My brother’s obsession with cars wasn’t just a hobby; it was a pathology, a twitchy, narrow-minded fever. I was the one who swiped my card to buy that car for him, yet he treated it like a sanctified relic I wasn’t worthy of touching. He never once let me sit in it. I remember the night my mother collapsed, her chest clutching a sudden, violent illness. Instead of grabbing the keys and racing to the ER, my brother pulled out a thick stack of liability waivers. He forced her, gasping for air, to sign every single page. Then, he stood over her with his phone, recording a video of her reciting sixty minutes’ worth of legal disclaimers while her face turned a terrifying shade of grey. My parents were frantic, blowing up my phone, begging for help. I didn’t offer a lifeline. I gave them a mirror. “If anything happens to her in that car, Troy will be held responsible,” I told them, my voice as flat as a dead-end road. “Don’t be so selfish. Start thinking about what’s best for him for once.” The words tasted like copper and old grudges. They should have sounded familiar to them. After all, they were the exact words they used on me the night my water broke six weeks early. My brother refused to let me in the car because he didn’t want the “fluids” ruining his pristine upholstery. My parents had stood by him, shielding his precious metal and leather, and told me: “Life and death are in God’s hands, Clara. If you die in labor in that car, your brother, as the owner, is the one who has to live with the liability. Stop being so entitled. Think about him.” … 1 The day we picked up the car, I paid the bill. While I was still at the dealership counter finalizing the paperwork, Troy took the keys and vanished. He didn’t even leave a cloud of dust. I spent the night huddled on a plastic chair at the Greyhound station, shivering through the fluorescent hum until the once-a-day regional shuttle finally pulled in the next morning. By the time I made it back to our small town, Troy was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. My parents were out in the driveway, worshiping at the altar of the new tires with microfiber cloths. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” I demanded, my voice cracking from exhaustion. “You knew the shuttle only runs once a day. I spent the night in a damn bus terminal because of you!” Troy didn’t even look up. “Anyone who gets hurt in my vehicle makes me legally liable, Clara. Don’t you get that? Oh, right—I forgot. You don’t have a license. You wouldn’t understand the responsibility.” The condescension in his voice made my blood boil. The only reason I didn’t have a license was because he had spent years poisoning my parents’ minds against it. One driver is enough for the family, they’d said. Troy had been even more blunt: “Women don’t have the instincts for the road. You’d just be a hazard to yourself and everyone else.” And now, he was using the chains he’d helped forge to mock me. “Yeah, I don’t have a license! But I bought the damn car!” I yelled. “The deal was that we’d use it for the family, for holidays, for getting around. I’m your sister—do you really think I’m going to sue you if I trip getting out of the passenger seat?” My father walked in, his face hardening the moment he heard me. Without a word, he took the greasy, grit-stained rag he’d been using on the rims and hurled it at my face. It caught me across the eyes. I flinched, a sharp sting blooming in my eyelids. As I blinked, grains of sand scraped against my corneas, forcing involuntary tears to track down my cheeks. “Money, money, money! That’s all you talk about,” he spat. “The car is bought, and you’re already hovering over it like a vulture, terrified you won’t get your share. Troy was right about you.” “Look at you,” my mother chimed in, joining the firing squad. “Screaming because you missed one ride. You’re already looking for an excuse to shake your brother down. Imagine if he actually let you in the car—you’d probably claim whiplash at every red light.” “I was stranded!” I cried, my vision blurred. My mother shrugged, unimpressed. “You’re a woman in the city. How hard can it be to find a place to stay? You could have flirted with a clerk or found someone to give you a room for the night. If you’re too stupid to use what God gave you, don’t blame your brother.” A hot, suffocating pressure built in my chest. She kept going, complaining about how I made more money than Troy, as if my hard work was a personal insult to his manhood. She accused me of “hiding” extra cash that should have gone toward an even better car for him. That was the moment the fog cleared. The “family car” had always been a ghost of a dream. They had it all mapped out. I was the bank, working myself to the bone in the city. Troy was the heir, staying local. I was the unlicensed “hazard”; he was the designated driver. The car was never meant for us. it was his private throne, paid for with my life’s savings. I grabbed my bag, walked out the door, and told them I was done. No more money. No more daughter. My mother didn’t even kick me out of the family group chat. Instead, she used it to parade Troy’s “wisdom.” Monday: “Troy refused to give Aunt June a ride to the store. So smart of him to avoid the liability!” Tuesday: “Troy turned down a date because she looked like the type to sue for a stubbed toe. He’s so discerning!” Wednesday: “Troy took us into town on his old, rattling motorcycle to buy socks because he didn’t want us getting car-sick in the new upholstery. Such a devoted son.” I realized then that Troy’s “paranoia” was a universal weapon. He didn’t even give them rides. But they were so blinded by their pride in him that they mistook his selfishness for “protection.” 2 I tried to tell myself it was just ten thousand dollars. A high price for a lesson, but worth it to finally see the rot in the foundation of my family. I moved on. I got married. A year into my new life, I was eight months pregnant. My husband was away on a business trip. When the door pounded, I thought he’d come home early. I opened it without checking. My parents and Troy shoved their way in, pinning me against the hallway wall with the force of the door. I reflexively clutched my stomach, but the edge of the door caught me hard. A white-hot spike of pain shot through my abdomen, radiating down to my thighs. My parents didn’t notice. They were too busy touring my apartment, scoffing at my furniture, calling me heartless for “living in luxury” while they “suffered” back home. “Get out,” I hissed, my teeth gritted against the mounting pain. My father scoffed. “We came all this way to see you, and you’re giving us attitude? Give us the money. Troy’s car is too small; we had to take a Greyhound like peasants. You’re buying us an SUV.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I felt a sudden, terrifying gush of warmth between my legs. My father grabbed my ponytail, jerking my head back to force me to look at him. “Are you listening to me, you ungrateful—” He stopped. They all looked down. A puddle of clear fluid was spreading across the hardwood floor. They recoiled as if I’d just sprung a leak of toxic waste. “Don’t look at us!” my mother shrieked, backing toward the door. “We just got here! You’re trying to pin this on us, aren’t you? Trying to sue your own parents!” I collapsed into a chair, fumbling for my phone to call 911. The dispatcher told me the ambulances were tied up with a multi-car pileup on the interstate. They told me if I could get halfway there in a private vehicle, a paramedic could meet us to save time. “Troy! Get the car!” I screamed. “The baby is coming! I’m going into labor!” My parents started stuttering excuses. I looked them dead in the eye. “My husband is an MMA coach. If anything happens to me or this baby, he will find you. And he will end you.” That got them moving. They grabbed my arms and hauled me toward the elevator. But Troy was standing by the car in the parking garage, his face a mask of cold resolve. He blocked the door. “No way. Look at her. She’s covered in fluid. She’ll ruin the seats. And what if the kid dies in the backseat? My car will be flagged as a death site. I’ll never be able to resell it.” “Clara,” he said, leaning in with a sickening smirk. “Are you just jealous that I have a car and you don’t? Are you trying to stage a miscarriage in my backseat just to ruin me?” My parents dropped my arms like I was made of fire. “I knew it!” my father yelled. “You’re trying to set us up! You want us to pay for a new kid, don’t you?” I felt the weight in my pelvis shifting. The pressure was unbearable. I couldn’t fight them anymore. I crawled toward a neighbor’s door, pounding on the wood. “Please! Help! I’m in labor! I need a hospital!” A young woman opened the door, her face pale with shock. “Oh my god, yes! I have a car, let’s go!” She started to help me up, but Troy stepped forward, his voice dripping with “concern.” “Hey, lady? I wouldn’t do that if I were you. She’s my sister, and she’s already threatened to have her husband—a pro fighter—kill anyone who helps her if things go wrong. She’s looking for a payout. If she loses that baby in your car, your whole life is over.” I felt the neighbor’s grip loosen. I looked at her, pleading, but Troy kept talking, spinning a web of lies to the gathering crowd in the hallway. “She told us inside that she was going to ‘fix’ her financial problems by suing a neighbor. Don’t be her victim.” The neighbor jumped back as if I were a leper. The hallway, once full of people, became a gauntlet of suspicious stares. I tried to reach for someone, but they all retreated. I dragged myself toward Troy’s car one last time, reaching for the handle. My father shoved me back into the concrete pillar. “Fate is fate, Clara,” my mother said, echoing the words from a year ago. “If you’re meant to lose it, you’ll lose it. If you die, it’s God’s will. But Troy shouldn’t have to lose his car because you’re being selfish. Think about him.” I lay on the cold garage floor, the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. Troy leaned down, whispering so only I could hear: “Maybe you shouldn’t have married a guy people are afraid of. It makes you a liability nobody wants to touch.” 3 By the time the paramedics reached me, the amniotic sac was empty. My daughter was born silent. The process of delivering a six-month-old stillborn isn’t physically different from a live birth. I thought I knew what pain was, but as I lay on that sterile table, the physical agony was a mercy compared to the hollow, screaming void in my chest. Wyatt made it back that night. We held each other and wept until our lungs burned. The very next morning, he took the money we’d saved for the nursery and bought a brand-new, top-of-the-line SUV. He drove it straight to my parents’ house. When they saw the car pull into the driveway, they practically drooled. They ran out, beaming, Troy already reaching for the door handle. “Now this is more like it!” my father cheered, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder. “If you’d just brought this over sooner, Clara wouldn’t have had her little accident. If she’d just been nicer to us, we could have taken her to the hospital in style!” Wyatt’s jaw tightened. He placed a heavy hand on Troy’s neck. In one swift, sickening motion, there was a crack. Troy’s head slumped to the side at a grotesque angle. “AHHHHH!” Before my parents could even process the scream, Wyatt’s fist connected with my father’s face, then my mother’s. Wyatt was a wall of pure muscle. One hit sent them sprawling, teeth clattering onto the pavement. He didn’t stop. He turned his rage on Troy’s car, using a crowbar to cave in the roof and smash the windows until it was nothing but a pile of jagged metal. “You like cars?” Wyatt roared, his voice like a wounded beast. “You like liability? I’ll give you something to be liable for! I’ll break every bone in your body, and then I’ll melt this piece of trash into scrap!” It took twenty neighbors to pull him off. The police arrived, and after hearing the story—after seeing the medical reports of my dead child—the lead officer looked at me with a profound, weary pity. Wyatt was detained. As the “victim’s family,” I was the one who had to sign the papers. I gave him my full forgiveness and refused to press charges. By the time my parents and Troy were discharged from the hospital, Wyatt and I were gone. We sold everything. We blocked their numbers. We vanished into the vastness of the country. We bought a high-end camper van. We spent our holidays driving to the most beautiful places in America. We had our daughter cremated, and at every mountain peak and every coastal sunrise, we scattered a bit of her ashes. We were taking her on the trip she never got to have. But my parents… they couldn’t let go. They spent their days playing the victims to any relative who would listen. On Thanksgiving, my uncle’s name flashed on my screen. I assumed it was another lecture on “family values,” so I ignored it. Then, he sent a video. In the video, my mother was huddled on the floor of their kitchen, clutching her chest, sobbing. “Troy… please… take me to the hospital. It hurts so bad.” Troy was standing over her, cleaning his ear with a long fingernail. “Look, Mom, it’s not that I don’t want to. But what if it’s serious? If you have a heart attack in my passenger seat, the insurance premium will skyrocket. It’ll be a ‘biohazard’ event.” It was a script I knew by heart. “What are you saying?” she wheezed. “I’m your mother! I’m not going to sue you!” Troy nodded vaguely. “That’s what they all say until the medical bills hit. If you die in here, I’m the one who has to pay for the cleaning. Why don’t you ask Uncle Joe? Or your nephew? He just got that new SUV. I’m sure he’d love to help.” The camera panned to a room full of relatives. Every single one of them looked away. They had watched Troy treat that car like a god for a year. They’d seen him refuse to help anyone. Now that it was a life-or-death emergency, nobody wanted to be the one “stuck” with the responsibility. The village was a dead end. No Uber, no taxis, and it was three in the morning. My uncle called again. This time, I picked up. “Clara! I know you have that new rig! We saw it! You have to come get your mother! She’s dying!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453329”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

As a senior advisor in the field of Artificial Intelligence for the federal government, I had been stationed overseas on a high-level research fellowship for the past year. During that time, security protocols were airtight. My contact with the outside world was sparse, restricted to encrypted check-ins and the occasional brief letter. The moment the program concluded, my first instinct wasn’t to celebrate; it was to call my daughter, Daisy. She had been grinding for two years to pass the Bar Exam, and the results were due any day. I dialed her for a video call, my heart thumping with a mix of pride and nerves. When she picked up, the sight of her shattered me. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot—she had clearly been sobbing for hours. “Sweetie, it’s okay,” I whispered, my voice thick with maternal instinct. “Don’t worry about the results. Mom has plenty of money. We can pay for another prep course, another year—whatever it takes.” As I spoke, I noticed the background. She wasn’t in her sun-drenched bedroom. She was in the cramped, windowless pantry behind the kitchen. Worse, I saw a flash of silver on her ear. A cheap piercing was buried in her lobe, and the skin around it was angry, red, and oozing with infection. I didn’t want to push her while she was so fragile, so I hung up and immediately called her father, Jonathan. Jonathan answered with a huff of impatience, acting as if my concern was a nuisance. “You’ve been gone a year, Catherine. Don’t start micromanaging from across the ocean. Girls like to play dress-up; a piercing is normal.” Then came the sting. “Daisy’s been prep-testing for two years and still can’t cut it. Meanwhile, Marina—my star student—aced her boards on the first try. I swear, sometimes I wonder if Daisy really carries my genes with a brain that slow.” My blood ran cold. After I hung up, a notification pinged on my phone. My secondary credit card—the one Jonathan used—had just been swiped for $28,000 at a boutique in Beverly Hills. A designer handbag. Something was horribly wrong. I didn’t hesitate. I resigned from my seven-figure consultancy role effective immediately and booked the first flight back to the States. 1 The moment I boarded the plane, I pulled up Marina’s Instagram. She had blocked me. Fortunately, I had followed her burner TikTok account months ago out of professional curiosity. I refreshed her feed. There she was, preening in a video, posing from every angle with a brand-new, charcoal-grey Hermès Birkin. “Thank you to my favorite person for the best gift ever. I’m obsessed,” the caption read. $28,000. My money. A sickening dread coiled in my gut. Since I’d been abroad, we had hired a live-in housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, to take care of Daisy and Jonathan. I called her, hoping for some clarity, but what I heard was worse than I imagined. “Ma’am, I… I was let go. Miss Marina insisted on it.” “Marina? Since when does a guest have the authority to fire my staff?” My voice rose an octave, drawing stares from the first-class cabin. “She told me she’s the lady of the house now. She said I was too old, too slow, and that I didn’t ‘cater’ to the Professor’s needs properly. She said… from now on, she’s the one in charge.” I nearly cracked my phone screen from gripping it so hard. A houseguest—a student Jonathan was supposedly “mentoring”—had staged a coup in my own home? “Ma’am, please,” Mrs. Higgins whispered, her voice trembling. “Just watch your back. Things aren’t what they seem.” She hung up before I could ask more. Trembling, I called our long-time driver, Bill. Bill had been with Jonathan for years, and I didn’t entirely trust his loyalty, so I changed my tactics. I kept my voice casual, maternal. “Bill, I’m a little worried about Daisy’s spending lately. Is she buying all these luxury items because she’s stressed about the Bar?” Bill let out a short, dry chuckle on the other end. “Oh, that? Yeah, she’s been on a bit of a spree. But honestly, ma’am, you’ve got the money. Even the Professor said it’s fine, so I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.” I fell silent. I knew my daughter. Daisy had been raised with a silver spoon, yes, but she was disciplined. She worked summer jobs. She used to say, “Mom, that’s your hard-earned money. I want to build my own empire.” Daisy wouldn’t suddenly become a shallow shopaholic, especially not while failing the exam she’d sacrificed her social life for. Every red flag in my mind was screaming. This had Marina written all over it. I couldn’t wait. I paid the exorbitant fee to move my flight up to a direct red-eye. When the plane touched down, it was 2:00 AM. I didn’t call a car. I didn’t tell Jonathan I was coming. I wanted to see the truth of this house with my own eyes. The mansion was silent when I let myself in. I walked straight toward Daisy’s room, but through the cracked door, I saw a world that didn’t belong to her. The walls were lined with shelves of expensive, limited-edition vinyl toys and designer “blind boxes”—hundreds of them. Daisy hated clutter. I walked to the bed and touched the sheets. Silk. Cold, slippery, charcoal silk. Daisy only ever slept on organic cotton. The room was empty. Daisy wasn’t there. At 2:30 AM, she should have been asleep in her bed. The panic I’d been suppressing flared into a full-blown fire. I remembered the video call—the dark, cramped background. I walked to the hallway and pushed open the door to the small utility mudroom behind the laundry. The smell of dampness hit me first. It was pitch black. “Daisy?” I whispered. “Mom… Mom is that you?” 2 Out of the darkness came a voice so thin and terrified it barely sounded human. I fumbled for the light switch. When the bulb flickered on, the breath left my lungs. The tiny room was overflowing with discarded boxes, old newspapers, and broken appliances. And there, tucked between a rusted water heater and a stack of winter tires, was a thin cot on the floor. My daughter, the girl I had raised to be a queen, was curled into a ball under a moth-eaten blanket. Her face was gaunt, her hair a matted mess. She looked like a trapped animal, blinking at the light with sheer terror in her eyes. The moment she recognized me, the dam broke. She began to sob, great racking heaves that shook her entire frame. “Mom… you finally came back. You’re finally here.” My heart didn’t just break; it turned to ash. I lunged forward, pulling her into my arms, feeling how bony her shoulders had become. Before she could utter a single word of explanation, the door to the utility room slammed open. “Catherine? What on earth are you doing here?” Marina stood in the doorway, her face pale with shock. Behind her stood Jonathan, rubbing sleep from his eyes, looking annoyed rather than happy to see his wife. Daisy’s body went rigid in my arms. She began to shake so violently her teeth chattered. She gripped my forearms, her knuckles white, but she didn’t say a word. I looked at them—the “star student” in her silk pajamas and my husband with his practiced frown—and I felt a cold, murderous clarity. “Jonathan,” I said, my voice vibrating with rage. “Explain this. Now. Why is my daughter sleeping in a closet?” Jonathan sighed, crossing his arms. “Catherine, don’t be dramatic. Daisy’s had a rough go. She failed her exams again, she’s been depressed. She told us she needed a ‘minimalist space’ to reflect on her failures. She chose to move in here. The girl is just being hard on herself.” He said it so casually, as if it were perfectly normal for a girl to move from a master suite to a windowless pantry. “Reflect on her failures?” I stood up, keeping Daisy behind me. “You think I’m an idiot? I know my daughter. She would never choose this. You’re lying through your teeth.” Jonathan’s face darkened. “Catherine, watch your tone. She’s my daughter too.” Marina stepped forward, reaching out a hand as if to comfort me. “Mrs. Archer, please don’t be upset. Professor Hart is right. Daisy’s been very unstable lately. We’ve all been so worried—” I slapped her hand away so hard the crack echoed in the small room. “Shut your mouth. You have no standing in this house.” Marina gasped, stumbling back toward Jonathan. “Get out,” I hissed. “Both of you. Out!” Marina’s face twisted between a fake pout and genuine fear as she looked at Jonathan. He scowled at me, his ego clearly bruised. “Fine. Take her to a room if you want. We’ll deal with your hysterics in the morning.” “To a room? Which room, Jonathan? Because it looks like this girl is living in Daisy’s suite.” Jonathan hesitated. “Well—” “I’m staying there,” Marina whispered, her voice regained its edge. “The Professor said it was a waste for such a large suite to sit empty while Daisy was… ‘reflecting.’” “You’re staying there? On what authority? You are a guest. You are nothing.” “Catherine, enough!” Jonathan shouted. “Marina is my lead researcher. She’s staying here for the project. It’s temporary.” I didn’t answer him. Daisy was trembling so hard she could barely stand. I put my arm around her, guiding her out of that hole. “Don’t be afraid, Daisy. I’m here now. No one is touching you ever again.” I led her to the guest wing. After I got her into a warm bath and tucked her into a clean bed, I sat by her side, watching her sleep. This wasn’t my daughter. Her eyes were sunken, her skin sallow. She looked haunted. I stroked her hair, my mind racing. I was going to burn Marina’s world to the ground, and Jonathan was going to pay for every second of this. The next morning, I sat Daisy down. “Tell me about the Bar Exam, honey.” Daisy kept her head down, picking at her cuticles until they bled. I took her hands in mine and forced her to look at me. The tears started instantly. Brokenly, the story came out. Marina hadn’t just been “mentoring.” She had decided she wanted Daisy’s life. When the exam registration window opened, Marina had used her access to the house to log into Daisy’s account and change her elective modules to subjects Daisy hadn’t studied. “Dad told me I didn’t have the brains for it anyway,” Daisy sobbed. “He said I shouldn’t compete with his ‘star student.’ And on the day of the exam… the pens I brought, the ones Marina ‘checked’ for me… the ink vanished from the paper within an hour. I handed in a blank exam, Mom. I had nothing.” This wasn’t just a rivalry. This was a calculated assassination of my daughter’s future. I didn’t say another word. I stood up and stormed into Daisy’s original bedroom. 3 Marina was standing in front of the walk-in closet, which was now bursting with designer clothes that weren’t hers. “How did you afford all this, Marina?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “The $28,000 bag? The $5,000 shoes?” Marina looked at Daisy, who was hovering in the doorway. “Daisy, tell your mom. Didn’t you say you were overwhelmed by your things? Didn’t you ask me to take them?” Daisy shrunk back, her spirit so crushed she couldn’t even find her voice. Marina smirked, sensing her victory. I walked over to her and grabbed her wrist, twisting it so the watch she was wearing caught the light. “The Cartier Tank. My graduation gift to Daisy. Why is it on your wrist?” She tried to pull away, but I held her in a vice grip. I was a second away from showing her exactly how an Archer handles a thief when Jonathan appeared, grabbing my shoulder. “Catherine, stop this! What is wrong with you?” “What’s wrong with me? You brought this parasite into our home to gut our daughter! Look at this watch, Jonathan! You gave it to her!” “Catherine, Daisy changed,” Jonathan snapped. “She told me she didn’t care about these ‘material baubles’ anymore because you make ‘too much’ money. I thought it was a waste to let it sit in a drawer, so I gave it to Marina as a reward for her hard work.” Daisy was shaking behind me. I stood my ground, my heart cold as stone. “Now, move,” Jonathan said, trying to push past me. “Marina has her final character and fitness interview for the Bar today. It’s a big day. Don’t ruin it with your delusions. We’ll talk when I get back from the lab.” He tried to shove me aside, but I didn’t budge. “Catherine, don’t be petty,” he hissed. “If word gets out that my doctoral student was harassed in my own home, my reputation is ruined. Is that what you want?” Marina started to squeeze out fake tears, clutching Jonathan’s arm. “Professor, I’m going to be late. What am I going to do?” Jonathan actually pushed me—hard enough that I stumbled back. “Go. I’ll handle her.” He led Marina out, leaving me standing in the wreckage of my family. I forced myself to breathe. To think like the strategist I was. I took Daisy to the kitchen, but the new cook—a woman I didn’t recognize—didn’t even look up. “Breakfast is over. The Professor and Miss Marina ate early. There’s nothing left.” “Excuse me?” I stepped into her space. “This is my house. You will cook for my daughter, the lady of this house, right now.” The woman rolled her eyes. “One meal won’t kill her. I’ll get to it when I’m done cleaning the Professor’s study.” As she turned, I caught a glimpse of her profile. She looked remarkably like an older version of Marina. I immediately texted my assistant, Sarah. “Run a background check on our new cook and Marina Cross. I want to know every blood relation.” After a silent, tense breakfast, I took Daisy to a private clinic. The doctor was a woman I’d known for years. After two hours of tests, she pulled me into her office, her expression grim. “Claire, your daughter is in a bad way. She’s showing clear signs of PTSD, severe clinical depression, and anxiety.” She handed me a folder. “But that’s not all. Her blood work… she has elevated levels of lead and mercury. It’s not enough to kill her quickly, but it’s enough to cause brain fog, memory loss, and extreme fatigue. It’s consistent with long-term, low-dose exposure.” I felt the room tilt. I held onto the desk to stay upright. In the safety of the doctor’s office, Daisy finally opened up. She told me how Marina would hide her textbooks. How she would put sewing needles in Daisy’s chair. How she would “borrow” Daisy’s clothes and return them ruined. And Jonathan? He didn’t just ignore it. He weaponized it. He told Daisy she was a disappointment. He cut off her allowance, telling her she had to “earn her keep” by doing Marina’s laundry and cleaning the house while I was away. But the final blow was what Daisy whispered at the very end. “Mom… I saw her coming out of Dad’s room at night. She was wearing your robes. I tried to call you, but they took my phone. They said they were ‘monitoring my mental health.’ If I fought back, Dad would let her hit me.” The world went white. My husband wasn’t just neglectful. He was a predator, and he had turned our home into a house of horrors. “Daisy,” I said, my voice like tempered steel. “Today is Marina’s final interview for the Bar, right? Come on. We’re going to give her a gift she’ll never forget.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453328”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

They say I stole twenty years of Delia’s life, so five years in a cage was simply the universe balancing the scales. To ensure I played the part of the sacrificial lamb, my parents stood before the world and piled every sin, every shadow, and every lie onto my shoulders. My own brother, Larry, was the one who forced the caustic lye down my throat, searing my vocal cords so that I couldn’t scream my innocence to the rafters. And Parker—the man who once promised to be my sanctuary—was the most brutal of all. He was the one who broke my spirit and my bones, ensuring I didn’t even have the strength to run. Now, five years later, the gates have opened. I am a hollowed-out shell, moved only by a numb, reflexive obedience. I never expected that the very people who destroyed me would end up on their knees, weeping, begging for a single glance. … 1 “Inmate 15623, you’re clear. Try to stay on the right side of the law this time.” The heavy iron door groaned open. The sunlight was a physical assault, a jagged blade of brightness that forced me to shield my eyes. For nearly two thousand days, the sun had been a myth, something that happened to other people. “Isabel, stop the theatrics and get over here.” The voice hit me like a plunge into ice water. My skin crawled. As I lowered my hand, I saw the one person I hoped never to see again. My brother, Larry. He was the man who once declared to the world that I was his precious little sister, the one who swore to shield me from every storm. Even when the truth came out—that Delia was the biological daughter and I was the “mistake”—he had held my hands and promised nothing would change. But the moment Delia caused the accident that left the Blackwell heir in a coma, Larry didn’t hesitate. He pushed me into the path of the oncoming train of justice. He was the one who held me down, his eyes cold as stone, and forced that burning liquid into my throat. I had been beaten, cursed, and interrogated by the Blackwell family, but all I could produce were pathetic, wet wheezes. Larry marched toward me now. He caught sight of the jagged scar near my hairline and flinched for a micro-second before his face curdled into a mask of disgust. “What, did you carve that yourself just to look pathetic? You really are desperate, aren’t you, Isabel?” Pathetic? I wouldn’t dare hope for pity from the man who stole my voice. Especially since these scars were the “lessons” he had specifically requested the other inmates give me. I opened my mouth. My voice, once clear as a bell, came out like dry leaves skittering over a grave. “No need. I can walk.” Larry’s face registered a flicker of shock. He remembered the girl who used to beg him to drive her two blocks because her heels were too high. Now, I wouldn’t even look at his car. He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Isabel, drop the act. You lived Delia’s life for twenty years. This is the penance you owe. Get in.” He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. I looked at his hand, then at the desolate stretch of road outside the prison. This facility was chosen by the Blackwells specifically for its isolation—a place where the shadows are long and the help is non-existent. If I didn’t go with him, I’d be walking for hours before I saw another living soul. I reached for the car, but instead of the back seat, I pulled open the front passenger door. The driver, Mr. Miller, jumped. “Miss Isabel… maybe you should sit in the back with Mr. Larry?” I stared straight ahead, my voice a jagged rasp. “A person as low as me? I wouldn’t want to ruin the upholstery for a Blackwood.” “Isabel!” Larry’s voice turned lethal. “Get in the back. Stop being a martyr or you can rot on this curb.” I saw the winced expression on Mr. Miller’s face. I didn’t want him to catch the fallout. I gritted my teeth until I tasted copper, then climbed into the back seat. The car moved. Silence settled over us, thick and suffocating. Mr. Miller tried to break it, his voice forced. “Your parents… they’ve missed you, Isabel. Once we get home, we can all be a family again.” Missed me? I remembered the way they testified against me, their voices steady as they told the judge I was a jealous, unstable girl who had tried to kill the Blackwell heir. They didn’t want a daughter. They wanted a ghost. “Mr. Miller,” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the passing gray trees. “Just drop me at the next bus station. I’m not a Blackwood. And that house… it was never my home.” The words weren’t even cold before Larry roared, “Stop the car!” The tires screeched. My head slammed into the back of the driver’s seat. Before I could find my bearings, the door was ripped open. A heavy boot caught me square in the ribs, the force of it launching me out of the car and onto the gravel. “You want to play the stranger? Fine. Rot out here!” Larry stood over me, his shadow looming. “You think we need you? You owe Delia. You owe this family. If you’re going to walk around with that dead-eyed stare, do us all a favor and just finish the job.” The door slammed. The engine roared. I was left alone in the dirt of the outskirts. The pain radiated through my side, but the tears wouldn’t come. I had cried them all away years ago. Now, there was only the dull ache of existence. I dragged myself up, shaking. A car pulled up beside me—a sleek, dark sedan. The window rolled down to reveal a face that still haunted my dreams. Parker. I didn’t stop. I kept walking, my limp heavy and pronounced. “Isabel. Stop.” His voice was like velvet over gravel. “Get in the car.” I stopped and turned, a jagged smile cutting across my face. “Shouldn’t you be with your fiancée, Parker? Or did you come back to check your work?” I pointed to my scarred wrists and the way my leg dragged. “Afraid I might be healing too well? Do you want to break them again?” We had grown up together. He was the one who had seen the real me, or so I thought. I believed our love was the only thing that was real. Then Delia came back. And when I refused to confess to her crime, Parker was the one who systematically crushed my fingers, one by one, so I couldn’t even write a plea for help. “This is for Delia, Izzy. Don’t make it harder by running.” I had begged him. I had crawled on the floor, kissing his shoes, praying for a shred of the man I thought I knew. He had simply handed me over to the Blackwells like a piece of spoiled meat. Parker’s face darkened with a familiar arrogance. “Five years and you’re still unrepentant. If you hadn’t tormented Delia, she never would have been in that position. She never would have been forced to defend herself against the Blackwell boy. People like you deserve to rot.” He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “If it weren’t for your grandmother being on her deathbed and begging to see you, I wouldn’t be within ten miles of a woman as venomous as you.” The world tilted. “What? Nana is sick?” Parker sneered. “She’s dying, Isabel. The stress of what you did five years ago shattered her. She’s been in and out of the hospital ever since, and now she’s insisting on seeing you one last time. God knows why.” I didn’t care about his insults anymore. I lunged for the car door, my heart hammering against my bruised ribs. “Take me to her. Now.” He looked at me with pure loathing but started the engine. The drive was a blur of silence and suppressed rage. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t breathe. When we reached the hospital, I didn’t wait for him. I scrambled out, tripping over my own feet, and ran toward the ward. But as I reached the door to her room, my hand froze on the handle. Five years. Everyone believed I was a monster. Would she even look at me? “Isabel? Is that my girl?” The voice was thin, like parchment, but it was hers. My vision blurred. I pushed the door open and collapsed at her bedside, burying my face in her blankets. “Nana… I’m here.” Her frail, trembling hand found my face. Her touch was the only kindness I had felt in half a decade. “I knew you’d come. I knew. They’ve put you through so much, my poor girl.” I shook my head, unable to speak through the lump in my throat. “Isabel,” she whispered, her eyes searching mine. “Tell me the truth. Did you really do it? Did you hurt that boy?” She was the only one. The only one who wanted to give me a chance. I knew if I said ‘no,’ she would spend her last breath fighting for my justice. “Mom, who else could it have been?” The door swung open. My adoptive parents, Larry, and Delia walked in. The room suddenly felt very small and very cold. “They were the only two in the room,” my mother said, her voice dripping with artificial sorrow. “If it wasn’t Isabel, are you suggesting it was our Delia? Isabel spent twenty years in our home; she couldn’t handle losing her status. She was desperate to latch onto the Blackwells.” Nana’s eyes flashed with a spark of her old fire. “Quiet! Even if she isn’t your blood, she is my granddaughter. I provided for her when I was well, and I will not let her suffer now that I am dying!” My mother threw her designer bag onto the chair. “Mom, listen to yourself! Delia is your flesh and blood. You’re going to leave our legacy to a criminal stranger?” Larry stepped forward, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. “Isabel, what kind of spell have you cast on her? You should have stayed in that cell. Why did you have to come back?” The words were like daggers. Delia stood in the corner, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips before she hid it behind a handkerchief. “Mom, don’t be hard on her. She just got out of prison. She’s… fragile.” Nana let out a rasping cough that shook her whole frame. “Enough! Did Isabel choose to be switched at birth? The family that raised Delia died saving her life in that car accident. Isabel is alone in this world. If you won’t love her, I will.” She looked at my parents, her gaze icy. “My anniversary gala is in two weeks. I will be attending with Isabel by my side. I want everyone in this city to know that my girl still has someone in her corner.” My parents tried to protest, but Nana roared at them until they retreated. Once they were gone, she stroked my hair. “Don’t be afraid, Isabel. I have you.” To protect me, Nana checked herself out of the hospital and took me straight to her estate. During those days, the messages didn’t stop. My “parents,” Larry, and Parker all sent warnings. Isabel, Nana is old. You wouldn’t want to give her a stroke by telling her lies, would you? Keep your mouth shut. The harassment triggered the memories I had tried to bury. The beatings in the showers. Being forced to eat food that had been stepped on. The nights I spent fighting off hands in the dark. I had spent five years asking what I did wrong. But now, looking at Nana, I realized I wouldn’t tell her the truth. Not because I was scared, but because it would kill her. My parents and Larry would never admit the truth, and the Blackwell heir was still a vegetable. No one would believe me anyway. I decided to let the secret be the price of the twenty years I spent as a “Blackwood.” … The night of the gala arrived. I looked in the mirror. The emerald silk gown was stunning, a masterpiece of draping, but it couldn’t hide the map of trauma on my skin. My shoulders and arms were a tapestry of cigarette burns and jagged scars. I put on a matching bolero jacket to hide the evidence and went downstairs. The party was in full swing. I stayed in the shadows, letting Nana handle the guests. I just wanted to find a quiet corner, but as I turned a hallway, a server “accidentally” collided with me, drenching my dress in wine. I brushed off the apologies and headed upstairs to change. But the moment I stepped into the gallery, Delia was waiting. “Isabel. I have a homecoming gift for you.” I took a step back. Then, a voice from my nightmares spoke from behind me. “Hey there, baby sister. It’s been a long time. Let’s catch up.” My body went rigid. Duke. The man my family had paid to “watch over me” in prison—the man who had made my life a living hell—was standing in Nana’s house. I tried to run, but a hand clamped over my mouth. The smell of cheap tobacco and malice filled my senses. Delia smiled, her eyes bright with cruelty. “You got lucky in prison, Isabel. You survived. But you won’t survive tonight.” I fought like a wild animal, but he slammed me into a side room. As I hit the floor, I heard Larry’s voice in the hallway. “Delia? Is Isabel in there? I thought I saw her.” Hope flared in my chest. But then Duke grabbed me. “What’s the matter, Princess? Think your brother is going to save you? I’ve been waiting five years to finish what I started.” I grabbed a heavy crystal lamp from a side table and smashed it against the door. The crash echoed through the hall. “What was that?” Larry’s voice. “Who’s in there?” I held my breath, praying they would burst in. … But Delia’s voice drifted through the wood, sweet as honey. “It’s just Isabel. I tried to talk to her, but she’s so bitter. She told me I was just ‘lucky’ to be found. She said she deserves to be the Blackwood heiress, not me. She’s locked herself in to throw a tantrum.” I wept, my heart shattering. They had grown up with me. They knew I would never say those things. But the voice that responded was cold enough to freeze my blood. “She’s the one who shouldn’t have come back,” Larry said. “Does she think we don’t know what she did in prison? She’s trash.” “She lived your life, Delia,” Parker added. “She’s a parasite. Her real parents probably died of shame knowing what kind of daughter they raised. She doesn’t belong here.” A parasite. The man I loved was calling me a parasite while I was being hunted by a predator three feet away. “Hear that?” Duke whispered, pinning me down. “They want you gone. Just be a good girl and maybe I’ll make it quick.” The memories flooded back. The hands. The laughter. The feeling of being less than human. As Duke lunged to tear the silk from my body, my hand closed around a jagged shard of the shattered crystal lamp. I didn’t think. I just drove the glass into his neck.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453327”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I spent three years at a specialized, private “academy” learning exactly how to worship Celine Blackwood. I studied her favorite vintages, the precise way she liked her espresso at four in the morning, and the subtle physical cues that would make her melt in my arms. I was a master of her heart—or so I thought. I was confident that my devotion, combined with the refined techniques I’d perfected to please a woman of her stature, would eventually break through her icy exterior. And it worked. When she finally proposed, I thought I had reached the finish line. I thought I had finally earned my place in her world. But on our wedding day, as we stood under a canopy of white peonies in the Hamptons, the world started to glitch. Strange, translucent lines of text began to drift across my vision like a ghostly social media feed. They called me a “manipulative side-character.” They said a journalist had already leaked my history, exposing the “Charisma Institute” where I’d spent years training to seduce her. The text scrolled by, cold and mocking: Celine hates being lied to more than anything. He’s a fraud. He used a playbook to get her. Wait until she destroys him. Just as the words flickered before my eyes, Celine turned to me. Her expression was unreadable, her voice chillingly calm. “Juile,” she whispered, the diamond on her finger catching the light. “Tell me you aren’t like those pathetic men in the news lately. Tell me you didn’t play me.” Before I could even find my voice, a man named Logan Burke—a tabloid shark I’d seen lurking at charity galas—burst through the floral arches, a microphone in one hand and a smartphone in the other. “Juile Callahan!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stunned silence of the elite crowd. “Why don’t you tell everyone what it was like spending three years in the ‘High-Society Husband’ program? Give us a review of the curriculum!” In an instant, the massive LED screens behind the altar—which were supposed to show a montage of our romance—flickered. Instead of photos of our trip to the Amalfi Coast, they displayed “course modules.” Powerpoint slides on How to Mirror Celine Blackwood’s Vulnerabilities and Physical Escalation Techniques for Guarded Personalities. I watched Celine’s eyes. They didn’t fill with tears. They turned to stone, freezing over as the slides detailed exactly how I’d engineered our “perfect” life. I let out a hollow, helpless laugh. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a lead weight. What the screens didn’t show—what the “course modules” could never explain—were the seven jagged scars on my back from the time I pulled her out of a wreckage, or the three bullet wounds I’d hidden from her because I didn’t want her to feel the burden of my sacrifice. But in her world, perception was reality. And right now, I was a con artist. … 1. The gaze of every socialite and power player in the state was pinned on me, heavier than Celine’s silence. They weren’t just shocked; they were hungry for the kill. I gripped the fabric of my tuxedo trousers, my throat closing up. The phantom text shimmered in front of my face again. [The con artist has gone mute. Did the ‘Playbook’ not have a chapter for when you get caught?] [Look at Logan—our hero. A simple journalist taking down the most calculated gold-digger in the city.] [Brave reporter exposes the fraud. The ‘ice queen’ is about to go scorched earth.] Celine began to walk toward Logan. My heart climbed into my throat, thumping against my teeth. “Mr. Burke,” she said, her voice like a razor. “Turn off the camera on your lapel. Now.” Logan stiffened, his smug grin faltering for a split second before he puffed out his chest. “Celine, this man is a ‘Diamond Tier’ graduate of the Charisma Institute. Your entire four-year relationship has been a long-con. He’s a ‘Pig-Butcher’ in a designer suit.” Celine didn’t respond to him. I took a breath, trying to salvage the wreckage of my soul. “Logan, anyone with enough money can dig up those course files. It doesn’t mean our life was a lie. I love my wife. We are compatible because I made myself the man she deserved.” Logan sneered. “Still clinging to the script, I see.” He pulled out his phone and flashed a contact number on the screen. My stomach turned. It was my burner phone—the one I used to contact the Institute’s private investigators. Last year, I’d hired them to tail Celine during her business trip to London. Not to spy on her, but because I knew she was being threatened by a rival firm and she was too proud to tell me. I just wanted to know she was safe. Logan looked at her with feigned pity. “This number has only one frequent contact: the head of the Institute.” I had no defense that wouldn’t sound like another lie. The air around Celine seemed to drop twenty degrees. “Mr. Burke,” she said, her tone lethal. “I won’t ask you again. Turn it off.” Reluctantly, Logan darkened his screen. Celine turned back to me, her face a mask of terrifying composure. “Exchange the rings,” she commanded. I stared at her, bewildered. The phantom text mocked me again. [The con artist actually thinks the wedding is still happening?] [Celine is a woman of stature. She won’t give these vultures the satisfaction of a scene. She’ll play the part until the cameras are gone.] In a daze, I felt her slide a heavy platinum band onto my finger. The screens behind us were now playing our highlight reel again—smiling faces, sunset kisses, staged perfection. But the moment we retreated from the reception to our estate, the performance ended. Celine locked herself in the study all night. I watched her personal assistant, a woman who usually treated me with deference, carry orange folders in and out of the room. Those folders only appeared when Celine was preparing for a corporate takeover—or an execution. I sat in the dark living room, the weight of the day pressing into my lungs. I had memorized her soul. I’d learned French until I was fluent because she grew up in Lyon and missed the sound of her mother tongue. I joined that academy because I was a nobody who loved a queen, and I thought I needed a map to reach her heart. Yes, I had used “methods.” But my love for her was the only thing in my life that was real. The bedroom door finally opened at dawn. Celine walked in and tossed a stack of documents onto the bed. I had spent years rehearsing the moment I’d tell her the truth, imagining a quiet night by the fire where she’d laugh and call me a fool for being so insecure. I didn’t expect her to strip me bare like a piece of trash. “Celine, please, just let me explain…” [How does he still have the nerve to speak? I hope she destroys him.] “Don’t call me that,” she snapped, her voice trembling with a rare, raw anger. “It’s pathetic. It makes me sick.” I went silent. ‘Celine’ was what she’d begged me to call her in private, away from the ‘Mrs. Blackwood’ of the world. The bitterness rose in my throat. When I stopped talking, she slammed the door and left. The next time I heard about her, it was through a headline for a high-end art auction. Sitting in the front row beside her was the man who had ruined my life: Logan Burke. He wasn’t carrying a camera this time. He was wearing a bespoke suit, sitting in the seat that belonged to me. When Logan pointed at an emerald pendant, Celine didn’t hesitate. She bid the room into silence, buying it for him without a second thought. 2. My chest felt like it was filled with wet sand. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to tell myself she was just hurting. Anyone would be angry after being deceived. And Celine Blackwood was a woman who tolerated zero flaws. That night, I spent hours in the kitchen. I made everything she loved—Coq au vin, the specific truffle risotto she craved when she was stressed. I sent her a photo with a simple message: I want to talk. Properly. I waited until 1:00 AM. The reply didn’t come from her. It came from Logan’s Instagram. A photo of him and Celine at a candlelit dinner, their glasses touching. The phantom text screamed in my eyes. [Is the lead guy finally going to get lucky tonight?] [They’ve had so much wine… it’s definitely happening.] I looked at the bottle of red on my table—the one Celine and I had bottled ourselves at a vineyard, promising to save it for our tenth anniversary. The tears finally broke. I grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and yanked. The porcelain shattered against the floor, a cacophony of broken dreams and wasted effort. I collapsed into the mess, sobbing, mocking myself for thinking years of devotion could survive a single scandal. The house staff thought I’d lost my mind. The head housekeeper, a woman who had been with the Blackwood family for twenty years, came to sit beside me. “Sir,” she whispered. “In houses like this, these things are inevitable. You have to protect yourself.” I sat on the floor until my legs went numb and the world turned gray. I didn’t even notice when a piece of broken plate sliced into my palm. The staff eventually called her. She arrived thirty minutes later, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. I looked up at her, my hand bleeding, my spirit gone. She didn’t offer a hand. She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. “Is this the next chapter, Juile? The ‘Broken Man’ routine?” “You’ve charmed the staff, I see. Very effective.” She leaned in, her voice a cold hiss. “This is a Blackwood estate. if you’re planning on a dramatic suicide to guilt-trip me, do it somewhere else. I won’t have you staining the floors.” She saw the white bandage the housekeeper had wrapped around my hand. She squeezed it until I winced. “Cutting your palms? If you’re going to act, at least make it look like you mean it.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t tell her I was in pain. I didn’t cling to her like I used to whenever I was hurt. I just pulled my hand away. I looked at this woman—this stranger—and realized that Logan Burke’s words had more power than four years of my life. My devotion was just “technique” to her now. The next day was her grandmother’s gala. Usually, Celine would wait for me, insisting we arrive together. This time, she left hours early. I arrived exactly ten minutes before the start. I saw her almost immediately, but she wasn’t alone. Logan was there, wearing the watch Celine had custom-ordered for my birthday. When the guests saw him on her arm, they swarmed. “Is this the journalist from the wedding? He’s stunning in person!” Celine laughed, a bright, social sound. “I’m just showing him the world.” I watched from the shadows. There were more people here than at our wedding. The elite of New York and the old money from London—everyone was watching Celine publicly humiliate her husband of less than a month. Logan saw me standing alone and waved. When I didn’t respond, he walked over, smug and untouchable. “What are you so afraid of, Juile? Celine didn’t even kick you out. You’re still living the dream, aren’t you?” [Yeah, what’s he moping for? He should do something crazy so the ‘hero’ can finally feed him to the sharks.] [He’s just jealous of Logan’s talent and looks.] Celine didn’t even glance my way as she pulled Logan into a circle of her billionaire friends. I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to ruin her grandmother’s night. I sat in a corner and ate a piece of cake that tasted like ash. 3. I heard Celine’s voice floating over the music. “In two days, I’m taking the group to the Maldives. Everything is already arranged—villas, private guides, the works.” I froze. That was our honeymoon. The “arrangements” she was bragging about were the result of three sleepless nights I’d spent meticulously planning every detail to ensure she wouldn’t have a single worry. I looked away. My phone buzzed. It was an email from my lawyer with the draft of the divorce papers. The frosting in my mouth turned bitter. This was what it felt like to give up. When Celine returned home that night, smelling of gin and expensive cigars, she had hickeys visible on her neck. I took a breath. “Celine. Let’s get a divorce.” She stopped on the stairs, a mocking smile playing on her lips as she turned back. She saw the papers on the coffee table but didn’t touch them. “Is this the new move, Juile? The ‘Pull-Away’ technique?” “Do you think if you play hard to get, I’ll suddenly fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness?” I pointed a trembling finger at the marks on her throat. “You want Logan. I’m letting you have him.” She laughed, stepping closer to tilt my chin up. “You can’t handle this? I thought a graduate of the Charisma Institute would have thicker skin. Logan is just the first of many, Juile.” She picked up the papers with two fingers and dropped them into the trash can. “I’m not signing. I want to see what else you have in that little playbook of yours.” I gave her a tired smile. I didn’t have any more tricks. Everything I had done—becoming the “perfect” husband, learning her language, anticipating her every need—had been fueled by the one thing she refused to believe in: my heart. “I’ve already signed my part,” I said quietly. “I’m done, Celine.” I walked into the guest room and closed the door. I heard her scoff behind me, convinced I was still just “performing.” I bought a one-way ticket to France. All those years of studying the language, and I’d never actually seen the country. It was time to go for myself. I met my friend, Toby, before I left. He was the only person from my “former life” who knew the truth—that I had loved Celine long before I ever stepped foot in that academy. Seeing me so broken, he insisted I go to a wellness clinic he managed. But when the doctor took my pulse and looked at my recent bloodwork, his face went pale. “You’re ill,” he said. “Stress is one thing, but you can’t keep ignoring this.” My heart sank. I spent the rest of the day at the hospital. When I finally returned to the Blackwood estate to pack my last bag, Celine was actually there for dinner. She glanced at the medical report sitting on the foyer table and curled her lip. “Martha,” she called out to the maid. “Get this trash off the table. It’s disgusting.” The maid swept my oncology results into the bin. Logan popped his head out from behind her, grinning. “Don’t you get tired of the ‘terminally ill’ trope, Juile? It’s so overdone.” I just smiled at him. “The spot is yours, Logan. Enjoy it.” I grabbed my suitcase and headed for the door. Celine watched me, her eyes narrowing. “Nice acting,” she spat. “You almost look pale enough to be dying.” I didn’t answer. I had a plane to catch. 4. The sky opened up as I reached the driveway. The housekeeper ran after me, frantic. “Ma’am! He looks terrible, and it’s pouring! Please, don’t let him leave like this!” Celine watched my retreating back through the window, her jaw set. “Let him go. A man that calculated won’t stay away for long. He’ll be back in three days with a new sob story.” [Go on, con artist, get lost! Stop blocking the real romance!] I walked into the rain, the phantom text flickering one last time before fading into the gray. I felt nothing. Three days passed. Then a week. Celine started coming home earlier than usual, but the house was silent. She found herself walking through the wings of the estate, subconsciously looking for me. The anger began to boil over. She kicked the door to our bedroom open, expecting to find me hiding there. But the room was untouched. My watches, my designer clothes, the jewelry she’d bought me—everything was still there. I hadn’t taken a single thing. “Fine! You want to play high-stakes? Let’s play!” She ordered her staff to list every one of my belongings on a luxury resale site for one dollar. Everything was gone in minutes. But the buyer she was hoping to provoke—me—never showed up. Another two weeks passed. When the housekeeper confirmed I still hadn’t called, Celine felt a sharp, sudden pang of anxiety. “Find out where he is,” she told her assistant. “Check his accounts. I don’t want him dying in some gutter and embarrassing my family.” The assistant returned an hour later with a file. “Sir’s last known location was a meeting with a friend for tea.” Celine scoffed, feeling relieved. “See? He’s fine. Having tea while I’m worried about the PR.” The assistant hesitated. “But ma’am… after the tea, he went to Blackwood Memorial Hospital. He was… he was there for a stage-three screening.” Celine froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453326”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For the past year, living a thousand miles away from my husband, I spent every waking moment counting down the seconds until our reunion. That was until I ran into one of his colleagues at the upscale mall downtown. Her bright, enthusiastic smile felt like a shard of ice driven straight into my chest. “You are so lucky! I can’t believe the baby is already a month old. She’s an absolute doll!” She pressed a thick, cream-colored card with gold-foiled edges into my hand. Her voice was thick with envy. I forced my hands to stay steady as I took the invitation. My eyes blurred as they swept over the elegant script. Under Father, it read: David Lawrence. Under Mother, the name Jessica sat there, cold and unfamiliar, mocking me. I memorized the address of the hotel, my face a mask of practiced composure. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said, my smile feeling like it was stitched onto my face. On the day of the celebration, I stood at the entrance of the crowded ballroom. I watched a beautiful woman, glowing in silk, cradling an infant while she charmed the guests. “You must be one of David’s colleagues,” she said, stepping toward me with a graceful, practiced warmth. “Please, come in. He’s always saying how incredible the women on his team are.” She held that baby with the ease of someone who belonged there, while I stood there feeling like a ghost haunting someone else’s happy ending. … 1 A storm was raging inside me, but my face remained a blank slate. I looked down at the infant in her arms. The baby was fair, delicate, with the unmistakable curve of David’s brow. “Where is David?” I asked. My voice was hollow, stripped of all inflection. I scanned the room. He was nowhere to be seen, but I spotted several familiar faces—his aunts, a few cousins. People I hadn’t seen since our own wedding seven years ago. I have a photographic memory for faces. I remembered the way his Uncle Joe laughed, the specific way his mother’s sisters whispered. My heart hammered against my ribs. David hadn’t just cheated; he was bold enough to parade his secret life in front of his entire extended family. “He went to pick up my in-laws,” Jessica said, her voice tinkling like wind chimes. “They should be here any minute.” The air left my lungs. It felt like a physical blow to the solar plexus, a sharp, suffocating pain. Two days ago, David’s parents told me they had booked a senior citizens’ bus tour—a two-week trip through the Pacific Northwest. I’d been so worried about their fixed income that I’d tucked two thousand dollars into a card for his mother, calling it their “adventure fund.” They’d spent years complaining about their health and their mounting pharmacy bills; I’d been the one encouraging them to finally see the world. For seven years, I’d treated them like my own flesh and blood. I was the “perfect daughter-in-law,” the one they praised to anyone who would listen. I realized now that they hadn’t just been lying to me. They’d been laughing at me. Jessica didn’t notice the fire in my eyes. She led me over to a cluster of David’s work friends. As we approached, a middle-aged man grinned at her. “I tell David all the time, he’s the luckiest man alive. A gorgeous wife and an even more gorgeous daughter.” The group chimed in, a chorus of adulation. “Jessica, you really made the right call. I was worried when you left the firm to be a stay-at-the-home mom, but look at you.” “Six years later, and you and David are still the gold standard. And now, finally, the new addition. I’m so happy for you guys.” My hands curled into fists, my nails biting into the soft skin of my palms. My marriage to David had lasted seven years. He had been with Jessica for six. The sheer scale of the deception was dizzying. Even this morning, he’d sent me a text: Good morning, beautiful. Counting down the days until I’m home. I miss you so much it hurts. For seven years, I thought we were the “it” couple. He never raised his voice. He made a six-figure salary and “budgeted” himself to a pittance of pocket money, giving the rest to me for our “future.” Every anniversary, he bought me a gold bracelet. I had a jewelry box full of them, a shimmering timeline of our love. A year ago, he’d sat me down with a serious face. “The regional office wants to relocate me,” he’d said. “It’s an extra fifty thousand a year, plus bonuses. Think of what that means for our son. College, a wedding, his first house. I can do the long distance if you can. For him.” I’d cried, but I’d agreed. I wanted that future for our son, Max. Now I realized the “long distance” was just the final piece of a masterpiece of lies. 2 “David is a legend,” one of the men was saying. “Top of the leaderboard every quarter. With his base and those commissions, the guy is bringing in half a million a year, easy.” The room tilted. The “salary” he had been reporting to me—the one I had been carefully saving—was just his base pay. The commissions, the real money, had been funding this life. This house. This woman. Jessica beamed, adjusting the baby’s lace blanket. “We’re very blessed.” “Time flies,” another woman sighed. “I remember your wedding six years ago like it was yesterday. And now, a baby!” They’d had a wedding. A real, public wedding with colleagues and champagne. When I married David, we’d had a small, private ceremony in his parents’ backyard. He told me he wanted something “intimate,” something that was just for us. He hadn’t invited a single coworker. I stood there, a ghost at the feast, listening to the secrets of the man I thought I knew. A younger woman leaned in, touching Jessica’s arm. “Seriously, Jess, give us the secret. How do you keep him so devoted? He’s obsessed with you.” I found myself leaning in too, my eyes fixed on Jessica. She looked radiant, untouched by the wearying grind of real life, the bills, the chores, the sleepless nights I’d endured alone with our son while David was “traveling.” “He’s just a good man,” Jessica said, her voice soft with genuine affection. “I’m lucky. But if you want my advice? Communication is key. And keep the finances transparent. David gives me his entire paycheck. He keeps a few hundred for gas and coffee, and that’s it.” She touched a heavy gold cuff on her wrist. “Every year, his bonus goes straight into gold for me. He says a man’s heart is where his money is.” The jagged edges of my broken heart shifted, cutting deeper. His bonuses went to her. Then what had he been giving me? The emotion was a tidal wave, rising in my throat. I stood there like an ice sculpture, frozen and out of place, while the world around me celebrated my destruction. Jessica’s phone buzzed. She checked the screen and giggled. “It’s David.” She turned to me, casually shifting the infant. “Could you hold her for a second? I need to take this.” I went numb. Before I could process it, the warm, soft weight of the baby was in my arms. She was quiet, her dark eyes wide and curious, looking up at me without a care in the world. I looked down at her, a beautiful, innocent manifestation of my husband’s betrayal. I should have felt rage. I should have wanted to pull away. But I just felt a cold, devastating clarity. Jessica was right next to me, her voice a sugary coo as she answered. David’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clear: “Hey, honey. You’re not overdoing it, are you? You’re still recovering.” “I’m fine, David. Don’t worry about me.” “I’ve got my parents in the car. Traffic is a nightmare, so don’t stress if we’re a few minutes late. I love you.” “I love you too. Drive safe.” She hung up, and the women around her sighed in unison. “He is literally too much,” one said. “He texts her every hour at the office. Even after six years, it’s like they’re in the honeymoon phase.” “He’s terrified of losing her,” another added. “If there’s one man in this city who would never, ever stray, it’s David Lawrence.” I used to think that about him. Every night, a five-minute check-in call. Every morning, a “thinking of you” text. Short, efficient, but constant. I’d never doubted him. Between my career, our son, and managing the household and his parents, my life was a blur of responsibility. I thought he was busy. I thought he was working for us. I didn’t realize he was sharing the minute details of his life with someone else. 3 I sat down in an empty chair, still holding the child. My eyes caught on something sparkling on the baby’s wrist. It was a custom gold charm bracelet. The centerpiece was a small, intricately carved phoenix. My breath hitched. I recognized that design. Seven years ago, when I found out I was pregnant with twins—a boy and a girl—my mother had commissioned a pair of “Dragon and Phoenix” charms. She’d traveled to a monastery to have them blessed, praying for their protection. But the world is a cruel place. There were complications during delivery. Only my son survived. I had been shattered. The doctors told me I couldn’t have more children. I kept the dragon charm for my son, and the phoenix… I kept it locked in a safe, a golden ghost of the daughter I never got to hold. I used to take it out and cry until my eyes were swollen shut. My fingers trembled as I turned the charm over. Three words were engraved on the back: Felicity Rose. The name I had chosen. The name I had spent months dreaming about while rubbing my pregnant belly. “Her name is Felicity,” Jessica said, returning and sitting beside me. “David picked it out. He’s always wanted a daughter.” The world seemed to splinter into a million sharp pieces. I forced my voice to remain steady. “He sounds like a devoted father.” Jessica smiled, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Are you new at the firm? I used to know everyone, but David mentioned they’d hired some fresh talent lately.” “I started recently,” I lied, the word tasting like ash. “The company is great, but the travel used to be brutal,” Jessica said. “David was on the road every other week. It’s only been this past year that he’s finally been able to stay local. It was a long road, but we made it.” I felt a bitter, jagged laugh bubbling in my chest. Before he was “relocated” a year ago, David had “traveled” for work constantly. I’d handled everything. Every fever our son had, every hospital visit for his parents, every broken pipe in the house. I’d done it all so he could focus on his career. I’d even stayed silent as our intimacy faded, blaming it on his exhaustion. He wasn’t traveling. He was coming home to her. Jessica didn’t reach for the baby. She kept glancing around, greeting newcomers. She noticed how still the infant was in my arms. “Wow, she really likes you. Usually, she screams if anyone but me or David holds her. You have a magic touch.” “I have a son,” I said quietly. “You learn a few things.” “That explains it!” she chirped. “Would you mind holding her just a few more minutes? I need to check on the catering.” I nodded. I looked up at the massive banner hanging across the ballroom: CELEBRATING THE 100-DAY ANNIVERSARY OF FELICITY ROSE LAWRENCE. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. My son never had a party. David had insisted it would be too painful because of the baby we lost. My parents had protested, but David had been firm. He said he couldn’t celebrate while his heart was still grieving for his daughter. And yet here he was, celebrating a new daughter with my daughter’s name and my daughter’s gold. 4 My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a call from my mother-in-law. I didn’t hesitate. I answered. “Mara, did you see my text?” Her voice was perfectly normal, the same tone she used when asking me to pick up her prescriptions. “No,” I said, my voice as cold as a winter morning. “Are you at the market? It’s loud there. Look at the text I sent you. I can’t hear you, just reply on WhatsApp.” She hung up. I opened the message she’d sent twenty minutes ago: Mara, a relative back in the old neighborhood just had a baby. I need to send a gift. I’m a little short on cash this month, can you Venmo me two thousand? It’s important for the family’s reputation that we don’t look cheap. I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. They weren’t just deceiving me; they were using me as an ATM to fund the lifestyle of his secret child. I laughed, a sharp, jagged sound that didn’t reach my eyes. I didn’t reply. She texted again five minutes later: Are you going to send it? We can’t be late with this. I still didn’t reply. I was waiting. I was waiting for her to walk through those doors. A third text popped up. I’ve always thought you were the bigger person, Mara. I’m disappointed. Fine, if you won’t help, I’ll find another way. I looked at the phone and felt a surge of pure, unadulterated disgust. All those years of “You’re like the daughter I never had,” and “We’re so lucky David married a woman like you.” It was all a script. A long-con. Jessica came back, and her phone rang. She answered it with a glowing smile. I could hear David’s voice through the receiver: “Hey babe, Mom has a surprise for the little one. Another piece of gold.” “Oh, David, she has too much already!” “This one is special,” David said. “It’s a dragon charm. It’s been blessed. It’s a collector’s piece, really. One of a kind.” The blood roared in my ears. Two days ago, before my son Max left for summer camp, my mother-in-law told him to take off his gold dragon pendant so he wouldn’t lose it while swimming. She told him she’d keep it safe in her jewelry box. She was giving my son’s birthright to a mistress’s child. “Tell your mom thank you for me,” Jessica said. “She’s so thoughtful.” Then I heard my mother-in-law’s voice in the background: “Don’t thank me, dear. It’s what a grandmother does. You gave me a beautiful granddaughter; it’s the least I can do. We’re pulling up now.” Jessica hung up and reached for the baby, but then spotted more guests and waved them over. I sat there, holding the secret child, feeling the weight of seven years of wasted devotion. “Your party,” I whispered to the infant, “is going to be unforgettable.” Finally, I heard them. The familiar voices of David and his parents, loud and cheerful as they entered the ballroom. I stood up. I walked toward the stage where the microphone was set up for the toasts. David was looking around, scanning the room. “Honey? Where’s the baby?” he asked Jessica. I stepped up to the mic. The feedback shrieked for a second, silencing the room. My voice cut through the air like a blade. “David,” I said, my eyes locking onto his. “Your secret is in my arms.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453325”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My father’s condition had just stabilized, and I was still at my parents’ house, exhausted from the weeks of bedside care, when my phone buzzed with a notification. It was a traffic violation alert. I tapped it open, and my heart skipped a beat. The violation—speeding and running a red light—had occurred in a small town nearly six hundred miles away. My husband’s hometown. My brain stalled; my car was supposed to be parked in our secure garage downtown, untouched while I was away. I called Mark immediately. I didn’t lead with small talk. I asked him if he had taken my car. On the other end of the line, his voice was breezy, dismissive. “Oh, that? It’s not a big deal, Lauren.” Then came the casual explanation that made my blood run cold. “Justin needed something decent to drive to impress some people back home. I told him he could take yours for the week.” He even managed a sharp, mocking laugh. “What? Is that old SUV of yours lined with gold now? He’s family. God, you’re so sensitive about your things.” I mumbled something about being busy and hung up, but my mind was a storm. My fingers were already flying across the screen, booking the earliest train ticket back home. I decided right then: I wasn’t going to tell him I was coming. I needed to see exactly what “family” was doing to my life. 1 It was 11:00 PM when I dragged my suitcase through the front door, the fingerprint lock chirping a greeting that felt like a mockery. The moment the door swung open, I was hit by a wall of stale air—a sickening cocktail of cheap cigars, old beer, instant noodles, and body odor. I actually gagged, covering my mouth with my hand. I slapped the light switch in the living room. The sight was devastating. My cream-colored rug was littered with takeout containers and empty cans. Pieces of clothing that didn’t belong to me or Mark—dirty socks, a stained t-shirt—were strewn across the sofa like trash. I put on my slippers, my skin crawling. The master bedroom door was cracked open. From inside came the rhythmic, heavy sound of snoring and the grating noise of someone grinding their teeth. I pushed the door open, the light from the hallway spilling across the bed. It wasn’t Mark. It was his younger brother, Justin. He was sprawled out in his boxers, shamelessly hogging my side of the bed. His greasy hair was pressed into my silk pillowcase, leaving a yellowish, oily stain on the fabric I had just replaced before leaving. In that heartbeat, the heat of pure rage surged to my head. BANG! I slammed the bedroom door with every ounce of strength I had. The sound echoed through the apartment like a gunshot. Seconds later, the door to the home office swung open. Mark stepped out, his face twisted in a scowl of pure annoyance. “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s the middle of the night!” he hissed, not even looking at who it was yet. “People are trying to sleep!” He stopped dead when he realized it was me. The irritation flickered into a brief moment of shock before hardening back into anger. “Lauren? Why are you back early?” He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t say a word. What, were you trying to catch me in something? Checking up on me?” Almost simultaneously, the guest room door creaked open. My mother-in-law, Evelyn, poked her head out. When she saw me, she forced a thin, sugary smile. “Oh, Lauren! You’re back!” “Why didn’t you call, dear? We could have picked you up from the station.” I ignored her, my eyes locked onto Mark. My voice was trembling, brittle. “Explain to me why Justin is sleeping in our bed. Right now.” Mark looked away, waving a dismissive hand. “Justin went out with some friends last night. He had a few too many.” “My mom is in the guest room, and I’ve been crashing in the office to finish some work, so I let him have the master. What’s the big deal? It’s just a bed, Lauren. Do you really have to go nuclear over a mattress?” Evelyn jumped in immediately, her voice taking on that condescending lilt. “Exactly, Lauren. We’re all family here. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is ours. Justin is your brother. He rarely gets to come to the city. Let him enjoy a little comfort for once.” She sighed, looking at me like I was a difficult child. “You’ve always been so… particular. So precious about your things.” I felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. “Family”? This was their version of it? Seeing my silence, Mark’s tone turned sharp. “Alright, enough. Stop standing there like a statue. It’s a bed. My brother is a guest. Can’t you be a little more gracious as his sister-in-law?” His lip curled. “Is this a city person thing? You think my brother is ‘dirty’ because he slept in your bed? Let me tell you something, Lauren—my family is cleaner than anyone with a heart as small as yours.” I took a deep breath, forcing the fire in my chest down into a cold, hard knot. “Where is my car?” I asked, my voice dangerously level. “I got a ticket. Speeding. Fifty percent over the limit. Running a red light. In your hometown.” “The fine is one thing, but he could have killed someone. That is my car. The car I bought with my own money before we even met. How dare you let him take it without asking me?” At the mention of the car, the master bedroom door opened fully. Justin emerged, yawning and rubbing his head, radiating the sour stench of a hangover. “Hey, Lauren. You’re back.” He gave me a lopsided, greasy grin. “Don’t worry about the ticket. Mark said he’d take care of it. Besides, that car is a dream. Way better than the junk my friends drive—really made me look like a boss back home.” My eyes dropped to his arm. There was a fresh, jagged scratch scabbing over on his forearm. My stomach dropped. “Where is the car parked, Justin? Did you hit something?” 2 “Hit something? Watch your mouth!” Justin’s face flushed a deep, guilty red, his voice jumping an octave in defensive reflex. Mark stepped in front of his brother instantly, glaring at me. “Lauren, listen to yourself. Justin is standing right here, isn’t he? If the car was totaled, would he be fine?” He softened his tone slightly, though it still felt like he was talking to someone he found exhausting. “Look, he clipped a wall while backing up. It happens. I already checked with a shop; it’s a few hundred bucks for some paint and buffing. You don’t need to act like the world is ending or curse my brother’s safety over a dent.” Evelyn chimed in, her voice full of theatrical pity. “Honestly, Lauren! People are more important than things! My son was kind enough to use your car to help the family image, and you’re here hoping for an accident?” She stepped toward Justin, stroking his shoulder as if he were the victim. “A car is just a piece of metal. You could scrap the whole thing and it wouldn’t be worth a single hair on my son’s head!” A chill ran down my spine as I looked at them. To them, I wasn’t a person. I was a resource. My property was their communal pot. “A clip?” I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fine. I’m going down to the garage. I want to see exactly what a ‘clip’ looks like.” Mark’s patience snapped. He grabbed my wrist, his grip uncomfortably tight. “Are you done? I told you, we’re fixing it! It’s the middle of the night. You’re going down there now just to make a scene? To make the neighbors laugh at us?” “Lauren, I married you to have a partner, not someone who spends her life looking for reasons to be miserable.” The pain in my wrist flared. I wrenched my arm away from him without a word, turned on my heel, and walked straight out the door. Mark and Justin traded a panicked look—a flash of “she’s actually going to see it”—and scrambled to follow me. The elevator ride was a suffocating silence, broken only by Evelyn’s muffled grumbling. “You’re so stubborn, Lauren. Mark works so hard, and you just want to pick fights over trifles. Justin is about to get engaged; he needed that car to show his fiancée’s family he’s doing well. It was for the family honor.” I didn’t hear her. The moment the elevator doors slid open, I sprinted toward my parking spot. Even from a distance, I saw my white SUV. But it wasn’t my car anymore. It was a wreck. The front right side was completely caved in. The bumper was hanging off, partially resting on the concrete. The headlight was shattered, wires exposed like raw nerves. A deep, jagged scratch screamed along the entire length of the passenger side, and the rear door was buckled and warped. This wasn’t a “clip.” This was a high-speed collision. I stood there, shaking so hard I thought my bones might break. I slowly turned my head to Justin. He looked at his shoes, his bravado finally dissolving into cowardice. Mark stepped up beside me, trying to pull my arm, his voice suddenly desperate and soft. “Honey, look… I didn’t know. Justin didn’t tell me it was this bad.” “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it. I’ll make it look brand new, I promise.” I didn’t answer him. I pulled out my phone and started taking pictures. The flash strobed in the dim garage—click, click, click—capturing the ruin they had made of my life. 3 Mark was spiraling now. “Lauren, what are you doing with the photos? I told you I’d handle it!” He reached for my phone, but I pivoted away, my movements cold and sharp. “Handle it? How?” I looked at him like he was a stranger I’d met on the street. I didn’t wait for his answer. I hit the speed dial. Mark’s face went ghostly pale. “Who are you calling?” “Who do you think?” My voice was like ice. “The police and the insurance company. This is a major accident. I need an official report, or the insurance won’t cover a dime. Unless you were planning on paying thirty thousand dollars out of pocket?” “Don’t!” Mark and Evelyn screamed the word at the same time. Mark lunged, pinning my hand down to stop me from finishing the call, his fingers trembling against mine. “You can’t call the police! Absolutely not!” Evelyn threw herself at me, her voice breaking into a sob. “Lauren, please! You’ll ruin him! You’ll ruin Justin!” I stared at Mark, watching the way his eyes darted around, the way the sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. “Why can’t I call? What are you so afraid of?” “It’s an accident. Why are you terrified of the police?” My voice dropped to a whisper. “Unless… he wasn’t supposed to be driving at all.” I turned to Justin, who looked like he was about to vomit. “Justin. Do you even have a valid driver’s license?” The silence that followed was my answer. Justin’s knees seemed to buckle; he looked at his brother like a drowning man. The last of Mark’s facade crumbled. The “protective brother” act vanished, replaced by a raw, ugly fury. He spun around and slapped Justin across the face so hard the sound echoed through the garage. “You idiot! You absolute moron!” Mark roared. “What did I tell you? Drive careful! Keep a low profile! Don’t cause trouble!” “Now you’ve ruined everything!” While they were distracted by their own chaos, I walked to the car and opened the glove box to find my registration. But my hand brushed against something that didn’t belong there. It was a thick packet of A4 paper, held together by a heavy binder clip. I pulled it out, and the bold, black header at the top of the page felt like a physical blow to my chest. PRIVATE VEHICLE EQUITY LOAN AGREEMENT. With shaking hands, I flipped through the pages. Collateral: White SUV, License Plate XXX-XXXX. Loan Amount: $40,000. At the bottom, on the line for Borrower/Grantor, was a signature I knew intimately, yet it looked fundamentally wrong. It was my name. Lauren Matthew. But the handwriting was a forced imitation. A forgery. “What is this?” I asked. The color left Mark’s face entirely. 4 “Lauren… honey… let me explain!” Mark scrambled toward me, trying to snatch the contract, his eyes wide with panic. I stepped back, clutching the papers to my chest so hard the edges cut into my palms. I didn’t feel it. “Explain?” I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt the sheer weight of the man I had shared a bed with. “Explain that you forged my name to take out a forty-thousand-dollar loan against a car you don’t even own?” “Mark, what else is there? What else have you done behind my back?” Justin, seeing the walls closing in, realized there was no more lying. He dropped to his knees, literally grabbing my jeans, wailing like a child. “Lauren! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! Don’t blame Mark!” “I wanted to open a franchise—a coffee shop—but I didn’t have the capital. Mark just wanted to help me get on my feet! We were going to pay it back before you ever found out! We just didn’t expect… we didn’t expect the crash…” Evelyn pivoted instantly, her tears flowing with practiced ease as she hovered over Justin. “Lauren! We were desperate! Justin’s girlfriend’s family… they wanted a huge deposit for the wedding, or they wouldn’t let it happen. We didn’t have the money!” “Mark did it for the family! For his brother’s happiness! Just forgive him this once! We’ll pay it back, I swear on my life!” I watched them—this pathetic, coordinated performance—and felt nothing but profound disgust. I kicked Justin’s hand away and pointed at Mark. “Where is the money? The forty thousand. Where is it?” Mark’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He looked like a landed fish. In that silence, I knew. The money was gone. Probably blown on “investments” or debt or the lifestyle Justin wanted to pretend he had. I was done. I turned and walked back to the elevator. I couldn’t spend another second in that smoke-filled, toxic apartment. I ran into my home office—the only room that still felt like mine. I needed to think. I sat at my desk and instinctively pulled the drawer where I kept my passport and birth certificate. The drawer was empty. It wasn’t just the passport. My property deed copies, my tax records—everything was gone. A wave of cold dread washed over me, starting at my toes and ending at my scalp. They had my IDs. They were forging my signature. What else had they touched? I stood up and ran to the walk-in closet. My vanity was a mess. The velvet boxes where I kept my jewelry had been tossed aside, lids open, insides hollow. My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned to the corner, to the small floor safe where I kept the real valuables. The door was slightly ajar. I pulled it open. The pearl necklace my mother had left me. The vintage gold watch from my grandmother. Every piece of history I had left of my family was gone. This wasn’t just theft. This was a ransacking. They had picked my life clean like vultures. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I had to get to the bank. I had to get to the county records office. I had to stop the bleeding. “Where are you going?” Mark was blocking the front door, his arms spread wide. “Lauren, sit down. Let’s talk like adults. Don’t be impulsive!” “It’s not what you think!” “Get out of my way,” I said, my voice low and vibrating with a power I didn’t know I possessed. I shoved him with such force that he stumbled back, and I ran out into the night.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “453324”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I pushed open Ethan’s office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video. They were so close, you couldn’t even slip a piece of paper between them. They were practically kissing. I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I’d brought him. “Ethan, can you explain this?” He turned his head to look at me, no panic, barely even shifting his posture. “Grace, can you stop always thinking the worst?” He turned back to the screen, dismissively adding,”You wouldn’t understand academic stuff.” I’d heard that line too many times. He’d said it when I gave up my PhD. He’d said it when he put Serena’s name on my research paper. I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left. My phone vibrated. A notification popped up from an unknown app— [Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace Smith left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] Grace POV The third time I pushed open Ethan’s office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video. They were so close, you couldn’t even slip a piece of paper between them. On the screen was a replay of a hip replacement surgery. Serena pointed at a specific frame and said something. Ethan tilted his head slightly, almost touching her forehead as he looked. I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I’d brought him. The steam from the meal box was slowly fading away. “Ethan.” He turned his head only when he heard my voice. No panic, no evasion, he didn’t even adjust his posture much. Serena did shift slightly to the side, but it was a minimal movement, almost like she was doing it just for show. I stared at the flimsy distance between them and asked,”Can you explain this?” Ethan frowned. “Grace, can you stop always jumping to conclusions?” He turned back to the screen, dismissing me with,”You wouldn’t understand academic stuff.” I’d heard that line too many times. He’d discuss research topics late into the night with Serena. When I asked about it, he’d say I wouldn’t understand. He’d take Serena on business trips for academic conferences. When I asked, he’d say I wouldn’t understand. He’d put Serena’s name as the second author on a paper, a paper whose data *I* had compiled. When I asked, he’d still say, I wouldn’t understand. It was as if those three words were a wall, forever keeping me out of the world he truly cared about. I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left. Silence followed me. As I reached the end of the hallway, I glanced down at my phone. A new notification. It was from an app I’d never downloaded. The icon was a gray circle with a thin electrocardiogram waveform inside. The name was just one word: Observer. The notification content was a small line of text. [Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] I stared at the words for a long time. He was silent for 4 minutes and 12 seconds. And then what? I looked back down the hallway. His office door was still closed, the light shining through the frosted glass showing two figures, one tall, one short. The video was probably playing again. I pulled my gaze away, tucked my phone into my pocket, and headed for the elevator. … I first met Ethan during my senior year internship. He was two years ahead of me, already a resident doctor in Orthopedics, famous throughout the medical school for two things: his excellent surgical skills and a terrible temper that made no one want to assist him. He always had a stern face during rounds, and spoke incredibly little. When teaching, he’d say things once, and if you couldn’t keep up, that was your problem. Everyone was scared of him. Only I thought he wasn’t truly cold, just unsure how to interact with people. Because I noticed a detail: every time he finished a night shift, he would secretly drink the nearly expired yogurt from the department’s public fridge, then buy new ones to replace them. He seemed to not want others to drink expired things, but he would also never proactively say, “This is about to expire, don’t drink it.” All his kindness was like that, quiet and unacknowledged, like hiding something in your pocket; as long as it fit, no one else needed to see it. I thought such a person was actually very soft. So I started to actively approach him. Ethan initially completely ignored my pursuit. I persisted for a year and a half. In that year and a half, I brought him countless meals, copied three volumes of his surgical notes, and helped him organize study materials during exam week, though he never used them. Until one day, he finished a seven-hour emergency surgery. It was almost dawn when he came out of the operating room. I was sitting on a bench in the hallway, clutching a cup of cold coffee. He saw me, stopped for a moment. Then he walked over, took the coffee from my hand, and took a sip. It was cold. He frowned, but didn’t say anything, and continued drinking. After he finished, he handed me the empty cup and said,”Don’t wait for me anymore.” But the next day, on my internship evaluation form, he gave me the highest score in the department. The remarks read: “Solid fundamentals, diligent attitude, recommended for hospital residency.”

Grace POV It was from that evaluation form that I became certain: what Ethan said and what he thought were never the same thing. Later, we got together, and then, we got married. The year we got married, my mentor helped me secure a fully-funded PhD scholarship in sports medicine, a field I dreamed of pursuing. When I told Ethan, he was looking at literature, not even raising his head. “Someone in the family needs a stable career.” That sentence nailed my PhD dreams in place. I wanted to say I could manage both, but he added,”Look at all the female PhDs in the department right now; they’re all a total mess.” He wasn’t talking about others; he was making decisions for me. I didn’t argue further. Because back then, I still believed that even if his words weren’t pleasant, they were always for my good. Later, to circumvent the hospital policy against spouses working in the same clinical department, I transferred from Orthopedics to the administrative office. He said,”Anyway, going into administration isn’t a loss for you. Nine-to-five, much easier than clinical work.” The day I moved my personal belongings from Orthopedics, the head nurse held my hand and said,”Grace, are you sure about this? Your surgical skills are among the top three young doctors in our department.” I smiled and said I was sure. I didn’t tell her that when I got home, I cried in front of the mirror for a long time. I truly loved the feeling of standing at the operating table. The precision of millimeter-level operations, the urgency of racing against death, the post-surgery patients holding my hand and saying thank you. All those things vanished after I transferred. Replaced by reports, meeting minutes, and research grant applications. And Ethan’s dismissive comment every time he mentioned my work:”Anyone could do what you’re doing now.” Anyone could do it. He probably never knew how heavy those four words were. Because I gave up something only I could do, to do something anyone could do. And all of it, because of him. … It was late when I got home. The rented apartment was small, one bedroom, one living room, a place I’d temporarily found after moving out of our house a few days ago. He probably still didn’t know I wasn’t living at home anymore. Or maybe he knew, but thought I’d come back in a few days. After all, every argument before, I was always the one to back down. I sat on the edge of the bed and opened my phone. The Observer app lay quietly on the last page of my screen. I tried long-pressing the icon, wanting to delete it. A prompt popped up: [This app cannot be uninstalled.] I tried tapping into it again. The interface was simple, gray and white, with only one line at the top: [Observing: Ethan, Status: Online] Below it was a timeline, recording today’s notifications. [18:23 Ethan’s Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.] [18:31 Ethan resumed playing surgical video, Serena still present.] [19:45 Ethan opened the meal box brought by Grace, eating duration 6 minutes, checked phone call history 1 time, lingered on Grace for 3 seconds before locking screen.] [21:17 Ethan’s Current Location: Hospital parking lot, vehicle not started, sitting still for 9 minutes.] [21:26 Vehicle started, navigation destination: 10 West 74th Street, New York.] That was the house we used to share. I looked at the notification, unsure how to feel. Maybe I should be grateful he at least remembered to come home. I turned off my phone, pulled up the covers, and closed my eyes. I used to think he just wasn’t good at expressing himself, but that he cared about me deep down. Like how he drank that cold coffee I brought him, like how he recommended me for residency on my evaluation. But tonight, as I lay on my pillow thinking about these things, I suddenly realized something: that was seven years ago. Seven years ago, he was willing to drink a cold coffee because he had nothing, and I was the only one who was good to him. Now he had the title of Head of Department, a high salary, and an academic partner like Serena. And I had gone from being his most promising student to someone sitting in an administrative office filling out forms. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me anymore. It was just that I didn’t seem important to him anymore. My phone screen suddenly lit up. I picked it up. The app pushed another notification— [22:04, Ethan found house empty, called Grace, no answer, calling a third time.] I stared at the constantly refreshing”no answer” on the screen, silent for a long time. Then I turned over and tucked my phone under my pillow. My phone vibrated continuously under the pillow. I didn’t answer. It wasn’t out of spite. I honestly didn’t know what to say to him anymore.

Grace POV The next morning when I woke up, I opened my phone. Ethan had called 11 times. There were two SnapChat messages. The first: [Where are you? Why is no one home?] The second: [Grace, did you run off to Maya’s again? Stop throwing a tantrum and come home. The food in the fridge will go bad.] He always seemed to think all my reactions were just tantrums. Arguing was a tantrum, questioning was a tantrum, even moving out was a tantrum. In his eyes, I was like a child who periodically cried, and a little coaxing would quiet me down, or if not, I’d stop eventually on my own. I didn’t reply, got up, washed my face, and left for work. When I arrived at the hospital, I ran into Chloe from the Medical Education Department in the administrative building’s elevator. She looked me up and down, then whispered,”Grace, did you know? Yesterday Ethan took Serena out for dinner at the cafeteria.” “Just the two of them, ordered four dishes, and a drink.” As she spoke, the mix of cautious gossip and sympathy in her tone made my stomach churn. I forced a smile:”Chloe, who he dines with is none of my business.” Chloe visibly paused, probably not expecting that reply. The elevator arrived, and I walked out first. It wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I realized my hands were shaking. I suddenly remembered something else. Late last year, I spent a whole month organizing clinical data for Ethan. Every day after work, I wouldn’t go home; I’d stay in the office checking data, drawing charts, and adjusting formats. During that time, I lost six pounds, and my right eye twitched frequently from staring at the screen for so long. The day the paper was published, Ethan treated the department to a meal. Someone at the table asked him,”Ethan, the data for this paper is impressive. Who helped you with it?” He held his water glass and said,”Serena was involved throughout. Hard work for her.” Serena sat beside him, smiling and waving her hand,”It was nothing, just teamwork.” I sat at the very end of the table, my fork suspended mid-air. No one looked at me. Including Ethan. Later, on the way home, I asked him,”I clearly did that data, why did you say it was Serena?” He seemed unconcerned, casually remarking,”You weren’t an author anyway. No one knows your name, what good would it do to mention you?” What good would it do? Because I was just Grace from the administrative office, not an orthopedic doctor anymore. My name appearing in the paper’s acknowledgments section would be too much, let alone in any important context. What I did was invisible. Just like I was invisible in his world. … That morning, I was distracted. I flipped through the research grant application three times, but not a single word registered in my mind. At 10:30, my phone lit up. An app notification. [10:27 Ethan arrived on the first floor of the administrative building, lingered in the lobby for 1 minute 42 seconds, then took the elevator up, target floor 3.] The third floor was my office. I instinctively sat up straight. Then I felt ridiculous for reacting that way. We were getting divorced; if he came, he came. Two minutes later, Ethan indeed appeared at the office door. He seemed to have come directly from the department; his hair was a bit messy, like he had just finished surgery. He glanced at the others in the office, walked up to me, and whispered,”Come outside with me.” I looked up at him. Before, when he used that tone, I would immediately stand up and follow him. Now I said,”Say whatever you need to say right here.”

Grace POV Ethan’s expression froze. He glanced around; my colleagues, though looking down, clearly had their ears perked up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lowering his voice even further:”Last night you weren’t home, I looked everywhere for you.” “If you’re mad, let’s talk at home, don’t make a scene like this.” “I moved out,” I interrupted him. His words caught in his throat. I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, I felt something beyond coldness in them. It was confusion. He seemed completely unable to grasp it, as if thinking, *how could I actually move out?* I didn’t give him time to process. “Go back, don’t block people where I work. It doesn’t look good.” Ethan didn’t leave. He stared at me for a long time, long enough for my colleague next to me to uncomfortably shift her chair. Finally, he said something. “Grace, do you think moving out will solve anything?” He seemed convinced I wouldn’t last long living elsewhere, as if he believed I would soon come back on my own, that I was nothing without him. Just as he thought that cold coffee would always be waiting for him in the hallway. I looked at him and suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion. “It’s not about moving out.” His brows furrowed. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I took out his car keys, which he’d left at home last week, from my drawer and pushed them across the table. “Your keys.” Ethan glanced down at the keys, then at me, his lips moved, but in the end, he said nothing. He took the keys, turned, and left. The back of his lab coat disappeared down the hallway. My phone lit up. [10:51 Ethan left the administrative building. Walking speed below normal. Lingered in the first-floor lobby again for 2 minutes 08 seconds, then returned to the inpatient department.] I finished reading the notification and flipped my phone face down on the desk. So what? He walked slowly, but he didn’t look back. … At noon, I went to the cafeteria alone. Normally, at this time, I’d be eating takeout in the office, because Ethan didn’t like me eating in the cafeteria; he thought it looked bad for colleagues to see us eating at different tables. But he himself always ate with department staff, and there was never a place for me. So his solution was for me to eat in the office. It sounded absurd, thinking about it now. I stood in front of the serving window, realizing I hadn’t had a proper meal in the cafeteria for almost two years. Anna, the cafeteria lady, still remembered me:”Grace, you haven’t been here in a while! The roasted ribs are great today, I’ll give you an extra piece.” I carried my overflowing tray to a window seat. The sunlight fell perfectly on the back of my hand, warming it, almost unreal. Halfway through my meal, I heard someone chatting nearby. “Did you see the notice from Orthopedics? Serena’s federal research grant project passed the preliminary review.” “Really? She’s only in her second year of postdoc, isn’t she? Her capabilities are too strong.” “She’s capable, but everyone says Ethan helped her a lot.” “Helped her? He directly shared his data resources with her. Who gets that kind of treatment…” My fork paused in mid-air. His data resources. How much of that data had I stayed up late organizing? Suddenly, I lost my appetite. I put down my fork and took my tray to the return counter. Walking out of the cafeteria, the sun was still shining, but I no longer felt warm.

Grace POV At 2 PM, Professor Miller called me. Professor Miller was my graduate school advisor and a highly respected expert in sports medicine. After graduation, we occasionally kept in touch, but ever since I transferred to administration, we talked less and less. His call surprised me. “Grace, this year there’s a fully-funded clinical medicine scholarship for studying abroad, at ETH Zurich in Switzerland, in sports medicine. I checked the requirements, and it needs academic paper publications and clinical background.” He paused. “You perfectly meet the criteria.” My hand tightened around my phone. Professor Miller continued,”I know you’ve changed roles these past few years, but those two papers you published are solid, and I know your clinical foundation best.” “This opportunity doesn’t come every year. I can write you a letter of recommendation.” My heart suddenly sped up. My throat felt dry. It took me a while to squeeze out,”Professor Miller, this program… how long is it for?” “Three years. If you pass the assessment, you can directly transition into a PhD degree upon return.” I was silent for a long time. Professor Miller probably sensed my hesitation, sighing,”Grace, you were one of the most brilliant students I ever taught. You shouldn’t waste away in an administrative office.” “You’re only twenty-eight, there’s still time.” That sentence hit harder than anything Ethan had ever said. Clutching my phone, my voice trembled slightly:”Professor Miller, I want to go.” He chuckled on the other end:”Good. I’ll submit your recommendation materials today. Send me your resume and paper list tonight.” After hanging up, I sat at my desk for a long time. Then my phone lit up again. It was an Observer app notification. [14:38 Ethan’s Current Location: Operating room, mid-surgery status, all vitals normal. He still doesn’t know.] Those last five words felt like a self-added note from the app. He still didn’t know his wife had just received a call, a call that could uproot her from here. He was on the operating table, mending other people’s bones and tendons. And I was preparing to cut him out of my life. … After work that evening, I met up with Maya. Maya was my college roommate, now a lawyer specializing in medical malpractice. We met at a coffee shop across from the hospital. She arrived before me. As I sat down, she looked me up and down:”Did you and Ethan argue?” I shook my head. “I’m considering divorcing him.” Maya’s hand, holding her cup, froze. She put down her cup and looked at me seriously:”Tell me everything.” I briefly recounted the events of these past few years. Without any embellishment. Giving up my PhD, transferring to administration, organizing his data without credit. Waiting for him late at night in the hallway when he didn’t come home, taking a taxi to the ER alone for appendicitis. And Serena. Maya listened without interrupting. Only after I finished did she speak, her voice much lower than before. “Grace, every single thing you just mentioned, taken individually, might not seem like a big deal.” “But do you know, domestic abuse isn’t just about physical violence. What you’re describing, in legal terms, is called emotional neglect.” She looked into my eyes. “You’re not throwing a tantrum; you’ve been drained.” My nose suddenly stung. I held back the tears. I’d cried enough these past few years, always alone in my room, wiping my face clean afterwards and pretending everything was fine. Maya then asked,”How do you plan to handle it? Will he agree to a divorce?” “I haven’t told him yet.” “Does he have any leverage over you? What about finances?” I thought for a moment:”The house is his, the car is his. We don’t have joint savings; we keep our finances separate. When we got married, he gave a wedding gift, but my mom returned it intact.” Maya nodded:”That makes things cleaner. If he doesn’t agree, we still have options.” She patted my hand:”Do what you want to do. Leave the legal stuff to me.” Looking at her, I suddenly remembered college, the four of us crammed onto the balcony eating snacks. Maya had said she wanted to be a lawyer and specially fight for those who’d been wronged. Back then, I’d said,”Then I’ll come to you if I ever get wronged.” She’d replied,”No way. With your personality, who would dare bully you?” Turns out I was right. It wasn’t someone else bullying me; I had slowly, bit by bit, worn down my own spirit.

Grace POV It was dark when I left the coffee shop. I stood by the roadside, hesitated for a few seconds, then dialed another number. “Mom.” “Grace? Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?” My mom’s voice carried that particular motherly alarm. I smiled:”Nothing, just letting you know I might be making a decision soon.” “What decision?” “I have an opportunity to study abroad, a full scholarship, for three years.” There was silence on the other end for a while. My mom asked,”What about Ethan?” I didn’t answer directly, just said,”Mom, this is my own decision.” More silence. Then my mom said something, her voice much softer than usual. “Grace, when your dad was hospitalized a while ago, Ethan didn’t even call once.” “You think I don’t know, but I know everything.” I stood under the streetlamp, my eyes suddenly welling up. Three months ago, my dad had been hospitalized for a week due to a herniated disc. I took time off to care for him. Ethan knew about it. He only said, “Your dad’s not serious, conservative treatment is enough,” and then there was no follow-up. He never called to ask once. My mom had never mentioned it. Turns out, she had remembered all along. “Mom…” My voice was hoarse. “Alright, don’t cry,” she said.”Go if you want to. Your dad and I didn’t put you through a master’s degree just for you to fill out forms for someone else.” After hanging up, I stood by the roadside for a long time, until my tears dried before I moved. My phone screen lit up. An app notification. [21:15 Ethan’s Current Location: 10 West 74th Street, confirmed house empty again, called Grace, no answer.] [21:16 Called Grace’s mother, call duration 12 seconds, recipient hung up.] He called my mom. And my mom only spoke to him for 12 seconds. I didn’t know what my mom said in those 12 seconds, but I guessed it was probably just one sentence: “Ask yourself.” I smiled. Thanks, Mom. I opened my phone, organized the resume and paper list Professor Miller needed, and sent them. After sending, I sent a message to Maya. [Please prepare the divorce papers for me.] Maya replied instantly: [Already done.] I took a deep breath. Grace, from tomorrow, you make decisions only for yourself. For the next two days, I worked during the day and reviewed professional materials at night. Although I had been out of clinical practice for three years, I had always maintained the habit of reading literature. I read at least two new papers in my field every week; my notes filled three folders. Ethan didn’t know about this. He thought I was binging shows on my tablet every night. Once, he walked past the living room, glanced at my screen, and said,”Stop watching useless stuff.” He didn’t even see what I was watching. But it didn’t matter anymore. These two days, Ethan hadn’t come to block me at the administrative office, but the number of missed calls on my phone grew daily. I didn’t answer a single one. The app, however, faithfully recorded his every move. [Ethan called Grace from the hospital parking lot, no answer, then sat in the car for 4 minutes.] [Ethan scanned the entire cafeteria, did not find target, left early, eating only 40% of his usual amount.] [Ethan drove to the vicinity of 10 West 74th Street, circled twice, then drove away.] [Ethan is in a state of insomnia, phone screen repeatedly lights up, lingering on Grace’s social media profile, browsing duration 47 minutes.] He was looking at my social media for forty-seven minutes past one in the morning. But my last post was two months ago. What was he even looking at? I closed the app and continued reading the literature review in my hand. I didn’t want to know the answer anymore. What good would knowing do? His insomnia couldn’t cure my three years of disappointment.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408540”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Audrey, marry that paralyzed guy from the Hayes family instead of Skylar. Then we’ll get the special medicine for your mom right away.” I agreed to my father’s demand. On my way back to my room, at the turn of the stairs, through the partially open door, I saw my former fiancé pinning another woman against the wall. His voice was hoarse and full of tenderness. “Skylar, you’re the only one I love.” A few minutes later, he walked out of the room, glancing at me as if I were a servant. “The sheets are dirty. Go clean them up.” I stood my ground, my fingernails digging into my palms. He raised an eyebrow. “What, you won’t?” I stared into his eyes and then, suddenly, I smiled. “Liam, I’m marrying someone else in two weeks. You should probably ask Skylar to wash those sheets herself.” Audrey POV “As long as you’re willing to marry that shut-in, practically dead man from the Hayes family instead of Skylar, your mom will get the special medicine right away. Are you willing?” I nodded seriously. “I am.” Once I was married, I would never have to be entangled with Liam again. In two weeks, I’d be marrying another man. I walked out of my father’s study and turned to go upstairs, only to hear Skylar’s soft voice mingling with a man’s heavy breathing. Through the door, left ajar, I saw everything inside. “Liam, I suffered so much growing up, never had a good life. And now, I can’t even keep you.” “Ever since I came back to this house, Audrey has bullied me. Now she’s even stealing you away with an engagement.” Skylar sounded on the verge of tears. Liam gently comforted her. “I would never marry a woman I don’t love. You’re the only one I love.” Suffered outside? A rough life? My womanizing father had spent a fortune on that mother-daughter duo over the years. I stood outside the door, lost in thought, until Liam appeared before me, bringing me back to reality. “So you love eavesdropping? Perfect. The sheets are dirty, go clean them up.” Liam’s casual tone made it sound like the most normal request. My hands involuntarily clenched. “Do you really need to humiliate me like this? We grew up together for so many years, did it truly mean nothing?” Liam raised an eyebrow, seemingly mocking me. “Sure it did. If you promise to never bully Skylar again, I’ll marry you.” No sooner had he spoken than Skylar appeared beside him, linking her arm through his. “Audrey, I know you’re used to taking my things, but you and Liam aren’t married yet. I won’t give him up to you.” Skylar’s feigned distress was obvious, and Liam looked at her with doting pity. A dull ache throbbed somewhere deep inside me, as past memories flooded back. Liam and I grew up together, the perfect couple everyone in our circle acknowledged. Liam had planned nine hundred and ninety-nine surprises, each one public and city-wide news. I should have had a happy family and a successful career. But everything changed when Skylar’s mother showed up at the Bennett estate with Skylar, causing a scene. My mother couldn’t accept that her husband had an adult illegitimate daughter. She fell gravely ill and needed long-term treatment. With his wife near death, my father simply moved Skylar and her mother in. Even my own fiancé was completely smitten with Skylar. Now, disregarding our engagement and years of shared history, he was determined to be with Skylar. The once privileged Bennett daughter now had to rely on others. And then, to make things worse, the Bennett family company faced a financial crisis. The infamous Hayes family in New York specifically requested a Bennett daughter. Marry into their family, and they would help the Bennett company overcome its crisis. But the billionaire Mr. Hayes was rumored to be a sickly shut-in, practically a dead man walking. Seeing that Skylar was now the favored daughter, my father naturally couldn’t bear to sacrifice her. My marriage would solve all their problems. My only condition was that my father keep his word and save my mother. I just never expected to be humiliated by these two betrayers, right before I left. Seeing my silence, Liam smiled faintly, looking at Skylar with feigned affection, then turned his gaze to me. “If you’re really lonely, you can come join us.” Skylar laughed, trembling slightly. “You and Audrey were together for so long, and she never let you touch her. How could someone so uptight possibly join us?” Skylar’s contemptuous gaze was undisguised, making me incredibly uncomfortable. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my voice trembling as I finally managed to speak. “No thanks. You two just have fun…” Liam gave me a cold glance, then picked up Skylar, and they walked toward the bedroom. I watched their retreating backs. In two weeks, all this love and hate would finally be over.

Audrey POV I stood outside the door, listening to the increasingly uninhibited sounds from inside. This time, it seemed they knew someone was listening; Liam grew more enthusiastic, and Skylar’s voice grew louder. It was only now that I truly understood the kind of person I had once loved. Since he showed no regard for our past feelings, abandoning me so decisively, then I had no reason to cling to anything either. From now on, this debauched man would have absolutely nothing to do with me. All I wanted was to escape this place. Instead of listening to their lovemaking, I’d rather go see Mom at the hospital. That afternoon, I took a taxi to the hospital. Ever since Skylar and her mother moved in, I’d not only had to guard against them poisoning my father’s ear but also search everywhere for new treatments for Mom. It had been a while since I last visited. But just thinking that in two weeks, Mom would finally get the special medicine, I couldn’t help but feel happy. I held Mom’s hand and talked for a while before reluctantly preparing to leave. “Mom, I won’t give up on you.” “Miss Bennett, your mom might need to switch rooms,” the hospital nurse appeared at the door. “We have a VIP arriving today, and the hospital’s most luxurious private room is the one your mother is currently in.” I froze for a moment, then immediately reacted. “Is it about the medical fees? I’ll pay immediately. Please don’t move my mom. She can’t handle any more stress right now.” As I spoke, I pulled my bank card from my bag. The nurse’s expression grew increasingly troubled. “Miss Bennett, a powerful and influential figure is arriving today. We really can’t afford to offend them. Please don’t make this difficult for me; you should pack up your things soon.” No sooner had the nurse finished speaking than a flurry of hurried footsteps drew my attention. The man who had been intimately entangled at home just moments ago was now standing right before me. My heart sank, and the bank card slipped from my hand to the floor. Liam looked serious, standing beside Skylar, clearly there to back her up. Skylar linked her arm through Liam’s. “Liam, I heard Audrey’s mom is using the best private room in this hospital. My mom is coming for skin therapy soon, and since you love me so much, you’ll definitely want to give me the best, right?” She finished, giving Liam a sweet smile. Liam looked a bit hesitant, as he was aware of my mother’s condition. He finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course I love you, it’s just…” Before Liam could finish, Skylar pouted and whined. “Whether I can marry you depends on my mom’s approval. Are you really so reluctant to be nice to her?” At that, Liam’s hesitation vanished completely, and his cold voice rang out. “Clear out the best private room.” As Liam spoke, a group of nurses from the hospital rushed into the room, preparing to clear it out. The moment a nurse touched the breathing machine, I reacted as if I’d been shocked, rushing forward to fiercely protect it. No one knew better than me that the breathing machine was Mom’s life. Skylar saw my distress and couldn’t help but laugh. “Audrey, you were raised in the Bennett family. How can you be so rude? If others see you like this, they’ll think you lack manners.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue about such things. All I wanted was to protect Mom. Liam saw that I had no intention of moving and began to coax me. “Audrey, Skylar’s mom will be here soon. You have to clear out the room. Don’t delay her therapy.” I knelt by the hospital bed, sobbing and gasping for air. “Skylar, you already have so much. Why do you have to take away my mom’s last hope of living?” Skylar lowered her head, her voice full of grievance. “Liam, it’s okay if I don’t get the room. After all, I’m used to having things taken from me since I was little.” With just a few words, Skylar had Liam wrapped around her finger. He gave a look, and the bodyguards beside him immediately understood, rushing straight in. Ignoring my screams, they forcibly pulled me away from the hospital bed. I struggled, but I couldn’t break free from the two men’s grasp. I could only watch helplessly as the nurses took the opportunity to wheel Mom out.

Audrey POV My mother and I were wheeled into a regular hospital ward, not a private room. The moment I stepped in, the strong, pungent smell of smoke made me recoil. The hospital beds inside were simply separated by curtains, and six people were crowded into one room. I turned to leave, but the nurse behind me spoke. “Hospital beds are tight lately. Even this one was hard to get.” I hesitated, then turned back. Mom’s face was a little purple from being off the breathing machine for a few minutes. I meticulously cared for her, making sure the bed was spotless. Just as I was about to go out for some hot water, I found Skylar waiting by the hot water dispenser. “Someone who’s practically dying doesn’t deserve a deluxe private room, does she? I came, and she still had to make way for me.” My fingertips dug into my palms, a searing pain shooting through me. I forced myself to calm down. It was better to avoid trouble now; taking care of Mom was most important. My kettle filled with water, I prepared to leave, but Skylar wasn’t going to let me off that easily. “Everything you have now should have been mine! Why did you get to live such a good life for so many years?” She spoke faster and faster, almost frenzied by the end. “As long as you’re dead, the entire Bennett Corporation will be mine, and Liam will be mine alone.” With that, Skylar snatched the kettle from my hand and threw it at me. In an instant, the kettle shattered, and most of the freshly boiled hot water splashed onto me. Skylar wasn’t spared either. The splashing hot water made Skylar scream. Liam, who was searching for Skylar, happened to pass by. He heard Skylar’s screams and saw her exposed skin turn red from the burns. Ignoring everything else, he scooped up Skylar and ran towards the emergency room. He didn’t even spare me a glance. I gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Was I really expecting him to abandon Skylar and tend to me?” I used all my strength to walk to the nearby sink. I turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run over my burned skin. Only when the burning sensation slowly subsided did I rush to the examination room. “With water that hot, it’s a good thing you rinsed it with cold water immediately. The scars shouldn’t be too noticeable.” The doctor applied burn cream to the wound, and the pain in my arm became increasingly obvious. I gritted my teeth, enduring it. I couldn’t collapse; Mom still needed me to take care of her. Tiny beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the floor. The pain of the application felt incredibly long. The door to the examination room was kicked open by Liam, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury. “What did you do to Skylar? You venomous woman, you’re clearly jealous of her! Do you know her leg is going to scar!” I looked up, my face pale, my lips trembling, barely able to meet Liam’s gaze. “You believe everything Skylar says? What about me? If I wanted to harm her, why would I hurt myself so badly?” Speaking that sentence almost used up all my strength. Liam was about to speak when Skylar’s pained scream from outside the door, where she was having her dressing changed, interrupted him. “You better pray Skylar is okay.” Throwing out that threat, Liam turned and left. I watched his retreating back, closing my eyes, remembering our time together. I used to squat by the roadside, feeding stray cats, and Liam would say I was the most beautiful girl in the world. After I bought flowers from a flower girl, Liam would hug me and say I was so kind. When I went to the orphanage to do charity work, Liam would look at me with a smile. … And now he could say such things to me. It was so obvious when love was gone. After enduring the dressing, I dragged myself towards the ward. Passing by a room, I heard Skylar’s voice. “Liam, it hurts so much, but as long as you’re by my side, I don’t feel the pain.” Liam kept his lips tight, his expression grim. He seemed to be staring intently at Skylar’s wound. Skylar kept talking, and then Liam suddenly leaned down and kissed the burned spot on her leg. His eyes seemed to hold an undisguised tenderness. Liam, so this is how you love someone. When I was with him, I never saw him care for someone so deeply. A wrenching pain shot through my chest.

Audrey POV I returned to the hot water dispenser room and cleaned up the broken shards on the floor. Just as I turned around, I saw Liam standing behind me. “Skylar said she won’t pursue this, but I have to make you pay a price, so you don’t make a habit of bullying her.” Liam’s face was grim, as if he wanted to devour me. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I straightened my back and met his gaze. “You came to find me, and Skylar doesn’t know, does she? If she knew, she definitely wouldn’t let you come. Because she knows better than anyone whose fault it was this afternoon.” Liam frowned. “What do you mean? Skylar wouldn’t falsely accuse you.” I didn’t answer him, just grabbed his sleeve and walked towards the security room. “See the surveillance footage for yourself, everything will be clear.” The security guard nearby pulled up the afternoon’s footage, high-definition, panoramic, and with audio. In a few minutes, everything was crystal clear. Liam’s expression still seemed unchanged. I spoke up proactively. “If I were to call the police, would this count as intentional assault? Spending ten days or half a month in jail shouldn’t be an issue.” Only when Skylar was mentioned did Liam’s expression finally show a ripple. “What do you want to keep you from doing that?” My heart skipped a beat. So Liam actually had to plead with me. But this was indeed my goal. I took a deep breath. “You injured me this badly; you owe me medical expenses, right? Five million, no negotiating.” Liam glanced at me, then pulled a bank card from his wallet and tossed it on the floor, speaking coldly. “The PIN is Skylar’s birthday. I can’t believe you’ve become so money-grubbing now. I don’t know what makes you any different from those gold diggers. Do you even deserve to be a Bennett girl alongside Skylar?” Liam gave me the money but still didn’t forget to humiliate me. Even though this was compensation for me. “Pick it up. Don’t you love money?” Liam’s voice carried a hint of contempt. I picked it up almost without hesitation, faking a casual smile. “Thanks, Liam.” Liam snorted coldly. “Audrey, you’re truly despicable, losing all your dignity for a bit of cash.” With that, he turned and left, leaving me alone. I looked at myself in the mirror, pulling a self-deprecating smile. In the past, when I was the favored Bennett girl, I wouldn’t have even looked at this amount of money. But ever since Mom entered the hospital, Dad wouldn’t even pay her medical bills, let alone give me pocket money. What was my dignity compared to Mom’s well-being? I just wanted her to be okay, to have the best medical care. I pulled myself together, returned to the ward, and contacted another reputable hospital to transfer Mom. Now that I had the money, I no longer feared being kicked out. After transferring her to the new hospital and arranging everything, seeing Mom’s face look much more peaceful on the bed, I finally left with peace of mind. By the time I returned home, I was so exhausted I just wanted to lie down and sleep. Half-asleep, I heard urgent footsteps downstairs, and I couldn’t help but step out to see what was happening. All the servants in the house were at the entrance, ready to welcome someone. “Hurry up, Skylar will be back soon. She injured her leg and can’t move easily, so be sharp.” No sooner had the words fallen than the roar of an engine stopped at the door. The servants stood in two rows, and Liam carried Skylar, walking through the middle under everyone’s gaze, straight upstairs. Skylar buried her face in Liam’s chest, her face flushed with shyness. As they passed me, I met Skylar’s challenging gaze. I vaguely heard Skylar’s feigned angry complaint. “What are you doing? So many people are here. Put me down quickly.” Liam freed one hand and held her firmly, his voice hoarse. “Don’t move.” Skylar, who had been slightly struggling moments before, now lay comfortably and securely in Liam’s arms.

Audrey POV I’d seen this kind of sweet scene plenty of times at home. I went back to my room, hoping to pick up where I left off sleeping. But the room’s soundproofing was terrible, and I could hear everything next door clearly. Skylar’s whining voice was as if she were right next to my ear. “Liam, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Will you kiss me?” “I just had a skin treatment a few days ago. Will you hold me?” Skylar tried every trick to keep Liam there, but the man remained silent. I decided to leave my room and go to the study, which was the farthest away, to rest. As soon as I stepped out, a quick glance showed Liam kissing Skylar’s lips, his eyes seemingly sincere and passionate. “Skylar, whatever you want, I’ll unconditionally stand by you and protect you from any harm, always.” Liam’s gaze was more serious than I had ever seen. As solemn as if he were reciting wedding vows. I left without looking back. I should have stopped expecting anything else long ago. The next day, I was in my room sorting through my belongings. I was getting married and leaving this house in a little over ten days. When Mom was well, this was home. Now, I just wanted to escape this place. I inventoried what I had left. Part of the wedding fund Mom had prepared for me had already been spent on her medical treatment. From my dwindling wedding fund, I found a diamond necklace. Mom had worn it on her wedding day. She gave it to me when she found out Liam and I were dating. Mom still remembered. “Audrey, wear it on your wedding day for a lifetime of happiness.” Before I could pull my distant thoughts back, the necklace in my hand was snatched away. “You actually hid things from me? Don’t you know the company is facing a financial crisis, and we can barely afford to eat? How dare you buy jewelry?” I instinctively tried to snatch it back, but the necklace was too delicate, and I was worried Skylar’s agitated state would break it. I calmed down. “Give it back to me.” Skylar became even more emboldened, “What’s yours is the Bennett family’s, and I have a share in the Bennett family’s things.” She held it in her hand, looking it over and over. I silently prayed Skylar wouldn’t take a liking to it. After a few glances, Skylar found it uninteresting. “What an old-fashioned thing, why do you treasure it so much? Clearly, you’ve never seen anything good. Liam just brought me back a ruby from the auction house a few days ago. Why would I care about a broken necklace?” I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Just as I was about to take it back, watching intently, Skylar’s hand suddenly slipped, and the necklace fell directly to the floor. The diamond necklace, which had been perfectly fine moments ago, shattered into pieces, diamonds scattered everywhere. I froze for a moment, then immediately knelt, trying to pick up the diamonds with my hands. Some sharp fragments cut my hand, but I didn’t even feel it. I kept murmuring. “Mom left this for me.” Skylar stood by, making sarcastic remarks. “It’s just a necklace? Is it that big a deal? You’re so petty!” Hearing that, I felt like I was going crazy. “This is different! You have everything now, why do you still have to take my things?” My voice was trembling uncontrollably. “I’ve already agreed to marry that Hayes family man in your place, why won’t you leave me alone! Once I’m gone, Liam will be all yours, why couldn’t you just wait a little longer!” My anguished shouts were met only with Skylar covering her ears, annoyed by the noise. The commotion in the room drew Liam in. He entered, immediately checking Skylar from head to toe, then asked with concern. “She didn’t hurt you, did she? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” Skylar shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes out of nowhere. Liam looked heartbroken. The moment he turned towards me, it was as if he was a different person. “If you have grievances, take them out on me! Why do you always take it out on Skylar? You only dare to bully her when I’m not around.” My throat felt like it was on fire, and I didn’t want to see these two who betrayed me acting so affectionate in front of me again. I pointed towards the door. “Both of you, get out!” Liam scanned me from head to toe with a look of disgust, then pulled Skylar and walked out the door.

Audrey POV Only I was left in the room, crying silently. I sat weakly on the floor, clutching the broken necklace tightly in my hand. This was the only thing Mom had left for me, and now Skylar had carelessly broken it. Without even an apology. I wiped away my tears. Mom didn’t know when she would wake up, and I absolutely couldn’t leave the wedding fund she had painstakingly saved for me to this family. This was Mom’s life savings; it absolutely couldn’t go to anyone else! It was like something clicked in my mind. I stood up from the floor and rushed straight to my father’s study. I gently knocked on the door, and a deep voice from inside said, “Come in.” I composed myself, took a deep breath, and placed my hand on the cold doorknob. From the anxious expression on my father’s face, I knew our family company was in a very dangerous situation. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be arranging a strategic marriage for his daughter to save the company. I didn’t speak, and the room fell silent. Only the sound of my father flipping through papers and sighing could be heard. It wasn’t until my father happened to look up that he noticed I had appeared in the study. I spoke first, breaking the heavy atmosphere. My voice was a little strained. “Dad, I’m getting married soon. My mom left me a trust fund. That’s twenty percent of the company’s shares.” Hearing about the shares, my father’s hand visibly paused. He closed the documents in his hand and stared intently at me. “Audrey, you know the company hasn’t been doing well lately.” “You don’t need these shares. When I manage the company well, I’ll give you more later.” I still didn’t back down, instead, I seized his weak point. “Dad, since you admit this is the trust fund my mom left me, when I want it is my business.” “You wouldn’t want everyone in the city to know on my wedding day that our family can’t even produce assets, would you?” “It would only make you lose face then, wouldn’t it?” I was like a snake now, tightly wrapped around what was rightfully mine. My father’s words sounded good now, but if I actually got married, the shares might not end up in my hands. I insisted on getting them now, and a few sentences put my father in an awkward position. While my father was hesitating, I added fuel to the fire. “Dad, only if we create profit for the Hayes family in New York will they be willing to help us.” I knew that the entire company was now focused on my marriage, hoping to quickly connect with the billionaire Mr. Hayes and alleviate the financial crisis. My father pondered for a few seconds, then took out his phone and called his assistant. “Bring me the share transfer agreement.” Before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, the study door opened. Liam walked in, holding Skylar’s hand, looking every bit like an affectionate couple. Liam glanced at me with obvious disdain. He stood to the side and spoke casually. “So you’re that cunning after all? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for anything?” “Now you’re secretly asking Dad for something behind Skylar’s back?” I looked at my father, but he always preferred to avoid conflict, completely ignoring my gaze. I knew he was always unreliable in critical moments. “Yes, I am fighting for it. I’ve done a lot for the company over the years. I’m just taking what’s rightfully mine.” “Why would I be a fool and not take money when it’s offered?” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with them. Just as I was about to turn and leave the study, my wrist was pulled back by an unknown force. Liam’s face had turned grim, his eyes seemingly bloodshot. “Skylar doesn’t even have that, what makes you think you deserve it?” I met his gaze, unafraid, only feeling the righteousness of what I deserved. “Why? Because my mother married into this family all those years ago, and the Bennett family’s company value increased hundreds of times over!” For a moment, the two of us stood there, locked in a silent standoff. Liam was so stunned by my words that he couldn’t utter a single sentence. My father, seated at the desk, had a sullen expression. Suddenly, a soft whimpering sound broke the silence. It was Skylar. “Dad, I know you’ve always favored Audrey. After all, she’s the one who grew up with you.” “I’m just an illegitimate daughter who was out there, living in the shadows. It’s only natural for you to treat her well.” The more Skylar spoke, the heavier her sobs became. The guilt on my father’s face deepened. Then, as if her pent-up grievances had reached their peak, she covered her mouth and ran out. My father, without thinking, chased after her. Only Liam and I remained in the study.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408539”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The day I was told I was dying, Ethan was planning to propose to Audrey. “Summer, your heart failure is end-stage. At most… you have only one month left,” the doctor said. I calmly tucked the diagnosis report into my pocket and returned to Ethan’s apartment. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. Audrey’s gasps drifted out from inside. “Ethan, be gentle. It hurts.” Then came a man’s low, husky chuckle, filled with satisfaction. “What, afraid Summer will hear? You’re the woman I love most. What is there to be afraid of? I only see Summer as a maid.” As the “maid,” I stood outside the door, enduring the pain in my heart, still clutching the bouquet of roses he’d had someone deliver that morning, asking me to pass them to Audrey. 999 roses. The card read: “Audrey, marry me.” I lowered my head, looked at the flowers, then at the diagnosis in my pocket, reminding me of my expiration date. A month later, the day he married her. That would also be the day I had chosen for my own passing.

Summer POV New York City’s main library, top-floor VIP reading room. I stood before the shelves, carefully wiping down precious, out-of-print books and re-shelving them. I was a librarian. The pay was minimal, the work tedious, but I’d been here for three whole years. Because this reading room, on this very floor, was once built specifically for me by Ethan. “This floor has the best lighting. Let’s clear out all the old books.” Audrey spoke softly, her eyes slightly reddened as she looked at the man beside her. “Ethan, I want to turn this into a memorial gallery for Zach, to display his favorite models and paintings from when he was alive, okay?” Ethan stood with one hand in his pocket, his gaze darkening slightly when Audrey mentioned Zach. He subconsciously glanced at me, dressed in my thin work uniform not far away, a barely perceptible frown on his brow. Then, he looked down at Audrey, his tone flat. “Alright, whatever you wish.” My wiping motion paused. I turned around. At the entrance to the reading room, Audrey, in a designer red dress, was pointing at the surrounding bookshelves and issuing commands. Beside her stood Ethan, tall and striking in a tailored black suit. His tone with Audrey was the familiar indulgence I once knew so well. My heart sharply clenched, a searing pain spreading through my chest. I instinctively tightened my grip on the cleaning cloth. Once upon a time, Ethan had indulged me in the same way. Back then, we were still in college. I’d casually mentioned I liked reading, and Ethan had leased an entire floor in the best part of New York, scouring the world for out-of-print books to build this library, just for me. He would drive all night, back and forth, just to buy me a limited-edition coffee from Boston. He would carefully carry me into his arms and wrap me in his coat when I fell asleep reading. He once placed all his bank cards, property deeds, and this very library key into my hand, smiling. “Summer, I’ve given my life to you. You can only ever be my Mrs. Blackwood.” But now, he was destroying this place, once filled with our memories, to give it to another woman. “Ethan.” I walked up to him, my voice a little hoarse. “Many of these books are out of print; moving them might damage them. Could you…?” “No.” Ethan cut me off coldly, his eyes devoid of warmth, even holding undisguised disgust. “Audrey is holding an exhibition. Nothing from this place is allowed to remain.” I looked at his icy eyes, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with wet cotton, aching with the blockage. Three years ago, a yacht explosion completely destroyed everything between us. Ethan’s most beloved younger brother, Zach, died in that accident, and I was the sole survivor. Ethan was convinced that, to save myself before the explosion, I had locked the cabin door, trapping Zach in the fire. From that day on, the Ethan who had doted on me ceased to exist. What lived on was a devil who hated me to the bone. He didn’t send me to prison. Instead, he kept me by his side in the most cruel way. He not only withdrew investment from my father’s company, leading to its bankruptcy, but also forced me to stay at this library, working as a bottom-tier administrator, earning a meager salary, watching him parade around with different women every day. And Audrey was the girl Zach loved most when he was alive. Ethan poured all his guilt over his brother’s death into compensating Audrey. “Summer, what are you still standing here for?” Audrey walked up, looking down at me, a malicious smile playing on her lips. “Didn’t you hear Ethan? Hurry up and clear out all your trash. My team is coming in tomorrow to set up the exhibition.” I took a deep breath, suppressing the increasingly fierce dull ache in my chest, and said softly. “Okay, I’ll finish moving everything today.” I didn’t argue. This dead-eyed submission seemed to inexplicably ignite a nameless rage within Ethan. He walked over, his gaze falling on my reddened hands from moving books, his throat bobbing. But when he spoke, his voice was laced with ice. “What? Feeling wronged? Summer, you owe Zach your life. Is clearing a room too much to ask?” I looked up, my eyes as vacant as empty wells. “I know. Ethan, I’ll move them.” I didn’t, as I had three years ago, cling to his sleeve with red-rimmed eyes, trying to explain. Ethan looked at my expressionless face, and a fresh wave of annoyance rose in him. He sharply averted his gaze, as if looking at me any longer would sting him with that dead silence. “Summer, who are you putting on this lifeless act for?” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice low, only audible to the two of us. “Do you think playing the victim will make me soften? You owe Zach a life; you’ll never be able to repay it!” My chin was squeezed painfully, but I didn’t even flinch. I just calmly looked at Ethan, my eyes as vacant as empty wells. “I know,” I said softly. “I’ll move them. Ethan, please let go.” Ethan looked at my unmoving face, and his frustration grew. He abruptly threw my hand away, as if discarding something dirty and worthless. “If there’s still a single book here by sundown, I’ll have them all burned.” With that, he didn’t even glance at me again. He turned, took Audrey’s hand, and strode out of the reading room. The footsteps gradually faded until they disappeared completely. I finally couldn’t hold myself up, my legs buckling. I collapsed onto the cold floor. I clutched my chest, gasping for air, cold sweat instantly soaking my shirt. My heart beat extremely slowly, each throb accompanied by a tearing pain, as if a rusty knife was twisting inside my ventricle. My trembling hand fumbled for a white pill bottle in my pocket, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry, without water. A bitter taste spread in my mouth, but it was nowhere near a fraction of the bitterness in my heart. I leaned against the bookshelf, looking at this reading room that held all my youth and love, tears silently streaming down my face. Ethan, you don’t need to chase me away. I will soon disappear completely from your world.

Summer POV New York First Hospital, Cardiology Clinic. I sat in the chair, my face pale, almost translucent. The doctor looked at the test reports in his hand, his brows furrowed, his voice heavy. “Summer, your heart failure is end-stage. Have you been experiencing frequent chest pain, shortness of breath, or even fainting spells recently?” I nodded calmly. “Yes.” “You’re not taking your health seriously enough!” The doctor sounded pained and exasperated. “Given your condition, if you don’t immediately get admitted for conservative treatment and get on the waiting list for a heart transplant, you have at most… at most one month left.” One month. My heart skipped a beat, but quickly returned to that dead-eyed calm. So, my life had only thirty days left. “What if I refuse treatment?” I asked softly. The doctor was stunned, his face full of disbelief. “You’re only twenty-five! Giving up treatment is just waiting to die! While heart donors are hard to come by, there’s still hope if you’re hospitalized and maintained with medication!” “I don’t have the money for hospitalization, and I don’t have the time to wait.” I stood up and bowed slightly to the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. Please prescribe me some strong painkillers.” I refused the doctor’s earnest pleas, took a new bottle of painkillers, and walked out of the hospital. The sun outside was blinding, but I felt cold all over. I wasn’t afraid to die. I should have died three years ago in that explosion. I just felt a pang of regret that, in this last month, I wouldn’t get to see Ethan let go of his hatred. It was afternoon when I returned to the library. The top-floor reading room was a mess. Several workers were roughly dismantling bookshelves, hundreds of precious books were carelessly tossed on the floor, like abandoned piles of trash. Audrey stood by, directing the workers. “Hurry up! Throw these junk books directly into the trash truck downstairs, don’t dirty my space!” My pupils constricted. I rushed forward. “Stop! You can’t throw them away!” I threw myself into the piles of books, desperately shielding them with my body. Many of these were rare, out-of-print editions that Ethan had personally found for me, traveling to a dozen European countries. “Oh, Summer’s back?” Audrey crossed her arms, a cold smile on her face as she walked over. “These garbage books are taking up my space. Am I supposed to keep them for Christmas?” “I told you I’d move them myself!” My eyes were red as I clutched the books in my arms. “You’re too slow. I can’t wait.” Audrey looked at me contemptuously. As she spoke, several workers roughly swept books into cardboard boxes. An foreign poetry collection happened to fall to the ground, its pages fanning out, and a hand-drawn ginkgo leaf bookmark fluttered out. Ethan had stayed up two nights in college to draw that for me. The worker’s cart wheel was about to roll over it. “Don’t touch it!” I lunged forward, protecting the bookmark. My elbow hit the concrete floor hard, scraping a patch of skin raw. Standing at the door, Ethan’s pupils constricted, and he instinctively took half a step forward, his fingers at his side clenching. But the next second, he stopped himself. He watched me fiercely clutch the dirty bookmark to my chest, his heart stinging as if something had stung him. “A piece of scrap paper worth such an act?” Ethan looked down at me, his voice cold. “Throw it away. We don’t need any of your trash here.” “No!” I cried out, reaching to snatch it. Just then, a long, strong hand suddenly reached out, grabbed my wrist, and roughly threw me aside. I fell heavily to the ground, my elbow hitting a splintered piece of wood, instantly drawing blood. I looked up and saw Ethan’s face, cold as frost. “Ethan…” My voice trembled. I pointed at the trampled poetry collection on the floor. “You gave that to me… You said there was only one copy in the world…” “Did I? I forgot.” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes full of mockery and coldness. He raised his foot and, in front of me, stepped on the poetry collection again, pressing down hard. The exquisite cover instantly tore, pages scattering across the floor. “Summer, are you still living in the past?” Ethan’s voice was like an ice-cold knife. “Do you think protecting these old books proves anything? I gave you those things, and now they disgust me. Just like you, you utterly disgust me.” I stared blankly at the shattered poetry collection on the ground, large tears splashing onto the floor. Before, when I got tired from reading, Ethan would hold me on his lap, open this poetry collection, and read to me, line by line, in his deep, pleasant voice. He’d said, “Summer, my world was once barren. You brought me spring.” But now, he had personally crushed that spring. “Clear out all this junk.” Ethan coldly ordered the workers, then turned to me. “If you dare to interfere again, or upset Audrey, I promise you, your father’s days in the nursing home will be ten times worse than they are now.” He was using my father’s life to threaten me. I closed my eyes, swallowing the metallic sweetness that rose in my throat. “Okay.” I released my grip, slowly got up from the floor, not looking at the books on the ground, nor at Ethan. I turned, dragging my heavy steps, and walked out of the reading room, one step at a time.

Summer POV The cleanup of the top-floor reading room continued for three whole days. I no longer resisted, working like a machine that had lost its sense of pain, silently packing and boxing the books that held the memories of my youth. The heavy cardboard boxes bit into my thin fingers, leaving bright red marks, but I seemed completely unaware. My heart’s burden was nearing its limit. These past few days, my painkiller frequency had gone from twice a day to four times a day. In the afternoon, Audrey brought several designers to the site to confirm the dimensions for the gallery. She wore a refined skirt suit, her fingertips tracing outlines in the air, occasionally turning to flash a sweet smile at Ethan beside her. “Ethan, Zach used to love ocean blue. Should we paint this wall blue?” Ethan had one hand in his trouser pocket. I could feel his gaze involuntarily pass over Audrey’s shoulder and fall on my back. I was too thin. The oversized gray work uniform hung loosely on me, as if a gust of wind could snap my spine. What would he think? I, who used to playfully ask him to open a bottle cap, now lifted dozens of pounds of cardboard boxes without a single groan. Just then, while sifting through an old cardboard box, Audrey accidentally grazed her finger on a sharp edge. Audrey let out a small cry, a tiny bead of blood oozing from her fair fingertip. Ethan’s thoughts seemed to snap back instantly. He strode over, his brow immediately furrowing. He grabbed Audrey’s hand. “How could you be so careless? Go sit over there; don’t touch these dirty things.” His voice was full of concern. He immediately told his assistant to get a first-aid kit. Meanwhile, in a corner not far away, I, who had been moving heavy objects for two hours straight, finally reached my physical limit. A fierce, wrenching pain exploded without warning from my heart, like a barbed knife violently twisting in my chest. My vision suddenly went black, and I collapsed weakly onto the dusty floor. I clutched my chest, breathing in short, shallow gasps, cold sweat instantly drenching my shirt. My face was ashen, like a thin sheet of paper, showing a deathly pallor. The dull thud of something heavy falling made Ethan turn his head. Seeing me curled up on the ground, Ethan’s pupils suddenly constricted, his fingers at his side unconsciously clenching. “Summer, Audrey just scratched her hand, and you’re here faking a faint?” Ethan sneered, his voice laced with ice shards, trying to use the most vicious words to mask a flicker of panic in his heart that even he found absurd. “Haven’t you worn out your pity play in these three years?” I was in so much pain that every breath felt like swallowing shattered glass; I had no strength to retort. I bit down hard on my pale lips, my trembling hand reaching into my pocket, trying to find that life-saving pill bottle. Ethan looked at my miserable state and coldly tossed out a sentence. “Fake death, and I’ll dock this month’s salary.” With that, he pulled Audrey and walked out of the reading room without looking back. The heavy glass door closed behind them, cutting off all footsteps. In the vast space, only I remained. I finally pulled out the pill bottle from my pocket, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry. A bitter taste spread in my mouth. I leaned against the cold wall, looking at the closed door, tears mixing with cold sweat, silently splashing onto my dusty hand. I wasn’t faking. Ethan, I was truly dying.

Summer POV Two days later, Boston, The Meridian Club. Today was Zach’s death anniversary. Every year on this day, Ethan would book this place, gathering all his friends from our old social circle to commemorate his deceased brother. And I, as the supposed culprit who caused Zach’s death, was forced to come along every year by Ethan, like a live target for people to vent their resentment on, standing in the darkest corner of the private room. Pushing open the heavy door of the private room, the noise inside quieted for a moment at my appearance, then erupted into even more unrestrained mockery. “Well, if it isn’t Summer? What happened to you, you look like a ghost?” A wealthy scion who once pursued me spoke with a snide tone. “What Summer? Her family went bankrupt ages ago. Now she’s just a dog at Ethan’s heels.” Another person chimed in. “Killed Zach and still has the nerve to live in this world. She’s got some thick skin.” Those who used to treat me courteously now attacked me with the most malicious words, all to curry favor with Ethan, who sat at the head of the table. I wore a faded old coat, my face ashen, ignoring their taunts. My gaze cut through the crowd, landing on Ethan. Ethan lounged on the sofa, twirling a silver lighter in his hand. Audrey nestled beside him, their bodies close. Seeing me enter, Ethan didn’t even look up. The lighter made a crisp click. A flame flickered, then he pressed it out without a change in expression. He didn’t stop the taunts. I knew he was waiting. Waiting for me to walk up to him with red-rimmed eyes, as I did three years ago, clutching his sleeve, pleading tearfully for him to take me away. But I had no strength left. I just stood there quietly, my eyes as vacant as if watching a drama unrelated to myself. “Summer, Zach is so cold underground. It’s only right that you drink this toast to apologize to him, isn’t it?” The wealthy scion grew bolder when Ethan didn’t stop him. He poured a full glass of strong whiskey and slammed it onto the edge of the table. A chorus of jeers immediately filled the room. I looked at the amber liquid, my stomach revolted. In my current physical state, even walking a few steps could trigger heart failure, let alone drinking such potent whiskey. Drinking it would be no different than accelerating my death. However, if I didn’t drink, this humiliation wouldn’t end. I was too tired; I was almost out of strength just to stand. Under the gaze of everyone watching for a show, I slowly walked forward. I didn’t look at Ethan, nor at the drink. I just calmly asked the wealthy scion, “If I drink this, I can leave, right?” At these words, I saw Ethan’s hand, which had been toying with the lighter, suddenly freeze, his brows tightly furrowing. “Of course! As long as you finish it, we’ll let you off today!” I didn’t hesitate. I reached out a pale, slender hand, picked up the full glass of whiskey, tilted my head back, and drained it in one gulp. The fiery liquid flowed down my throat into my stomach, instantly burning like a raging inferno within my organs. Immediately after, a fierce, tearing spasm gripped my heart. I clutched my chest, my frail body swaying uncontrollably. Large beads of cold sweat rolled down my forehead, and my already pale face was now utterly bloodless, showing a deathly pallor. “One glass isn’t enough? How much Zach suffered in that fire, what’s a little drink compared to that!” Seeing my state, the man didn’t stop. Instead, he picked up the bottle, preparing to pour more into the glass. Bang! A loud crash exploded in the private room. Ethan violently grabbed the glass ashtray from the table and slammed it hard at the wealthy scion’s feet. Glass shards flew everywhere, and the room instantly fell into a deathly silence. Everyone was startled into silence by his sudden rage. Ethan’s face was terrifyingly dark, his eyes swirling with chilling malice. He strode over, grabbed my icy wrist, his grip so powerful it almost crushed my bones. “Who told you to drink?!” Ethan gritted his teeth, his voice a hoarse roar forced from his chest. “Do you think drinking a glass of wine can atone for your sins? What right do you have?” He cursed me harshly, but the hand clutching me trembled slightly. The moment I felt my legs weaken from the pain, almost falling, he instinctively reached out an arm, holding my back firmly. I leaned against his rigid arm, breathing with difficulty. I looked up at Ethan’s face, slightly distorted by anger, and actually managed a faint smile. “Ethan… I drank the whiskey… can I go now?” My lifeless compliance seemed to fill Ethan with dread. “Get out! Get the hell out!” Ethan suddenly released my hand, as if to hide his loss of composure. I leaned on the wall, walking out of the private room with slow, staggering steps. I heard Audrey walk up, trying to link arms with him, but Ethan impatiently avoided her touch. He turned around, looked at the bewildered faces in the room, and spoke coldly, his voice loud enough for me to hear even in the hallway. “The eighteenth of next month, Audrey and I are getting engaged. I hope everyone will come and witness it.” In the hallway, my frail figure paused for only a fraction of a second. Then, I said in an extremely soft, calm voice, “I wish you both eternal happiness.” No crying, no breakdown. Only the calm of still water.

Ethan POV Late night, a luxury apartment in New York. This apartment was one of my properties. Three years ago, Summer was forcibly brought here and assigned the darkest, narrowest guest room. For these three years, she lived like a ghostly shadow, barely surviving. When I pushed open the door, reeking of alcohol, only a dim floor lamp was on in the living room. I’d drunk too much at the anniversary gathering. My stomach felt like it was on fire, the pain making me break out in a cold sweat. For the past three years, no matter how cold I was outside, when my stomach pain flared up, I would instinctively return here. Because I knew that whenever I came back, no matter how late, Summer would silently go into the kitchen and cook me a steaming bowl of spaghetti, topped with a fried egg with golden-brown edges. That was the only warmth from the past I could extract in this toxic relationship. Faint sounds came from the kitchen. Before long, Summer came out carrying a steaming bowl of spaghetti and placed it on the dining table. She didn’t say anything. She set the bowl down and was about to turn back to the guest room. “Stop.” I sat in the dining chair, rubbing my throbbing stomach, my voice hoarse. Summer paused, her back to me. I picked up a fork and took a bite of the pasta. The warm sauce flowed down my esophagus into my stomach, instantly soothing the spasms. My tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and the volatile emotions in my heart miraculously calmed down. I looked up, my gaze casually sweeping across the living room, but then I suddenly froze. In the corner of the living room, the trash can was overflowing. On top, there was a sketchbook I had given her in college, along with several of the library design blueprints I had personally drawn, now torn into shreds. My hand, holding the fork, stiffened. The warmth in my stomach was instantly replaced by a huge wave of panic. “What are you doing?” I suddenly stood up. The abrupt movement knocked over the bowl of spaghetti on the table. Hot broth splashed onto Summer’s hand, instantly reddening a patch of skin. But she didn’t even flinch. She just turned around, pulled out a few tissues, and calmly wiped up the mess on the table. “Cleaning up trash.” Summer’s voice was flat, without any fluctuation. “Ethan is getting engaged next month. I’m clearing out my things here, so Audrey won’t be annoyed when she moves in later.” Her calm tone struck me as incredibly grating; I even felt an unprecedented fear. “Who allowed you to clean?!” I strode over, grabbing her shoulder with surprising force. I stared fixedly into her vacant eyes, my voice a hollow, hoarse whisper. “Summer, what kind of reverse psychology are you playing now? What, you think if you act like you’re leaving, I’ll soften?” Summer was forced to look up at me. Once, these eyes were filled with love for me; later, they showed pain and despair. But now, there was nothing in them. Only a dead silence, a lifeless pallor. “You’re not allowed to go anywhere until I tell you to!” I gritted my teeth and roared, as if to embolden myself. “You haven’t paid your debt for Zach’s life yet. You’re destined to rot here forever!” That smile was exceptionally pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief. That smile was incredibly pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief. “Okay,” she said softly. “Rot here.”

Summer POV In the following days, Ethan didn’t return to the apartment. In the empty room, the only sound was the growing weakness of my own heartbeat. I used the last of my remaining strength to visit New York First Hospital. In the Chief of Cardiology’s office, the smell of disinfectant was pungent and cold. I calmly took the pen and, with steady strokes, signed my name on the “Do Not Resuscitate Order” and “Organ Donation Agreement.” My fingertips were faintly bluish-white from the pressure, but my handwriting was remarkably steady. “Summer, are you really not going to reconsider?” The chief took off his glasses, looking at my thin figure, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. “While hope is slim, if you’re willing to be hospitalized and maintained with medication, there’s still a chance to wait for a donor. You’re so young.” “No, thank you.” I put down the pen, a relieved smile on my pale face, as if I were handing over not my life and death, but a long-sealed old item. “My corneas are still healthy. If someone needs them, I hope they can help. I need to leave something behind, to prove I was here.” Walking out of the hospital, the bitter cold wind of early winter mercilessly cut through my thin coat, like a knife cutting into my skin. But I felt it was just right. At least it kept me soberly aware that I was still alive. I didn’t return to that apartment, filled with suffocating memories. Instead, I turned and went to the city library. The top-floor reading room had been completely transformed into Zach’s memorial gallery. I stood at the entrance, not far away, looking at the newly arranged space. His keepsakes, photos, meticulously placed in his favorite spots, as if he had never left. I watched silently for a long time, but I didn’t step inside. I turned and went to the management office on the first floor, placing a clearly itemized handover list, the library access card, and the keys to that apartment neatly on the table. They made a soft thud as they hit the wooden table, like the last echoes of me in this city, now cleanly severed. After doing all this, I took out my phone, opened the memo app, and, using the last of my strength, wrote a short letter. No accusations, no pleas, just a calm statement. Three years of heartache, crushed into these few dry lines of text. “Ethan, When you read this letter, I will no longer be in New York. Three years ago, during the yacht explosion, I didn’t lock the cabin door. I fought with all my might to save Zach, but I failed. I know you don’t believe me, but this is my last explanation. For these three years, I’ve accepted all the punishments you’ve given me. Now, my heart has completely failed. The doctor says I won’t live past this month. I am paying for Zach’s life with my own. We are completely even now. I wish you and Audrey a happy engagement.” I set this letter for timed delivery, scheduled for my twenty-sixth birthday, also the day of his and Audrey’s engagement. That was his happiest day, and the countdown to the end of my life. It would be my last birthday gift to myself. Then, I removed my phone’s SIM card. I snapped it, and threw it, along with all the ties and potential calls from these three years, into a roadside trash can. At dusk, I boarded a bus alone, heading for a remote coastal town in Maine. It was where my mother had grown up, where a dilapidated but quiet old house stood. There was an empty coast there, salty sea breeze, no Ethan, and no endless torment. I wanted to quietly live out the last leg of my life there. The bus slowly pulled out of New York, the cabin dim and bumpy. I leaned against the cold window, watching the city that had trapped me for three years gradually recede in the sunset, the skyline merging into the twilight, eventually becoming a blurred halo of light. I slowly closed my eyes, my broken heart beating faintly and peacefully in my chest. Goodbye, Ethan. If there’s a next life, I hope we never meet again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408538”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was born with a condition: my tears fall uncontrollably. The moment I felt wronged, the tears would always come before any explanation. Everyone accused me of faking it, calling me the manipulative daughter of a murderer. Until Ethan Stone, the city’s most formidable and ruthless lawyer, became my empath. When I was scorned and humiliated, he’d suddenly vomit blood at a high-stakes corporate merger negotiation. When my enemies trampled me, he’d convulse with pain, his eyes burning crimson. Later, everyone in the city knew Ethan Stone had an absolute red line, something you never, ever touched: “She can cry,” he’d declare, “but anyone who dares make her cry, I’ll make them wish they were dead.” But the heiress whose father framed mine, sending him to prison, didn’t believe it. She not only trampled me at a gala but also faked my mom’s mental incapacity diagnosis and forced me to live-stream a confession to the entire internet. Ethan, miles away, watched me forced to my knees on the live stream and violently coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood. That night, dozens of black Maybachs swarmed the city, shutting it down. Ethan, stepping on the real culprit’s face, looked like a demon unleashed. “Which hand touched her? Chop it off.”

I was born with a condition: my tears fall uncontrollably. The moment I was wrongly accused, the tears would always come before any explanation. When I was little, my desk-mate’s eraser went missing, and she pointed the finger at me. Before the teacher could even start asking questions, I was already sobbing, gasping for breath, shaking uncontrollably. Everyone pointed fingers, saying, “See? She’s crying. She must be guilty.” Later, my dad, David Hayes, was sentenced to life in prison for murder. Relatives swarmed our rundown rental house, pointing fingers and yelling at my mom, saying she married a murderer and birthed a mini-murderer. I rushed out, my eyes red, wanting to explain, wanting to scream that my dad was innocent. But tears gushed out first, my throat felt like it was clogged with a waterlogged sponge, unable to make a sound. They watched my tear-streaked face and became even more convinced. “See? This girl is just like her murderer dad, always faking distress to gain sympathy.” For ten years, what I hated most were these eyes of mine that couldn’t stop crying. Until Ethan Stone, the city’s top-tier lawyer, became my empath. When I was wrongly accused, the injustice, fear, and helplessness I felt would be amplified a hundredfold in him. When I was called “the murderer’s daughter,” he would suddenly choke, losing his voice in court. When I was forced to bow my head and confess, he couldn’t even get out a full defense statement, drenched in cold sweat from the pain. Later, the entire legal and elite circles of New York knew that the untouchable, cold-blooded Ethan Stone had an absolute red line. “She can cry.” “But never, ever because you forced her to.” But at first, I didn’t know any of this. All I knew was that tonight was my last chance to retrieve my dad’s only memento. That night, the rain poured down heavily, as if trying to drown the entire city. A glittering charity gala was being held on the top floor of The Ritz Hotel. I stood cowering in a corner, wearing a cheap dress I’d borrowed, my gaze fixed on the auction stage. On stage, Serena Thorne, wearing a haute couture gown, smiled sweetly as she displayed an old, intricately crafted watch. “This watch belonged to a heinous murderer. Today, it’s being auctioned, and all proceeds will be donated to the victim’s family, as a way to atone for that murderer’s sins.” A chorus of applause rose from the audience. My heart felt like a piece had been brutally carved out. That was my dad’s watch. Ten years ago, my dad, David Hayes, was sentenced for murder. Everyone said he killed a passing wealthy businessman for money. But I knew he didn’t. That night, he was just passing through a dark, old alley, and out of kindness, he saved a man covered in blood. The real killer escaped, but my dad, stained with blood, became the scapegoat. That crafted watch was on his wrist the day he was arrested, and it was the only memento he left me. I bit my lip until it bled, then raised my crumpled bidding paddle. “Ten thousand dollars!” This was every penny I’d saved from three years of odd jobs. All eyes in the room instantly focused on me, filled with contempt, mockery, and disdain. Serena Thorne looked down at me, her red lips curved into a cruel smirk. “Well, well, isn’t that Summer Hayes, the murderer’s daughter? What, are you using the dirty money your dad stole from murder to buy the watch back?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug deep into my palms, breaking the skin. “That’s my own money! My dad didn’t kill anyone!” I wanted to shout back, to throw the truth in their faces. But tears, betrayingly, streamed down my face again. Tears blurred my vision, and my frail body trembled violently under everyone’s gaze. Serena Thorne let out a scoff, then walked up to me on her ten-centimeter heels. “One hundred thousand,” she casually stated. I looked at her in despair. “Five hundred thousand.” She continued to raise the price, her eyes looking at me like I was an ant. “Summer Hayes, didn’t you want to appeal the case? Didn’t you hire Ethan Stone as your lawyer?” Serena leaned close to my ear, her voice barely a whisper, yet every word cut deep. “You don’t actually think Ethan Stone would cross the Thorne family for low-life trash like you, do you?” She suddenly raised her hand and smashed the watch to the ground. A sharp crack. The watch face shattered, gears scattering. “Oops, butterfingers!” Serena covered her mouth, feigning surprise. My mind went blank. I lunged to the floor, disregarding the broken glass shards, frantically trying to pick up the pieces. Glass dug into my fingertips, blood mixed with tears staining the carpet. Suddenly, Serena shrieked. “My ring! My pink diamond ring is gone!” Her bodyguard immediately stepped forward and yanked me up from the floor. “She was the only one near Miss Thorne! She must have stolen it! Search her!” I struggled wildly, sobbing hysterically. “I didn’t! I didn’t steal anything!” “Let me go! Let me go!” Extreme injustice, humiliation, and fear flooded over me like a tidal wave. Meanwhile, miles away, at an international convention center. A multi-billion dollar cross-border merger negotiation was underway. Ethan Stone, wearing a perfectly tailored black haute couture suit, sat at the head of the table, his eyes sharp and ruthless, a man of decisive action. But the moment the bodyguard pinned me down and humiliated me with a search. His long fingers, clutching a signing pen, froze. An indescribable agony, mixed with an overwhelming tide of injustice and despair, surged through his entire being like a tsunami. His heart felt squeezed by an invisible giant hand, and his breath hitched. “Mr. Stone?” The foreign delegate across from him noticed something was off. Ethan’s face was deathly pale, veins pulsed at his temples, and cold sweat streamed down. He abruptly stood up, wanting to speak, but a strong metallic taste of blood welled up in his throat. The next second, to everyone’s horror. “PFFFT—” A mouthful of blood erupted from his lips, staining the multi-billion dollar contract in front of him. His assistant, Noah Clarke, was terrified. “Mr. Stone! Call an ambulance!” Ethan gripped the table, his knuckles white from the effort. He forced down the lingering metallic taste in his throat, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fury. “Find… Summer Hayes!” His voice was impossibly hoarse, as if each word was scraped over sandpaper. “Now!”

The farce at the gala continued. The bodyguard roughly tore open my cheap handbag, emptying its contents onto the floor. A few crumpled bills, a packet of tissues, and the blood-stained watch parts. No ring. Serena Thorne’s face darkened, and she shot a meaningful glance at her bodyguard. The bodyguard understood instantly and suddenly pointed at my dress pocket. “Here it is!” He reached in and pulled out a dazzling pink diamond ring, appearing triumphantly in his hand. The entire room gasped. “Oh my god, it really was her who stole it!” “A murderer’s daughter, of course, she’s a thief too!” “Call the cops! Get her arrested, let her reunite with her murderer dad in jail!” Vicious curses swirled around me like a tide. I couldn’t defend myself, shaking my head in despair. “It wasn’t me… You’re framing me…” I was crying so hard I felt faint, my stomach clenching in painful spasms. Serena Thorne looked down at me, a triumphant smile playing on her lips. “People like you were born to rot in the mud, Summer Hayes. Want to appeal your case? In your next life.” She raised her foot, and her ten-centimeter stiletto heel came down hard on the back of my hand, grinding into it. “Ah—” I cried out in pain, the agony, sharp as a thousand needles, made cold sweat prickle all over me. Just then, a thunderous “BANG!” The heavy ballroom doors burst open, kicked in from the outside. Dozens of bodyguards in black suits streamed in, instantly taking control of the room. The crowd parted, forced to create a path. Ethan Stone strode in purposefully. His suit was still a bit disheveled, and a trace of uncleaned blood stained the corner of his mouth. His face was ashen, like a sheet of paper, but his dark eyes held a chilling, murderous intent. He walked straight to me, looking at my hand trampled underfoot and the blood splattered on the floor. In that moment, I clearly saw his body tremble, and a flicker of extreme pain crossed his eyes. “Get out of the way.” His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. Serena Thorne froze, clearly not expecting Ethan Stone to appear here. “M-Mr. Stone, why are you here? This woman stole my ring, I was just teaching her a lesson…” “I said, get out of the way.” Ethan suddenly lifted his gaze, his eyes cold as an ice-tempered blade. Serena Thorne was startled by his look and stumbled back, instinctively releasing her foot. Ethan dropped to one knee, ignoring the expensive carpet, and carefully, gently, lifted my blood-soaked hand. His hand was cold, his fingertips still trembled slightly. “Summer Hayes.” He looked at me, his voice impossibly hoarse. “Did I not tell you to call me if anything happened?” I looked at him, my feelings of injustice reaching their peak. “Mr. Stone… I didn’t steal anything… That was my dad’s watch…” I was sobbing, gasping for breath, and large tears splattered onto the back of his hand. Ethan Stone’s brow furrowed tightly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed violently. He suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms. “Stop crying.” He gritted his teeth, his voice filled with suppressed agony, whispering in my ear. “If you cry any more, you’ll literally kill me with this pain.” I froze, forgetting to cry. Ethan took a deep breath, slipped off his suit jacket, and draped it over my shoulders. Then he slowly stood up, shielding me behind him. He turned to look at Serena Thorne, his gaze now returned to absolute coldness. “Framing, malicious intent, assault.” “Each of those charges is enough to land you in prison for years.” Serena Thorne forced herself to stay calm. “Mr. Stone, what is the meaning of this? She clearly stole my ring, everyone saw it!” “Did they?” Ethan Stone scoffed, then turned to Noah Clarke. Noah Clarke immediately stepped forward, opened his tablet, and connected it to the ballroom’s large screen. A surveillance video played clearly. It showed Serena Thorne, while I wasn’t looking, secretly slipping the pink diamond ring into my dress pocket. The entire hall fell into a deathly silence. Serena Thorne’s face instantly went ashen, and her lips trembled violently. “B-but… wasn’t the surveillance system broken?” Ethan Stone looked down at her, like he was looking at a dead person. “Miss Thorne, you probably don’t know that this hotel is part of the Stone Group.” “You’ve got a lot of nerve, messing with my people on my territory.” He leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper, yet every person in the room heard him clearly. “That foot that stepped on her today? Tomorrow, I’ll make sure the entire Thorne family is wiped off the map of this city.” After that night, the Thorne family indeed paid a price. Serena Thorne was taken in for questioning by the police for assault, and Thorne Group’s stock plummeted overnight, hitting its daily limit. But I knew this was just the beginning. The Thorne family was deeply entrenched in New York; they wouldn’t be toppled so easily. Sure enough, the next day, a tidal wave of negative trending topics swamped the entire internet. #Murderer’sDaughterSeducesAceLawyerToClearFather’sName# #SummerHayes GalaTheft# #EthanStone FallenFromGrace# Maliciously edited videos went viral online. They only showed me kneeling and weeping, and Ethan Stone creating a scene for me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “408537”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster