to kiss up to Chloe, the manager made a split-second decision. “Fine! Since you love the rules so much, you can go home and follow them all you want. Effective immediately, this facility no longer requires your services. You’re fired.” I unclipped my company ID badge and grabbed the notebook that was propping up the wobbly leg of the supervisor’s desk. It was the only handwritten, master calibration log for the entire factory. As I sat down on the city bus heading home, a piercing, deafening alarm suddenly erupted from the massive, antique German CNC machine back at the plant—the machine that I was the only person in the state qualified to calibrate. “Get the hell out! If I ever see your face in this industrial park again, I’ll call the cops!” A senior technician with ten years of seniority, fired on the spot for missing a text message. I didn’t look back. The cleanroom was blindingly bright. Two massive, high-wattage ring lights were pointed directly at people’s eyes. “Did you guys see that, chat?” Chloe squeaked into the microphone, pitching her voice up an octave. “She actually picked up that trash pile of scrap paper like it was some kind of treasure. Some people are just born to be garbage collectors, I swear.” I stepped over the yellow hazard line. My steel-toed boots clicked heavily against the epoxy floor. As I walked past the German 5-axis CNC machining center, I stopped. The machine was humming, but the frequency was wrong. That machine had insanely strict voltage requirements. Right now, Chloe’s live-streaming setup, her two massive ring lights, and two phone chargers were all plugged directly into the machine’s dedicated, isolated power supply. That specific circuit was meant exclusively for micro-millimeter precision calibration. My right thumb twitched. I instinctively reached out to check the hydraulic pressure dial. “What the hell are you looking at?!” Manager Davis lunged forward, physically blocking the machine. “Trying to sabotage company property?! Evelyn, you are terminated! If you touch this machine one more time, I am calling the police and having you thrown in a cell!” “Good luck, Manager Davis.” “GET OUT!” He shoved me hard in the shoulder. I used the momentum to turn around and walk straight toward the loading dock doors. Behind me, the low hum of the machine began to mix with the distinct, grinding sound of metal-on-metal gears. The lubrication supply was failing. To my trained ears, that sound was deafening. I walked out of the facility and down to the bus stop at the edge of the industrial park. A city bus, belching black exhaust, pulled up to the curb. I stepped on and tapped my transit card. The exact second the card reader beeped, a shrill, catastrophic siren erupted from the factory behind me. It was a Level 3 Critical Failure alarm. I sat down by the window. Through the glass, I saw the security guards sprint out of their booth. The workers inside the plant were running around in pure panic. The German CNC machine had completely shut down. Red warning strobes were flashing violently across the exterior walls of the factory. An abnormal shutdown meant the core spindle had automatically locked down. Besides the 16-digit hex code written in my notebook, absolutely no one on earth knew how to bypass that lock. The bus had barely driven a hundred yards. In the side mirror, a security golf cart came flying out of the gates. Manager Davis had the throttle pinned to the max, waving frantically at the bus driver, his mouth open in a desperate scream. The bus slammed on its brakes. I jerked forward in my seat. “STOP! STOP THE BUS!” Manager Davis violently pounded on the folding doors. The driver opened the doors. Davis charged up the steps and grabbed my arm. “Get off!” His face was completely twisted in rage. “You sabotaged the machine before you left, didn’t you?! The machine is dead! You aren’t going anywhere today!” Davis clamped his hand around my wrist and violently dragged me off the bus. His grip was brutal. He wasn’t treating me like a human being. The bus driver took one look at Davis’s gold “Manager” badge, quickly shut the doors, and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. It was shift change. A massive crowd of workers was bottlenecked at the factory gates. Even people from the neighboring factories were poking their heads out to watch the drama. “Search her bag!” Davis pointed at me, screaming at the security booth. The guards didn’t move. Old Frank, the head of security, glanced at the crowd. “Manager Davis, searching an employee’s personal belongings without a warrant is illegal.” “I AM THE LAW AROUND HERE!” Davis kicked Old Frank hard in the shin. “That machine costs millions of dollars! If it’s broken, are you going to pay for it?! She definitely stole a microchip or slashed a wire! If you don’t search her, you’re all fired!” Old Frank took a step back and fell silent. A few younger guards hesitantly stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Evelyn.” I tightened my grip on the strap of my canvas tote bag. Before the guards could even reach me, Davis violently snatched the bag from my shoulder, ripped the zipper open, turned it upside down, and shook it violently over the pavement. Everything crashed onto the asphalt. My glass water bottle shattered. A half-empty pack of tissues scattered in the wind. Two pink, wrapped tampons landed right on top of the pile. A few wolf-whistles echoed from the crowd of male workers. The sound of hushed, mocking whispers drilled into my ears. I stared at my belongings on the ground, keeping my spine perfectly straight. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Chloe squeezed through the crowd, shoving her selfie stick right into my face. “Look at this, chat! This is what happens when you try to sabotage a company. Her bag is literally just full of garbage.” She aimed the camera lens directly at the tampons on the ground. “Bringing this kind of gross, private stuff into a sterile cleanroom? So disgusting.” The comments on her live stream were scrolling at lightning speed. Davis didn’t find any stolen microchips or wire cutters. The only thing he saw was the notebook. It had landed splayed open on the wet asphalt. “Is this what you stole?!” Davis snatched the notebook off the ground and flipped through a few pages. “Looks like alien chicken-scratch.” He couldn’t understand a single word of it. But he noticed that I had been fiercely protecting it earlier. “Give it back,” I said, holding out my hand. The sky had darkened ominously. Thunder rolled overhead, and the rain suddenly began pouring down in sheets. Davis raised his arm high. He violently chucked the notebook into a muddy puddle by the curb. He stepped directly onto it, grinding the sole of his leather dress shoe into the pages. Black mud soaked instantly into the paper. The fountain pen ink was completely destroyed by the rainwater. The meticulously recorded calibration data turned into a massive, illegible blur of black ink. “Garbage belongs in the garbage dump.” Davis spat on the ground. The rain was coming down hard now. The crowd of onlookers retreated under the security awning. No one said a word. I crouched down. Rainwater blurred my eyelashes. My fingers dug into the wet, mushy pages. I picked it up and tried to wipe it with my sleeve. It only smeared the black ink further. “Stop wiping it.” Davis opened an umbrella, holding it over Chloe, while his own shoulder got soaked in the rain. “Evelyn. The machine is flashing completely red. You are coming back inside to fix it right now. If you can’t fix it, that’s millions of dollars in damages. You couldn’t afford to pay that off if you sold both your kidneys.” I stopped wiping the book. I stood up straight. Rainwater dripped steadily from my chin. “I have already been terminated, Manager Davis.” I stared him dead in the eye. “Since it’s garbage, you can fix it yourself.” I turned around. Behind me, the piercing shriek of the machine’s alarm cut right through the torrential rain. His phone was violently vibrating in his pocket. It was the client, screaming for their order. “You ungrateful bitch!” Davis threw the umbrella aside and frantically waved at the guards. “Arrest her! Lock her in the security booth! Until that machine is fixed, nobody is leaving this property!” Two guards grabbed me by the arms. I didn’t fight back. Even if he locked me in a cage, there wasn’t a single person on this earth besides me who could fix that machine. The security booth had nothing but a cheap wooden desk and a folding chair. The roar of the rain pounding against the window was deafening. My uniform was completely soaked, clinging heavily to my back. I curled up in the folding chair, pressing my elbows into my knees, tightly clutching the dripping, mud-soaked notebook to my chest. When the 5-axis CNC center goes into a voltage-anomaly lockdown, if the system isn’t bypassed and reset within twenty minutes, the hydraulic pressure system suffers a catastrophic overload. The machine being destroyed was the least of their problems. Clamped inside that machine was a three-million-dollar piece of aerospace-grade aluminum. The minute hand on the wall clock ticked forward. The door violently slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud crack. Davis burst into the room. His tie was ripped loose, and the collar of his dress shirt was soaked in nervous sweat. Behind him trailed a group of junior technicians who usually walked around with their noses in the air. Right now, they were all shrinking into themselves, staring intensely at their own shoes. “THE PASSWORD!” Davis slammed both hands brutally onto the wooden desk, making the metal thermos jump. “WHAT IS THE RESET PASSWORD FOR THAT STUPID PIECE OF JUNK?!” I hugged the notebook even tighter. “There is no password.” It was a hardcoded, base-level logic bypass code. There was no simple “6-digit pin.” “BULLSHIT!” Davis pointed a shaking finger at the technicians cowering behind him. “They tried everything! The system is hard-locked! It requires a master-level override command! You are the only person who has it!” The technicians shrank back even further. They were perfectly happy swapping out drill bits and refilling coolant, but the second it came to complex system calibration—the actual dirty, exhausting work—they ran faster than anyone else. “Chloe is still live-streaming!” Davis paced the tiny room in frantic circles, his wet shoes squeaking aggressively against the linoleum. “The machine won’t stop screaming! It’s so loud she can’t even sing for her viewers! The client called asking why the background noise is a literal emergency siren! How the hell am I supposed to explain that?!” “That is the equipment overload warning.” “In exactly ten minutes, the pressure valves are going to rupture.” I looked up at him. “When that happens, it won’t just be loud. People are going to die.” The fat on Davis’s face violently trembled. He yanked his phone out of his pocket, pulled up a video, and shoved the screen inches from my face. On the screen, a blonde, blue-eyed German executive was slamming his fist on a boardroom table, screaming in broken English about triggering the 3x penalty clause for breach of contract. Five million dollars. “Did you hear that?!” “Evelyn! If the company has to pay this fine, I am going to the cops and pressing charges against you for premeditated sabotage and destroying industrial infrastructure!” From the hallway outside, Chloe’s voice echoed loudly. She was holding her phone high in the air. “Listen to this, chat! Do you hear how evil this woman is? She got fired, so she’s trying to drag the entire factory down to hell with her! She’s just jealous because I’m young and pretty, and because my uncle is the Plant Director!” She squeezed into the tiny security booth and latched onto Davis’s arm. “Dave, stop wasting time talking to her. Just call the cops.” Davis didn’t say a word. If he called the cops, the first thing they would do is investigate the electrical load failure, and the entire blame would fall squarely, 100% on his shoulders. His eyes darted around the room before he suddenly bent over, bringing his face uncomfortably close to mine. “Evelyn. I’m going to give you one chance.” “Director Vance is on his way right now.” “You are going to walk out there, fix the machine, drop to your knees on Chloe’s live stream, and publicly confess that you deliberately sabotaged the equipment.” “If you do that, I won’t press charges.” He lowered his voice to a venomous whisper. “Otherwise, I will make sure you rot in federal prison for the rest of your life.” A wave of stale cigarette breath hit my face. I glanced at Chloe, who was currently pouting her lips at her front-facing camera, and calmly wiped the muddy water from my notebook onto my sleeve. “Sure.” I looked directly at Davis. “Then we’ll wait for Director Vance to get here.” Before the words even finished leaving my mouth. BOOM! A deafening, explosive boom detonated from the direction of the cleanroom. The glass windows of the security booth rattled violently. Davis’s legs instantly gave out. He collapsed hard onto the floor. The technicians behind him turned the color of wet cement. The pressure valve had ruptured. Davis scrambled up from the floor like he had been electrocuted. “Did… did it explode?!” He stumbled backward, trembling uncontrollably. I glanced out the window at the thick plume of white steam billowing out of the factory roof. “Not yet. That was the primary release valve. There’s still a secondary backup.” Davis lunged forward, grabbing me by the collar of my uniform, his knuckles digging painfully into my throat. “FIX IT! IF YOU WANT TO DIE, DON’T DRAG ME DOWN WITH YOU!” He violently hauled me out of the booth. I stumbled after him, struggling to keep my balance. The cleanroom was completely engulfed in blinding white steam. The air was thick and suffocating with the acrid stench of atomized hydraulic fluid. Chloe had retreated to the far wall by the main breaker box, her phone still held high in the air. Seeing me get dragged in, she instantly shoved the camera lens toward me. “Chat! We caught the terrorist!” She pointed dramatically at the hissing, screaming machine. “Look! This is all her fault!” Davis violently shoved me toward the main control console. “Do it! Now! Director Vance is going to be here any second! If he walks in and this machine isn’t fixed, I will literally kill you!” The massive steel loading dock doors began to roll upward. A black Audi A6 came tearing into the warehouse, slamming on the brakes, the tires shrieking as they left thick black skid marks on the polished epoxy floor. The driver’s side door flew open, and Robert Vance, the Plant Director, vaulted out of the car. He slipped on the wet floor and nearly face-planted onto the concrete. His white dress shirt was completely soaked by the rain, clinging tightly to his stomach. Several Chief Engineers sprinted in right behind him. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” Vance’s roar completely overpowered the shrieking alarms. He stared in absolute horror at the machine, which was now flashing blood-red emergency strobes, his eyes bulging out of his skull. “Uncle Robert!” Chloe threw herself at him, tears streaming down her face with perfect, dramatic timing. “I was so scared! It’s all Evelyn’s fault!” She pointed a vicious finger at me. “She was mad that she got fired, so she sabotaged the machine! She almost blew me up! Look at my dress, it’s ruined!” Davis wiped the rain and sweat off his face and scurried over to Vance. “Director! I tried everything! Evelyn holds a grudge against the company, refused to run the maintenance protocols, and actively tried to destroy the facility!” Vance was panting heavily. His furious gaze swept over the screaming machine, over Chloe, over Davis. And finally, it locked onto the dedicated, isolated power supply outlet on the wall. Plugged directly into that highly sensitive circuit were the two massive, thousand-watt ring lights, with thick, heavy extension cords trailing all across the wet floor. The veins on Vance’s neck looked ready to burst. Chloe tugged on Vance’s wet sleeve. “Uncle Robert, tell the security guards to arrest her! I’m going to sue her for…” SMACK! Vance swung his arm with everything he had and delivered a brutal, open-handed slap directly across Chloe’s face. Chloe spun 180 degrees from the impact and collapsed hard onto the floor. Her phone flew out of her hand and smashed onto the concrete, the screen instantly shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. Davis stood there with his mouth hanging open, entirely speechless. Chloe clutched her burning cheek. “Uncle… you hit me?” Vance pointed a trembling finger at the power outlet. “Live-streaming inside a classified, restricted-access cleanroom?! Plugging commercial ring lights into a micro-voltage industrial outlet?!” “ARE YOU TRYING TO BLOW THIS ENTIRE BUILDING OFF THE MAP?!” Vance turned around and slowly looked at me. He bent at the waist, bowing a full, perfect ninety degrees. “Evelyn. I am begging you. Save us.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “399950”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel