I hadn’t paid my half of the household expenses to Pierce Ellington in two weeks, and for the first time, he was the one who called me. “What, no rush to settle up this time?” his voice was sharp with a familiar edge of contempt. “I covered your brother Logan’s medication for the month, so don’t play the martyr. Don’t go crying later that I didn’t help.” The line went dead just as I finished booking a one-way train ticket. Glancing around the house we’d shared for five years, I knew what I could take. It was only the battered, old suitcase my brother Logan Shore had bought me when he sent me off to college. No one—least of all Pierce—knew the true cost of my life here. Every coat, every piece of jewelry, every nice thing I’d worn for five years? They were the leftover branded gifts he’d accumulated while shopping for Blair Kinsley, the great love of his life. Even now, he was meticulously logging every dollar he believed I owed him, while simultaneously buying Blair a new apartment without a second thought. He didn’t know that my brother, unable to secure the final, crucial payment for his medicine, had been forced to take on an exhausting, long-haul trucking run. Two months ago, his truck and his life tumbled into a ravine on a treacherous winter road. I was pushing the suitcase toward the front door when Pierce opened it. “Nothing to say on the phone, and now this sudden drama?” He looked me up and down, a sneer already forming on his face. “Amelia. Are you being overdramatic? The medication was just delayed a few days. Is this really necessary?” I didn’t turn around, focusing instead on checking the contents of my worn wallet for the hundredth time. He strode over, stepping across the threshold, and slammed his hand down on the pull handle of the suitcase. “You’re going to give me endless hell because of that brother of yours—the one you share no blood with?” The venom started to drip from his voice. “He’s an outsider, Amy. And frankly, for some poor kid from the rural mountains to ‘sponsor’ your education… I bet his ‘help’ wasn’t exactly pure.” The crack of my palm against his cheek stole the air. “Keep your voice clean, Pierce!” My whole arm was shaking with rage. “What Logan and I shared was absolutely clean.” He touched his cheek, his eyes instantly darkening, the corner of his mouth twisting into a cynical smirk. “Oh, did I hit a nerve?” he mocked. “I suppose the two of you were peas in a pod… naturally a bond that runs deep.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “But don’t forget, I gave you this life. Every luxury, every comfort you have, was mygenerous offering.” A sharp, needle-like pain pierced my chest. Five years ago, Logan had urged me to pursue my own career, telling me a girl could only build a good life if she stood on her own two feet. But I had thrown myself into Pierce’s shallow affections, desperate to exchange my future for what I thought was stability. I’d looked into Logan’s disappointed eyes and sworn we had love. Now, this life—one where every penny was dissected and accounted for—was, in his mind, a donation. I couldn’t help but laugh, a short, bitter sound. “You’re right. Thank you, Pierce. Thank you for this calculated, utterly barren existence.” His brow furrowed, ready to argue, but I was suddenly tired of listening to him. The whole situation felt pointless. “I know you’ve always wanted Blair. You bought her an apartment, you stocked her closets, and even the freebies you passed on to me, you felt I should be grateful for.” His eyes narrowed slightly, surprised by my directness. I’d ripped off the last shred of our cover. “Since you don’t think I’m good enough for you, and you can’t let her go…” I pulled the suitcase away, my fingers tracing the worn texture of the handle. “I’ll get out of your way. We are done, Pierce. We are even.” I turned, opening the door without hesitation. His furious roar erupted behind me. “Amelia! Try to walk out that door!” I ignored him, walking toward the station, then peeling off into a cheap, mold-scented roadside motel instead. In the dark, a miserable sliver of streetlight leaked through the thin curtain. Logan was right. A life built on your own work is the only one you can truly feel safe in. But this peace came too late, and the cost was too high. The moment my consciousness started to drift, a violent banging jolted me awake. “Open the door! Amelia! I know you’re in there! Get back here!” It was Pierce, his impatience and aggression radiating through the flimsy wood. “Amelia! Come out yourself, or I’ll call someone to kick in this door!” Through the peephole, his face was grim and frightening. “Pierce, we’re done. Please leave.” My words only seemed to fuel his rage. “I decide when we’re done! You think hiding in a dump like this settles anything? Get back home!” Suddenly, Blair’s distinctive ringtone cut through the noise, and the pounding stopped. When he hung up, I heard his receding footsteps, still thick with frustration. “You two stay here and watch her! Don’t let her run off!” I slid down the wall, wrapping my arms around myself. It was absurd. One call, and he would drop everything to rush to another woman. Yet, his wife of five years couldn’t beg him to cover a single wire transfer for life-saving medicine. Sometime later, the footsteps returned. My motel door was kicked inward with a crash. Blair Kinsley, dripping expensive perfume that instantly overpowered the room’s musty scent, stood in the doorway. “Well, well. Look who it is. The little mountain bride he picked up.” She paused, dragging out the words with a condescending giggle. “I heard Pierce only married her to spite his parents. Didn’t expect her to be so… utterly forgettable.” Blair’s words were like tiny pins, pricking a heart already numb from pain. But strangely, I didn’t feel the sting. “Blair, I’m not fighting you.” I gestured to the suitcase. “Just get him to let me leave. From this moment on, you can have whatever you want.” Blair arched an eyebrow but shook her head. “You got the deal of a lifetime marrying him. You took advantage of it for five years. And now you’re playing the high-and-mighty victim? Is this your idea of a power play? Trying to make him chase you?” Her certainty was stunning. I looked down at my faded jeans, a dizzying sense of absurdity rising in my throat. For five years, I had lived off her leftovers and scraps. And she still believed I was a schemer who’d gotten a ‘deal.’ I patted the old suitcase next to me, a painful, self-mocking gesture. “Blair, this battered suitcase contains the sum total of my five years as your man’s wife. What use do I have for a ‘bargain’ like that?” She barely glanced at the luggage, walking toward me. “I don’t care how you spent the last five years, but Pierce’s heart is mine. It was then, it is now, and it will be forever.” After Blair finally disappeared, I grabbed the suitcase and quickly slipped out. But I was immediately caught by Pierce the moment I stepped outside. “What did you say to Blair?” he demanded, his voice thick with accusation. “Nothing.” He snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Amelia, I’m warning you to stay away from her! You two are not in the same league! Stop with your little mind games around her!” In his eyes, my very silence and departure were calculated acts of deception. I felt a familiar stab of pain and countered with a dry sarcasm. “Since you trust Blair so much, why are you asking me?” He choked on the retort, his face twisting in frustration. But he quickly controlled his anger, softening his voice just slightly. “Just go apologize to Blair. If you do that, I’ll forget about tonight. And I’ll cover the rest of your brother’s meds.” He even ground his teeth and reluctantly added, “Those things I said about you and Logan… I know you’re not that person. You’ve been with me for five years. But you were so disrespectful tonight, talking back like that…” Listening to him dismiss his monstrous slanders as mere “words spoken in anger,” a chilling despair washed over me. I looked at the lonely shadow pooling at my feet and pulled the suitcase around him. My rejection shattered his pretense. “Amelia, I gave you an out! Don’t be foolish!” he yelled. “Fine. Whenever you come to your senses, that’s when Logan’s medical care gets covered!” He thought dangling the money would bring me crawling back to the gilded cage. But the memory of Logan’s last laughing phone call—about a “good haul” he’d secured—made my chest seize up. I couldn’t breathe. Once his car screeched away in an angry rush, I sank onto the sidewalk, gasping for air. The tears and hyperventilation left me dizzy, bordering on unconsciousness. I finally calmed down, only to feel a violent, dull impact on the back of my neck. Then, blackness. When I regained consciousness, my hands and feet were tightly bound with rope. Blair, equally bound, saw I was awake and immediately unleashed her fury. “This is your fault, Amelia! You curse! You walking disaster! If I hadn’t come to find you, I wouldn’t be in this mess! Why don’t you just die!” The ringleader, a rough-looking man, kicked her to silence her. “Shut up! One more word and I throw you in the harbor!” She gasped, swallowing her tears and insults, but her eyes, like knives, continued to bore into me. The leader took my phone and found Pierce’s number, handing it to me. “Listen up. Call your man. Tell him to get the money ready. No police. Or else…” He let his cold gaze drift toward the dark water, the threat unspoken. Blair instantly shrieked. “I’ll call him! Let me call him!” The leader scoffed, dialed her number, and put the call on speaker. Pierce answered instantly, his voice frantic. “Blair? Where are you? Why weren’t you answering?” Blair wailed loudly into the phone. “I’ve been kidnapped! Pierce, please! You have to come save me!” Pierce’s breath hitched. “Blair, don’t panic! Tell me exactly where you are! Did they hurt you?” The leader took the phone. “Ellington. You have three hours. Call the cops, and you’ll be collecting what’s left of this woman.” He then took my phone, trying the same tactic. Once. Twice. Unanswered. Blair actually let out a small, spiteful chuckle. “Don’t bother. Pierce won’t answer yours. He never cared about her.” The leader, annoyed, shoved the phone in my face. “What’s the deal, huh? Your man not paying up?” He looked murderous, but I was strangely calm. “We’re separated. He won’t pay a dime for me.” He kept trying, unconvinced, but Pierce still wouldn’t answer. Losing patience, the leader brutally kicked me in the ribs. “Useless! Thought we could score a little extra! What a waste of time!” I muffled a cry, collapsing onto my side. Blair didn’t look scared; instead, a flash of vindictive relief crossed her face. The sea air grew colder; the sky darkened further. During the agonizing wait, Blair’s haughty curses devolved into pitiful weeping. I ignored my fear, scanning the surroundings desperately. “My suitcase. Did you see my suitcase?” It was the last thing Logan had given me. I couldn’t lose it. Blair lashed out. “Amelia, are you crazy or just stupid? We’re about to die, and you’re worried about that piece of junk?” I paid her no mind, forcing my eyes to search every inch of the abandoned dock. Just as despair began to set in, the roar of powerful engines cut through the silence. Blair’s ashen face erupted with hysterical joy. “It’s Pierce! He’s here! He came for me!” Two SUVs screeched to a halt, and Pierce jumped out, running toward us. The leader raised his gun, pointing it squarely at Blair. “Stop right there!” Pierce immediately froze, hands raised. “The money is here! Thirty million, every penny! Let them go!” The leader motioned for a subordinate to check the bags, keeping his gun raised. “We have the cash, Mr. Ellington. But there are two people here.” He shifted his aim between Blair and me. “Thirty million only buys one. Choose.” Pierce finally saw me, his eyes widening in shock and anger. “This is blackmail! I only agreed to pay for one hostage! I had no idea there was a second!” The leader, displeased with his tone, chambered a round. The click echoed on the dock. “Mr. Ellington, don’t blame us. We called you dozens of times, and you never picked up.” He nudged the gun toward the ocean. Blair, terrified, screamed at Pierce to make a decision. But Pierce couldn’t speak, the hesitation stretching out for a lifetime. That brief pause infuriated Blair. “Pierce! What are you waiting for? Were you lying to me? Do you actually love her?” Flustered, Pierce’s face went white. He looked at me, urging me with his eyes. “Amelia, you…” He stammered, searching for the right words. “You let me get Blair out safely, and I swear I’ll come back for you!” A gunshot from the leader, aimed harmlessly at the floorboards, cut him off. “Mr. Ellington, one choice. You take one, and I deal with the other. Immediately.” The color drained from Pierce’s face completely. Blair took advantage of his shock, seizing his sleeve and sobbing hysterically. Watching his tortured, agonizing struggle, I spoke. “Take her, Pierce.” He froze, then his face crumpled in relief and a surge of false gratitude. “Amelia, I’ve failed you. I swear I’ll get the best doctors, the best medicine for your brother! I promise!” Those words—the same ones that had been the economic leash and emotional chokehold of my twisted five-year marriage—now sounded like the most profound, sickening irony. I looked at his anxious, deceitful face and suddenly felt a profound sense of release. “No need,” I said, looking him directly in the eye. “Two months ago, when you bought Blair her apartment and forgot to send the wire, my brother died.” Pierce’s face registered total, absolute incomprehension. “What are you saying…?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389760”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A TikTok DM from a total stranger popped up deep in the middle of the night. “Am I the other woman, or are you?” A pause. Then a second message: “Killian North has you pinned as ‘Wife’ in his contacts. What’s the deal?” I glanced at Killian, who was toweling his wet hair, emerging from our master bath. The man I’d been married to for three years. I tossed my phone onto the duvet beside him. This girl wasn’t the first, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Killian barely blinked, treating the inquiry with the practiced indifference of someone who’d been through this script a hundred times. “Spit it out, Cass. What do you want this time?” His voice was a low, bored rumble. “Another million? Or a divorce? Pick your poison.” I didn’t dissolve into tears, didn’t scream, didn’t claw at his shirt begging him to stop, as I had in the past. Instead, I leaned back against the headboard and smiled up at him, my voice unnaturally light. “Good.” “It’ll be in your account tomorrow, then.” Killian answered dismissively, his thumb already scrolling past photos of different women on his phone. “I meant, the divorce. Good.” 01 The air seized. Killian’s fleeting surprise curdled instantly into a sneer. “Cassidy, I actually thought you’d grown up. Still pulling these pathetic stunts?” He backed away, the weight of his body lifting from the bed. “I’ll give you a whole extra month this time, after she’s gone. Deal?” He didn’t believe me. He never did. He thought I was throwing a fit. Our unspoken rule—the cruel covenant of our marriage—was that after he finished with a new girl, he’d grudgingly dedicate a week to me. An entire month was practically a grand gesture. I considered it for a moment. “Then sign this agreement.” I reached for the bedside drawer and slid the divorce papers—prepared weeks ago and folded precisely—to his side of the bed, open to the final page. Killian North was defined by his absolute confidence. He was so certain of his power that the possibility of my leaving him simply did not exist in his universe. Even if I’d held another man’s hand and sworn I was in love, he’d have just laughed, convinced it was a temporary glitch. He didn’t even read the agreement. He snatched the pen I offered and scrawled his signature across the line. “There. Happy? You think I’ll renege? God, Cassidy. You’d die without a man to coddle you.” The venom in his voice was familiar, yet tonight, it didn’t sting. I simply got out of bed and pulled a clean shirt from his closet. “Go on, then. I’m sure your little girlfriend is throwing a tantrum waiting for you.” My calm smile finally fractured the indifference on his face. The composure and frigid silence I’d maintained all night transformed into pure, searing rage. Killian grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I felt the small bones grinding. “How are you still so pathetic, Cassidy?” “You used to lose your mind when I did this! You used to cry and beg! Why aren’t you angry? Why the hell are you playing the quiet, supportive wife? What are you staging?” His voice dropped to a hateful whisper. “You forced me into this, and now you look like the victim? God, you’re disgusting.” The front door slammed shut, rattling the windows. I smiled—a silent, empty gesture—and then the coughing started. It was a raw, wrenching spasm that knotted my chest and pulled at my insides until I finally spat a gob of viscous, crimson blood into my palm. He hated me. He used every cruel weapon he could think of to punish me. But we had been torturing each other for far too long. It was time to end it. Years ago, back in high school, Killian used to write me letters. Hundreds of them. Stacked together, they were almost as thick as a phone book. I’d read them so many times the paper was soft, tattered, and wrinkled. On nights like this—nights when he was gone—I always reached for them. Tonight, I didn’t cry into them. I lit a match. In the quick-spreading flames, the paper curled and the ink blackened. Through the heat haze, I saw the memory of the boy in my mind: Killian, his face streaked with tears and blood, begging me not to leave. 02 Killian and I were meant to be. Our mothers, best friends who practically raised us together, had joked about our marriage since we were toddlers. We grew up believing we were one of those couples destined to share a life—a relationship that was simply fait accompli. Until the bottom fell out of the world. My father’s business collapsed, he killed himself, and my mother and I were forced to move into the North family home. The day Killian finally confessed his love, the day we stood hand-in-hand while our parents laughed, musing over baby names, was the same day his mother found my mother’s sonogram. The father of the baby was Killian’s father, Mr. Alistair North. The family shattered. The screaming and shouting ended only when Killian’s mother suffered a massive stroke. At the funeral, I stood under the towering oak tree, watching Killian’s solitary, brittle silhouette. For the first time, I felt a toxic shame for our shared history. Killian, his eyes burning red, charged at my mother. I threw myself in front of her, taking the blow—a piece of broken glass that sliced a gouge in my shoulder. In that moment, I thought: If I disappeared, would Killian be less broken? But when I turned, I fell into his arms instead. His voice was a rusty rasp, scraped raw like metal on stone. “It’s not your fault, Cassidy.” “Let’s leave here. Let’s go.” We ran. We found a place so far away the family shame couldn’t reach us. To survive, Killian worked himself to the bone—hauling cement, busing tables. His hands were a mess of bloody blisters and frostbite. During the worst times, we shared a single cup of instant noodles in a cramped, freezing studio apartment, listening to the wind threaten to rip the glass out of the window frame. We never spoke. We never answered the family’s calls that lit up the cheap Nokia phone. “We don’t have a home anymore, Cass,” he’d whispered, pulling me close. “We are each other’s home.” I sat by the small, contained fire until the last ashes had cooled and the sky outside was streaked with the pale gray of dawn. Then, Killian called. “I’m sending you an address. Get over here. She wants to meet you.” She was the girl, Talia. I answered calmly. “Okay.” When I arrived at the location, the street was deserted. Just as I started to dial Killian’s number, a blur of motion and screaming tires erupted. The impact was chaos. My sedan was a pinball, slammed into and ricocheting off several vehicles. Finally, a thick, viscous warmth streamed down my forehead, blinding me. The pain in my abdomen was a firestorm, and blood was everywhere. Fading, my instinct took over. I dialed Killian’s number. “K…” Before I blacked out, I heard his ragged breathing and a panicked, almost unrecognizable desperation in his voice. “Cassidy, don’t you dare die! Please…” K… It had been years since I used that nickname. Since the family betrayal, we’d both avoided it. We both knew the splinter was there, deeply embedded between us—unremovable, indigestible, corrupting even our love into something impure. A flicker of consciousness returned, and I felt myself enclosed in a searing-hot embrace. He was weeping. The tears falling onto my face were scalding, burning through my skin. “Cassidy, why did you do that to me?” “I’m sorry. Just tell me you’re sorry, too, okay?” “Cass, love me again. I swear I won’t ever hurt you again.” It was Killian’s voice. If not for the crushing certainty of the last seven years, if not for the knowledge that he hated me, I would have believed it was real. I felt myself drowning in that embrace. But when I finally woke up, the familiar voices from the hallway snapped me back to the horrific reality. “I told you to mess with her head, not to get her killed. You know how I operate.” “Talia, if you ever try this again, we’re done.” 03 I stared blankly at the ceiling. My thoughts drifted back seven years. We were fresh out of the nightmare, and we were still so desperately in love. But the relentless grind of working multiple shifts finally broke Killian. He collapsed at his construction site. Diagnosis: Malignant cardiac arrhythmia. We’d just graduated and found decent entry-level jobs, but we still worked extra shifts—him, to let me cut back. He exhausted our savings and borrowed from every friend he had. But the ICU bills grew more enormous every day. I felt like I was drowning, no matter how hard I kicked, I couldn’t reach the surface, couldn’t see the light. I sold my blood. I sold a kidney. Still not enough. I only cared about Killian living. I swallowed my pride. I used Killian’s phone to call his father. Men like Mr. Alistair North are hypocrites. He could have an affair, but he couldn’t stand the thought of his son running away with the daughter of his mistress. He said he would save Killian’s life—but the cost was that I had to leave him. He said I had to make Killian hate me permanently, only then would he return home and reclaim the life that was meant for him. We made a deal. Killian was fully recovered a month later. On the day he was discharged, he took my hand. I could see the words forming on his lips—he was about to drop to one knee. “Cassidy, I want to marry you.” He never got the chance. He saw the ridiculously large, fake diamond ring on my finger and the man who stepped out from behind me. The ring was a cheap bauble I’d bought at a dollar store. The diamond was enormous, a convincing fake. The man was an actor I’d paid eighty dollars. He had a great, professional demeanor—enough to sell the lie. My voice was dead, stripped of all feeling. “It’s too hard, Killian. You ran yourself into the ground trying to buy me a decent ring, and you spent every last cent we had saving your life.” “You made me feel like our lives would never get better.” “My family wronged yours, so I stayed until you walked out of the hospital. We’re even now.” “But thank God you got sick. Because while you were in the ICU, I met my fiancé. I had no idea life could be this easy. You’re broke, and I’m done.” I turned away, terrified that another second would betray the tears already burning my eyes. The actor, Daniel, was professional, repeatedly intercepting the enraged, broken Killian. Killian fought him off, lunging at me, his eyes red, until he finally sagged from exhaustion. “You tell me how we’re even! You tell me you’re lying, Cass!” But his father was right. Killian wasn’t meant for that life. Pushing further would only kill him. He had to hate me to go back. That was the last time I saw the old Killian before the sham marriage. I thought he’d do exactly as his father and I had planned—go home, inherit the empire, and lead the life of luxury he deserved. Instead, Killian tore the North mansion apart. He cut his hand open, smeared the blood on the walls, and warned his father to stay away from me. He didn’t believe I would betray him. Not until he saw the staged photos of me and the actor naked in bed, and the purposefully “hidden” pregnancy test. Heartbroken, he left. It took him three years, without a single cent of family help, to build an empire large enough to rival his father’s. Then he found me, cornered me, and forced me to sign the marriage certificate. He was changed. The truth—the words of sacrifice, the bitter honesty—all the things I never got to tell him before he found the girls, just withered inside me. What difference would it make now? Would it make him regret? Would he feel guilt? Or would he simply sneer and tell me I was weaving desperate lies? We were already beyond repair. My debt to him. His debt to me. It was a tangled knot that could never be undone. I thought we would simply torture each other forever. But finally, I found the strength to cut the cord. Killian pushed the door open and walked to my bedside. Seeing my eyes open, he momentarily faltered. “You heard that?” “I was just messing with her. You know I wish you were dead.” Killian, I thought bitterly, you never dare to look me in the eye when you say those things. I managed a dry, painful smile. “Perfect.” “If not for her, we wouldn’t have known about the baby.” “Though I know you’d never let me keep your child.” 04 When we first got married, Killian made sure to use protection and forced me to take birth control pills every morning. He said a woman as “dirty” as me couldn’t carry his child—because my mother gave his father a child, and because I’d supposedly been pregnant by another man seven years ago. I never fought him on it. And even now, I hadn’t told Killian the truth. That the first baby, the one I lost—the one I planned to keep as my own—was his, too. No woman who has donated blood and sold a kidney, all while running on empty, can carry a baby to term. My body had been failing for years. Killian’s mouth opened and closed, the well of vicious words drying up before they could emerge. I knew the silence was because he did want a child with me. I remembered him feigning drunkenness just to avoid the condom, and how I’d secretly replaced the birth control with vitamins, holding onto the faint hope: If we have a baby, maybe we can really be a family again… Talia burst in, her small face streaked with tears, but her chin jutted out defiantly. She was the one Killian had found who looked the most like me—an uncanny, painful resemblance. She gave a reluctant, brittle apology. I laughed, a sound that felt brittle. “I thought you’d be fighting harder for him to divorce me and marry you.” She had been so tenacious the first time she’d contacted me. Yet, one car crash and the loss of my pregnancy—the death of our child—and she’d instantly compromised. She thought I was mocking her, and she glared at me. “You think Killian keeps you because of love? If he loved you, why didn’t he punish me? Why is he taking me to Iceland to see the Northern Lights?” Killian stood silent, watching me intently, as if waiting for me to break. He was testing me, waiting for the familiar, agonizing explosion. I just smiled. “Congratulations.” “If you can convince him to finally sign the final divorce papers, that’d be even better.” “Enough!” Killian finally roared. “Cassidy, I just spent an hour calming her down. Why are you provoking her? You think I won’t sign the damn divorce papers?” I remained indifferent. His eyes were fiery, boring into my face. He ignored the girl pulling on his arm. “I like this girl, Cass. You know the consequences if you keep harassing her.” Killian was always like this. He would preemptively accuse me of the behavior of the old Cassidy—the desperate, fighting one—before I even opened my mouth. But the current Cassidy was just trying to leave. 05 I had tried to make it work. The first few times he brought a woman home, I fought. I screamed. I threw every piece of evidence I had that he still loved me in his face and drove the girls out. I genuinely believed we could go back to the way we were. I became a lunatic, fighting one young woman after another. Killian seemed to relish watching me—my hair ripped out, my face bruised. He liked seeing me on my knees, begging him to stop, to let me go, not to find anyone else. He loved listening to me sob, my body shaking so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. That was the only way to get him to send the women away. He loved me, he hated me, and he loved seeing me destroy myself proving I still loved him. I asked him so many times, “If you don’t love me, why go to all this effort to find me? Is it just for the torture?” Most of the time, he’d smirk: “You love the drama, Cass. You love the money. I’m just giving you what you want.” But sometimes, he’d simply stare at the wreckage in the room, saying nothing, lost in thought. Eventually, the fighting consumed all my strength. I had nothing left to give the drama, only a numb acceptance. I thought: Staying beside him, even through his betrayal, is better than being away from him. Those years away caused severe withdrawal—a desperate, aching sickness that meant I couldn’t sleep without pills. Only when he forced me back into his life could I get rest, and even then, the nightmares were relentless. My body never truly recovered—I was constantly cold, susceptible to sickness. Maybe it was the missing organ. Maybe it was the missing emotional shelter. It took three years. Slowly, agonizingly, I weaned myself off the co-dependent chaos. And now, I was ready. The week I spent in the hospital, the papers were quietly filed. Killian, perhaps fueled by spite that I hadn’t begged, was overly solicitous of Talia. He took her to all our old spots, ate at our favorite restaurant, and saw the shows we loved. Finally, he put a ring on her finger at the place where we’d once promised forever. “If only she were more like you,” he’d apparently said. Talia, touched, believing she’d won, posted three love-drenched videos documenting the whole thing. The day I was discharged, I picked up the packed suitcases the cleaners had organized and headed straight for the airport. I received a private message from Talia. “What did you do? Killian screamed at me to leave last night and won’t see me today!” I checked the date. It was the seven-year anniversary of the day I broke his heart. I thought he was just moody, especially since the ring he gave her was a genuine, five-figure diamond. I messaged her back, consoling. “We’re getting divorced. Just give him a couple of days.” As I wrote that, I knew the lawyer was about to send Killian the final paperwork and the files from seven years ago. I didn’t want to hide the truth anymore. I’d arranged to go to a specialized clinic abroad—not just for the physical ailments, but for MECT (electroconvulsive therapy). Soon, I would forget all of this. I powered off my phone and stepped onto the plane. I didn’t see the last message Killian had left me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389759”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I had spent three years abroad recuperating from a prolonged illness, during which time I befriended a few fellow socialites from minor elite families. Upon returning to the States, finally healthy, one of them—Gia—invited me to an exclusive ladies’ luncheon. Everyone there was a stranger. When someone politely asked which “Mrs.” I was, I began: “My husband is the CEO of Crestwood Global…” Before I could finish, a woman—a high-society fixture—leapt from the crowd and slapped me across the face, sending me reeling. “Who the hell are you, some stray from the gutters, to try and steal my identity?” Stunned, I asked if she had misheard me. She sneered. “I’ve been coming to this salon for two years. Everyone here knows I am the Crestwood wife. Didn’t you even bother to check?” Heads nodded all around me, their gazes filled with cruel amusement and mockery. Just then, the CEO of Crestwood Global arrived to pick up the woman—it was my husband, Brandon, whom I hadn’t seen in months. He saw me, stumbled, and immediately dropped to his knees, his face sheet-white and slick with cold sweat. I reached out and patted his cheek, a laugh catching in my throat. “You, my glorified employee, dare to keep a mistress and let her flaunt my name?” 1 My friend, Gia Rossi, had invited me to the socialite luncheon. I figured since I hadn’t told Brandon I was back in the States, a few extra hours wouldn’t hurt. Whether I walked in now or later, it would be a surprise—though I was already starting to feel it might not be a good one. I decided to head to the salon first. The room was filled with faces I didn’t recognize. Gia and I had barely stepped into the grand hall when a small group of women approached, all smiles. One younger woman with bleached blonde hair, Bella Pierce, saw the Birkin on my arm and her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “That bag… isn’t that the limited edition Hermès from the Paris collection a few days ago? Only one made globally, right?” “Pardon me, but which Mrs. are you? We haven’t seen you here before.” I replied, “My husband is the CEO of Crestwood Global…” Before the full sentence was out, a striking, dark-haired woman launched herself from the small crowd and smacked me hard across the face, knocking me to the ground. “You common trash! Who the hell are you to try and steal my identity?” Gia gasped, quickly helping me up and glaring murderously at the woman. “What is your problem? You just walk in and assault someone?” I was completely blindsided, taking a long moment to process what happened. When I finally spoke, my voice was dangerously level. “Madam, you must be mistaken.” The woman—tall, perfectly manicured—crossed her arms, looking down her nose at me. “Mistaken? I’ve been attending these salons for two years. Ask any lady here—who doesn’t know that I am the Crestwood Global CEO’s wife?” She paused for dramatic effect. “You little tramp with a death wish, if you’re going to impersonate a high-profile wife, shouldn’t you at least do some basic research?” She let out a dismissive, ugly little laugh. “Then again, someone from your low station wouldn’t know any better.” I was lost. She claimed to be the wife of the Crestwood Global CEO? Then… who was I? The women surrounding us instantly turned frosty. One snickered. “Calling yourself the Crestwood wife in front of Piper Cole? That’s just pathetic.” “Seriously. Impersonating the wife of some B-list company is one thing, but the Crestwood wife? And to do it to the real one’s face? The audacity!” “I knew it!” Bella cried, quickly linking arms with the woman named Piper. “That bag—it must be a cheap knockoff!” She pointed a newly sharpened nail at me, her voice ringing with self-righteous indignation. “You! Apologize to Mrs. Cole now!” A genuine, cold amusement flickered through me. I ignored Bella and addressed the squatter. “Is your husband Brandon Shaw? Does he know what kind of woman he married?” Bella’s voice went up an octave. “Watch your mouth! You can’t just throw around Mr. Shaw’s name! Do you really think you’re his wife? Have some shame!” “Security! Get this nobody out of here! What are you letting just anyone walk in?” A security guard started moving toward me, but my mind was spinning too fast to focus on him. All I could think was—what was Brandon’s relationship with this woman? “It’s fine,” Piper said, waving a hand and giving a light, superior laugh. “Ladies, let’s not let this low-class drama ruin our afternoon. She can stay here if she wants.” She scanned the room, then looked back at me with contempt. “Better yet, why don’t I invite everyone back to my place for the salon? I’d hate for some poor little ugly duckling to try and hard-leech off my status again.” 2 After Piper swept out with her entourage, Gia looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern. “Ana, what is going on? Is there a misunderstanding? Did Brandon…” It was too much of a coincidence. This “Piper Cole” appears out of nowhere, steals my identity, and is linked to Brandon. I had to know the truth. I swallowed the knot of rising panic. “To the Atherton Estate. Let’s hear what Brandon has to say.” When we reached the gates of my own house, the driveway was crammed with luxury vehicles. And walking straight toward the front door of my villa was Piper’s entire posse. An edge of genuine rage sharpened my voice. “Are you planning to hold your luncheon here?” Bella whipped around, recognized me, and rolled her eyes. “Why are you still following us? Didn’t Piper make it clear you aren’t welcome?” “Your skin is unbelievably thick, lady.” I was so furious I laughed. “You’re going to host your salon… in my house?” “Your house?” A beat of silence, and then the whole group burst into cruel, collective laughter. Piper covered her mouth delicately, then dropped her hands, crossing them over her chest. She looked down at me from her perch on the stone steps. “What, not only are you impersonating me, but now you’re stalking me to my home?” “Honestly, even if you were cured of whatever mental illness you have, you’d still be drooling.” She shouted a command. “Mr. Jenkins! Get this deluded trespasser out of here!” An older man I didn’t recognize—certainly not the long-time groundskeeper—emerged from the house, grabbing a broom from the porch and starting toward us. I snapped, “Don’t you dare.” Perhaps the sheer coldness of my tone gave him pause, because the broom never dropped. I glanced inside. The staff were all new faces. My former household staff were gone. I turned to the old man. “Are you new here?” He faltered, looking nervously at Piper. Bella cut in impatiently. “Listen, lady. We all know your sad little charade. How do you have the nerve to follow us here? Are you seriously acting out a fantasy? Is this some kind of sick performance art?” “Do you have no sense of self-respect?” “Or do you have some kind of delusion disorder? Because let me tell you—Piper is the wife Mr. Shaw officially introduced at the Crestwood Gala. You need to recognize your place, even in your dreams!” “Seriously! What kind of psycho shows up on someone else’s doorstep like this? This is insane!” The others chuckled. Piper sighed dramatically. “It’s fine, Bella. I’m a good person. I’ll let them in to see the place.” She feigned a soft sadness. “It’s just… she’s crossing a line. She actually said this estate is hers.” “This penthouse was a birthday gift from Brandon. I’m actually sick to my stomach!” Bella instantly turned back into a lapdog, barking at me. “Can’t you see Mrs. Shaw is about to cry? What are you still doing standing here, you shameless little tramp? Get out!” “And Security! Why are you letting this trash in? You are completely incompetent! I’ll have my husband arrange to fire you all tomorrow!” “Enough!” My control shattered. The rage I’d been holding back boiled over. “All of you, right now, get away from my front door!” “Or I’m calling the police!” A flicker of genuine anxiety crossed Piper’s eyes before she composed herself. She challenged me coolly. “You say this is your house? What proof do you have?” I shot back, “Are you serious? I need to show you proof to enter my own home?” Bella immediately chimed in with scorn. “Still talking tough? I bet you can’t produce a single piece of evidence!” I took a deep breath, wanting desperately to ignore these insipid idiots but forced to play their game. “The security system is keyed to my fingerprint. And my password.” Piper barked a short, triumphant laugh. She shrugged, tilting her head. “That’s it? Go on, then. Try.” The group parted, making a mockery of a space for me. Seeing her absolute confidence, a chill of dread ran through me, but I stepped up and placed my hand on the scanner. Failure. Repeatedly. My password was rejected. Then, Piper casually placed her own hand on the pad. The lock clicked open immediately. 3 Bella was ecstatic. She crossed her arms and blocked my path. “Who is the woman of this house? I think we all know now.” “Low-class is low-class. Crawling back, begging for another public humiliation.” “First impersonating the CEO’s wife, now the homeowner. What’s next? I think she’s genuinely unstable. Maybe we should call the police.” “I’ve had enough!” Gia rolled up her sleeves and shoved Bella aside. “Who are you calling unstable?” “And who are you? Ana is the legitimate, legal wife of the CEO of Crestwood Global! She was overseas for a few years, and you, you opportunistic little squatting bitch, stole her house!” She pointed at Piper. “Who’s the shameless one? You, the thief who took over her life! You’re the one who needs to crawl into a hole!” Piper’s face went from smug to toxic. She grit her teeth. “What did you say?” “I said you’re a nest—” Gia was cut off as Bella, recovering quickly, slapped her across the face, sending her stumbling. “Gia! How dare you speak to Piper like that?” “You must be insane to offend Mrs. Shaw just to defend a pathetic imposter!” “Get on your knees and apologize to Piper! Unless you want to be permanently blacklisted from this city!” “An apology isn’t enough,” Piper sneered, her eyes burning with fury as she stalked toward us. I was focused on helping Gia up when Piper shoved me violently, then kicked me as I lay on the marble floor. “You’re going to get on your knees and apologize to me!” I was so stunned by the sheer nerve of her attack that I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Apologize to you? Do you think you’re worthy?” “You owe me an apology for that first slap!” Piper’s smile was cold and arrogant. “My slap was an honor for someone like you!” “If you don’t apologize, I can make one call and ensure you’re run out of New York City!” I decided normal communication was impossible with these people. I stood up and dusted off my clothes. “Wow. That’s a bold claim. You must be really powerful to talk like that.” In my two-plus decades of life, I had never encountered such blatant, unhinged arrogance. Piper gave a scoff of contempt. “Crestwood Global can crush a nobody like you as easily as crushing an ant.” “What, scared now? Then get down and apologize! And give me ten forehead-to-floor kowtows!” “Oh yes, I’m absolutely terrified. Though, crushing me isn’t quite as simple for Crestwood Global as you think,” I said, my voice light but dangerous. “But you, my dear—a certified lunatic—I’m truly not afraid of.” “After all, you know better than anyone whether you are the actual wife or not.” I gestured to Bella, then looked directly at Piper. “This girl says you were ‘officially announced’ as Brandon’s wife at a gala, but I didn’t see a single headline, and it seems like very few in the actual inner circles know about it. What kind of official announcement is that?” “And I recall the current Crestwood Global CEO’s wife has always been intensely private, never appearing at public functions.” “But that doesn’t mean just anyone can show up and steal her identity!” Piper’s face was scarlet with panic and rage. “You wait right there!” She instantly pulled out her phone and video-called Brandon. It connected immediately. It was indeed my husband, the man I hadn’t seen in three years. Brandon’s face was all softness and smiles, his voice a low, soothing purr. “Honey, why are you calling now? Didn’t you just leave for the luncheon?” I took a long, steadying breath. So, it was true. My live-in, puppet CEO husband was cheating! Piper turned her phone so that her smug, victorious face—and ours—was visible, then she turned back to the screen, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Oh, nothing much. I just suddenly missed you.” “I’m busy with work right now, sweetie. You wait for me patiently at home, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Piper giggled. “Okay, darling. I won’t bother you. I’ll wait for you at home.” She ended the call, then looked at Gia and me, her face glowing with triumph. “See? The CEO of Crestwood Global, Brandon Shaw, is my husband.” “You wanted proof? There’s your proof!” The other women were buzzing with excitement. “I actually saw the Crestwood Global CEO! He’s real!” “I want to see what these two imposters have to say now!” Piper pointed at us. “You two! One of you stole my identity, the other verbally abused me! Get down on your knees and apologize, or this won’t end well for you!” She poked a finger into my cheek, mocking me. “Especially you! I want you to beg. Ten kowtows!” I instantly grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away. My face went cold, my eyes frozen. “Is that so? I’m curious to see what ‘crap’ Mr. Shaw is going to come up with.” I, too, pulled out my phone and dialed Brandon’s number.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389757”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I was buried in the avalanche, my biological brother saved the usurper—the fake heiress—by slicing through my safety cable. The snow was climbing past my head, my body heat rapidly leaching away, and I screamed at Blake through frozen lips. “Brother! Don’t leave me! Or my adoptive father’s people will flatten this mountain and hunt you down!” I had been back with the Harrington family for a year, playing the meek, agreeable daughter, and had never dared mention my adoptive parents overseas. They didn’t know that the couple who raised me were the commanders of a top-tier international mercenary group, The Vanguard. My adoptive father, Hawk, was a legendary sharpshooter; my mother, T.N.T., was an explosives expert. I was their most favored—their only—princess. But my brother merely smirked and pulled the cable fully back. “Stop making up fairy tales, Sandy.” “You’re a lying country bumpkin. Where are these ‘powerful connections’ you speak of? I brought you skiing despite the embarrassment, and now you’re trying to compete with Ronnie? Don’t you know she can’t handle any kind of shock?” With that, he took the fake heiress by the arm and turned to leave. “Since your adoptive parents are so powerful, why don’t you have them send a chopper for you?” I watched the last sliver of light disappear above me, and with the last ounce of strength, I pressed the red panic button on my satellite tracker. Blake didn’t know. That single signal would mark this entire mountain range as his grave. Blake’s silhouette vanished into the blizzard. All that was left was the howling wind, mocking my own foolish yearning. I strained to open my eyes. Only Blake’s personal assistant, Gary, was near me. He looked down, his eyes a conflicted mess. A primal spark of hope, the sheer instinct to survive, flared in my chest. “He… help me…” Gary’s hand started to reach out, stalled in the frigid air, and then retreated. “Miss Sandy, I’m sorry.” “Mr. Harrington said Miss Ronnie was extremely distressed and that everyone needs to escort her down immediately. He said the avalanche has stopped and you’re not buried deep. He mentioned your ‘rural background’ makes you hardy—that a little snow won’t kill you. He said you should just calm down.” Gary looked away, a flicker of shame in his eyes. One simple tug from him, and I could have climbed out. But he did nothing. He chose to obey that blind, entitled fool of a CEO, abandoning a living person in this icy tomb. The sound of his footsteps—the distinctive crunch, crunch on the packed snow—faded into the distance. I was officially the discard. I strained every muscle, trying to reach the hard object sewn into my thermal underwear. My mother, T.N.T., had given it to me before I came home to the Harringtons. Sandy, she had said, this is your lifeline. Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to. Because once you do, the peace—the delusion—is over. I had laughed then, saying with my real parents and brother, I’d never need it. Now, I realized what a ridiculous, pathetic joke that was. I used the last of my failing strength to press the red button. Beep. The indicator light flickered faintly twice, then went dark. The satellite signal was sent. I didn’t know if I could hold on until they crossed continents to find me. After all, this was a remote, restricted zone because of the avalanche. Just then, my phone screen, pressed against my chest, suddenly lit up. A unique vibration frequency. It was a message on the “Vanguard Family” group chat. Even with the weakest signal, the message found its way through on this special frequency. My brother, Jax, sent an image. He was wiping down a heavy-caliber sniper rifle—the barrel was a cold, black gleam. The caption was simple: [Sandy, location received.] [We were just wrapping up an assignment on the border, only two hundred miles out.] [This mountain range is beautiful. Perfect for a grave.] I tried to laugh, but my face wouldn’t move. I wanted to reply, but my fingers were too frozen to tap the screen. My consciousness was beginning to blur. In the haze, I was back in those years overseas. A place chaotic and lethal, yet brimming with fierce life. I was five when I was kidnapped and ended up dumped near the border. It was Hawk who dug me out of a pile of bodies. He complained I was dirty, but he gave me half a stale energy bar. Hawk, my adoptive father, a quiet man and the world’s best sharpshooter, taught me how to strip and reassemble a Glock in three seconds flat. He said a gun is a partner, more reliable than any person. My adoptive mother, T.N.T., was an elegant psycho. She taught me how to make liquid explosives using common household cleaners. She said, if anyone ever crosses you, blow them up. Don’t bother with decorum. And Jax. My adopted brother who climbed out of his own graveyard. He always saved the best rations for me, then broke the hands and feet of anyone who dared make me cry. I had walked away from that life—that existence on a razor’s edge, entirely encased in a love so absolute—for a normal life. For the warmth of “blood ties.” I thought that shared DNA would secure me a real, normal family. I took off the mask of “The Red Fox” and played the timid, fragile true heiress, Sandy Sinclair. Once, Blake handed me a cup of water when I had a fever. I had been so moved, so tearful, believing it was the warmth of home. The reality was a shattering slap in the face. I later learned that water was Ronnie’s, and she had tossed it to me because it was too hot for her delicate hands. A jolt of agonizing pain dragged me back from the memories. It wasn’t the warmth of rescue; it was the sharp, metallic crunch against bone. CRACK. A rescue worker’s iron shovel slammed hard into my thigh. I choked on a silent scream as my consciousness snapped back. I was being roughly dragged out of the snow pile. There was no stretcher, no sign of emergency medical care. The search team member stared at me with unconcealed disgust. “Tough one, aren’t you? Didn’t die after all that time buried.” “You wasted half an hour of our time. Mr. Harrington is furious.” He didn’t even attempt basic first aid or wound stabilization. He just threw me onto a flat sled used for hauling gear. Bouncing and jostling, I was dragged back to the main camp. The medical tent was right there. Warm, yellow light poured out, accompanied by the low roar of a forced-air heater. Two bodyguards grabbed me and hauled me inside. The heat was overwhelming, but it wasn’t for me. Ronnie Chandler, wrapped in thick cashmere blankets, sat in the only cushioned chair. She was surrounded by doctors and nurses, all of them looking frantic. “Miss Ronnie, is the scratch painful?” “Hurry! Bring the best antibacterial cream!” I struggled to lift my eyelids. Ronnie had a barely visible scrape on her finger, not even a drop of blood. And that single, precious heater was aimed directly at her hand. I was soaked through, the skin and muscle on my thigh ripped open, bleeding onto the muddy corner of the tent floor. Ignored. Gary, the assistant, hurried past, stopped, and saw my condition. He paused, then tossed a grimy, used towel at me. “Wipe yourself up. Don’t mess up the floor.” “Mr. Harrington is with Miss Ronnie, helping with her trauma counseling. Don’t cause trouble. Stay in this corner and don’t move.” I clenched my jaw, staring at the filthy towel. The last flicker of hope in my eyes went out. I was dumped in a derelict storage room. It was drafty and barely warmer than outside. No doctor, no medicine. I leaned against the cold wall, my thigh still leaking blood. The door swung open. Ronnie, dressed in a pink silk hospital gown, walked in. In her hand, she casually twirled a pair of medical surgical scissors. Her face was dominated by the chilling smile of a victor. The weak, delicate persona was gone, replaced by a look of sheer malice and calculating cruelty. She dismissed the guards outside, then locked the door. “My, my, Sister. You really have nine lives, don’t you?” Ronnie walked to me and crouched down. The tip of the scissors traced lightly across my bruised, cut-up face. The sensation was spine-crawling. “Did you know? That safety cable? It wasn’t an accident.” She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “I sliced it halfway through with a razor blade the night before.” “And the avalanche?” “I had someone set off a micro-detonation at a specific stress point.” I snapped my head up, glaring at her. Even with my suspicions, hearing her confess to mass murder just to win an argument was absurd. Ronnie read my thoughts and giggled hysterically. “What’s the worry? I have my brother to protect me. I just wanted to see who he would choose when faced with life or death.” “The result is obvious, isn’t it?” She tapped my cheek with the scissors, her eyes full of contempt. “You, the ‘true’ heiress, lost everything. In this family, blood means nothing. Only performance matters.” I wanted to lift my hand and tear her throat out. But I was so weak I couldn’t even manage the effort. Ronnie was elated by my helplessness. “Don’t blame me. Blame yourself for showing up.” “Those so-called adoptive parents of yours must be utter trash, right? I heard they operated overseas? Scavengers from some refugee camp?” The mention of my family shifted the expression in my eyes. It was the look of a predator staring at its prey. I managed a cold, chilling smile. “You will regret that.” Ronnie flinched, startled by the sheer, unadulterated killing intent she saw—a look she’d never encountered in her privileged bubble. She was instantly enraged, raising her hand and delivering a hard, brutal slap across my face. SMACK! The blow was so powerful my ears rang. “You filthy wench! How dare you glare at me!” She stood up, planting her high heel directly onto my wounded thigh. She twisted her foot, grinding the heel in. “Agh—!” A low, guttural cry escaped me as the wound burst open again, fresh blood pooling on the floor. Ronnie rubbed the sole of her shoe on my soiled clothing with a look of disgust. “Blake will have you eliminated soon. Your existence is an inconvenience, a threat.” “Once you’re dead, everything in the Harrington family will go back to being mine.” She raised the scissors, seemingly ready to stab my eye. Just then, frantic footsteps sounded outside the door. Ronnie’s reaction was lightning-fast. She dropped the scissors, scrambled to the floor, and tore at her hair. In an instant, she was the trembling, wide-eyed porcelain doll again. The door burst open. Blake strode in. His face instantly darkened, ready to rain fury. “What in God’s name happened!” Ronnie crawled to him like a desperate refugee, burying herself in his arms. The tears were instantaneous, flowing thick and fast. “Brother! Sister… she’s gone mad!” She held up her perfectly intact hand, trembling as she pointed at me. “I came in to bring her some medicine, out of the kindness of my heart.” “But she woke up and grabbed the scissors, trying to stab me! She said she’d ruin my face! That I stole her life!” “Brother, I’m so scared. My chest hurts so much…” With a dramatic sigh, she rolled her eyes and went limp in his arms, expertly feigning a faint. Oscar owed her an award. Blake didn’t even glance at me in the corner. His world centered entirely on the ‘innocent’ woman in his arms. “Ronnie! Ronnie, talk to me!” He shouted, frantic, then turned to me. His eyes were pure, murderous hatred. “Sandy Sinclair! You vicious snake! If Ronnie suffers one single consequence from this, I’ll make you pay with your life!” He marched over and delivered a vicious kick directly to my bleeding thigh wound. The searing pain made my vision swim, and cold sweat instantly soaked my back. A doctor rushed in. He took one look at the scene and immediately understood the assignment. He went through the motions of checking Ronnie. “Mr. Harrington, this is serious!” “Miss Ronnie is suffering from extreme shock, causing myocardial ischemia! If we don’t get blood into her system immediately, it could lead to heart failure!” “But we’re too remote! The camp has no blood bank reserves…” The lie was patently ridiculous. Shock required a blood transfusion? It was a blatant demand. Blake’s gaze locked onto me, immediately vicious. He knew I was O-negative, the universal donor. “Draw hers!” Blake didn’t hesitate, pointing right at me and ordering the doctor. “Whatever it takes to save Ronnie! Drain her dry if you have to!” I weakly raised my head, looking at the man who shared my blood. “I… I just survived an avalanche… I’ve lost too much blood…” “To draw more now… is murder…” My voice was a choked, rational plea. Blake merely sneered, crouching down and grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. “Your life means nothing!” “You have a cheap, stubborn life! A little blood won’t kill you! But if Ronnie doesn’t wake up, I’ll have your entire family—all of them—pay the price!” He pinned down my thrashing arm and motioned to the doctor to proceed. The doctor, unblinking, produced a thick-gauge needle. He plunged it directly into my shriveled, hypothermic vein. No cleaning, no sterilization, just a violent jab. My bright red blood rushed into the tube, quickly filling the donation bag. As the life force drained out, my vision blurred. I was freezing to the bone, my heartbeat a faint flutter. Ronnie, nestled in Blake’s embrace, secretly opened one eye. She gave me a look of pure, malicious glee, like a butcher watching a piece of livestock being bled out. I smiled back. It was a smile of utter, cold release. Watching that bag of my own life-blood, I finally understood. The supposed bond of kinship was just a deadly shackle. In the final fading moments of my consciousness, I used the last of my strength to call out to the void: “Dad! Mom!” The next second. A monstrous, ear-splitting sound ripped through the air. The entire wall of the storage room was split open by a controlled detonation! Rubble and shards of wood flew everywhere. The doctor, still clutching the half-full blood bag, was flung backward by the blast wave. The bag burst on the floor, spraying blood directly onto Blake’s face. As the dust settled, three figures in state-of-the-art black tactical gear stood silhouetted in the doorway. They looked like gods of war. My mother, T.N.T., held the latest C4 detonator, her red lips curved in an elegant, maniacal smile. My father, Hawk, had a sniper rifle shouldered, the infrared laser sight locked dead center on Blake’s forehead. And Jax spun a massive Nepalese kukri knife in his hand. “Sandy.” Jax’s voice held a chilling, hungry excitement. “Looks like your brother isn’t just disobedient, he’s a vampire. Should I just drain him for you?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389756”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was shopping at the mall when it happened. A sudden, heavy flow soaked right through my jeans, looking like a crime scene. Humiliated, I hid in the mall restroom and texted my boyfriend to buy me tampons and a change of clothes. I waited for three hours. The mall was closing, and he still hadn’t shown up. But his female assistant, Chloe, posted a high-profile update on her Instagram Story: “Craving macarons and he literally bought me 80 of them! Where in the world can you find a boss this amazing?” “Who needs a husband? I’m locking it down with my boss for life!” Cold to the bone, I finally texted my mom. “Mom, set up that date. I’m ready to meet him.” Chapter 1 The mall was closing. The bright lights flickered out one by one, plunging the corridors into darkness. It looked exactly like the future of my relationship with Sean. When I finally walked out of the restroom, stained and messy, I startled the security guard on patrol. “Miss, are you okay? Did someone hurt you? Do you need me to call 911?” I gave a bitter smile and declined his offer. The police handle crimes, not wandering hearts. Sean had taken the car. I had to stand by the curb and wait for an Uber. Several drivers saw the blood on my pants and canceled the ride. Some looked scared; others just didn’t want their seats ruined. It took thirty minutes before a kind female driver finally picked me up. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing while I was in the shower. When I got out, I saw missed calls from my mom and a wall of text messages. “You finally woke up? I told you years ago that Sean was cold-blooded!” “Seven years, Nora! If he wanted to marry you, he would have done it by now. Better late than never. The guy I found for you is leagues above that loser!” Parents really do know best. When you’re young, you think they don’t understand love. When you get older, you realize you didn’t understand life. I typed back: “I was showering. Mom, I’ll listen to you from now on.” Right after I hit send, Sean finally came home. He brought his favorite pet with him—Chloe. “Nora… you… you’re back already? By the time I got to the mall, the doors were locked…” He looked awkward, but quickly held up a massive plastic bag like a trophy. Tampax, Kotex, Always, L., generic brands… Regular, Super, Overnight, Wings, Minis… every type imaginable. “I don’t know anything about feminine products. I was afraid I’d buy the wrong ones, so I asked Chloe to help me choose. That’s why we were a bit late.” What a clumsy lie. But I didn’t feel angry or wronged anymore. There is no grief greater than a heart that has gone cold. “It’s fine. I handled it. I don’t need to trouble you anymore,” I said flatly, avoiding his shifting eyes. He knew he messed up. He pretended to need the bathroom, but before he left, he made sure to praise Chloe. “Chloe knew you weren’t feeling well, so she insisted on coming up to check on you.” “Yeah, Nora. Are you okay? It’s so painful for us girls during that time of the month. Do you want me to make you some hot tea?” Chloe was as good as ever at playing the innocent angel in front of Sean. But the moment the bathroom door clicked shut, the “Pick-me girl” mask fell off. Her face twisted into a look of pure malice. She lowered her voice so only I could hear. “Nora, those tampons should last an old woman like you until menopause, right?” “Haha, just thinking about you waiting there makes me cringe for you.” “A woman left bleeding, dirty and smelly in a mall with no one to care for her… if I were you, I’d just end it all.” “Sean clearly doesn’t love you anymore. Why are you still hanging around? Don’t you have any dignity? Do you have to wait until you’re kicked out? Do you enjoy begging for love that much?” Chloe stepped closer as she spoke. She deliberately leaned her face toward mine. I knew what she was doing. She wanted me to slap her. Then she could cry to Sean and play the victim, driving the wedge deeper between us. In the past, I would have slapped her without hesitation. But now? Would you fight a dog over a piece of crap? I just watched Chloe’s performance with cold eyes. Like watching a fly buzzing around a dumpster. Under my stare, her expression shifted from smug provocation to confusion. Then panic. Then anger. Suddenly, she gritted her teeth, raised her hand, and slapped herself hard across the face. Smack! As the crisp sound echoed, Chloe burst into loud, wailing tears. “Nora! Please don’t!” Chapter 2 Chloe’s scream was like a starter pistol. Sean burst out of the bathroom like a hunting dog. “Chloe! What happened?” Chloe had slapped herself hard; a clear red handprint bloomed on her pale cheek. “Nora… she’s in a bad mood… it’s understandable she took it out on me… I don’t blame her…” Her acting was mediocre, but it was enough for a stupid man. Sean immediately transformed into a white knight, glaring at me furiously. “Nora! What is wrong with you? If you’re mad, take it out on me! What kind of person bullies a young girl?” “Chloe just graduated college! She’s innocent and kind. What gives you the right to abuse her? Apologize now!” He tried to force me to apologize. I didn’t bother speaking. I turned around, went into the guest bedroom, and locked the door. Chloe was crying. Sean was comforting her. I found it noisy, so I put on my noise-canceling headphones. WeChat dinged. A friend request popped up. The note said: “Blind Date.” I accepted the request from the man named Miles. Outside, it went quiet. Sean had taken Chloe home. He didn’t come back that night. In the early morning, a photo of Sean sleeping appeared in the company Slack channel. He was shirtless, sleeping soundly, looking satisfied and exhausted. There are always night owls. Employees immediately started commenting. “The Boss’s Lady makes it official!” “Send red envelopes!” “Congrats on the future baby!” But some old colleagues DM’d me, furious on my behalf. “Nora, that homewrecker is crossing the line!” “This is a declaration of war.” “You need to get a grip on Sean, don’t let that little snake steal your fruit!” When Sean started his company, I was his right hand. I personally hired most of the senior staff. Once the business stabilized, Sean said he didn’t want me working so hard. He said he could support me. He said couples shouldn’t work together; it causes conflicts. So I left the company and became a supportive housewife. Years flew by. Except for the founding members, many new employees didn’t even know I existed. “It’s just rotten fruit. I don’t want it anymore,” I replied, then left the company group chat. I thought I would have insomnia, but I slept surprisingly well. Miles, the blind date, didn’t say anything after I added him. I didn’t care much. I only agreed to the date to give my mom peace of mind. I didn’t want her worrying about my love life anymore. As for love? I had zero expectations. Chapter 3 The next morning, I packed my things to move back to my hometown. I arranged for a moving company to ship my large suitcases. Sean came back around noon. He clearly knew about the photo in the Slack channel and that I had left the group. After all, he was the admin. He looked guilty. “It got too late last night, and Chloe was worried it wasn’t safe for me to drive… nothing happened between us… I slept on the couch…” “The photo was a joke. She’s just a kid, she didn’t mean anything by it.” Sean watched my expression carefully as he spoke. Seeing that I was glued to my phone and ignoring him, he pulled a box of macarons from his bag and placed them on the coffee table. “Isn’t there that trend online about the ‘Strawberry Test’ or whatever? You don’t need to test me. I brought you the macarons. All 8 of them are yours!” I glanced at the box. The production date was yesterday. Chloe couldn’t finish 80 of them, so he brought the leftovers home for me to dispose of? I picked up the box and dropped it into the trash can. “What are you doing? Stop acting crazy, okay? Being a man out there is exhausting!” Sean’s face darkened. I had seen the viral trend. A mom posted that she bought a pack of 8 pastries. Daughter ate 2, son ate 2, husband ate 2. She thought the last 2 were hers, but her husband criticized her for eating them. She felt wronged. She felt unloved. The internet blew up. Women started using food to test their partners. It was like the “If your mom and I fell in the water” question. I always thought it was boring. Women aren’t beggars. Do we need a man’s permission to eat what we want? That’s too pathetic. I never thought to use that to test Sean’s heart. After the tampon incident last night, there was no need to test anything. The truth was ugly. He didn’t love me. “I don’t like sweets.” I went back to my phone. My mom sent me photos of hotels, wedding dresses, and menus to choose from. She was moving too fast. I only just agreed to go home for a date, and she was already planning the wedding. “You really don’t know romance!” “Chloe was so happy when she got the macarons—” Sean realized he slipped up and shut his mouth. His eyes scanned my phone screen and saw the photo of a wedding dress my mom sent. “I think this one suits you better. You’re tall, so a long train works. I even found flower girl twins for you…” Sean’s face looked like he had swallowed a fly. “What wedding?” “Who allowed you to pick dresses? Did you discuss this with me?” “Is your mom forcing marriage again? She’s really losing it! Why is she causing trouble?” Sean’s tone was full of disdain for my mother. He had completely forgotten that when my mom visited us in college, she brought him more food and clothes than she did for me. Sean’s parents divorced and remarried; he was the extra baggage. Aside from wiring money, they ignored him. He was unloved by everyone. So my mom doted on him, giving him the motherly love he lacked. Back then, he always said, “Nora, just for your mom, I have to marry you!” “I’m not just a son-in-law, I’m her son!” We had no money then, no house. But we sat in our rental apartment dreaming of our future. That was the fuel for his startup. Later, we had money. We had the house. The startup succeeded. But marriage became a taboo topic. “Focus on career!” “Too busy!” “Marriage is the tomb of romance!” “We’re still young!” “Just wait a bit…” Sean had infinite excuses. I felt wronged, but I endured it. I felt like I had invested seven years of youth; I couldn’t bear to cut my losses. But I was awake now. If I quit now, seven years were wasted. If I stayed, I was just feeding a wolf. The past is gone. Cutting losses is the smartest move. Sean was still venting. He grabbed my phone, pressed the voice note button, and screamed furiously. “Linda! Stop causing drama, okay?” “We young people have our own plans! You meddling will only cause conflicts!” “We have no plans to marry right now! Stop wasting your energy!” He threw the phone down, huffing. “Nora, your mom is getting senile!” Smack! I slapped Sean hard across the face. His rant stopped abruptly. “You can disrespect me. You cannot disrespect my mother.” I said each word clearly. “The man my mom wants me to marry isn’t you. Get over yourself.” “We are breaking up.” At that exact moment, the Little Green Tea burst through the door, flustered. She was crying. “Sean! You didn’t use protection last night, and I didn’t take the pill!” “I’m too embarrassed to go to the pharmacy alone! What do I do?” “I’m still just a kid! I don’t want to get pregnant!” Chapter 4 Chloe’s crying threw Sean into a panic. “What? Right now isn’t a good time for a baby!” “Thankfully, Plan B works within 72 hours!” He ignored the fact that I just said “break up,” grabbed Chloe’s arm, and rushed downstairs. I looked at the empty house. There was nothing left to miss. I opened the airline app. My hometown was 500 miles away. The next flight was tomorrow night. My mom called. She was furious. “Where is that bastard Sean? Does he speak human language? All that good food I fed him went to a dog!” “Come back right now! I don’t want you near that animal for another second!” I told her I was booking a flight for tomorrow. “Don’t buy a ticket yet. Wait for my text!” My mom hung up in a hurry. Ten minutes later. Miles, the blind date, sent me a message. “Be downstairs in 5 minutes. I’m taking you home.” I was shocked. How did he get here so fast? And how did he know my address? I took my suitcase downstairs. In less than 5 minutes, a black Mercedes SUV pulled up slowly beside me. A man, elegant and sharp, stepped out. “I’m Miles. Your mother sent me.” At the same time, Sean came out of the pharmacy across the street with a smug-looking Chloe. They had bought the pill. He saw me standing face-to-face with Miles. Miles took my suitcase and put it in the trunk. Sean’s face turned iron-gray as he stormed over. “Nora, where are you going? Stop making a scene, okay? I can explain last night. It was just an accident!” I was sick of his noise. I pointed at Miles. “This is my date. He’s taking me home. We have nothing to do with each other anymore.” I got into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Sean exploded. He started pounding on the window. “What date? Nora, get out of the car!” Miles didn’t say a word. He just got in. Vroom! He floored the gas. The SUV shot forward, sending an unprepared Sean tumbling into the dirt. In the rearview mirror, I saw Chloe try to help him up, but Sean shoved her away. He scrambled up to chase our car but tripped and fell again. I closed my eyes. Goodbye to this city. Goodbye, Sean. Without you, my life—whether lonely or wild—will definitely be better.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389755”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was a day student at an elite private high school, and for one whole semester, I supplied breakfast for the entire class. Five-dollar gourmet breakfast burritos packed with steak and eggs, and seven-dollar artisanal bagels with smoked salmon. But when I went to collect the money at the end of the week, Sarah, the class president, threw a bagel right in my face. ” The burrito truck down the street only charges five bucks. You charged us seven. You netted three grand this semester. Pay us back!” I explained that the ingredients were imported and prepared by my family’s private chef. If they thought it was too expensive, I just wouldn’t bring it anymore. But Sarah forced me to bring free breakfast for the whole class as an apology. On the day of the SATs, the entire class came down with severe food poisoning. Sarah accused me of poisoning them on purpose. She rallied the class, tricked me onto the rooftop, and pushed me off. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment Sarah begged me to bring breakfast. Chapter 1 “Chloe, the food in the dining hall tastes like cardboard. Can you bring me breakfast tomorrow?” “I heard the breakfast burritos outside are only ten bucks. I’ll Venmo you $10.01. That’s generous enough, right?” Hearing Sarah Jenkins’ voice again, I realized I had been reborn. In my past life, Sarah hated the school cafeteria and practically forced me to bring breakfast. For the sake of being a good classmate, I charged a symbolic five dollars. I had my family’s private chef make them fresh every morning using ingredients flown in that day. Over time, the rest of the class got jealous and begged me to bring food for them too. I figured helping one person was the same as helping a group, so I agreed. I even hired a Michelin-star chef just to handle the morning rush at my house. Forty servings a day, five dollars a pop, huge portions. I never expected that when I went to collect the money at the end of the week, Sarah would throw a burrito in my face. “Chloe Sterling, we asked you to bring food, not rip us off! You’re skimming off the top!” “The food truck down the street sells these for five bucks. You charged seven. You made at least three grand this semester. Pay us back!” I tried to explain that the ingredients were premium imports. If they thought it was pricey, I’d stop. Sarah just sneered. “So you eat fresh imported food and feed us leftovers and scraps? Is that it?” “Fine. You like showing off how rich your family is? Your punishment is bringing free breakfast for the whole class for the rest of the semester.” I refused, but she threatened to report me to the Dean for embezzlement and bullying. Believing in keeping the peace, I didn’t fight it. A few thousand dollars wasn’t even my chef’s daily salary. So, I brought free breakfast for a semester. But one morning, I overheard girls in the bathroom. “Chloe really is a rich idiot. Free breakfast all semester? Sweet.” “Sarah is a genius. If she hadn’t thrown that burrito at Chloe, we wouldn’t have this perk.” Enraged, I stopped bringing food. On the day of the SATs, the whole class got food poisoning. Sarah claimed I had poisoned the previous meals to weaken them so they’d fail the test. They lured me to the roof and ended my life. Opening my eyes again, facing Sarah’s request, I shut her down cold. “No. If you don’t want to eat at the dining hall, then starve.” Chapter 2 The morning chatter stopped instantly. Everyone looked at me. They couldn’t believe I rejected the Class President. Sarah’s face dropped. She raised her voice on purpose. “What? Is ten dollars not enough for you? Are you saying us boarders only deserve to eat the pig slop in the cafeteria?” The atmosphere in the room turned hostile. It was Senior Year. Most students had switched to boarding on campus to maximize study time. I was the only one whose parents insisted I remain a day student because they didn’t want the dorm life to lower my standard of living. Meeting the malice in Sarah’s eyes, I remembered the heavy backpack from my past life. To carry all that food, I had switched to a $5,000 hiking pack. My back had been burned by hot foil wrappers multiple times. And what did I get for it? After they pushed me off the roof, the whole class lied to give Sarah an alibi. Thinking of this, I smiled and raised my voice too. “Sarah, be grateful for what you have. How can you call the hard work of the cafeteria staff ‘pig slop’?” Before Sarah could retort, I raised my hand and called out to Mr. Henderson, our homeroom teacher, who was checking attendance at the door. “Mr. Henderson! Sarah keeps harassing me to be her personal Uber Eats driver. It’s severely affecting my studies. Can I request a seat change?” The class gasped and looked at the stern-faced teacher in the doorway. In the end, Sarah got detention. And I got moved to a seat right next to the teacher’s podium. Chapter 3 Several times, when Sarah walked past me, she “accidentally” kicked my desk. I didn’t care. My goal this time was simple: Ace the SATs and get into an Ivy. At lunch, my family’s driver delivered my meal. Just as I opened it, Sarah walked in holding a greasy burrito. Seeing me, she shook the plastic bag smugly. “Plenty of people are willing to bring me food. See this? I gave Bella Martinez ten bucks, and she even added extra sausage!” “If you know what’s good for you, I can let you earn some money too. How about I give you four bucks a meal, and you bring me whatever you’re eating. Deal?” I opened the thermal bento box my driver had brought. It was a standard four-course meal. Garlic butter lobster, braised short ribs, truffle pasta, and seasonal greens. Plus a side of premium cut fruit. Sarah saw my lunch. She gulped, trying hard to look unimpressed. I laughed. “Four bucks? That wouldn’t even buy the disposable container. Keep dreaming.” Sarah stomped her foot. “Who wants your nasty food anyway? You’re making the whole classroom smell. No class!” She ran back to her seat and aggressively bit into her burrito. Every time I took a bite of lobster, I made a satisfied sound. It made Sarah so hungry she had to go to the vending machine for a bag of chips. Chapter 4 After that, Sarah held a grudge. She demanded my homework first and checked under my desk for dust with a microscope. In the evenings, classmates would usually shove their power banks and phones at me, asking me to charge them at home and bring them back the next day. The classroom got noisy. Several boarding students crowded around me. “Chloe, can I borrow your phone to call my grandma? I forgot to pay my bill.” “Me too. My dad called you last time and you didn’t answer, and I got yelled at. Be more considerate, okay?” “Seriously, why are you hesitating to lend a phone? Stop acting like a princess.” I smiled faintly. “Then don’t borrow it. If you can’t afford your phone bill, don’t make calls.” My words instantly made the sensitive girl, Emily, burst into tears. She sobbed. “I know, I’m on a scholarship, and you look down on me. But I work just as hard as you.” “You’re the only one who dares to sneak a phone into class. I didn’t report you because we’re classmates, and this is how you treat me?” It was funny. She ignored all the students in the back row who had phones. I only brought mine because students couldn’t contact their families easily, and I wanted to help. Now, it was my fault. Sarah jumped in to fan the flames. “Chloe, how can you use money to humiliate your classmates?” “Apologize right now and give her the phone! I’ve never seen a rich person be so stingy.” I spread my hands. “Well, you’re seeing one now.” “Anyway, I didn’t bring it. You’re wasting your breath.” I ignored the crying Emily. As soon as the study hall bell rang, I packed my bag and left. Sarah blocked my path, switching to a pitiful face. “Chloe, I was too harsh just now. Forgive me. Can you please bring your phone tomorrow for everyone to use?” “We only get to go home once a month. Someone like you who lives in a mansion every night doesn’t understand the pain of not seeing family.” The classmates nodded, praising Sarah for being adaptable. They whispered about how I had money but no heart.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389754”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The autistic boy in my class was being bullied. I saw his inner thoughts floating above his head: [These people are so loud. I hate it.] I went over to help him, only to realize he had been secretly watching me the whole time. The thought bubble above his head changed: [Doll. Pretty. Want to kiss.] The next second, he leaned in and kissed me. Chapter 1 Freshman year at State, a boy in my class caught my attention. His name was Charlie Star. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, clean-cut, and beautiful. His grades were freakishly good. But he always kept his head down, sketching in his notebook, never speaking to anyone. Before long, his reputation as the “aloof genius” spread across campus. Only I knew the truth. It wasn’t arrogance. I could see his thoughts. They appeared as text bubbles floating right above his head. His inner world was rich and colorful. He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen. He was… an angel from the stars. Yes, he was on the autism spectrum. Eventually, the secret couldn’t be kept. During a break, a group of frat guys surrounded Charlie, laughing nastily. One of them held a Mountain Dew bottle filled with a suspicious yellow liquid, taunting him. “Hey, bought you a soda. Drink up.” “If you don’t drink it, you’re disrespecting the brotherhood.” They pressured him, their eyes full of malice. Charlie buried his head lower, his fingers gripping his pencil, bending and unbending unconsciously. Brad, the leader with the bleached hair, roughly snatched the sketchbook from Charlie’s desk. He held it up high and whistled. “Damn, bro. You spend all class thinking about girls?” I glanced over. It wasn’t a girl. It was a drawing of a porcelain doll. The guys chimed in, sneering. “You like the doll type? Got a blow-up one at home? Lemme borrow it for a few days.” “Even retards know how to get off?” “Were you touching yourself under the desk? Stand up, let’s see if your pants are wet.” The vile comments came in waves. Charlie shrank back against the wall, twisting the pencil in his hand, silent. Seeing this, Brad laughed. “Hey! He’s not just stupid, he’s a mute too!” Charlie still didn’t react. “Tsk.” Brad tossed the bottle to his lackey, lit a cigarette, and said impatiently: “Go on, feed him. That’s daddy’s special brew. Make sure he drinks every drop.” I frowned, hearing the whispers from nearby students. “That’s Brad, right? His family has money, so he thinks he owns the place.” “Yeah, I saw him in the bathroom filling that bottle. It’s pee.” “Ugh, that’s disgusting.” Brad squinted, blowing smoke rings, basking in the attention. He sat on the edge of the desk, one foot planted on the surface, smiling wickedly at the room. “Ladies, did you know your icy campus heartthrob is autistic?” He flicked his ash onto the clean floor and sneered. “Autistic basically just means retard.” The room erupted in whispers. Charlie usually kept to himself, so no one noticed. But now, seeing him cowering and mute, he clearly didn’t look neurotypical. The looks directed at Charlie changed. “It might be true. Avoiding eye contact, not responding… those are symptoms.” “There was an autistic kid in my neighborhood who pushed his mom down the stairs. It was terrifying.” “I saw one on the subway once, screaming and hitting himself. Scared me to death.” “Holy crap. I don’t want to be in the same class as him.” “If he’s sick, he should be in an institution. Why is the school hiding this? Are they trying to get us killed?” The noise grew louder. Brad chin-lifted, gesturing for silence with his palm down. “Relax. I’m teaching him a lesson for you.” “Don’t fall in love with me for saving the day, ladies.” Brad tossed his cigarette butt on the floor and kicked his lackey. “Feed him! What are you waiting for?” The lackey flinched. “Brad, if I get one more strike, I’m expelled. Can’t Mike do it?” Mike kicked him back. “Didn’t you hear Brad? We’re doing a public service. Don’t be a wuss.” I looked down at the glowing cherry of the cigarette butt near my foot and laughed. Public service? Removing a pest? I stepped forward, picked up the burning cigarette, and walked toward Brad. Chapter 2 The bottle was open. The sharp smell of ammonia filled the classroom. The opening of the bottle inched closer to Charlie. The thoughts above his head flashed rapidly: [I hate this!] [So loud!] [Must hold it in. Can’t hit people.] [Can’t scream.] [Can’t…] I stood in front of Brad and spoke calmly. “Campus security is on the way.” He paused, then raged. “Did you snitch?” I didn’t answer. I snatched the bottle of urine and, without hesitation, dumped it onto Brad’s lap. The liquid soaked his jeans, dripping down his legs to the floor. It looked like he’d wet himself. Brad stood there, stunned, before the blood rushed to his face. He looked like an angry pig. “You b*tch!” He raised his leg to kick me in the chest. I dodged the kick and the flying droplets easily. I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed his face onto the desk. I held the burning cigarette less than an inch from his eyeball. Brad actually peed himself this time. Out of fear. The sound of dripping liquid made the girls nearby cover their eyes and mouths. Brad was trembling, begging me to let go, terrified for his eye. His lackeys surrounded me, threatening me to release him. I ignored them and shoved the empty soda bottle into Brad’s hand. “Every drop. Understand?” “Yeah, yeah… I get it…” I loosened my grip. Brad tried to fight back, but I slammed him down again. I twisted his arm until he screamed. “Ow! Easy… I’ll drink it, I’ll drink it!” He squeezed his eyes shut, about to drink. Just then, the Dean of Students burst in. “What is going on here?!” I let go, looking innocent. “Professor, I was just treating him to a soda.” Brad’s eyes were bloodshot. He gritted his teeth. “Soda my ass, that was—” “That was what?” I glanced at him coldly. Brad looked at the crowd, then at Charlie cowering in the corner. He ground his teeth so hard I thought they’d crack. He had to swallow it. “Nothing, sir. We were just… playing a game.” The Dean’s face softened slightly. He gave a vague lecture and let it go. Brad wasn’t afraid of the Dean, but he didn’t want his dad to find out. He glared at me. “Sierra Quinn. We’ll play again sometime.” He emphasized the word “play.” I didn’t even look at him. The bell rang. The next class was an elective in the building next door. Charlie and I didn’t have that class, so we could leave. I looked at Charlie. “You coming?” He stared at me blankly, stealing glances. Weirdly, I read a sense of shyness in his eyes. I pointed at his sketchbook. “You like dolls?” He didn’t answer, but his eyes lit up. A sentence floated above his head: [Doll. Like. Want to kiss.] Suddenly, a warm sensation brushed my cheek. I touched the lingering warmth and looked at him. The corner of his mouth was tiliting up. “Why did you kiss me? Because I look like a doll?” He nodded, then shook his head, looking conflicted. He tentatively reached out and touched my wrist bone, his smile shy and sweet. I pulled my hand back. “You know, kissing someone without consent is assault. I could call the cops.” Charlie gripped his pencil tight, looking terrified. “Don’t arrest me.” “So what do we do? You took advantage of me.” Charlie thought for a long time, then looked at my lips. “You kiss me. Then it’s fair.” “You mean… I kiss you, and we’re even?” He nodded, eyes pure. “You wish.” I rolled my eyes, went back to my seat, packed my bag, and left. He followed me like a little puppy. I turned around to warn him off. His phone rang. It was his mom. He listened for a moment. “Okay, Mom.” I raised an eyebrow. “Your mom calling you home?” “Mmhmm.” “Then go.” “…Oh.” He looked aggrieved, glancing at me like he wanted to say something. Multiple sentences floated above his head: [Why is Doll being mean… Why won’t she kiss me? Does she not like me…] I stayed silent for a moment, but couldn’t help myself. “My name is Sierra. Not Doll. Got it?” “Si… err… a.” Charlie wrote my name in his sketchbook, pressing his lips together to hide a smile. “Got it.” “Okay, go home.” I knew he lived off-campus. The sky was turning black; a storm was coming. If something happened to him, I’d feel responsible. “…Oh.” He said “Oh” but didn’t move. His eyes were locked on my lips, waiting. “I’m not kissing you. Leave or don’t, I don’t care.” I walked around him and strode away. Behind me, his lonely figure grew smaller. Charlie looked like he was about to cry. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t kiss him. The books said reciprocity is a virtue. Doll wasn’t polite at all. But he still liked her so much. Chapter 3 I drove off campus and found a cafe to work on my term paper. By the time I finished, it had been raining for over half an hour. Outside, the sky was as dark as midnight. Lightning flashed, and for some reason, Charlie’s clean, beautiful face popped into my mind. My phone buzzed. I unlocked it. My roommate, Snow, had sent me a link. [Sierra, look at this.] The post title was: Is this the autistic genius of State U? I clicked it. It was a photo of Charlie. He was hugging his sketchbook tightly, standing on the curb in the pouring rain. In front of him were orange construction cones and a sign: “Road Work Ahead. Please Detour.” The comments were a mix of cruelty and thirst. “Is that the Rain Man kid?” “I’m there right now. He’s like a lost dog. Can’t even walk around a cone. Been standing there for 30 mins.” “I offered him an umbrella and he ignored me. Let him soak.” “Holy crap, he’s hot though! Even wet he looks like a model.” “I can fix him.” “Go bring him an umbrella then!” “Your priority should be deleting Wattpad, girl.” … I looked at the torrential rain outside. I sighed, grabbed my bag and keys, and ran out. One symptom of autism is rigid behavior. Repeating actions, obsession with specific objects, needing fixed routes. Because of the construction, his route home was broken. Charlie didn’t know how to get home. I drove there and saw him, soaked to the bone, being pointed at by strangers. He stood there, spinning the pencil in his fingers, his expression blank. But I knew he was terrified. He just couldn’t express it or ask for help. He could only spin the pencil to channel his anxiety. Lightning split the sky again. “Is he stupid? I asked if he needed help and he ignored me.” “Is this performance art? I don’t get it.” “Poor guy.” “He’s so beautiful. Like a statue.” “His eyes are so clean. Like a human with no additives.” I walked up to him through the gossip and looked up. “Did you bring an umbrella?” Charlie saw me, and his eyes lit up. “Doll.” I glared at him. He corrected himself timidly. “Sierra.” “Did you bring an umbrella?” I repeated. Charlie looked at my open umbrella with a pout. “Yes.” Was he upset I wasn’t sharing mine? Give a man a fish, teach a man to fish. “Take it out. Open it. Hold it up like me.” He listened and did exactly as I said. “Why aren’t you going home?” Charlie pointed at the cones, his voice wobbling. “Can’t pass, Sierra.” “Don’t cry. I’ll take you.” I held out my hand. Charlie hesitated, then gently pinched my sleeve with two fingers, smiling shyly. In the car, I gave him a blanket. “Can you put on your seatbelt?” Charlie shook his head slowly. I leaned over to grab the belt. “Where do you live?” He gripped his pencil tight, his ears turning bright red, holding his breath. I looked at him weirdly. “What’s wrong?” “Too… too close,” he stammered. I froze, quickly clicked the belt, and pulled back. “Breathe. You’re gonna pass out.” He took small gasps of air and recited an address. It wasn’t far. Just a couple of turns. Looking at his soaked clothes, I asked, “Is anyone home?” “Mom said she’s not coming home tonight.” I nodded. “What about your dad?” “No dad.” “Oh.” Single-parent household. I took him up the elevator. Watching him type his passcode with zero cover, I scolded him. “Don’t type your code in front of strangers. It’s dangerous.” Charlie blurted out: “Sierra isn’t a stranger. She’s the person I like.” I followed him inside, looking around. “Do you say ‘I like you’ to everyone you see?” Charlie looked at me with pure eyes, then looked away, shy. “No. Only like Sierra.” My heart twitched. “Your mom would be sad to hear that. She worked hard to raise you.” Charlie seemed confused. “Like Mom too.” “You just said you only like me. Liar.” Charlie didn’t know how to explain that it was a different kind of like. Unable to form the sentences, tears welled up in his eyes. “Don’t cry. Hold it in or I’m leaving.” Hearing my threat, he stopped immediately, spinning his pencil furiously to calm down. I softened my tone. “Go get clothes and shower. You’ll get sick.” “Can you shower by yourself?” He nodded and went to get clothes. But he hovered at the bathroom door. I glanced at his thought bubble. [Scared she’ll leave.] “I’m not leaving. Go.” He finally went in. I scrolled through TikTok, bored. Eventually, the sound of water distracted me. “Sierra, I’m done.” Charlie came out towel-drying his hair. A drop of water rolled down his neck into his collarbone. Without thinking, I asked, “Do you have abs?” He looked at me blankly, looked down at his stomach, and smiled shyly. “Yes. Want to see?” He reached for the hem of his shirt. His eyes were so innocent it felt like a crime to look. I closed my eyes. “Don’t flirt. I’m not looking.” “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. I pointed to a photo on the shelf. “You really like that doll?” In the photo, a teenage Charlie was holding a porcelain doll. The doll had a rose pinned to its chest. Charlie smiled. “Like.” Suddenly, his phone rang. FaceTime from Mom. He answered. His mom saw me in the background and gasped. “Charlie? Is that a friend?” Charlie hesitated. Silence. The silence was suspicious. I jumped in. “Hi Ms. Star, I’m Sierra. I’m his classmate.” His mom looked thrilled. “This is the first time Charlie has brought someone home. He must really like you.” I explained the road construction situation briefly. “I saw him and gave him a ride.” She thanked me profusely, though she looked pale and sickly. “Charlie, it’s Mom’s fault. I should have picked you up.” She talked a lot. Charlie mostly stayed silent. She said the caretaker, Mrs. Lee, was almost there. Charlie kept nodding, but his eyes were glued to me, smiling like a goof. When his mom said it was late and I should go back to campus, he gripped his pencil until his knuckles turned white. His mom read him instantly. “You don’t want Sierra to leave?” Charlie glanced at me, turned his back, and nodded shyly. She explained gently that I couldn’t stay. The doorbell rang. Mrs. Lee arrived. Charlie’s mom asked to speak to me. I took the phone. “Child, have we met before?” My fingers tightened. She recognized me. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I smiled flawlessly. “I don’t think so. I just have one of those faces.” Chapter 4 Before leaving, I couldn’t handle his puppy-dog eyes, so I added him on WeChat. By the time I got to the parking garage, I had ten messages. By the time I showered at the dorm, I had 99+. I replied to a few, ordering him to sleep. The next day, I went to class. Every empty seat had a backpack or book on it. “Saved,” they said. Anyone could sit there. Except Charlie. They were freezing him out. Charlie stood at the back, head down, grinding the pencil into his palm. A wave of annoyance hit me. I walked over to him. Someone whispered: “Does Sierra like the retard? Why is she protecting him?” “Maybe they’re related? They look kinda similar.” Similar? I looked at Charlie’s face. We did look good together. “Sierra, I miss you,” Charlie blurted out. I sighed and took his hand. “Open.” He curled his fingers, then slowly opened them under my stare. His palm was covered in grey graphite and red scratches. I took the pencil stub and put it in my pocket. Without his anxiety anchor, Charlie panicked. He looked at my pocket. “Pencil, Sierra.” “Shh.” I held his hand, picked a random desk, swept the “saved” book onto the floor, and sat him down. The students remembered what I did to Brad. No one said a word. They just grabbed their stuff and moved away. The seats around us emptied instantly. Charlie pulled his hand away. He buried his face in his arms on the desk. He was mad. Mad I took his pencil. He was trying to self-regulate to stop himself from getting angry at me. I pushed a wet wipe and the pencil back to him. “Don’t be mad. Clean your hands. Don’t hold it like that, you’ll get hurt.” Charlie’s mood flipped instantly. He smiled, cleaning his hands carefully. The professor arrived and gave a stern lecture about bullying, likely tipped off by Charlie’s mom. She explained Charlie was harmless. But prejudice is a mountain. No one sat near him. Except me. Another day after school. He pestered me to go to the convenience store to buy a new sketchbook. People stared. Charlie ignored them, eyes only on me. At the register, the cashier, smoking a cigarette, ignored Charlie and handed the card reader to me. I glared at him. The guy shoved the machine at Charlie, muttering, “The dummy knows how to use a card?” I was furious. I dumped the items on the counter and dragged Charlie out. In the car, I scolded him. “You’re smiling? People treat you like dirt!” “I’m sorry, don’t be mad, Sierra~” He tugged my sleeve, smiling purely. My anger vanished. I drove to a different store. Then took him home. Charlie lingered, his eyes brushing my cheek. I looked at his thought bubble. He wanted to kiss me. “Do you want to kiss me?” I asked. He nodded, eyes focused on my cheek. “Look me in the eye and answer.” “Want kiss, Sierra.” He still couldn’t make eye contact. “Look at my eyes.” He spun his pencil, eyes darting away. He couldn’t do it. “Five seconds. Eye contact for five seconds, and you get a kiss.” He went silent. Finally, he whispered, “Sierra…” I turned, meeting a pair of clean, innocent eyes. One, two… My heart started pounding like crazy. Fifth second. A soft kiss grazed my cheek. Like a breeze. I touched my hot face. “Okay, go home.” Charlie smiled, satisfied. To him, it was just affection. He didn’t know he had just messed up a girl’s heart.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389753”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Seven hundred yards from the gas station, I found a little girl on the side of the road having a heart attack. The area was remote, and waiting for an ambulance would take too long, so I decided to rush her to the hospital myself. At the gas station, I told the owner it was an emergency and asked him to fill up my tank quickly. He smirked. “Sure. Give me a hundred bucks, and I’ll make it snappy.” Frustrated, I handed over the cash. But then he changed his tune. “Wait, you’re trying to save someone? A hundred won’t cut it. Give me five hundred, and I’ll fill it up.” Realizing he was extorting me, I tried to step out and call 911 to get an ambulance instead. The owner snatched my phone. “Thinking of calling for help? Not a chance!” Inside the car, the girl’s face was turning blue. What the owner didn’t know was that the dying girl in my backseat was his own daughter, on her way home from tutoring. Chapter 1 It was late at night. I was driving back from visiting relatives in the countryside when I saw a small figure curled up on the side of a desolate road. Being alone in such a remote area at night, I was wary of scams, so I slowed down cautiously. But as I got closer, the girl didn’t look like she was acting. She was clutching her chest, collapsed on the gravel. In the headlights, her face looked ghostly pale. Crap. This looks real. I stopped the car and pulled out my phone to record a video, just in case this was a setup. “I’m recording this for my safety,” I said to the camera. “I just found a girl collapsed on the road. I didn’t hit her. My dashcam can prove it. I’m going to help her now.” I ran over and followed the first-aid training I’d taken. I called out to her. She was conscious but weak, murmuring, “Hospital… heart… hurts…” Heart attack. I wanted to call 911, but the GPS signal was spotty out here, and explaining the location on these winding backroads would take forever. Luckily, she was light. I gently lifted her into the backseat, laid her flat, and cracked the windows for air. I was ready to race to the ER when the fuel light pinged. Empty. Damn it. Of all times. I remembered passing a gas station not far ahead. I floored it and arrived in less than a minute. It was late, and only one guy was there. I parked and yelled, “Fill it up, please! Hurry!” Hearing “fill it up,” the owner, who had been lounging in a chair, sat up. He walked over with a greasy smile. “Filling the tank, huh? Don’t worry, Uncle Joe won’t rip you off. I’ll even give you a discount. You take Premium, right?” He reached for the Premium nozzle and tried to open my fuel cap. I always drove this beater SUV on these roads because the gravel destroyed paint jobs. I stopped him. “No need for Premium. Regular is fine. Just fill it up fast!” Uncle Joe’s smile vanished. His mouth turned down, and his brow furrowed with annoyance. “Regular? Fine. Coming right up.” He said he’d do it, but his movements were agonizingly slow. I looked at the girl in the backseat, frantic. “Sir, can you please hurry? I have a sick child in the back. We need to get to the hospital. It’s an emergency!” Hearing “saving someone,” his eyes lit up. He paused and said, “Oh, sorry, miss. We’re out of Regular. If you want gas, you gotta take Premium.” I leaned out and looked at the pump display. The Regular tank indicator showed full. “Sir, you said you wouldn’t rip me off. You clearly have Regular gas. Don’t lie, or I’m calling the cops.” He didn’t look worried at all. He smirked. “Let me tell you something. This is the only gas station for miles. If you don’t fill up here, you’re not going anywhere. Even if you call the cops, it’ll take them forever to get here. By then, that kid in the back will be dead.” I was shocked. “That’s a human life! Are you really that cold-blooded?” He remained unfazed, his attitude aggressive. “Cold-blooded? I’m feeling cold-blooded today! I don’t give a damn about anyone’s life. I only care about money. You want gas, you take Premium, or you can get out and push!” Chapter 2 The girl in the back groaned in pain. I hesitated for two seconds, then caved. “Fine! Premium it is! Just fill it up!” He agreed readily this time, grabbing the Premium nozzle to start pumping. The tank wasn’t big; usually, it took a minute to fill. But as the seconds ticked by, the pump hummed quietly, barely moving. I couldn’t take it. I got out to check. He wasn’t squeezing the handle fully; the gas was trickling out like a leaky faucet. “What are you doing?!” I screamed. “Squeeze the handle! At this rate, we’ll be here until next Christmas!” He whistled, shaking his leg with a thug-like swagger. “Can’t help it. This pump is just slow. But hey, if you want it faster, there might be a way.” My instinct kicked in. “How?” He smiled crookedly, the wrinkles on his face bunching up like a toad’s skin. It was repulsive. “Extra service fee. Give me another hundred bucks, and I’ll fill it instantly.” Veins popped in my forehead. Did I look like an ATM? It was just a gas pump. I knew how to use it. I moved to shove him aside and do it myself. He yelled immediately, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? I got cameras! If you break anything, you pay for it! And I got a bad back—if you push me and I get paralyzed, you’re paying for my medical bills for life!” Rage swirled in my chest, but I was helpless. The girl couldn’t wait much longer. I decided to call 911 as a backup. But before I could dial, he snatched my phone. “Trying to call for help? No way!” I looked through the window at the weak girl, panic rising in my throat. “If anything happens to her, it’s on you! Her parents won’t let you get away with this!” He shoved my phone into his pocket. “I told you. You want gas fast? You pay. Miss, you’re so kind to save a stranger, why not save poor Uncle Joe too? Business is slow out here. Consider it charity.” I had never seen someone so shameless. This wasn’t begging; it was extortion. The girl kicked the door weakly. She was struggling. Fine. Money. He wanted money. “Okay, I’ll pay. But I don’t have cash. Give me my phone, I’ll Venmo you. A hundred, right?” The notification sound dinged almost instantly. But his hand didn’t move any faster. I screamed like a madwoman. “I sent the money! Hurry up!” He laughed, showing yellow teeth. “A hundred was the price a minute ago. The price has gone up.” “What do you mean?” He smirked. “Think about it. I fill your tank, you rush the kid to the hospital, she lives. Her parents give you a fat reward for saving her life. But without my gas, you can’t be a hero, and you don’t get that reward money. So really, Uncle Joe is helping you get paid. I should get a cut. I’m not greedy—just give me five hundred. Fair, right?” Chapter 3 “Five hundred?! Are you insane? Why don’t you just rob a bank?” He raised an eyebrow. “Five hundred is cheap. When you save that kid, the parents will probably give you thousands. You wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t something in it for you. Don’t act like a saint.” So in his twisted mind, I was only helping for money. I took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll send it.” I had no choice. I had to swallow my anger. He stared at me. “Don’t try anything funny. I’m watching you.” Under his gaze, I Venmoed him five hundred dollars. He grinned. “See? That’s better. You should have done this earlier, saved the kid some suffering. If she dies, it’s your fault for being cheap.” I heard the woosh of gas finally flowing at full speed. My heart rate slowed slightly. Hold on, sweetie. Just a little longer. Suddenly, the noise stopped. I looked at him. His eyes glinted with malice. He had another idea to squeeze me dry. I immediately put my hand behind my back. Relying on muscle memory, I texted my best friend, Maya: [Bring ambulance. Save me. No calls. Hurry.] I sent my location. I had brought Maya here before; I hoped she remembered the way. If I called 911, he’d hear me. Who knows what he’d do then. Just as I predicted, he stopped the pump and snatched the keys from the ignition before I could react. In the struggle, I saw the girl curled into a tight ball. She was fading. “What now?! I paid you!” He smiled. “Don’t panic, miss. Uncle Joe is just being thorough. I’m checking your car. Looks like you need wiper fluid. And an oil change. I’m doing you a favor, taking care of it all right now. Just give me another three hundred.” Three hundred could buy a truckload of wiper fluid. He popped the hood and started “inspecting” the engine. “Miss, I used to be a mechanic. Tell you what, I’ll tighten some loose screws, give it a full service. Total package—just give me a grand!” I was speechless. He was a pro at this. People took this backroad to avoid tolls. He must have scammed dozens of drivers. He tinkered under the hood, stalling. I couldn’t just sit there. The girl was barely moving. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I saw a car approaching. I ran out and waved my arms. “Stop! Please! I have a sick child! I’ll pay you to take us to the hospital!” I had to mention money to get them to stop. The black sedan slowed down. A middle-aged man stepped out, a cigarette dangling from his lip. He didn’t look friendly. He glanced at me, then looked at the gas station owner. “Joe, what’s the deal? Fleecing another tourist?” Joe leaned back, relaxed. “Can’t help it. Slow week. Caught a live one trying to play hero. Had to squeeze her. Help me keep her here, she still owes me a grand. I’ll cut you in.” The smoker nodded. “Deal.” He smirked at me, whispering, “Miss, how much you offering? You gave Joe a grand, don’t shortchange me. I’m reasonable—five hundred, and I’ll take the kid to the ER right now.” Chapter 4 I tried to keep my knees from buckling. Trapped between two men. I didn’t want to think about what else they might want besides money. I had an idea. “Joe, this guy says he’ll take the kid for five hundred. I’m gonna transfer the money to him. I only have five hundred left in my account.” Joe slammed the hood shut. “Bubba, what are you doing? Stealing my business? Don’t you know the rules?” Bubba didn’t back down. “Joe, money doesn’t have rules. First come, first served. Besides, didn’t your daughter tell you to stop this crap? If she finds out, she might have another heart attack.” Joe bristled at the mention of his daughter. “Keep my daughter’s name out of your mouth! She’s healthy as a horse. You curse her, I’ll kill you.” Bubba stubbed out his cigarette, ready to fight. But Joe was smart. He realized quickly I was playing them. Meanwhile, my hand was already dialing 911. Joe snatched the phone before it connected. “Nice try, bitch. Almost fooled me. Transfer the money now, or that kid dies because of you.” Bubba rolled up his sleeves, showing off a tattoo. “And my five hundred. You’re not leaving until you pay.” I was on the verge of tears. I almost knelt. “Sir, you said your daughter has heart problems too. Can’t you have some empathy? If your daughter collapsed on the road and someone tried to save her, only to run into this… how hopeless would she feel?” Joe spat on the ground. “Pah! My daughter ain’t that unlucky. If that kid dies, it’s her bad luck. You’re the cheapskate here. Don’t act like a hero.” I had no choice. I transferred a grand to Joe. Bubba held up his QR code. I paid him too. Getting the girl to the hospital was all that mattered. Joe finally went back to pump the gas. But Bubba looked at me with a different kind of hunger. Suddenly, he said to Joe, “Bro, pump slow. I got some ‘business’ to handle.” Joe winked. “Sure. Take your time.” Bubba rubbed his hands together, walking toward me with a lecherous grin. “Miss, since you’re so generous, help a brother out. I’m lonely. Consider it charity. Just close your eyes, it’ll be over soon.” He stepped closer. My heart hammered against my ribs. I clutched the nail clippers in my pocket—my only weapon. Just as he reached for me, sirens wailed. Police cruisers and an ambulance screeched into the lot. Officers tackled Bubba instantly. Maya jumped out of her car and hugged me. I pushed her away, yelling at the paramedics, “Heart attack! White SUV! Backseat! Hurry!” Joe tried to run but was pinned by a cop. He was still shouting profanities. “Stupid bitch! I’ll be out in a few days! Just you wait!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389752”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I couldn’t sleep. Beside me, my husband’s phone lit up on the nightstand. Then came the constant buzzing of notifications. Curious, I slid it open. It was a Reddit burner account he’d created five years ago. A post he made back then had suddenly gone viral again. [Need advice: How do I get my career-driven wife to quit her job and stay home?] The top comment, with thousands of upvotes, read: [Simple, bro. Keep her pregnant. Non-stop.] We’ve been married for five years. We already have three kids. This year, he’s been pressuring me for a fourth. Chapter 1 Five years of marriage. One son, two daughters. From the outside, we looked like the American Dream. Jason was the hardworking provider, and I was the enviable stay-at-home mom. Before I saw that post, I was actually content. Exhausted, but content. The only friction was Jason’s obsession with having another son. “Babe, come on,” he’d plead. “Just one more boy. Even out the teams.” Worn down by his persistence, I had reluctantly agreed to go off birth control. But the pressure was immense. He sent me pseudoscientific TikToks about conception constantly—legs up the wall, specific diets, supplements. Meanwhile, he did nothing. I did the labor; he just provided the seed and snored. Lying there in the dark, annoyed, I kicked his shin under the covers. He grunted, rolled over, and kept snoring. That’s when his phone buzzed. And kept buzzing. I unlocked it—he never changed his passcode—and found the Reddit thread. It wasn’t just a post. It was a manifesto. [Need advice: How do I get my wife to quit her job?] I scrolled through the comments until I found his reply to the top advice about keeping me pregnant: [Genius. DM me.] I opened his DMs. My blood ran cold. It was years of messages with a stranger, plotting my domestication. The stranger bragged: [My wife has been a SAHM for six years now. She’s totally dependent. She wouldn’t even know how to update a resume.] Jason replied, just yesterday: [I’m almost there. We’re on baby #3, but I’m pushing for #4. She’s completely trapped.] Stranger: [King behavior. 👑] I felt sick. Physically sick. Jason and I met at work. I was actually his supervisor. Corporate policy strictly forbade relationships between managers and subordinates, so we dated in secret. We had a plan: no kids until we were both VP level. I was on the fast track to a promotion. Then, the “accident” happened. I got pregnant. Almost immediately, someone anonymously reported our relationship to HR. I had to choose: fire Jason or resign. I resigned to focus on the baby. I thought it was just bad luck. But after our firstborn, Emma, came Noah. Then Lily. I was pregnant back-to-back. My friends joked that I was “super fertile.” But reading the chat logs, I found the truth. It wasn’t fertility. It was sabotage. [Just poked holes in the supply with a needle. Works every time,] Jason had written. He had tampered with the condoms. He had orchestrated the HR leak. When I left, he slid right into my old position. I looked at the man sleeping next to me. The man I loved. He wasn’t a partner; he was a predator. And the realization that I might be pregnant right now, carrying the product of his latest manipulation, made bile rise in my throat. I ran to the bathroom, scrubbed myself raw in the shower, and immediately ordered the morning-after pill via DoorDash. I sat on the cold tile floor, forcing myself to breathe. I needed a plan. First, the kids. Because I was always pregnant or recovering, Jason’s mother, my overbearing mother-in-law, had basically raised them. They were wild, disrespectful, and worshipped the ground she walked on. This marriage was built on fraud. It was over. But I wasn’t just going to leave. I was going to take him for everything he was worth. Chapter 2 The next morning, I played the part of the dutiful wife. I kissed Jason goodbye and sent him to work. Then, I went to my mother-in-law’s house and picked up the kids. Emma is five, Noah is three, and Lily is one. The transition was chaos. “I don’t want to go!” Emma screamed, pointing a finger in my face. “You’re mean! I want Nana!” Noah threw a toy truck at my head. Only Lily, the baby, seemed okay with me. I made a silent vow: I would give it one month. If I could bond with them, I would fight for full custody. If they were already too poisoned by his family… well, I had to save myself first. When Jason came home, he stopped in the doorway, horrified by the noise. “Whoa,” he said, frowning. “Babe, why are the monsters here? Send them back to my mom’s. I thought we were having a quiet night.” He winked, implying he wanted to work on Baby #4. I suppressed a gag. “I missed them,” I said flatly. “I want them home for a while.” “But… the plan,” he whined. “We need to focus on us.” “I’m not a factory, Jason,” I snapped, letting a bit of my real anger show. “You want a soccer team? You push one out. I’m tired.” He looked shocked. I never talked back. “Okay, okay,” he retreated, hands up. “Whatever you say, honey. How long?” “A month,” I said. “Until summer break ends.” He exhaled, clearly relieved there was a time limit. Chapter 3 Living with the kids was a nightmare. I cooked dinner. I turned around for two seconds, and Emma was squatting on the dining table, barefoot, grabbing handfuls of spaghetti with her hands. “Where’s my bowl?” she shrieked. “I’m starving!” Noah was barking like a dog under the table, waiting for her to drop food. My temple throbbed. Jason sat on the couch, watching ESPN, unbothered. “Are you going to do something?” I asked. He laughed, not looking away from the TV. “Kids will be kids, babe. I was wild too. Just let them be. If the food’s ruined, just make something else. My mom handles them fine.” He wanted me to cook again? “No.” I grabbed the baby, Lily, and called Noah. “Come here if you want to eat.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m not listening to you!” “Fine,” I said. I took the younger two into the kitchen and fed them the backup casserole. When Jason finally came looking for dinner half an hour later, clutching his stomach—he has chronic gastritis and needs to eat on time—he found a clean kitchen. “Babe? Where’s dinner?” he asked, sweating slightly from the pain. I pointed to the dining room table, where the cold, mangled spaghetti lay. “You said kids will be kids,” I said coolly. “Don’t waste food. Eat what your daughter left.” “That? That’s disgusting! Just whip up some eggs or something.” “Make it yourself,” I said, walking away. He stared at me, stunned. He didn’t know how to cook. He ended up eating a bowl of cereal, glaring at me the whole time. Chapter 4 That night was the breaking point. Jason tried to initiate sex. I was exhausted from the kids. I pushed him away. “Not tonight.” Usually, he’d pout but stop. Tonight, he didn’t. He grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “Come on, Sarah. You’ve been acting weird all day.” He tried to drag me toward the bedroom. PTSD from the text messages hit me. The holes in the condoms. The manipulation. I slapped him. Hard. Smack. The room went silent. “Jason, get off me!” I screamed. “I said no! That means no!” The commotion woke the kids. Lily started crying. Emma ran out, rubbing her eyes. “Why are you hitting Daddy? You’re a witch!” Jason let go, checking his face. His mask slipped. “You’re really pushing it, Sarah,” he hissed. “I work all day to pay for this house, and I come home to this? Do not think you are irreplaceable.” He grabbed his keys and stormed out. It was our first real separation. I checked his Reddit account. [Update: Wife is acting crazy. Refused sex. Slapped me. Think she’s getting too comfortable.] The stranger replied: [The Dread Game, bro. Pull back. Stay at the office. Make her fear losing you. She’ll come crawling back.] Jason: [Good call. I’ll sleep at the office for a week.] I created a burner account named AlphaDad4Life and replied: [Bro, you’re a legend. My wife is the same. Career women, right? Gotta break them down. Stay strong.] I was in. With Jason gone, I focused on the kids. But it was hopeless. Emma kicked me when I tried to enforce bedtime. Noah threw food at me. Every other sentence was “I want Nana.” “Nana says you’re lazy,” Emma told me on day three. “Nana says Daddy needs a new wife who cooks better.” My heart broke. Not because I lost them, but because they never really were mine. “If you don’t like Mommy, maybe Mommy should go,” I whispered. “Yay!” Emma clapped. “New Mommy! Nana said the new Mommy will buy me toys!” That was it. I was done. I packed their bags and called my mother-in-law to pick them up. I kept Lily.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389751”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After collaborating with the hottest pop star in the country, I was cyberbullied by his rabid “girlfriends” to the brink of quitting the industry. One night, drunk out of my mind, I started a livestream and went to war with the haters: “Liam Stone ain’t sh*t! I trained him like a dog!” “Even if he begged to be my dog, I’d have to think about it!” The haters said I was desperate for clout. Until one day, a video from my elementary school days leaked. It showed me on the playground, walking two boys on leashes. One of them was Liam Stone. The internet exploded. [Is that our cold, aloof King Liam?] [Omg, she literally trained my brother like a puppy.] Chapter 1 Back in the day, I was kind of a big deal in elementary school. It started with “Pet Day.” The teacher told us to bring a small animal to school to learn about responsibility. Other kids brought goldfish, turtles, hamsters—cute, low-maintenance pets. My parents were neat freaks. No pets allowed. Not even a rock. Seeing the other kids with their turtles and fish, I cried my eyes out. That was when the new transfer student, a pale, skinny, shy boy, was seated next to me. He had brought a hamster. Seeing me devastated, he whispered, “Do you want to pet it?” I cried harder. “Waaah!” He panicked. “Don’t cry! I… I didn’t mean to make you sad.” I wailed like a siren. The whole class stared. Terrified he’d gotten in trouble, he frantically wiped my tears with his hamster (gently). “Please stop crying. If it makes you feel better… I… I can be your pet?” I sniffled. “Really?” He nodded vigorously. “Really.” “What animal do you like?” I thought about it. My neighbor had a Golden Retriever that always licked my hand. It was cute. “Dog. I like dogs.” He looked serious. “Okay. I’ll be your dog!” Chapter 2 After acquiring a dog, I became insufferable. I bragged to everyone: “Look, this is my dog.” Liam stood behind me, head down, shyly letting my classmates inspect him. A kid laughed at me. “You can’t tell the difference between a person and a dog? You’re weird.” He held out his hand, showing off a small turtle. “My pet is way cuter than your… whatever that is.” Stung, I snapped back. “Cute? So what! Can your turtle bark? Can it understand English?” I threw a Jolly Rancher across the room and patted Liam on the butt. “Fetch, boy!” Liam’s ears turned red. He shuffled over, picked up the candy, and placed it in my palm. “Good boy!” I patted his head and waved the candy triumphantly. The turtle kid looked like he was about to cry. “Big deal.” Oh, you want more? I looked at Liam. “Sit!” Liam squatted down next to my leg, rubbing his head against my palm. “Woof,” he whispered. I unwrapped the candy and fed it to him. “Such a good puppy.” Liam’s face was bright red as he ate the candy, sticking close to my leg for safety. The other kids were stunned. A talking dog? A dog that followed complex commands? Suddenly, the turtle looked like a rock. Liam was an excellent dog. If I said sit, he sat. If I said paw, he gave me his hand. Within days, other kids approached Liam, asking if he wanted to be their dog. Liam, dressed in his pristine uniform, holding a pencil, looked up coldly. “F*** off.” I was thrilled. He was loyal only to me. Good boy! To reward him, I gave him my secret stash of snacks. “Take these, and you can only be my dog forever.” Blushing, he accepted the tribute. “Then… you can only have me as your dog.” I agreed instantly. “Deal!” My cousin, Sam, walked by and saw the exchange. His eyes went wide with horror. Chapter 3 After school, Sam blocked me at the gate. “Why did you give him all your snacks? I’m your cousin!” I picked my ear. “Cousin. Not dog.” He threw a tantrum right on the sidewalk. “I don’t care! I want snacks too!” “What do you want me to do about it?” He put his hands on his hips. “I want to be your dog too!” I couldn’t shake him, so I agreed. To earn his snacks, Sam went all out. He found a rope, tied it around his neck, and handed me the other end. “Walk me to school!” he demanded. Little me didn’t see an issue. I grabbed the rope. He really acted like a dog. Hands and knees, butt in the air, sniffing the ground. Then “WOOF!” He took off running toward the school. I chased after him, holding the leash. Passersby looked horrified. At the time, I thought they were impressed. I puffed out my chest, proud as a peacock. At school, kids gathered around my new pet. “You got another dog?” “What about Liam? Are you dumping him?” I felt a pang of guilt. “He’s still my dog. I want him too.” Sam jumped up. “No! I’m the only dog!” The classmates gave a thumbs up. Feisty dog. I hesitated. “But I really like Liam…” Sam whispered in my ear, “You don’t want your parents to know you have pets at school, do you?” I froze. My parents would skin me alive. “Don’t tell them! Please!” “Then say it. Who is the best dog in the world?” “You.” “Who is your favorite dog?” “You. You. It’s you.” Why did it feel like I was the one being trained? I thought of Liam. Quiet, shy Liam. He bought me water, massaged my legs after gym class, and was happy with just a piece of candy. Unlike Sam, the human Husky. Sam smirked. “Who gets the snacks?” I cried. “You. All of them.” The crowd went silent. Everyone looked at me like I was a heartbreaker. The turtle kid pointed an accusing finger. “You abandoned your pet! You’re a bad owner!” The crowd turned on me. “No! I didn’t abandon him!” Sam shouted, “Say that again and I’m telling your mom!” Behind the crowd, Liam stood in his white shirt, staring at me. His eyes turned red, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “You don’t want me anymore?” Chapter 4 The crowd gasped. I was a scumbag. I was trapped. If I explained, Sam would snitch. If I didn’t, I was a monster. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and pointed at both of them. “You both want to be my dog, right?” They nodded. “Fine!” I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t keep weak dogs. Race across the playground. Whoever wins stays!” Sam and Liam locked eyes. The fire of competition burned between them. And so, the legendary scene unfolded. Liam and Sam, ropes around their necks, on all fours. Me, holding the leashes. Behind us, hundreds of students from every grade followed. “What’s happening?” “The Dog King is training her pack!” shouted Turtle Kid. Someone was filming on a smuggled flip phone. We got to the track. Students lined up, cheering. “Dog King! Dog King!” I waved for silence and dropped the leashes. “Run!” Liam looked at me with desperate hope. “If I win, I’m your only dog?” I patted his head. “Yes.” He took off like a shot. Sam scrambled after him. They looked like cryptids scuttling across the track. It was hot, so I went to buy an ice cream and waited under a tree. I saw my homeroom teacher walking with a fancy-looking lady. Liam’s mom. “My Liam is so shy,” she was saying. “I worry he won’t make friends.” Teacher waved her hand. “Nonsense! I heard he organized a ‘Pet Competition’ today. Half the school is watching!” Liam’s mom beamed. Teacher continued, “Liam is so quiet and well-behaved. Unlike the wild monkeys in my class.” Just then, two figures blurred past on the track, galloping on all fours. Liam’s mom squinted. Why did that dog-boy look so familiar? The teacher froze. That wild beast was her star student Liam? Who? Who corrupted him?! Her laser gaze landed on me, licking my ice cream. “Sierra! Do you know what’s going on?!” My hand shook. The ice cream almost fell. On the track, Liam crossed the finish line, leaving Sam in the dust. Thunderous applause. He didn’t care about the cheers. He stayed on the ground, panting, looking around frantically. Like a puppy who lost his owner. His eyes locked onto me. His face lit up with pure joy. He galloped toward me on all fours. Oh no. I tried to run, but he was too fast. “Master! I’m your only dog!” Beside us, his mom made a choking sound and fainted.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389750”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel