Reborn to the day I was dragged into the alley and shattered, the first thing I did was drag my bleeding body to the high school gym for the SATs. In my past life, a masked man pulled me into the shadows on my way to the exam. I didn’t just miss the test; I was left broken, forced to live with a colostomy bag for the rest of my life. When the whole town treated me like damaged goods, it was Brad—my childhood sweetheart, the boy next door—who stepped up. He married me against all odds. He even adopted a child, claiming he wanted to spare my broken body the trauma of birth. I was so grateful. I raised that boy like my own, tutoring him until he got into an Ivy League school. It wasn’t until Brad’s “high school crush,” Tiffany, returned from Europe for a welcome party that I heard the truth. “You dressed up as a mugger and violated her just so I could take her scholarship spot? Do you regret it?” Brad laughed, cold and sharp. “No. Your dad was under investigation by the Feds back then. You wouldn’t have passed the background check for the scholarship. I had to ruin her to save our future.” “Besides, I told her I was adopting a kid from foster care. Sarah still doesn’t know she spent her life raising our biological son.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I ran out the door, blinded by tears, and was struck dead by a speeding semi-truck. Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the alley. Back in the dirt. 1. “Quit playing dead, bitch. You were loud enough a minute ago.” “I’ve seen girls like you, strutting down Main Street asking for it. You better keep your mouth shut, or your life is over.” The man in the ski mask was still on top of me. My mind, previously shattering into panic, suddenly snapped into razor-sharp focus. “Brad…” The man froze. A split second later, a heavy hand cracked across my face. Seeing I wouldn’t scream again, he pulled his pants up and spat on the ground next to me. “Dammit. Bad luck.” His reaction confirmed it. The source of all my misery was the man I thought was my savior. In my last life, I missed the exam. I became the town cripple. My parents were ashamed. The church gossip circles ate me alive. When I was ready to end it all, Brad saved me. He defied his parents to marry me. I couldn’t work, so he paid the bills. I couldn’t be intimate, so he slept in the guest room without complaint. I couldn’t have kids, so he said he was happy just being with me. When he brought home that baby boy, I poured my soul into him. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. Until I heard him and Tiffany talking. It was Brad who assaulted me. Brad who crippled me. All so I would miss the SATs, leaving the town’s only guaranteed scholarship slot open for Tiffany. Even the son I loved was theirs. The shock killed me. But hate brought me back. I opened my eyes to the dark alley. Brad was gone. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. The sharp pain cleared the fog. I dragged myself up, using the brick wall for support. I would not let those monsters steal my life again. I stumbled toward the high school. When I reached the steps of the gym, covered in blood and dirt, the crowd went silent. A few freshman girls screamed when they saw the trail of red I left on the concrete. Mr. Henderson, the proctor, dropped his clipboard. “Sarah? Good lord, what happened…” I slapped my admission ticket onto his chest, cutting him off. He looked at the name, then at the gym doors, confused. “Sarah Miller? But… didn’t you just check in?” I took a deep breath, forcing my legs to stop shaking. “I am the real Sarah Miller. Get Sheriff Higgins. He’s working security today. He knows me.” The crowd murmured. Mr. Henderson realized something was wrong. He sent a student runner. Minutes later, Sheriff Higgins burst out. “Sarah? My god, kid, look at you.” I didn’t waste time on tears. “Sheriff, someone is in there taking my test. They have an accomplice.” I pointed to my torn clothes. “And I was assaulted to keep me away from here.” The Sheriff’s face went hard. He turned to his deputies. “Lock down the exits. Find the impostor.” He motioned for the paramedics, but I grabbed his arm. “Sheriff. I have to take this test.” “Sarah, you’re bleeding…” “I can do it. If I die in there, that’s on me.” Sheriff Higgins looked into my eyes and saw something that scared him. He sighed. “Get her a private room. Get a medic to stand by the door.” As they helped me inside, two deputies were dragging Tiffany out of the main hall. She was screaming like a banshee. “I am Sarah Miller! You can’t do this! My father is on the City Council! I’ll sue you all!” She thrashed, but then she saw me. She froze. Pure terror filled her eyes. “How are you here? You’re supposed to be…” She stopped herself. I didn’t say a word. I just limped past her. Because of my condition, they didn’t question me further. I sat down. My hands shook as I touched the test booklet—the paper I had missed in my last life. In my past life, to tutor my “son,” I had solved these exact problems a thousand times. I had studied every question from this year’s exam until I knew it better than the people who wrote it. I filled in the bubbles. My body was screaming in agony. I was bleeding into my shoes. But I didn’t stop. This wasn’t just a test. It was my exit ticket. The final bell rang. The moment the proctor took my sheet, the darkness finally took me. I passed out cold. I woke up to the smell of cheap tobacco. My dad was sitting in the corner, smoking up a storm. The room was hazy with it. My mom saw my eyes open. “Sarah! You’re awake. I made you some soup.” She reached for the bowl, but Dad slapped it out of her hand. It shattered on the floor. “She doesn’t eat! What right does she have to eat? She disgraced this family!” “I should have drowned you at birth! dragging your dirty, used-up body to the school… now the whole town knows! How can I show my face at the hardware store?” “You’re damaged goods! I already talked to the Walker family. You’re marrying Brad next week!” The words hit me harder than the assault. “I’m not marrying him.” Dad was on me in a second, his fist connecting with my shoulder. “You don’t get to choose! Who else wants a broken toy? Brad is a saint for taking you! You should be kissing his feet!” “If Brad hadn’t offered, I would have kicked you out to starve!” Mom tried to step in, but one look from Dad sent her cowering to the corner. The punches hurt, but the betrayal hurt more. “Mr. Miller! I got the marriage license!” Brad’s voice came from the porch. Dad stopped hitting me instantly. He put on a fake, sickening smile. “Hey, Brad! Come on in.” He took the paper, grinning through his yellow teeth. “Good, good. She’s all yours, son.” “Don’t worry, sir. I’ve loved Sarah since kindergarten. I’ll take care of her.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389326”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On New Year’s Eve, I was scrolling through a local news station’s drone livestream. Fireworks exploded in a riot of color over the river, illuminating the man I’d been married to for five years, locked in a passionate kiss with his childhood sweetheart. I calmly switched off the livestream and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up, the background a cacophony of noise. “Where are you?” I asked. After a brief silence, he said, “At the office. Didn’t I tell you I was working late?” “Working late with your childhood sweetheart?” A much longer silence followed on his end. I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm. “You always do this. Go silent when you’re asked a question you can’t answer.” “Well, after tonight, you won’t have to answer me ever again.” 1. After I hung up, the silence in the room was deafening. On the dining table, an elaborate dinner of six dishes and a soup had long gone cold. I stared at the food for a long time, a wave of profound exhaustion washing over me. Five years ago today, Luke was in our tiny rental apartment, making hot pot for me. He had suddenly pulled out a small velvet box. “Mia,” he’d said, “marry me.” “I know it’s only silver for now, but I promise, one day I’ll replace it with a diamond.” His eyes had been so bright when he said it, they almost hurt to look at. I’ve worn that silver ring ever since. It’s tarnished now, but I could never bring myself to take it off. He said he would give me the best life possible, and I believed him. When we first started our company, it was just the two of us. He handled the tech side; I managed finances and sales. During the day, he’d write code while I met with clients. At night, we’d pack shipments together and eat instant noodles sitting on the staircase of our apartment building. Once, rushing to meet a bid deadline, I’d survived on eight hours of sleep over three days and ended up fainting at a print shop. Luke carried me to the hospital, his whole body trembling. His eyes were red. “We’re done with this startup. I’ll get a regular job. I can’t let you work yourself to death.” I shook my head. “No. We’re so close. I can do this.” And in the end, we did it. The day our company secured its first round of funding, Luke picked me up and spun me around in the office. Then he suddenly knelt, burying his face in my stomach. I felt a wet patch spreading through my shirt. “Mia,” he’d sobbed, “I’ll be good to you for the rest of my life.” By our third year, the company was stable. We bought a house and a new car. In our fourth year, he got down on one knee and replaced the silver ring with a diamond. “Honey, let’s have a baby.” I touched my stomach and nodded with a smile. I had just settled into my role as CFO, but seeing the hopeful look in his eyes, I submitted my resignation. Two months into the pregnancy, my morning sickness was so severe I had to be hospitalized. Luke rushed between the office and the hospital every day, the dark circles under his eyes alarmingly deep. I stroked his face. “We should hire a nurse.” He shook his head. “You’re my wife. I have to be the one to take care of you.” Back then, I thought that was what happiness looked like. Until six months ago, when his childhood sweetheart, Sylvia, got divorced and moved back from overseas. Luke was the one who picked her up from the airport. He came home very late that night, smelling of a strange perfume. “Sylvia’s back with her kid, all alone. It’s a tough spot,” he said, taking off his jacket. “I helped her find a place to stay.” From that day on, “a tough spot” became Sylvia’s defining trait. When her car broke down, Luke went to fix it. When her son got sick, Luke took them to the hospital. When she was in a bad mood, Luke stayed out drinking with her until the early hours of the morning. My questions turned to accusations, and accusations turned to fights. Luke would say, “Mia, you never used to be like this.” And I would reply, “Luke, you never used to be like this, either.” Eventually, he just stopped talking. No matter how much I screamed or cried, he would just watch me silently, then turn and walk away, leaving me alone, feeling like a madwoman. Even tonight, on New Year’s Eve, he couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a convincing lie. He just said he was working late. And then I saw him on a livestream, kissing another woman. The sound of the front door opening broke the silence. Luke walked in. He saw me, then the untouched dinner on the table, and froze. “You’re still up?” I didn’t say a word. He walked closer, and the scent of perfume on his clothes made my stomach turn. “Something urgent came up at the office…” he began. I cut him off. “I have my check-up tomorrow. Eight in the morning.” Luke opened his mouth, but the explanation he had prepared died in his throat. I stood up to leave, and he grabbed my wrist. “Mia, I’m sorry.” His voice was low. “Just this year, I promise it won’t happen again. Once Sylvia gets back on her feet…” I gently pulled my hand away. “Don’t wait. Luke, let’s get a divorce.” 2. He stiffened. “What… What did you just say?” I looked him straight in the eye. “I said, let’s get a divorce. You can sleep in the guest room.” A firework exploded outside, illuminating the shock on his face. “Just because I didn’t spend New Year’s with you? Mia, are you serious?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked into the bedroom. As I closed the door, I heard him yelling from the other side. “What are you throwing a fit about now? Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” Understanding. That word again. I placed a hand on my slightly swollen belly and whispered, “Baby, from now on, it’s just you and me.” The Mia who once believed in a love that would last forever died on this New Year’s Eve. It was raining on the morning of my appointment. After I finished breakfast, Luke’s door was still closed. I knocked. “We’re leaving at eight.” No response. At 7:50, I grabbed my bag and walked out. In the elevator, I received a text from him: [Something came up. Should I call you a car?] I stared at the screen, remembering my first prenatal appointment. He had taken the whole week off, so nervous he’d crumpled the appointment slip in his hand. In the ultrasound room, when the doctor said, “That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” his eyes had immediately filled with tears. Afterward, he spun me around in the hospital parking lot, shouting, “I’m going to be a dad!” Back then, his phone was on for me 24/7. If I said I was craving the spicy noodles from a place an hour away, he would get in the car without a second thought. Now, he said something came up at the office. I replied: [No need. I’ll drive myself.] The hospital was, as always, packed. The waiting area of the obstetrics department was filled with expectant mothers, most of them with their husbands. The check-up went smoothly. The doctor smiled, looking at the ultrasound screen. “The baby is very healthy.” I looked at the tiny, flickering shape, and my nose began to sting. This was my child. Mine alone. “The next appointment is for the Down syndrome screening. Your husband will need to come and sign the forms,” the doctor reminded me. I nodded, wondering how far along the divorce proceedings would be by then. I left the clinic and went to the pharmacy to pick up my prenatal vitamins. While I was waiting in line, a familiar figure caught my eye. Luke. He was holding a little boy, about three or four years old, and walking out of the pediatric emergency department. Sylvia was beside him, her eyes red and swollen. The little boy’s face was flushed, and he was leaning limply against Luke’s shoulder. Luke was whispering something to him, his expression impossibly gentle. They didn’t see me. I stood frozen, the bag of vitamins in my hand suddenly feeling very heavy. So he did remember he had to come to the hospital today. Just not for me. “Mia?” Luke suddenly turned his head. His face changed the moment he saw me. He hastily handed the child to Sylvia and rushed over. He glanced at my pharmacy bag. “You’re… done with your appointment?” “Yes.” “Mia, I didn’t mean to miss it, it’s just…” The little boy started to cry. “Uncle Luke! It hurts…” Sylvia, holding the child, looked over with tear-filled eyes. “Luke, Cody wants you…” Luke looked torn. I found the whole scene ridiculous. “Go on. The child is more important.” “Mia, Cody suddenly came down with a high fever and passed out. Sylvia couldn’t handle it on her own, so I had to…” Sylvia shrieked, “Luke! Cody’s throwing up!” The child had vomited all over himself and onto Luke’s jacket. Instinctively, Luke turned his attention back to the boy. I turned and walked away. “Mia!” he called out from behind me. I didn’t look back. As the elevator doors closed, I saw him rushing the child toward the restroom, Sylvia following close behind, her hand on his arm. They looked just like a family. In the car, my hands trembled on the steering wheel. It wasn’t anger. It was cold. A deep, penetrating cold that reached my bones. My phone vibrated. A text from Luke: [Cody’s not doing well. I’ll be home late.] I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask, and typed: [Luke, when you get back, we’re discussing the divorce.] My finger hovered over the send button. I deleted the message and typed a new one: [Don’t bother coming back.] I hit send. Then I opened my contacts and found my lawyer’s number. The call connected. My voice was perfectly steady. “Mr. Davies, this is Mia Wright.” “I’d like to consult with you about getting a divorce.” 3. Mr. Davies arranged to meet me at a coffee shop. “Mrs. Wright, I can draft the divorce agreement, but if you can provide evidence of your husband transferring marital assets, you’ll have a significant advantage in the division of property.” I stirred my coffee. “What kind of evidence do you need?” Mr. Davies adjusted his glasses. “For example, if he gifted joint assets to a third party without your consent.” “Try to think if your husband has had any unusual financial activities.” I thought for a moment. And then I thought of Sylvia’s social media. For the past six months, the things she posted had become increasingly expensive. The floor-to-ceiling windows of a new apartment, the steering wheel of a white Porsche, Hermès bags, designer clothes for her son. She was unemployed and newly divorced. Where was the money coming from? “I remember her saying her ex-husband didn’t give her much in alimony,” I muttered. Mr. Davies nodded. “That’s a red flag. It might be worth looking into.” When I got home, I scoured Sylvia’s social media feed, taking screenshots of everything: the backgrounds of her photos, license plates, even the logos on shopping bags. Then I called Amy. Amy was my protégé back at the company. When I resigned, she took over my position. “Mia?” she whispered, her voice low. I got straight to the point. “Amy, I need you to do something for me.” “Check the company’s recent accounts. Are there any unusual expenditures? Large-sum transfers to an individual, for example.” There was a pause on the other end. When Amy spoke again, her voice was even quieter. “There are. Luke has approved several over the past six months. The recipient is always Sylvia Ross. The largest was a down payment for a house. Two hundred thousand dollars.” My heart sank. “What else?” “A car. Eighty thousand. The rest is miscellaneous spending, but it adds up to…” She paused. “Close to a hundred thousand.” Three hundred and eighty thousand dollars. I hung up the phone, my hand shaking. It wasn’t about the money. It was because I remembered last week, when I mentioned wanting to book a postpartum recovery center for about ten thousand dollars. Luke had frowned. “That’s too expensive. My mom can come take care of you.” At that very time, Sylvia was posting pictures of her new Birkin bag. I spent the entire night logging into the company’s financial system. I used my old account, which still had the highest level of clearance. Luke had never changed it. Or rather, it had never occurred to him that I would check. The transfer records were all there, clear as day. From the day Sylvia returned until now, six months, three hundred eighty-two thousand, seven hundred and forty dollars. House, car, luxury goods, children’s clothes, early education, housekeeping services… Every single transaction was a knife in my gut. I took screenshots, saved them, and backed them up. Then, I waited for Luke to come home. He came back after midnight, smelling of alcohol. He saw me sitting in the living room and stopped short. “You’re still up?” “The company is missing three hundred and eighty-two thousand dollars,” I said, without preamble. The expression on Luke’s face froze. “Sylvia’s house, her car, all those bags… you bought them all, didn’t you?” Silence. That same, infuriating silence. “Speak,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “Mia, Sylvia just got divorced, it’s not easy for her with a kid, I was just helping…” I cut him off. “Helping her by buying her a house and a car?” “Luke, our first year in business, we took the bus carrying our own product samples just to save fifty bucks on shipping. And now you can throw away over three hundred grand without blinking an eye?” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. “You have one week. Put every single dollar back into the company account.” “Otherwise, I’ll sue you for fraudulent transfer of marital assets, and I’ll report you to the IRS.” His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’d ruin me over money?” I met his gaze. “This isn’t about the money. This is for me and my child.” He just stood there, a statue of a man. Silent. Always silent when faced with a difficult question. I repeated myself. “Seven days. If the money isn’t back, I’ll see you in court.” I turned and went back to the bedroom. As I closed the door, I heard him collapse onto the sofa, followed by the flick of a lighter. I placed a hand on my belly, feeling the tiny life inside. Suddenly, the pain didn’t seem to matter so much anymore. Now, there was only one thing I wanted. To leave with my child and my money. And Luke? He was going to pay. 4. On the seventh day, the money was not in the account. A letter from my lawyer was delivered to the office. That evening, Luke came home and slammed the envelope on the table. “Mia, do you really have to do this?” I asked calmly, “What’s the alternative? Should I wait until you’ve given away all our money and my child and I are left with nothing?” His eyes were red. “What about our five years together…” I cut him off. “You’re the one who destroyed our marriage.” “Luke, every time you chose her, you were destroying us.” “Every time you chose silence, you were chipping away at what we had.” He was, once again, speechless. That weekend, I went out to buy baby supplies. When I returned, I could hear laughter from inside before I even opened the door. The living room had been transformed into a children’s playground. Balloons, streamers, and toys were everywhere. A group of kids was running around, and Sylvia’s son, Cody, was riding on Luke’s shoulders, his face flushed with excitement. Sylvia came out of the kitchen wearing an apron. Her smile froze when she saw me. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Mia, it’s Cody’s birthday today. Your place is so much bigger, so I just…” Luke set Cody down, his expression awkward. “Mia, let me explain…” “Who gave you permission?” My voice was ice. The living room fell silent. All the children turned to look at me. I enunciated every word. “This is my house. Who gave you permission to bring strangers in here?” Sylvia’s eyes turned red. “I’m so sorry, we’ll leave right now… Cody, let’s go…” “Sylvia!” Luke grabbed her arm, then turned to me. “Mia, it’s just a child’s birthday party. Do you have to be like this?” Be like this. I had heard those words so many times. “Get out,” I said. “Mia!” “Take these people and get out!” Suddenly, Cody screamed and charged at me. “Mean lady! Don’t you yell at my mommy!” He slammed into me with surprising force. I stumbled backward, caught off guard. My lower back hit the sharp corner of the dining table, and an explosion of pain radiated through me. Even worse was the tearing, twisting agony that shot through my abdomen. I looked down and saw a horrifying bloom of red spreading across my light-colored pants. “Blood…” someone screamed. Luke rushed to help me, but I shoved him away. I gritted my teeth. “Call an ambulance… Call an ambulance!” In the ambulance, waves of pain washed over me. I gripped the paramedic’s hand. “My baby… my baby…” She tried to comfort me, but her eyes said it all. I was rushed into the emergency room. When I woke up, the doctor was standing over me, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.” I didn’t cry. I just stared at the ceiling, my mind a complete blank. In the hospital room, Luke stood by my bed, his eyes red and raw. “Mia, I’m so sorry…” “Get out.” “We’re still young, we can try again…” “Get out!” He didn’t move. I grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table and hurled it at him. It shattered at his feet. “Get out!” Luke finally left. I lay in the bed and touched my stomach. It was flat again, as if the little life had never been there at all. This morning, when I left the house, I could still feel it move. Now, there was nothing. The last thread connecting me to Luke had been severed. The next day, I placed the divorce papers in front of him. “Sign it.” Luke’s eyes scanned the terms, stopping at the clause that left him with nothing. He looked up, shocked. “Mia, you…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389325”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“The promotion list. My name wasn’t on it.” On the huge screen at the annual company gala, the words were printed in stark black and white: Marketing Supervisor—Lily Duffer. I held my champagne flute, and my hand didn’t so much as tremble. Lily Duffer. Three months with the company. Zero results to her name. My director, Mr. Peterson, walked over and clapped me on the shoulder. “Sarah,” he said, his voice oozing false sympathy, “Lily’s my niece. Young people have that fire, you know? I’m confident she’s up to the task.” I just looked at him. Three consecutive years as Employee of the Year. Twelve major projects led. Over 800 hours of overtime logged annually. None of it mattered more than the word “uncle.” “Of course,” I said, a small, tight smile playing on my lips. “Congratulations to our new supervisor.” Peterson paused, the meaning behind my tone flying completely over his head. But I knew exactly what I meant. My resume was already updated. 1. After the gala, I sat alone at my desk. Half the office lights were already out, leaving the floor steeped in the dim, humming glow of the emergency lamps. My phone buzzed. It was a text from my biggest client, Mr. Harrison. “Sarah, heard your department got a new supervisor?” “Yes,” I typed back. “Is it you?” My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment. “No.” Mr. Harrison didn’t reply. I set my phone down and leaned back in my chair, the worn leather groaning under my weight. Five years. I joined this company in December 2019, fresh out of college. Back then, the marketing department was just me, and Mr. Peterson was still just a manager. I’d done it all—tramped through muddy construction sites, spent days in dusty factories, and once stood for three hours outside a client’s office in sub-zero weather. Mr. Harrison was one of the accounts I’d built from scratch, one business card at a time. The first time we met, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. “Is this all your company has?” he’d sneered. “Sending a little girl to do a man’s job.” I showed up at his office every single day for a week. Finally, he let me in. Our first deal was for a hundred thousand dollars. Now, Mr. Harrison signs contracts worth over a million dollars a year. And today, the promotion went to Lily Duffer. Lily, who’d been here for three months. Lily, Mr. Peterson’s niece. I stood up and walked to the window. My reflection stared back, a woman who looked five years older than her twenty-eight years. I’d poured the best five years of my life into this place. Employee of the Year, three years running. Top performer in the department. A year-end bonus of one thousand dollars. I let out a dry, bitter laugh. One thousand dollars. What could that buy? It could buy the hollow promise of, “Keep up the great work, Sarah. You’ll be next.” Mr. Peterson said that every single year. This year, he finally made good on his promise. For his niece. My phone buzzed again. It was Diane, a veteran on the team who’d been here a couple of years longer than me. “Sarah, you okay?” “I’m fine.” “We all thought it was going to be you.” I didn’t answer. What good did “we all thought” do? All that mattered was that Mr. Peterson thought it should be Lily. I shut down my phone, grabbed my purse, and headed for the elevators. Down the hall, Lily was posing for photos with a few colleagues. She was radiant in a new designer dress, her makeup flawless, her smile blindingly bright. She saw me and waved. “Sarah! Come get a picture with us!” I stopped. “No, thank you.” “Why not?” She skipped over, her voice a cascade of cheerful ignorance. “Sarah, we’re going to be in the trenches together now! You’ll have to help me out, okay?” She sounded so innocent, so genuinely unaware of whose position she had just stolen. Or maybe she knew. And just didn’t care. I looked at her. Twenty-four years old, a recent graduate, three months on the job, earning ninety thousand a year. I’d been here five years, and my salary was seventy-five thousand. She was already making fifteen thousand more than me. “Supervisor Duffer,” I said, my voice even. “If you run into anything you don’t understand, feel free to ask.” Lily blinked, unable to tell if I was being polite or sarcastic. “Okay! Thanks, Sarah, you’re the best!” I turned and stepped into the elevator. Just as the doors slid shut, I saw her whispering to her friends, laughing and gesturing in my direction. I pressed the button for the ground floor. As the elevator descended, I pulled out my phone and opened the LinkedIn app. My profile had been updated yesterday. I didn’t start looking today. I started the third time Mr. Peterson told me, “You’ll be next.” I’m not stupid. I was just waiting for the final verdict. Today, it came in. I lost to an uncle. So I was done playing the game. 2. The next day, Lily officially took charge. She sent a message to the department’s group chat: “Hi everyone! I’m your new supervisor, Lily Duffer! I’m so excited to be working with all of you. Please show me the ropes!” A flood of replies followed: “Welcome, Lily!” “So great to have you leading us!” “Excited to work with you!” I didn’t reply. Diane sent me a private message. “Did you see that?” “I did.” “Makes you want to puke, doesn’t it?” I didn’t answer. At ten a.m., Mr. Peterson called me into his office. “Sarah, have a seat.” I sat. “Lily’s new, and she’s not quite up to speed on our operations yet. I need you to train her.” I stared at him. “Train her?” “Yes. You’re a senior employee, you have the experience. It’s your job to guide the newcomers,” Peterson said with a placid smile. “Young professionals need to have perspective, Sarah. Don’t get caught up in the small stuff.” Perspective. There was that word again. My first year, when I worked until two in the morning, he told me, “Young people need to be able to handle hardship.” My second year, when I landed the company’s biggest client, he told me, “Young people need to stay humble.” My third year, when I won Employee of the Year, he told me, “Young people need to see the bigger picture.” And now, after his niece snatched my promotion, he was telling me, “Young people need to have perspective.” “Mr. Peterson,” I said. “I can train her.” “Ah, I knew you’d understand, Sarah. You’re always such a team player—” “But,” I cut him off. “I’d like to confirm something first. What is Supervisor Duffer’s salary?” Peterson froze. “Well… I’m not at liberty to discuss that.” “Then let me ask another question,” I said, my eyes locked on his. “My salary hasn’t increased in five years. Is that because the company isn’t performing well?” The color drained from his face. “Sarah, what are you trying to say?” “Nothing,” I said, standing up. “I’ll get Supervisor Duffer familiar with our business.” I turned and walked out. From behind me, Peterson’s voice followed, strained and sharp. “Sarah, I don’t appreciate this attitude!” I didn’t look back. When I got to my desk, Lily was already there, perched on the edge of it. “Sarah!” she chirped, leaning in conspiratorially. “My uncle said you’d be training me! That’s so great! I was so nervous about doing this alone.” I booted up my computer. “What do you want to learn?” “How do you handle the client-facing stuff? I’ve never really done sales before.” Never done sales. The head of the marketing department had never done sales. I took a slow, deep breath. “Client relations starts with understanding their needs—” “Wait, Sarah,” Lily interrupted. “Mr. Harrison is your client, right?” “He is.” “He’s so amazing! A million-dollar account!” Her eyes were sparkling. “My uncle said I should spend more time with him, you know, to learn from the best.” I turned my head to look at her. “You want to work with Mr. Harrison?” “Yep! My uncle said that a client that important should be managed directly by the supervisor.” A cold, sharp laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Lily, I built that account from nothing. I’ve been managing it for five years.” “Exactly! So I can help take some of the pressure off you!” “Are you sure about that?” “Totally!” she said, brimming with unearned confidence. “I may not have sales experience, but I’m a super fast learner!” I looked at her bright, innocent face. It must be nice. To have done nothing and yet feel entitled to everything. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll set up a meeting with Mr. Harrison for you.” “Really? Sarah, you’re amazing!” I turned back to my screen. My phone vibrated. It was a message from a recruiter. “Ms. Miller, we’ve received your application. Do you have a moment to chat on the phone this week?” I glanced over at Lily. She was taking a selfie to post on Instagram. I replied to the recruiter. “I can call you tomorrow at three p.m.” Perspective, right? My perspective was about finding a better road for myself. 3. At three p.m. the next day, I took an hour of personal time and went outside to take the call. The recruiter was a man with a crisp, professional voice. “Ms. Miller, your resume is very impressive. Three-time Employee of the Year, managing the company’s largest account with an annual value of over a million dollars.” “That’s right.” “We have a few positions we’d like to recommend, all at the Marketing Director level.” Marketing Director. Two steps above my current role. “What industry are you most interested in?” I thought for a moment. “I’m open to any industry. I’m prioritizing compensation and room for growth.” “Understood,” he said, pausing. “There’s one opportunity that might particularly interest you. It’s with a direct competitor of your current company. They’re looking for a new Head of Marketing.” “A competitor?” “Yes. The salary they’re offering is around $150,000, with a performance-based bonus at the end of the year.” One hundred and fifty thousand. More than double what I was making now. “Could you tell me more?” “Of course. Their marketing efforts have been lackluster in the past, but they’re under new ownership and are looking to expand aggressively. Your experience, and your client relationships, are exactly what they need.” Client relationships. I knew what he meant. “I’ll think about it.” “Excellent. Please let me know.” After hanging up, I stood on the sidewalk below my office building and lit a cigarette. I don’t usually smoke. But today, I needed it. My phone buzzed again. A text from Lily. “Sarah, is the meeting with Mr. Harrison set up yet?” I replied: “Yes. Next Wednesday at two p.m.” “Awesome! You’ll come with me, right?” I didn’t answer. That night, I opened my laptop and started organizing my client files. Five years had left me with a portfolio of over thirty clients, five of them major accounts. Mr. Harrison was the biggest. I had chased down every single one of them. Some of them didn’t even acknowledge Mr. Peterson. They dealt only with me. Mr. Harrison was one of them. I remembered a dinner we’d had last year. After a few drinks, he’d said, “Sarah, if you ever leave that company, you give me a call. I’ll follow you.” I’d dismissed it as drunken rambling at the time. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I opened my web browser and carefully reread the job description for the competitor’s position. The company was a similar size to my current one, but it was on an upward trajectory. A salary of $150,000. A year-end bonus with no cap. And most importantly, Head of Marketing. The power to make decisions. No more listening to Mr. Peterson talk about “perspective.” I bookmarked the job posting. Then I opened my contacts and found Mr. Harrison’s number. I composed a text, then deleted it. Not yet. First, I needed the offer in hand. Then I would make my move.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389324”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My grandmother is the chairwoman of a global conglomerate, and I am the sole heir to her ten-generation dynasty. But my aunt let her kept man, her boy toy, steal my identity. At a gala celebrating the world’s top one hundred corporations, Caleb Shaw beat me to the punch, taking the stage as the founder’s grandson to deliver the keynote speech. Afterward, he swaggered over to me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Look at you,” he sneered. “If it weren’t for my dear Isabelle insisting I bring you along to these high-society events, a pathetic orphan like you would never even set foot in a hall like this.” “So you’d better keep your head on straight and stay out of my way,” he continued, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Otherwise, I guarantee Isabelle will have you torn limb from limb.” In my past life, I lived in constant fear of my aunt’s threats. I backed down from Caleb at every turn, until the day they hacked off my arms and legs and let me bleed to death. But now, I’ve been reborn. Staring at Caleb’s arrogant, spittle-flecked face, I sent my fist flying directly into it. “Who let this mutt off its leash?” I snarled. “A masseur, a common boy toy, daring to act high and mighty in front of me?” … I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slapping him, hard, again and again. Caleb crumpled to the floor, his face bruised and swollen. A deep, bloody gash ran across the back of his hand from where he’d fallen. He was a pathetic, whimpering mess. My aunt, Isabelle, who had been toasting a business partner, saw the commotion and hurled her wine glass at my head. “Damian Archer, you little bastard, do you have a death wish?!” she shrieked. “How dare you lay a hand on the young master of the Archer family? He is my nephew!” She knelt, dabbing at Caleb’s wound with a silk napkin while glaring at me with pure hatred. To any outsider, I must have looked like the villain in this drama. But the memory of their sadistic cruelty in my previous life burned in my mind, and my only regret was that I had been so blind. I had always believed that, in my aunt’s heart, I was the nephew who mattered most. Now, I stared at Caleb, cradled in her arms. “A masseur you keep on retainer, impersonating me and speaking on behalf of my company?” I said, my voice cold and clear. “As the sole grandson of the chairwoman of Archer Enterprises, tell me why I shouldn’t beat him to a pulp.” Isabelle responded by kicking me sharply in the ribs. “Damian, have you forgotten?” she spat. “If Caleb hadn’t taken pity on you in that orphanage and sponsored you all these years, you would have been bullied to death! And this is how you repay him? No gratitude, just unhinged violence!” She raised her voice for all to hear. “Today, I want every powerful figure in every industry to see the truth! Caleb Shaw is the young master of Archer Enterprises! He is my mother’s only grandson!” I stared at her in disbelief. “You’re saying he is Grandmother’s only grandson? The heir to Archer Enterprises? Then what about me?” “Aunt Isabelle, can you look me in the eye and say that again? How dare you spew such lies!” She just sneered, her tone mocking. “Damian, it looks like your Super Male Syndrome is flaring up again. I think it’s time we sent you back to the disciplinary institution.” Caleb, his eyes red and brimming with tears, added pitifully, “It’s my fault. I just wanted to help Damian get accustomed to being out in public. I didn’t realize his condition was so severe… that he’d have an episode like this.” They performed their duet perfectly, and the audience bought every word. The guests began staring at me with wary eyes, many of them instinctively taking a step back. “So Damian Archer is just some charity case with Super Male Syndrome that the real heir sponsored. No wonder he has the genes of a gutter rat.” “Master Caleb is too kind. You can’t just help a rabid animal like that! Once he latches on, you’ll never be free!” Isabelle signaled to a line of bodyguards by the door. “Marcus! You will deal with this psycho, now. I never want to see his face again.” I knocked Marcus’s approaching hand away, my face grim. “Marcus, you promised my grandmother you would protect me.” The head of security hesitated, torn. Isabelle shoved him impatiently. “Marcus, I am my mother’s only daughter. She put me in charge of the company. Are you really going to defy me for a genetic defect? Do you want your family to starve?” Marcus’s face hardened. He and a few other guards moved to restrain me. “Master Damian,” he said through gritted teeth. “For my family… I’m sorry.” I grabbed a fruit knife from a nearby catering table and roared, “Everyone, look closely! I am Damian Archer, the heir to Archer Enterprises! I am my grandmother’s only blood-related grandson!” My outburst sent a ripple of shock through the crowd, quickly followed by open mockery. “These days, any knife-wielding psycho can dream of being a tycoon’s heir? The successor to Archer Enterprises? Don’t make me laugh!” “How could a piece of trash like Damian Archer possibly be the real thing? The old matriarch only has one daughter. Even if there were a grandson, it wouldn’t be him!” Seeing the tide of opinion turn so decisively in her favor, Isabelle’s arrogance swelled. I shouted, “Aunt Isabelle, which ear did you hear Grandmother say the company was yours to run? Did she really promise to make you CEO?” She clutched Caleb tighter, a flicker of panic in her eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it came. She lifted her chin, her composure restored. “I am her only daughter! Damian, let me tell you, if it wasn’t for the company’s reputation, I wouldn’t waste another breath on you! Put down the knife, or I swear I will have you skinned alive!” Marcus leaned in and whispered to her, “Ma’am, our most important partners are here. If word of this gets back to the Chairwoman, it won’t be good. Maybe you should just let him go.” I saw the look of contemplation on her face. I knew what she feared. My grandmother, though advanced in age, still held the true power of the company in her iron grip. After my parents passed, I became the last male in our family’s ten-generation line. I was the apple of her eye. Isabelle was merely the adopted daughter of my grandfather. Her father had died saving my grandfather’s life, and to repay the debt, he had begged my grandmother to raise her as their own. But grandmother had agreed on one condition: Isabelle would never have any right to inherit the Archer family fortune. I knew, with absolute certainty, that Isabelle was lying through her teeth. Isabelle shoved the security chief aside, her patience gone. “So Caleb is just supposed to take this abuse? Suffer this humiliation?” “I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses!” she screamed at Marcus. “Damian’s ‘syndrome’ has made him violent enough to pull a knife! Who knows what he’ll do next! Take him to the disciplinary institution, now!” The words “disciplinary institution” sent a storm of rage tearing through me. In my last life, they forced me into that place. The instructors beat and tortured me daily. Finally, Caleb himself came and sadistically hacked off my limbs, leaving me to bleed out. My dear aunt Isabelle, to win his affection, helped him plan the whole thing. Caleb had been studying to be a veterinary surgeon and had a morbid fascination with suturing severed limbs. But the animals he worked on were too small to be good practice. When Isabelle learned of his “passion for learning,” she helped him lock me in a secret room. For five days and five nights, he methodically cut off parts of my body, only to crudely stitch them back on with the thickest needle and thread he could find, tormenting me until the very last drop of my blood was spilled. I truly didn’t understand. I had loved my aunt with all my heart. I gave her everything she wanted, deferred to her in all things, saw her as my closest family. And yet, for a masseur, a boy toy, she not only allowed him to steal my identity but helped him torture me to death. After my tragic end, I finally understood. To my aunt, gratitude was precious, and family was valuable. But when it came to love, both could be cast aside. She would sacrifice anything for Caleb. But… would she? Would she still choose Caleb if it meant giving up the lavish lifestyle of the Archer family? I looked at her, my expression unreadable. “I’m giving you one last chance,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “Tell everyone here, right now. Between me and Caleb Shaw, who is the true heir of Archer Enterprises?” Before she could answer, a cup of hot coffee flew through the air and splashed across my chest. Mr. Davies, a shipping magnate, stepped in front of Isabelle, shielding her. He glared at me, his face contorted in a sneer. “You little bastard! This is a gathering of the elite, not a place for a degenerate psycho like you! Get the hell out of here before I beat you out myself! I see you again, I’ll put you in the hospital!” He kicked me squarely in the chest, sending me sprawling. A classic hero-saves-the-damsel scene. Too bad this new-money idiot had no idea about my family’s true situation. He thought that by latching onto Isabelle and protecting her precious “nephew,” he was securing his own future. He had no idea she had no inheritance rights, and Caleb was just her plaything. Reborn, I refused to suffer a single ounce of humiliation. I shot up from the floor with a spinning kick that swept Mr. Davies’s legs out from under him, forcing him to his knees before me. “You dog,” I spat. “Do you have any idea who you’re messing with? You must be tired of living.” Mr. Davies’s face flushed crimson with rage. “Damian, if you’re a psycho, stay locked up! Don’t come out here and embarrass yourself! I’m not someone you can afford to offend!” Caleb rushed to his side. “Mr. Davies, please, I’m so sorry. People with his condition can’t control themselves. Blame me. Take your anger out on me. I’ll bear it for him.” I let out a cold laugh. “Stop pretending to be a saint. How does a masseur, a boy toy, have the audacity to masquerade as the heir of Archer Enterprises?” My gaze fell on my aunt. “My patience has its limits. You and your pet will disappear from my sight right now, or I will make you regret the day you were born.” Isabelle’s eyes were bloodshot with fury. “What right do you have? I’m the one managing this company now! You’re just a raving lunatic!” “Security! Drag him to the institution!” “What’s going on? Who is being sent to a disciplinary institution?” A sharp, female voice cut through the chaos. My half-sister, Victoria, strode toward us. When she saw the cuts and bruises on Caleb’s face, her own face contorted with rage. “Who did this?!” Isabelle pointed a trembling finger at me. “It was Damian! He’s deliberately targeting Caleb!” Victoria grabbed me by the collar and slapped me twice, hard across the face. “Damian! What gives you the right to bully Caleb?!” “Today, with me here, you will get on your knees and apologize to him until he forgives you! Otherwise, I will throw you out of this house! And you can forget you ever had a sister!” Reborn, and still, my sister condemned me without asking a single question. She and Isabelle were like a cult, brainwashed into protecting Caleb at all costs. Seeing their righteous fury on his behalf, a bitter taste filled my mouth. I used to be so naive. After our parents died, I was her only real brother. Caleb was nothing but a low-life gigolo. But from the moment Victoria met him, she was utterly devoted to him. She had been furious when she discovered Isabelle was keeping Caleb as a lover. The two of them had a screaming, drag-out fight that lasted all night. I tried to intervene countless times, only to be shoved to the ground, injured in the crossfire. I still have a scar on my palm from that night. After that, Victoria bought Caleb’s freedom from Isabelle and funded his education. She told Isabelle that if Caleb truly wanted to marry her, she would not only give them her blessing but would hand over the entire Archer family fortune as a wedding gift. In my last life, this level of generosity had baffled me. I hired a private investigator to dig deeper, and I finally learned the truth. Caleb was Victoria’s long-lost, full-blooded brother. After our parents died, someone had approached Victoria and told her she had a brother from the same mother and father, but his whereabouts were unknown. For years, I knew she had been searching for him. I just never imagined they would actually find each other. It’s a pity my father never knew that his own son would ultimately be destroyed by the children of my mother’s first love. Snapping back to the present, I scoffed at my sister. “I have done nothing wrong. I will never apologize.” “Furthermore,” I added, “Aunt Isabelle keeps insisting that Caleb is the true heir of the Archer family. Sister, shouldn’t you be the one kicking this impostor out?” Tears instantly welled in Caleb’s eyes, as if he had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. Victoria looked like she was about to cry with him. She slapped me again, twice more, her voice shaking with rage. “What nonsense are you spouting?! Caleb is my brother! He is the sole heir of Archer Enterprises! You’re the impostor who needs to get lost!” Seeing her twist the truth so blatantly, I could barely contain my fury. “Victoria! Have you forgotten whose family raised you? On his deathbed, my father asked you to protect me for the rest of my life! Is this your idea of protection? You think he won’t come back from the grave to haunt you?!” She glared at me. “You shouldn’t have bullied my brother!” With that, she and Isabelle shoved me to the ground. Victoria’s stiletto heel dug mercilessly into my stomach, again and again. “I am the one running Archer Enterprises! I call the shots! Whoever marries Caleb gets this company! No one will ever take my brother’s inheritance away from him!” I grit my teeth against the pain and roared, “This company belongs to the Archer family! You outsiders can keep dreaming!” Victoria grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head against the marble floor. “Shut up! Archer Enterprises is what I am leaving to my brother, Caleb!” Just then, a commanding voice boomed from the entrance hall. “Victoria, you have a lot of nerve! Tell me, who exactly does Archer Enterprises belong to?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389323”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The ninety-ninth time I found a pair of still-damp panties in my husband Adrian’s laundry, I printed out all the evidence of his affairs. Then I took all ninety-nine pairs of panties and marched into his corporate office. In front of everyone, I threw them in his face. Adrian, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, frowned from his wheelchair, his eyes cold as he watched my meltdown. Then he simply picked up his phone, called a doctor, and had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I spent two weeks in that sunless hell. The next time I saw Adrian, he handed me a set of divorce papers. I wanted to scream, to cry, to tear everything apart. But then my ten-year-old son ran out from behind him and dropped to his knees in front of me. “Mom, please, stop being crazy!” he begged, his voice cracking. “Are you going to be happy only when you’ve driven Dad and me to our graves?” The raw hatred in his eyes drained all the fight out of me. I collapsed onto the floor. As the orderlies dragged me away like a dead dog for another round of electroshock therapy, I wiped the tears from my face and choked out the words, “Fine. Let’s get a divorce.” 1 At my answer, a flicker of warmth returned to Adrian’s icy expression. He leaned back in his wheelchair, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the armrest. “Ava,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, “just sign the papers, and I’ll give you anything you want.” My hysteria was gone. I looked at him, my heart a placid lake. I didn’t even want him anymore. What else could I possibly care about? “Just a standard settlement is fine,” I said. “I don’t want anything that wasn’t mine to begin with.” Adrian raised an eyebrow, finally deigning to meet my gaze. “Not even your son?” Before I could answer, our son, Noah, ran to Adrian’s mistress and threw his arms around her waist. “No! I’ll die before I go with her!” he cried, clinging to the woman, Brenda. “I want to stay with Dad and Aunt Brenda! Aunt Brenda said we’re the real family!” I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists, my knuckles white from the strain. “No, I don’t want him.” “When he was born, I couldn’t give him a choice of mothers. This time, I’ll let him have what he wants.” A flash of surprise crossed Adrian’s face. He had expected me to fight tooth and nail for custody, to drag out the divorce until he gave up. He never imagined I would let go so easily. I saw the relief on my son’s face, the happy smile that bloomed as he realized he was free of me. A thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. “Ava, take some extra shares in the company,” Adrian said, his tone magnanimous. “Consider it payment for taking care of me all these years and for giving me a son.” A bitter, desolate look crossed my face, but I quickly hid it. I took the divorce agreement from his outstretched hand and, without a moment’s hesitation, signed my name. Twenty years. Twenty years of love, of hate, of sacrifice… all of it vanished in that single, swift stroke of the pen. “Ava, don’t disappoint me again,” Adrian said. Then he turned, and with Noah and Brenda in tow, he left the room. I watched them go, my lips moving in a silent whisper. “I won’t… I won’t disappoint you again.” The day I was discharged, a heavy rain was falling. I wandered through it like a ghost. I… I didn’t have a home anymore. Then, an umbrella appeared over my head, shielding me from the storm. I looked up and collapsed into my father’s arms, sobbing. “Dad…” It was the first time I had let him near me since my mother died. When I was eight, she was paralyzed, and he signed the papers to stop her treatment. I watched her jump from a hospital window, and in that moment, I hated him. Hated him for giving up on the woman he loved. That was why, when Adrian had his car accident and was told he would never walk again, when his own family had abandoned him, I never once considered leaving. I found the best traditional therapists and learned how to massage his lifeless legs. I gave up my dream college and worked nine jobs a day to pay for his rehabilitation. I swallowed my tears and plastered a bright smile on my face, constantly telling him he would get better. In our tiny, dark apartment, I remember his warm breath on my ear as he whispered, “Ava, having you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I will never let you down. I may be disabled, but I won’t be trapped like this forever.” And he was right. Adrian became a celebrated representative for disabled entrepreneurs, a rising star in the business world. And I became the wife hidden away in the shadows, a relic he was ashamed to show the world. The first time I found lipstick on his collar, it was like a lightning bolt had struck me down. Adrian fell to his knees, begging me not to leave. I pushed him away and was halfway to the lawyer’s office before the thought of our infant son made me turn back. I was soft-hearted. I didn’t know then that with infidelity, there is no “just once.” It’s either never, or it’s countless times. As Adrian’s transgressions became more frequent, the guilt in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sense of entitlement. He asked for a divorce again and again, each time ending with me in a rage, smashing everything in sight. But this time, faced with his cold indifference and my son’s hatred, I was just… tired. I was ready to let go. “Dad,” I said, my voice muffled against his coat, “as soon as the divorce is final, I’ll go to Australia with you.” 2 I went back to the house to pack my things, only to find the locks had been changed. Just as I was about to call Adrian, the door opened. Brenda stood there, wearing my pajamas, a smirk on her face. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Ryder,” she purred. “After the scene you made at the office, I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face here.” I looked at her, my expression blank. “Do I need your permission to come to my own home?” I brushed past her and walked inside. A sharp gasp followed me. Brenda was on the floor, weeping, her clothes mysteriously torn. She clutched the shredded fabric to her chest, but large patches of her pale skin were still visible. Adrian wheeled himself out, quickly shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. His face was dark with anger as he turned on me. “Ava, don’t push it,” he snarled. “If the asylum didn’t cure your insanity, don’t blame me for locking you up until you’re normal.” That’s right. Ever since Brenda appeared, I had become a raving lunatic. Her perfume on his clothes made me crazy. Her lipstick in his car made me crazy. Her wet panties in his pocket made me absolutely insane. But he didn’t know. When the love is gone, the crazy goes with it. This time, I just looked at him calmly. “I didn’t do it.” Adrian, seeing that my expression was indeed different from my usual frenzied state, turned to Brenda with a flicker of doubt. “Adrian, she didn’t mean to tear my clothes,” Brenda sobbed pitifully. “It was… it was an accident. I was wearing her things. I’m so sorry…” The anger that had momentarily subsided in Adrian’s eyes flared up again. “Ava! She wore one of your old nightgowns by mistake, and you attack her in broad daylight? Where are your manners? Didn’t your mother teach you to respect others?” Just when I thought my heart couldn’t hurt anymore, Adrian always found a way to deliver another crushing blow. My mother was a wound that never healed. When he first heard her story, he had held me tight and sworn, “You silly girl. Don’t worry. I’ll be with you until the very end. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll never leave.” The words still echoed in my ears. But now… “That’s right,” I said, my eyes welling up. “I didn’t have a mother to teach me. Are you satisfied?” I walked past him into the living room. Adrian paused, a flicker of memory in his eyes. He started to follow me, but Brenda grabbed his pant leg, stopping him. As I entered the room, I saw my son happily scooping ice cream from a large, half-empty tub. My heart clenched. Because of the stress during my breastfeeding period, my milk had been poor. As a result, Noah had a very weak stomach and couldn’t handle anything too rich or cold. He’d had several bouts of vomiting and diarrhea as a baby, and each time, I was the one who sat alone and helpless by his hospital bed. I started to go to him, to stop him. But he saw me and dropped his spoon in terror. “Why are you back?” he shrieked. “I’m not going with you! I want Aunt Brenda!” “Aunt Brenda told me everything! Dad even named me after her! The three of us are the real family!” He scrambled away from me, screaming, and ran out of the room. I froze, my feet rooted to the spot. I had always thought Adrian named our son Noah because it sounded like “know I love you.” But it was for Brenda, not for Ava. “Ava, since you’ve decided to come back, I’ll overlook what happened today, as long as you swear you won’t have another episode and you won’t bother Brenda.” Adrian said as he wheeled back in, holding Noah. His tone was that of a king bestowing a great mercy. “Also, you scared Noah. He can’t sleep without Brenda, so she’ll be staying here for a while.” I didn’t turn around. “Fine,” I said calmly, and then went upstairs to move my things from the master bedroom to the guest room. Adrian frowned but said nothing. That night, I tossed and turned in the guest room, unable to sleep. Suddenly, I heard a commotion outside, punctuated by Noah’s weak cries. Then, a frantic knocking on my door. “Ava, something’s wrong with Noah!” Adrian’s voice was urgent. “He’s vomiting and has diarrhea, and he’s crying for his mom. Come and see what’s wrong!” I rolled over in bed, my heart a block of ice. “I’m not his mother, and I’m not a doctor. Take him to the emergency room before it’s too late.” 3. The knocking stopped. “You’re a cruel woman, Ava,” Adrian’s voice was low and menacing. The footsteps faded, and the house fell silent again. But my heart was in turmoil. He was my flesh and blood. How could I not ache for him? But then my eyes fell on the voodoo doll in my hand, riddled with steel pins. On the front was my name. On the back, in my son’s childish scrawl, were the words: I don’t want a crazy mom. The evidence was undeniable. My heart felt like it had been squeezed by a giant hand, leaving nothing but a bloody, mangled mess. If I hadn’t moved into the guest room, I might never have found the doll, wedged between the mattress and the headboard. The little boy I had cherished more than my own life had become the knife in my back. I wiped a tear from my eye and became that cold, heartless woman once more. I started packing up everything in the house that belonged to me. The soda can tab ring Adrian gave me when he proposed, the stub from our first movie ticket, the ultrasound picture of Noah’s heartbeat, his first pair of baby shoes… As I packed, I stumbled upon a box of receipts. Hundreds of thousands of dollars for high heels, millions for diamond rings, and even the deed to an island, gifted to Brenda, no strings attached. Compared to that, the things I had treasured were worthless. All those days I had spent in agony, unable to reach Adrian on the phone… he had been with her. After I threw everything in the trash, I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. When Adrian was first starting his business, I had overcome my social anxiety, drinking myself sick at networking events, pulling strings to get his company off the ground. Then, I got pregnant with Noah. Adrian held me, his voice thick with emotion. “Ava, if you work yourself to death, how will I live?” The warmth of his tears on my neck brought a lump to my throat. After that day, I handed the company back to him and watched him shine, while I faded into the background, a housewife who flew into a rage over the smallest things. 4. The days passed quietly. Adrian and Noah didn’t come back for weeks. At first, I worried something had really happened to Noah, until I saw Brenda’s Instagram. They were in the Maldives, looking blissful. They looked like a real family. They finally returned on the morning we were scheduled to finalize the divorce. “Ava, you’ve become a monster! You’ll do anything to avoid this divorce, won’t you?!” Before Adrian could finish, his bodyguards grabbed me and dragged me in front of him. “Adrian, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said calmly. His eyes were red with fury, the veins on his hands popping as he gripped his wheelchair. “The whole internet is calling Brenda a homewrecker! Are you telling me you had nothing to do with that?” “It wasn’t me!” I said, my gaze unwavering. “You’re so cruel you don’t even care if your own son lives or dies. Who else could it be but you?” His voice was low, but he was slowly regaining his composure. A flash of resentment crossed Brenda’s face before she suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me. “Ma’am, I never meant to come between you and Mr. Ryder. I just love Noah so much. Please, don’t misunderstand. If you’re upset, I… I’ll leave right now.” She started sobbing and turned to go. “Brenda! Don’t go! Daddy! I don’t want my crazy mom!” Noah ran and threw his arms around her waist, and the two of them wept together. “Enough!” Adrian’s face was a thundercloud. “Ava, you made this mess, you will fix it. You will go online, and you will clarify that you were the third party, not Brenda.” I knew he wouldn’t believe me, but a tiny, foolish part of me still hoped. “I didn’t do it,” I said coldly. “And I won’t apologize.” “You’re choosing the hard way, then. Fine. Men, break her legs.” At his command, a man with a wooden bat approached me. I remember a time when a group of thugs tried to harass me, and he had protected me just as fiercely. Now, he was doing this to protect another woman? “Adrian! Don’t make me hate you!” “Do it! Don’t stop until she agrees!” His cruelty extinguished the last flicker of affection I had for him. Nothing mattered anymore. “I’ll do it,” I said. “On one condition.” “I’ll agree to anything, just—” “Let’s go sign the divorce papers. Now.” My interruption left him stunned. Then, he gritted his teeth. “Fine. Let’s go. Now.” At the courthouse, he signed the papers. As I was about to sign, he stopped me. “Before we divorce, sign this. It terminates your parental rights. Noah will have nothing to do with you from now on.” “Your mental state has improved recently. If you help Brenda now, I’ll be merciful and let you remain Mrs. Ryder. Noah will always be your son.” I pushed his hand away and signed both the termination of parental rights and the divorce agreement without a second thought. Outside the courthouse, I posted a single tweet: If the one who is not loved is the third party, then I admit, I am. I attached a picture of the divorce certificate. Then, right in front of Adrian, I took out my SIM card, snapped it in half, and threw it in the trash. I turned, got in a waiting car, and drove away without a backward glance. Adrian stared at the divorce certificate in his hand. Suddenly, his heart felt empty, as if something vital was being slowly stripped away from him. He opened his mouth to say something, but she was already gone. He realized then that something that had been holding him up for a very long time had just… broken.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389322”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My grandma passed away, so I went to the bank to close her account. The final balance: forty-two cents. The teller flashed a practiced, plastic smile, pushing forty cents in dimes across the counter toward me. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any loose pennies right now. Can we owe you the last two cents?” “No,” I said. “I’d like them now.” A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, and she sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Ma’am, you’re holding up the line.” The next thing I knew, she hit a button under the counter. A security guard materialized and politely “escorted” me out. I immediately got on my phone and filed a formal complaint. That night, she put me on blast on Instagram. “Just dealt with a total psycho who filed a complaint against me over two cents. She must be broke as a joke.” She attached a photo of the transaction slip, clumsily blacked out— But my Social Security Number was perfectly clear. Overnight, my phone was so overwhelmed with hate messages it became unusable. The next morning, I stood in front of the bank and dialed 911. “I’d like to report a crime. Someone has illegally disclosed my personal information.” I paused, my voice steady. “And while you’re at it, you should probably take a look at this bank’s books. I have a feeling my two cents aren’t the only thing they’ve ’rounded down’.” 1. The police were quick to arrive. As two officers walked into the lobby, the branch manager was in the middle of trying to placate me. “Miss Pierce, look, there’s really no need to make such a scene over a small matter like this.” “This was our mistake, I admit. We’re prepared to offer you five hundred dollars for your trouble. How does that sound?” I just stared at him, saying nothing. The officers approached me. “Ma’am, are you the one who called?” “I am.” I handed over my phone, open to the Instagram post from the teller, Jessica. The transaction slip was there for all to see, my SSN clear as day. “This woman, Jessica, one of your tellers, leaked my private information on social media,” I explained. “The comments section is already flooded with thousands of abusive messages directed at me. I’ve been doxxed, and my phone has been bombarded with threats.” The older officer’s expression hardened. He turned to the manager. “Get your teller, Jessica, out here.” The manager, a Mr. Evans, was a heavyset man whose face was already beading with sweat. He hunched his shoulders slightly. “Officers, please, there must be some misunderstanding. Jessica’s just a kid, fresh out of college. She was probably just venting after a long day, she doesn’t know any better.” “Leaking a citizen’s personal information isn’t ‘not knowing any better’,” I cut in, answering for the officer. “It’s a federal crime.” Mr. Evans’s face paled. A moment later, Jessica emerged from a staff hallway. She froze when she saw the police, but the moment her eyes landed on me, she put on a performance worthy of an Oscar, looking like the world’s greatest victim. “Officers, I… I was just complaining to my friends! I had no idea it was illegal!” she stammered. “I can delete the post! I’ll apologize to her!” She made a show of starting to bow toward me. I took a sharp step back, dodging the gesture. The younger officer, who had been taking notes, looked up at her. “Your actions are a serious violation of federal privacy laws and could constitute felony identity theft. Please come with us to the station for questioning.” Jessica’s knees buckled. “Wait… Mr. Evans, say something! Mr. Evans!” Mr. Evans was busy wiping sweat from his brow, trying to sweet-talk the officers. “Gentlemen, can’t we just handle this internally? We’ll come to a private settlement, I promise Miss Pierce will be satisfied.” “This is a criminal matter now. It’s out of your hands,” the older officer said flatly, waving his partner to take her away. As they led her out, Jessica started sobbing, snot and tears streaming down her face as she screamed at me. “You lunatic! Was it worth it? Over two cents! You’ll get what’s coming to you!” I ignored her curses and turned to the officer who had stayed behind. “Officer, besides the data breach, I have something else to report.” “Go on.” “I suspect this bank branch is systematically skimming small amounts of money from customer accounts.” Mr. Evans, who had just started to relax, went rigid. The officer looked at me. “Do you have any proof?” “Yesterday afternoon, your teller Jessica, while closing an account for me, explicitly stated that of the forty-two cents remaining, she would only return forty. The other two cents, she said, ‘didn’t matter’.” “I don’t believe this was an isolated incident. I believe it’s common practice at this branch. Two cents from thousands of customers can add up to a significant sum. The question is, where did that money go?” Mr. Evans immediately shot back. “That’s absurd! Our bank’s accounting is all computerized. Every single cent is accounted for. It’s impossible!” “Is it?” I challenged him. “Then let’s pull up yesterday’s cash flow records and the system logs right now. Let’s see if my two cents were the only ‘unimportant’ pennies that went missing.” The officer seemed to agree. He looked at Mr. Evans. “Sir, if you would please cooperate and show us yesterday’s records.” Mr. Evans nervously fumbled with his tie, pulling it askew. “Officer, accessing those kinds of logs requires authorization from corporate. A single branch doesn’t have that kind of authority…” “Don’t worry,” I interrupted, my voice cool. “I’ve already filed a formal complaint with the Banking Commission. I imagine their investigators will be here soon enough, with all the authorization they need.” Mr. Evans stared at me, his mouth hanging open, speechless. I held his gaze. “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Sophie Pierce. I’m a financial auditor. And tearing through bank records is what I do best.” 2. Jessica was detained for five days and fined five hundred dollars for illegal disclosure of personal information. The very next day, I got a call from the Banking Commission. They had formed a special task force to investigate my claim of “systematic skimming of customer assets.” The bank’s corporate office reacted swiftly. Mr. Evans was suspended, and a Vice President named Coleman called me personally. His tone was incredibly apologetic, promising a full internal investigation and assuring me I would be given a satisfactory resolution. I hung up the phone, not believing a word of it. With institutions this big, the first instinct is always damage control. Sure enough, that evening, my phone began ringing off the hook. At first, it was blocked numbers. When I answered, I was met with a torrent of screamed obscenities. I enabled a feature to block all unknown callers. Then came Jessica’s friends and family. They’d somehow gotten my number and used it to find every social media profile I had. A woman claiming to be Jessica’s cousin sent me over a hundred voice messages. “How can you be so heartless? You got our Jessica thrown in jail, and you still won’t let it go?” “You’re going to ruin a young woman’s entire future over two cents? Are you even human?” “Have you ever heard of showing a little mercy? Or do you just want to destroy her completely?” And of course, there was Jessica’s boyfriend. He was more direct. “Listen up, you bitch. Drop the charges now, or I’ll find you and kill you.” He sent a selfie of himself holding a baseball bat. In the background, I could clearly see the entrance to my apartment building. I didn’t reply. I just screenshotted everything. Then came a text from Mr. Evans. “Miss Pierce, let’s be reasonable. Jessica has been fired. You got what you wanted. The bank is willing to offer you fifty thousand dollars to let this go. Think about it.” “If you keep pushing this, it won’t end well for either of us. You’re a young woman with a long career ahead of you. You understand.” The threat was clear. I screenshotted that too. They were working fast. New posts were popping up all over Instagram and Reddit. The headlines were all variations on a theme: “The Ice-Cold Auditor Who Drove a Bank Teller to Suicide Over 2 Cents.” “BREAKING: Teller in 2-Cent Dispute Attempts Suicide Amidst Relentless Harassment!” “Is the ‘2-Cent Avenger’ a Hero or a Monster?” The posts were written with dramatic flair, claiming Jessica had lost her job because of my complaint and, unable to handle my continued “persecution,” had slit her wrists and was now fighting for her life in the hospital. They included a photo of a wrist wrapped in bloody bandages, the person lying in a hospital bed. It was blurry, but the distinct purple-dyed hair was unmistakably Jessica’s. The comment sections exploded. “OMG, for real? Someone tried to kill themselves over two cents? This woman is a demon.” “This is terrifying. What kind of person does this?” “My friend is a nurse at that hospital. She said the teller lost a lot of blood, it’s really bad.” “So what if she’s an auditor? She’s just a bully on a power trip. People like her are the worst!” My name, my employer, even photos from my college yearbook were plastered everywhere. My phone was unusable. The receptionist’s desk at my company was flooded with angry calls. I stared at the venomous words scrolling across my screen, then calmly turned off my phone. Did they really think this would make me back down? I opened my laptop, navigated to an encrypted forum on the dark web, and posted a new thread. The title was: “$10,000 USD Bounty for Information on ‘Backdoors’ or Artificially Created Financial Loopholes in a Certain Commercial Bank’s Software System.” It was a long shot. But it was the fastest way I could think of to find out where the money went.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389321”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After my husband, Damon, came crawling back from his affair, I started a little online project. Every day, a new post. How thrilling is it to cheat? Does a man get addicted to infidelity? After an affair, who does he feel guiltier towards: the wife or the mistress? I tagged his university in every single one. A precise delivery system for his students, his colleagues, and—of course—his mistress. Everyone told me to stop making such an ugly scene, to be the bigger person, the graceful wife. Only Damon defended me, pulling me behind him. “I’m the one who made the mistake,” he’d say, his voice a mask of contrition. “Amelia has every right to vent.” This charade continued until my ninety-ninth post. That was the day Damon stormed into my office, a wildness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, and smashed my laptop to the floor. “Amelia, for God’s sake! I’m home now. What more do you want from me?” he roared, his voice cracking. “How long are you going to torture me?” I didn’t answer. I just calmly folded a pair of his freshly laundered boxers and placed them on the stack. I looked at him, my expression placid, and asked with a small smile, “Do you have anything else that needs washing?” 2 Damon froze, his chest heaving with a rage that had nowhere to go. His furious questions hit me and dissolved, like fists punching a pillow. When he didn’t speak, I moved toward him, taking his suit jacket from his shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “This is all wrinkled. I’ll go press it for you.” “Amelia!” he grabbed my arm, his voice tight with an irritation he couldn’t contain. “What is it you want? Can you just stop this act?” He gestured wildly at the wreckage of my computer. “Do you have any idea what those posts are doing to my reputation? I’m a human being, Amelia. I get tired, too!” My hands stilled. My breath hitched. “Are you worried about your reputation,” I asked softly, “or Brooke’s?” Her name was a spark in a room full of gasoline. The air between us crackled, ready to ignite. “Why are you bringing her up again?” he snapped. “I moved her to a different research group. I cut off all contact. You know this!” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “Do you want to drive everyone as crazy as you are? Is that what will make you happy?” His voice climbed to a shout, but his eyes landed on the swell of my pregnant belly, and the fury deflated out of him. He looked like a punctured balloon. “I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered, his tone instantly softening as he wrapped his arms around me. Guilt washed over his features. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. That was my temper. I’ll buy you a new laptop tomorrow, the best one.” I recoiled from his touch like I’d been electrocuted, stumbling back and pressing my hand to my mouth as a wave of nausea hit me. I leaned against the doorframe, dry-heaving. “Don’t touch me,” I gasped. “You’re… filthy.” Damon’s face darkened. His eyes, already bloodshot, seemed to burn. “You think I’m filthy?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand, yanking me forward and pinning me against the door. He ripped at the collar of my shirt, his mouth descending on my neck in a rough, biting kiss. “The doctor said it’s fine in the last trimester, Amelia. Let’s…” “Get off me! You make me sick!” I shoved him with all my strength, collapsing to the floor and frantically scrubbing at the skin he’d touched. I rubbed until it was raw and red, but the feeling of his mouth on me wouldn’t go away. The room filled with the sound of my retching. “So dirty,” I sobbed, “I need to wash…” “Amelia! Do you hate me that much?” Damon’s voice was a raw, broken roar from behind me. “What do I have to do to make you forgive me?” I scrambled into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast, letting the icy water cascade over my clothes, over my skin. The front door slammed with enough force to shake the walls. I lifted my head and met my own gaze in the mirror. My face was a mess—pale, gaunt, streaked with tears. Suddenly, the grief I’d been holding back crashed over me in a tidal wave. I clutched my stomach, my sobs so violent I couldn’t breathe. We had been the golden couple, the envy of everyone we knew, inseparable since college. Now, his touch felt like a violation. I couldn’t forget. God, I had tried. I wanted to be the magnanimous wife, the one who forgave and moved on. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. With her. The student I had sponsored, had taken under my wing. He was with her while I was carrying his child. He was with her in our marital bed on the day of my father’s funeral. The thought sent a spasm of pain through my stomach, a phantom knife twisting in my gut. Why did he get to act like it never happened? Why was his conscience so clean while mine was in shreds? I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. 3 It was a long time before I stumbled out of the bathroom. The apartment was deathly quiet. Damon was on the sofa, his eyes red and swollen. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Tonight… I lost control. It’s all my fault. It won’t happen again.” “It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, my voice flat. “That’s your business.” Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked into our bedroom. I lay down, placing a gentle hand on my belly, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. I’m sorry, little one. Mommy lost her temper again. I didn’t mean to scare you. My eyelids felt heavy as lead. As I drifted off, my mind rehearsed the same scene, over and over. The plan for one hundred days from now. Once the baby is born, I’ll be free. 4 I woke to a sharp, clenching pain deep in my abdomen. A warm wetness spread beneath me. I fumbled for the light, my heart pounding when I saw the crimson stain on the sheets. Panic seized me. I forced myself to my feet, but when I tried the bedroom door, it wouldn’t budge. He had locked me in. A cold dread washed over me. Leaning against the wall for support, I shakily dialed Damon’s number. “Damon, I’m bleeding,” I gasped into the phone. “The bedroom door is locked, I can’t get out. You have to come home. Now!” His voice on the other end was thick with exhaustion. “Amelia, it’s the university’s awards ceremony tonight. I’m swamped. Can you please not start things right now?” “Damon!” Another contraction ripped through me, and I cried out in pain. “I’m serious! I think… I think the baby’s coming!” “Oh, here we go again,” his tone sharpened, laced with accusation. “Amelia, are you really trying to ruin my awards ceremony? Is that it?” He let out a bitter laugh. “No wonder you were so calm last night. You were planning to use the baby to blackmail me!” “Damon, no, that’s not…” I tried to explain, but the relentless pain was stealing my breath, my strength. He was about to say more when another voice cut in, clear and sweet. Brooke’s voice. “Professor Miller? Is everything alright? Is it your wife again?” Her voice was a performance of concern. “Maybe you should go home… you don’t have to stay here with me…” “Don’t worry about her,” Damon’s voice was firm, reassuring her. “Work comes first.” I could hear the murmur of students laughing in the background. The line went dead. Fighting for breath, I called 911. But as I tried to push myself up to wait by the door, my legs gave out. I collapsed into the spreading pool of my own blood, hot tears streaming down my face. The paramedics were fast. When they finally broke down the door, they found me lying in a crimson heap on the floor. I lost the baby. He was almost eight months along, the doctor told me later. If they hadn’t lost time breaking down the door, they might have been able to save him. 5 Damon knelt by my hospital bed, his face a mask of anguish. He raised a hand and slapped himself, hard, across the face. Twice. “Amelia, it’s my fault. I’m a monster,” he sobbed. “I was just so afraid… afraid you’d be upset seeing me on stage with Brooke… Please, forgive me, honey. We can… we can have another baby.” The last time he knelt before me was at our wedding. He had kissed my hand, his eyes shimmering with tears as he vowed to love and cherish me for the rest of his life. That boy was gone. The man kneeling before me now was a stranger. I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles, a strange sense of relief washing over me. The baby was gone. Now I didn’t have to force myself to stay with Damon anymore. A phone buzzed, cutting through his pathetic apology. It was Brooke. To prove his loyalty, Damon immediately put the call on speaker, his voice a harsh bark. “Brooke, I told you not to contact me again!” Her voice came through, choked with sobs. “Professor Miller… I’m pregnant.” A pause. “I’m going to get rid of it, of course. I just… as the father, I thought you had a right to know.” My hand clenched into a fist, so tight my nails dug into my palm. My lips trembled uncontrollably. My baby was dead, and she was pregnant. Damon frantically ended the call, his expression a mixture of terror and shame. “Amelia,” he pleaded, “I won’t acknowledge that child. I swear.” A raw, broken laugh escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face. “Damon,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” “No! I don’t want a divorce!” He shot to his feet, grabbing me in a desperate hug. “Amelia, I love you. Please, don’t say that.” I tore his hands off me, my voice rising to a scream. “Then get her to this hospital right now! I want to watch her get the abortion!” Damon closed his eyes, unable to look at me. “She… she has severe depression. If I make her terminate the pregnancy now… I’m afraid she’ll do something to herself.” “And what about my child?” I grabbed the water cup from my bedside table and hurled it at him. “Was my baby’s life worthless? He was your son, too!” Just then, from Damon’s phone, still in his hand, I could hear Brooke’s muffled weeping. “Professor… I won’t make things difficult for you… I’m just going to die…” Damon’s face went white. He clutched his phone and bolted from the room without a second glance. Watching his retreating back, I felt a familiar arm wrap around my shoulders. My mother. “My sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with pain as she held me close. “We’re not going to suffer this anymore. We’re getting a divorce. I’m going home right now to pack your things.” But the next time my mother called, her voice was a shattered cry. “Amelia! Damon sent men to demolish the house! The old house!” she wailed. “Your father built that place with his own two hands, brick by brick! It was all I had left of him!” The words were a knife in my heart. My world shattered. I ignored the cramping in my lower abdomen, my hand trembling as I dialed Damon’s number. “How could you?” I screamed into the phone. “How could you demolish my parents’ house? After everything they did for you!” His voice was ice. “If I had been a second later, Brooke would have overdosed on sleeping pills. Your mother called the university and reported her as a homewrecker. She almost killed two people.” He paused, his tone chillingly practical. “With the old house gone, she can just move into the city with you.” I understood immediately. After nearly a decade together, I knew how his mind worked. He was cutting off my mother’s escape route. He was trapping us, forcing my entire family to live under his watchful eye. “Damon,” I sobbed, the sound raw and animalistic, “why don’t you just die with her!” He muttered something about me being irrational and hung up. 6 I was still recovering from the miscarriage, not even out of my postpartum confinement, when my mother, overwhelmed by the stress, had a heart attack and was hospitalized. The blows kept coming, leaving me in a daze. I picked up my phone, my fingers moving automatically. I opened the forum and began to type my one-hundredth post. My baby is gone, but my husband’s mistress is pregnant. How do I make them pay? The post exploded. Within hours, it was trending nationally. The comments section flooded, with users swarming Damon’s faculty page. “Professor Scumbag in a tweed jacket. I hope this vile pair rots in hell!” “How does a degenerate like this get to teach? The university needs to fire him immediately!” Seeing the tide of public opinion turn in my favor, I felt a grim, satisfying release. The pain in my chest eased, just a little. And then, a new statement appeared on my account. To everyone, I am deeply sorry. The one hundred posts I’ve made were all fabricated. I apologize for the distress I have caused my husband and Ms. Brooke Collins. I tried to log in to delete it, but the password had been changed. Then I remembered. The broken laptop. Damon had taken it with him. Moments later, a post appeared on Damon’s own social media feed: “My wife has been suffering from postpartum psychosis since our pregnancy. She has been experiencing delusions that I am involved with one of my students. To ease her mind, I have already moved the student in question, Brooke Collins, to another research group, but my wife’s paranoia and fabrications have continued. I will ensure she formally apologizes to Ms. Collins. I am truly sorry for this misuse of public attention.” I couldn’t believe it. The audacity, the filth of his lies. Instantly, my direct messages were filled with a torrent of venom. “If you’re sick, crazy old woman, then just die! You’re one of those pathetic wives who thinks every woman wants her husband!” “Your baby died because of karma, you understand that, you bitch?” As I stared at the screen, my hands shaking with rage, Damon’s call came through. “Amelia,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. “Come to the university tomorrow. You’re going to apologize to Brooke.” “Why the hell should I?” I trembled. His voice dropped, laced with fury. “Brooke is innocent. What does your dead baby have to do with her? If you don’t want your mother’s heart surgery to be ‘unexpectedly canceled,’ you will be here tomorrow, and you will apologize.” My mother had treated him like her own son. And now he was using her life to protect his mistress. I squeezed my hand into a fist, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. Finally, I heard my own voice, a thin, quavering whisper. “Fine. I’ll do it.” 7 After settling things at the hospital for my mother, I took a cab to the university. Brooke was there, weeping theatrically in Damon’s arms. The moment she saw me, she broke away and lunged, her hand connecting with my cheek in a sharp slap. “Mrs. Miller, how could you try to ruin my life?” she cried. The surrounding students and faculty stared at me with open contempt. In front of me, someone held up a phone, the red light indicating they were live-streaming. Damon’s gaze was a clear warning. “Amelia,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Apologize.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth and opened my lips to speak. But before I could, someone kicked me hard from behind, right in the hollow of my knee. My leg buckled. I crashed to the ground, kneeling before Brooke. Someone yanked at my shirt, pulling it open to expose the raw, angry stretch marks crisscrossing my stomach. “Ugly on the inside and out. No wonder she has to lie to get attention.” “God, that’s disgusting. I wouldn’t touch her if you paid me.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Damon’s face. He was ashamed of me. “Don’t act so wronged, Amelia,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “You wrote a hundred posts. She gave you one slap. I’d say you got off easy.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve transferred the money to your account. From now on, you’re even.” I pushed myself up from the floor, my eyes burning as I stared at him. What they owed me could never be repaid. Swallowing down the surge of hatred, I rushed back to the hospital, desperate to see my mom. But her bed was empty. A nurse stopped me in the hallway. “Your mother… she fell down a flight of stairs,” she told me, her expression grim. “She has a cerebral hemorrhage and multiple fractures. She’s in surgery now.” The security footage was clear. The person who pushed my mother was Brooke.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389320”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Slacking off during work hours—a boss’s prerogative—I was scrolling through a popular jobs forum when a headline caught my eye. [Gen Z Intern Calls Bullshit on the ‘Most Humane’ Company in the City.] The description sounded uncomfortably familiar. I frowned. Just that morning, I’d called a meeting to ask if anyone had issues with our company benefits. Ashley, our newest intern, had stood up. “I don’t think our benefits are comprehensive enough,” she’d announced. “If we’re really aiming to be a ‘humane’ company, we should have fully catered meals, corporate housing, and a daily car service for everyone’s commute.” I already provided a combined monthly stipend of twenty-five hundred dollars for housing and transportation. It was more than enough for anyone to find a decent apartment and cover their commute. So, I shot down her request but offered a compromise: employees could choose between the stipend and a company-leased apartment. I told them to discuss it, come to a consensus, and let me know. I never imagined that later that night, the original poster would update their thread. [UPDATE: The CEO is having a meltdown. She’s threatening to cancel our housing stipends. AVOID FIREFLY INC. AT ALL COSTS.] 1 Seeing those words, I knew for sure. The author was Ashley. Because “Firefly” was the name of my company. The comment section below the post was a wildfire. [WTF! Firefly Inc.? My friend and I were just talking about applying there! I heard the benefits are insane, like a four-day work week!] Ashley’s reply was swift: [You’re so naive. It’s a four-day week, but you’re working until midnight every single one of those days. You’d learn quick.] [No way! Firefly is famous for its perks. My company gives us a two-hundred-dollar transit pass. I bet Firefly’s is closer to two thousand.] Ashley shot back: [And what if you live far from the office? Two grand sounds like a lot, but you can’t buy back the time you waste commuting!] The commenter was instantly swayed, agreeing that she had a point. Then another comment appeared: [I heard a rumor that the CEO of Firefly is some trust-fund baby, just playing at starting a business for fun.] I had no idea where they’d heard that rumor, but they weren’t wrong. My family was rich. Absurdly, ridiculously rich. I could do nothing for the rest of my life and still have enough money to last ten lifetimes. I started this company purely out of boredom. In the beginning, I had no grand ambitions of building an empire. I just wanted to create a truly humane workplace. So I designed the best benefits package I could imagine. A four-day work week—two on, one off, two on, two off. That generous stipend for housing and transit. If an employee was ever in a tight spot, they could get an advance on it. Whenever I felt like having afternoon tea, I ordered it for the entire office. Birthdays and holidays were always celebrated with gifts and surprises. Honestly, I enjoyed planning those things more than the actual work. I could have paid everyone to do nothing and the company would have been fine. But the incredible benefits had an unexpected side effect: my employees felt a deep sense of gratitude. To show their appreciation, they worked harder than I ever could have asked. After three years, not only had I not lost money, but Firefly had become surprisingly profitable. It even shocked my family. That was why I’d kept it going for so long. But the anonymous commenters on the thread didn’t see it that way. [A trust-fund baby? Of course she doesn’t know how to run a company. She’s just LARPing as a CEO!] [The only reason that place hasn’t gone bankrupt is because her daddy’s footing the bill.] [That explains why their benefits are so good, but you never see employees bragging online. Who knows if they’re even real.] [The poster above gets it. Working for a place like that is terrifying. Piss off the wrong rich girl and you’ll be blacklisted from the industry.] A humorless smile touched my lips. Had it ever occurred to them that my employees kept quiet because they didn’t want more competition? Staff turnover at Firefly was practically nonexistent. In three years, I could count the number of people who had voluntarily resigned on one hand. I didn’t reply to the thread. Instead, I copied the link and pasted it into our company-wide group chat. Let’s see how Ashley reacts to this. 2 After I shared the link, the group chat fell silent for a full thirty minutes. The first reply was from Ashley herself. [I wrote the post. So what? I was just raising a valid point for discussion!] She had the right to a discussion. She didn’t have the right to spew complete nonsense. I didn’t bother arguing. I just typed out a single message. [Meeting tomorrow morning, 9 AM sharp. We’re settling this.] I thought I had been perfectly clear earlier in the day. I wasn’t against providing housing. I had asked them to come to a unified decision, and I would make the arrangements. Apparently, that wasn’t good enough. And I had a sinking feeling that while the other employees hadn’t spoken up, they had been swayed. I knew my team. We’d worked together for years. They loved the company culture and they respected me as their boss. Normally, any message I sent to the group chat would be met with a flurry of enthusiastic replies. It was clear Ashley hadn’t just been stirring up trouble behind my back. She had succeeded. The next morning, when I walked into the conference room, everyone was already there. The atmosphere was a complete reversal from the day before. It was tense, almost hostile. I walked to the head of the table and placed my hands on its surface, about to speak. A voice cut through the silence. “So, have you figured out how you’re going to fix this, Sienna?” I looked up. It was Ashley, looking at me with her chin tilted in a way that screamed defiance. For a second, I couldn’t tell if she was just young and reckless or if she had been sent here deliberately to cause chaos. I ignored her, my gaze sweeping over the rest of the room. “What are all of your thoughts?” The silence stretched for several long seconds. Finally, one of my veteran employees, Carla, spoke up. “Sienna, I actually think corporate housing would be more convenient. Ashley might be young, but she has a point. We never considered it before, but now that she’s brought it up, I support the idea.” I nodded, my mind racing. I remembered Carla’s interview. She was a brilliant professional who had been forced out of the workforce by family issues and had struggled to find her way back. I’d given her a chance. For three years, she had been my most diligent and grateful employee. This was the first time she had ever voiced a complaint. Then another employee chimed in. “Yeah, my landlord decided to sell my apartment last month. I had to scramble to find a new place. If the company provided housing, that never would have happened.” The dam had broken. One by one, they all started talking. “I agree! It would take away a lot of stress so we can focus on our work.” As they spoke, I could feel Ashley’s smug, challenging gaze on me. When most of them had finished, two young women who had been sitting quietly in the corner stood up. Rachel and Wendy. They had joined last year. Both were introverted and had struggled to find jobs where they felt comfortable. They weren’t vocal, but their private messages to me were always full of gratitude. “Sienna, we have no objections,” Rachel said softly. “We’re happy with whatever the company decides.” To say I wasn’t disappointed by the others would be a lie. But the simple loyalty from those two calmed the storm brewing inside me. Before I could respond, Ashley scoffed loudly. “Are you two idiots? We’re fighting for our rights here! Unbelievable.” I shot Ashley a withering glare. She was a fresh college graduate. During her interview just a week ago, my impression of her had been “sweet and polite.” It hadn’t taken long for the mask to slip. A dry, humorless smile touched my lips. “Fine,” I said, my voice cool. “Since you’ve all reached a consensus, the new policy will take effect next month. We will provide corporate housing and a car service for everyone. The housing and transit stipends will be canceled.” I had given them exactly what they asked for. But as my words sank in, the triumphant looks on their faces curdled into shock and disbelief. 3 I paid their reactions no mind. “If there’s nothing else,” I said, “this meeting is adjourned.” I waited a moment. When no one spoke, I turned to leave. I had barely reached the door when Ashley’s voice rang out again. “What’s the meaning of this, Sienna? Are you trying to threaten us by canceling the stipends?” I turned back, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” Her voice was indignant, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “If you weren’t threatening us, why would you cancel the stipends?” For a second, I didn’t grasp the implication. “Because you all wanted corporate housing instead,” I said, stating the obvious. “So just because you provide housing, you get to take away our other benefits? I thought you were a rich heiress! How can you be so petty?” The accusation and entitlement in her tone were so astounding, I almost laughed. If I hadn’t understood her angle before, it was crystal clear now. My eyes swept across the room. On the faces of the others, I saw the same look of entitled agreement. So that was it. They wanted it all. They wanted the twenty-five hundred dollars a month, and a free apartment, and a private car service. Where on earth did they think such a deal existed? If they weren’t going to respect me, I had no reason to indulge them. I’d been coddled my entire life; not even my parents had ever made me feel this disrespected. Now I was supposed to take it from my own employees? I slapped the folder I was holding onto the table. “Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You want me to provide housing, a car service, and pay you a cash stipend? Are you that naive, or do you think I’m that stupid?” “You’ve all worked at other companies. Tell me, which one of them had benefits even half as good as what you have here? And now you’re letting a brand-new intern, a child, lead you around by the nose. It’s pathetic.” Seeing my anger, a few of them finally had the decency to look ashamed. It seemed I’d been too nice for too long. They’d forgotten I had a spine. The others fell silent, but Ashley, fearless as a cornered badger, kept pushing. “It’s only twenty-five hundred dollars! Why are you making such a big deal about it? It’s not like you’re short on cash!” she sneered. “Or is that whole ‘heiress’ thing just a lie?” I didn’t understand the source of her venom, and frankly, I didn’t care. Whether it was youthful arrogance or pure jealousy, she was insignificant to me. I didn’t need her approval, and I certainly didn’t owe her an explanation. I gave her one last, long look. “Since you clearly aren’t interested in a good-faith negotiation, this discussion is over. The existing benefits package will remain as is. No further applications for changes will be accepted.” My gaze hardened as I focused solely on her. “Instead of wasting your time trying to stir up drama,” I said, my voice a low warning, “you should be thinking about whether you’re going to pass your internship. Because if you don’t, none of this company’s ‘amazing’ benefits will have anything to do with you.” I wouldn’t fire an employee without cause, but with her attitude, she had just landed herself on my permanent blacklist. She finally seemed to grasp the implication, and her face paled. I turned my attention back to the rest of them. “If you’re unhappy with the benefits here, you are more than welcome to resign and find a better opportunity. I won’t stop you. But if you try to pull another stunt like this in my company, you will find that I am not so accommodating.” This time, when I turned and walked out of the room, no one dared to stop me. By the end of the day, not a single person had submitted their resignation. I put it out of my mind and went home. But that night, out of morbid curiosity, I checked the thread again. Ashley had posted a new update. And this one included a photo. [LMAO, so much for being an heiress. Turns out she’s just a homewrecker’s side piece. No wonder she’s so cheap with the perks—guess her sugar daddy’s cutting her off!]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389319”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my adoptive sister died, my brother became the person who hated me most in the world. A hatred so venomous he sent me to a Las Vegas casino, to be auctioned off for men’s amusement. I begged him for mercy, but his eyes held nothing but contempt. “If it weren’t for the kidney transplant you needed, Zoe would never have died on that operating table! You killed her. Now you’ll spend your life atoning for it.” But when the casino was attacked by terrorists, he shielded me without hesitation, his body taking every bullet meant for me. He coughed blood next to my ear, his last words a ragged whisper. “If there’s a next life, I’d rather never have had you as a sister. Zoe was all I ever needed.” I took my own life then, and woke up five years in the past. This time, brother, I don’t want the kidney. And I don’t want your love. I only want to grant your wish. To let you have only one sister. … “Aria, for a single piece of candy, you held Zoe’s hand in boiling water? She saved your life! How could I have such a vile, ungrateful sister?” The familiar voice echoed in my ears. I slowly opened my eyes, stunned by the scene before me. This was five years ago. The day I burned Zoe’s hand. I was truly reborn. The brother standing before me had no blood on his lips, no bullet holes in his chest. He was whole. He was healthy. A lump formed in my throat. I fought back a tidal wave of emotion and spoke, my voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, Caden. I shouldn’t have burned Zoe’s hand.” Caden froze, taken aback. I looked at him and gave a bitter smile. The candy… it was the one he’d pressed into my palm on the day our parents died in a car crash, his own eyes red-rimmed as he tried to comfort me. “Don’t cry, Aria. Big brother’s here. I’ll take care of you from now on.” He was just a teenager then, the weight of the world suddenly crashing down on his shoulders, with a younger sister to raise. It was only natural that he’d forgotten. I shouldn’t have held onto it so tightly. Swallowing the sob caught in my throat, I turned to Zoe, who was lying in the hospital bed, and gave her a deep bow. “I’m sorry. I won’t fight with you over Caden anymore.” Zoe stared, her eyes slowly welling with tears as she prepared for another performance. “Aria, I didn’t mean to step on your candy, please don’t be—” I said nothing. I simply turned, picked up the kettle of freshly boiled water from the bedside table, and without a flicker of hesitation, poured it over my own right arm. A searing agony exploded across my skin. Cold sweat drenched my back in an instant, and my breath hitched with the sheer force of the pain. “Is this… enough?” They were both completely stunned by my sudden, drastic change in behavior. Caden was the first to react, grabbing my wrist and roaring, “Aria, are you insane?!” Before I could answer, he spun towards his assistant standing by the door. “What are you waiting for? Get a doctor!” A sliver of warmth pierced through the pain in my heart. I looked at him, a sense of bittersweet relief washing over me. At this point in time, he still cared. He could still feel something for me. His eyes weren’t just filled with the cold, dead hatred of the future. It was nice. Even if that love would ultimately belong to someone else, I cherished the warmth of his hand on my wrist. But before I could speak, Zoe’s tearful voice cut through the moment. She tugged on Caden’s sleeve. “Caden, I know Aria just wants all your attention, but she shouldn’t have to resort to self-harm to get it.” Then she turned her tear-streaked face to me. “Aria, you and Caden are the real siblings here. I’m the outsider. Please, don’t hurt yourself like this, okay?” Her words were a bucket of ice water. Caden’s expression hardened, the flicker of concern vanishing. I closed my mouth, abandoning the explanation I was about to give. A moment later, his voice came, cold and sharp. “And here I was, actually entertaining a sliver of hope for you. How foolish. With a nature this rotten, are you even my sister?” The words were cruel, but compared to what he would say to me in the future, they were nothing. I lowered my head obediently. “Whatever you say, Caden.” “You…!” He was speechless with fury, pointing a trembling finger at me before turning to his assistant. “Get her wound treated. And keep her out of Zoe’s sight. She’s an eyesore.” I nodded and quietly left the room. But I didn’t go to get my arm bandaged. From the moment I woke up in this timeline, a familiar, sharp pain had begun to spread from my kidneys, radiating through every nerve ending in my body. The agony was so intense I could barely stand. That’s right. In my past life, this was the day I was diagnosed with kidney failure. Without a transplant, I had less than two weeks to live. I had always been sickly, and my rare blood type meant every illness was a brush with death. During one surgery, I started hemorrhaging, and the hospital’s blood bank ran low. Caden, frantic, had searched the entire city and finally found an orphan with a matching blood type: Zoe. Her blood saved my life. And just like that, she went from a penniless orphan to the adopted daughter of the city’s wealthiest family. But after that day, Caden changed. The constant warmth and affection he’d shown me vanished. If Zoe and I were both hurt, he wouldn’t even glance my way. He would leave me on the ground and scoop up Zoe—even if her injuries were minor—and rush her to the hospital. I became crazed, jealous, hateful. I targeted Zoe relentlessly. A sweet, innocent victim versus a vicious, unstable sister. It was obvious who he would choose. But even through all my tantrums and schemes, a part of me believed that deep down, Caden loved me most. I told myself he was only nice to Zoe because she had saved my life. I was wrong. So terribly, tragically wrong. In my last life, after my diagnosis, Zoe died on the operating table during the kidney transplant. I survived, a miracle. But from that day forward, I became the object of Caden’s deepest loathing. He hurled the most vicious words imaginable at me, as if we weren’t siblings, but mortal enemies with a blood feud between us. This time, I don’t want it to end like that. I would rather be the one to die. The northern winters were brutal. The wind carried shards of ice that felt like razor blades against my face. The dull ache in my kidneys and the sharp sting in my arm intertwined, making every breath a luxury. I hunched over, wrapping my coat tighter as I walked aimlessly down the street. I had been greedy, just for a moment. I was reborn to grant Caden’s wish, to let him have only Zoe as his sister. I needed to disappear. A car horn blared beside me. The window rolled down, revealing Caden’s cold, handsome face. “Get in.” I started to refuse, but his bodyguards were already there, pushing me into the back seat. The heat inside the car was blasting, but a chill still clung to my bones. To avoid any questions, I pressed myself against the window, watching the city blur past. “Why didn’t you get your arm treated? What new game are you playing now?” His voice was like ice. “When the self-pity act failed, you decided to try running away?” I was silent for a moment, then turned to face him, my expression calm. “I’m serious, Caden. You don’t have to feel torn because of me anymore. I’m going to move out. I’ll stay far away from both of you.” He let out a short, derisive laugh. “Move out? Aria, what do you have that this family didn’t give you? Without us, you’re useless. How long do you think you’d last?” Not long at all, I thought. I lowered my eyes. “However long I last, that’s my business. I was immature before. I thought if I fought and screamed, I could make you look at me. I understand now. Some things just aren’t mine for the taking. Zoe saved my life. You should care for her. I… I shouldn’t stand in the way.” His sharp gaze scanned my face, searching for a crack in my composure, a hint of deceit. But all he found was a field of cold ashes. The fire of jealousy and resentment that had once burned so fiercely for him, along with all the love and dependence, seemed to have been extinguished completely. This unfamiliar serenity seemed to agitate him even more. “You think saying that will make me feel sorry for you? Make me think you’ve matured? I’ve had enough of your games, Aria!” “I’m not playing games, Caden,” I said, my voice soft with a weariness that went bone-deep. “I’m just… tired. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want…” I don’t want to face our parents in the afterlife with your hatred weighing me down. The car passed through the grand gates of our family estate. I got out and went straight to my room in a far corner of the mansion. It was large and luxurious, but it felt cold and lifeless, like a gilded cage. I started packing, taking only a few changes of clothes, some cash, and an old photo album our parents had left behind—one Caden had likely long forgotten. Just as I zipped up the old backpack, the door swung open. Zoe stood there, leaning against the frame. Her left wrist was wrapped in a fresh bandage, her face pale, but her eyes held the subtle, triumphant gleam of a victor. “Are you really leaving, Aria?” she asked, her voice syrupy sweet. “Is it because of what Caden said? Don’t blame him. He’s just worried about me. Even though you’re his real sister, he trusts me more, you know.” I watched her performance, my heart a placid lake. In my past life, her words would have been a dagger to my soul, provoking me into a fight that Caden would inevitably punish me for. But now, I just wanted to be gone. “Move,” I said. Zoe took a step forward, blocking my path. Her voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear. “Face it, Aria. In this house, Caden only has room in his heart for me. You’re a joke. The sooner you get lost, the better for everyone.” I ignored her taunt and tried to sidle past. Suddenly, Zoe let out a sharp cry. From somewhere, she produced a small fruit knife. In a flash, she dragged the blade across her own left forearm, a deep, deliberate cut. Beads of blood welled up instantly. “Aria! What are you doing?!” she shrieked, stumbling backward, her face a mask of terror and disbelief. “I already apologized to you! Why are you still trying to hurt me?” Rapid footsteps echoed in the hall, and Caden appeared in the doorway, his face a thundercloud. He saw the blood on Zoe’s arm. He saw me standing before her with my backpack. He saw the fruit knife on the floor between us. The air froze. He didn’t even ask. A storm of rage erupted in his eyes, and he raised his hand, striking me across the face with brutal force. The world went silent. The burn on my arm, the ache in my kidneys—it all vanished. There was only the fire on my cheek. It was the first time in two lifetimes he had ever laid a hand on me. It hurt more than all my other injuries combined. Even at his most hateful in our past life, he had never hit me. He really did love his new sister. The thought was strangely liberating. “A-ri-a!” Caden himself seemed stunned, his hand trembling as he forced my name through his clenched teeth. “For a single, insane moment back there, I actually thought you might have changed! How stupid I am! A dog always returns to its vomit! How black is your heart? What has Zoe ever done to you that you have to hurt her like this, again and again? She is the reason you’re alive!” The familiar accusations, the soul-crushing words, were like poisoned icicles piercing the softest parts of my heart. I had braced myself, told myself to be numb, but hearing that venom in his voice still sent a sharp, twisting pain through my chest. My vision swam. I looked at his handsome face, contorted with rage. I looked at Zoe, hiding behind him, weeping, shooting me a triumphant glance. The whole scene felt absurd. Pathetic. An explanation? He wouldn’t believe it. In his mind, I was already a monster. So be it. I took a deep breath, swallowing the taste of blood and the burn of unshed tears. I wrenched my arm from his grip. Then, I bent down and picked up the small knife from the floor, still slick with Zoe’s blood. Caden’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing now?” I pushed the handle of the knife into his hand, forcing his fingers to close around it. The cold metal pressed against his palm, reflecting my own deathly pale face. I took a step forward, my chest almost touching his. I tilted my head back to look into his furious eyes. My voice was a faint, trembling whisper, like a dry leaf about to be carried away by the wind. “Brother, if you hate me this much… if you think I hurt your precious Zoe… then why don’t you get justice for her yourself?” And before the shock in his eyes could register, I threw my entire body forward.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389317”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day we graduated, Adrian and I had one last time together. A breakup fuck. Afterward, he lit a cigarette and passed it to me with practiced ease, a smirk playing on his lips. “When I find a wife,” he mused, “I’m definitely not marrying the kind of woman who smokes after sex.” A lump formed in my throat. I managed to ask him why. He just said, “Celine, I like them innocent.” I was silent for a long time after that. Then I cut off all contact. The next time we met, he was my new boss. To save us both the awkwardness, I handed in my resignation. But he cornered me in the office, his hand braced against the door. “It’s been five years,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “One more time?” I dropped my gaze. “I can’t. I have to pick up my daughter from school.” 1 The air in the room went still. Adrian froze. I tried to push myself off his lap, but his arm clamped around my waist like a steel band, holding me fast. The searing heat in his eyes cooled to a dark, unreadable shadow. The usual mask of calm control he wore so well finally cracked. He gritted his teeth. “How old is she?” I hesitated, then answered softly. “Three.” Three, not four. And we had been broken up for five years. The child had nothing to do with him. He clearly understood that, too. I tried to stand again, and this time, the hand on my waist let go. As I reached the door, his voice, now laced with suspicion, stopped me. “I remember your file. It says you’re unmarried.” My steps faltered for a fraction of a second, but I steadied myself and turned back, my expression placid. “We just got the license a little while ago.” “Just got the license, but your kid is three?” I nodded, my face a picture of serene confidence. “That’s right. We had her before we got married.” Adrian didn’t reply. His sharp gaze swept over my hand, lingering on the cheap wedding band I wore. A dismissive laugh escaped his lips. I didn’t feel a shred of shame. I held my hand up, showing it to him, almost poking him in the eye with it. Just as I saw the anger beginning to spark in his eyes, I made my escape. Back home that night, I let out a long, heavy sigh. Sometimes, a well-placed lie is the most effective tool for dealing with unforeseen trouble. I’d bought the ring at a dollar store the day before. Cheap, but it did the trick. It would be enough, I thought, to extinguish any lingering embers of affection Adrian might have held for me. Sure enough, my resignation was approved the next day. HR came to tell me personally that afternoon. I had one week to hand over my work, and then I was free. Normally, the process took a month. A week was unheard of. It wasn’t hard to guess whose influence was behind that. I nodded and started briefing the new intern on my duties. She was a sweet, enthusiastic girl named Violet. For the entire time I was training her, she made sure I never had to buy my own breakfast or afternoon tea. As quitting time approached, Violet looked at me, a shy expression on her face. “Celine, would it be okay if I left a little early tonight? My boyfriend is taking me to dinner.” I was in a bind. It wasn’t that I couldn’t let her go, but I also needed to leave early to pick up my daughter. Seeing me hesitate, she grew anxious, pressing her palms together and pleading. I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s fine, go ahead.” She thanked me profusely and started packing up. “My boyfriend’s coming down to get me now.” I was surprised. “He works here too?” Violet gave me a mysterious look. “Not exactly, he’s…” Her words were cut short by a deep, magnetic voice. “Ready to go?” 2 My entire body went rigid. If it had been a voice I’d never heard, I might have looked up, curious. But this voice, unfortunately, was one that had haunted my nightmares for the past five years. On the nights so dark I needed pills just to find sleep, Adrian’s words would echo in my ears. “Celine, you’re too good for me. I’ll just corrupt you.” “Celine, you should learn to smoke. It’s cool when a girl smokes. I want to see a different side of you.” I fell for it all, every word a sweet poison. I learned. I changed. Starting in my sophomore year, I went from just another girl with a crush on Adrian to his girl on the side. Eventually, I beat out all the other upperclassmen and freshmen to become his girlfriend for three years. The day he accepted my confession, the weather was awful, the wind howling. He had just dropped off a girl from his year after a date, his car parked right under the women’s dorms. His long, elegant fingers held a cigarette, his arm resting lazily on the open window frame as he leaned back with his eyes closed. The wind scattered the ash into the air. I threw on a jacket, ran downstairs, and knocked on his window. Banking on the sliver of special treatment he always reserved for me, I told him how I felt. In that moment, the roar of the wind seemed to fade, as if the world had hit pause. I waited for his answer. Adrian turned to look at me. He took out another cigarette, his dark eyes deep and bottomless, yet pulling me in with a fatal attraction. On impulse, I took it from him and put it to my lips. My damp mouth brushed against his fingers, and he didn’t pull away. His playful expression softened into something like silent permission. All he said was: “Look at the good girl, not so good anymore.” At the time, I was so lost in his eyes that I completely missed the true meaning behind his words. I didn’t understand until graduation day. It was the last time he asked me to a hotel, and the last time we ever saw each other. After we were finished, he handed me a cigarette with that familiar, practiced motion. “When I find a wife, I’m definitely not marrying the kind of woman who smokes after sex.” I choked back a sob and asked him why. Adrian smiled, a plume of white smoke curling from his fingertips. His tone was more serious than I had ever heard it. “Celine, I like them innocent.” Tears blurred my vision, and I forgot how to breathe. Innocent. He said he liked them innocent. But once, he had whispered that I was too innocent, too good, that he didn’t know what to do with me. Only now did I finally understand what he meant. Because I wasn’t the good girl anymore, he had filed me away in the category of girls you could play with. 3 I pulled myself from the memories, my face a calm, emotionless mask again. Violet, seeing her boyfriend, excitedly grabbed her bag and hurried over to him. Then she suddenly turned back to me. “Celine, don’t you have to pick up your daughter, too? We can give you a ride.” I was about to refuse, but Adrian walked straight over, picked up my bag from my desk, and headed for the parking garage without giving me a chance to say no. The atmosphere in the car was unnervingly silent, broken only by Violet’s occasional chatter. Adrian tapped a light rhythm on the steering wheel, giving her brief replies while his eyes kept flicking to me in the rearview mirror. Violet, probably sensing my discomfort, tried to start a conversation. “Celine, when you work late, does your husband usually pick up your daughter?” The word “husband” caught me off guard. It took me a second to process. Then I just shook my head and made an excuse. “He works out of town. He’s not back very often.” She nodded with an “ah, I see” expression, her gaze falling to the cheap ring on my finger. “Is that your wedding ring? It looks a little faded.” Her voice was casual, but the words were sharp. “It looks like something you’d get online for ten bucks.” “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that! Please don’t take it the wrong way.” Violet quickly turned to apologize, but I saw the flicker of disdain in her eyes, a strange sense of superiority she couldn’t quite hide. And why not? Compared to my fifty-dollar diaper bag, her Hermès was in a different universe. Before I could respond, a soft laugh cut through the tension. Adrian reached over and ruffled her hair, his smile full of affection. “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything wrong. No need to apologize.” Then, his eyes met mine in the mirror. His tone was light, as if making casual conversation, but the words were aimed directly at me. “People with no money are always so proud. If you’re this blunt, aren’t you afraid of getting on someone’s bad side at work tomorrow?” He was talking to Violet, but the message was for me. A seemingly careless comment that was a blatant defense of her, and a subtle warning to me. I pretended not to hear and turned to look out the window. I had heard countless variations of the same sentiment during our three years together. That I wasn’t good enough for him. And I agreed. The gap between us was immense. My family wasn’t poor, but we were comfortably middle-class at best. The Courtlands, however, weren’t just wealthy; they were a powerhouse of influence and prestige. Right from the beginning, Adrian had been clear. “Celine, you can be my girlfriend, but you’ll never be my wife.” I knew. I had always known. I guarded my heart carefully, never crossing the lines he had drawn. But in moments of intense passion, my resolve would waver. A voice would whisper, Just try. What if you succeed? So, just before graduation, I asked to see him. He picked me up early that day. He parked on a quiet side street on campus, and the driver got out to wait at a distance. He turned me around in my seat. The dappled shadows of the sycamore trees danced with the sunlight, stabbing at my eyes. An hour later, Adrian was leaning back against the seat, his white shirt damp with sweat, a sheen on his forehead. The window was cracked open, and a cool breeze swirled inside, dispersing the smoke from his cigarette. I looked at him and finally asked the question. “Adrian, do you love me?” More than wanting to know if he would marry me, I needed to know if he had ever loved me. He looked at me, his usually teasing eyes holding a rare seriousness. “We’re about to graduate.” In that instant, I understood. We’re about to graduate, so it’s time to break up. 4 The car pulled up to the curb in front of the daycare. I opened the door and got out. My daughter, who had been standing by the entrance holding her teacher’s hand, saw me and waved happily. I hurried over, thanked the teacher, and bent down to my daughter. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Mommy’s late today.” “Have you been waiting long?” She tilted her little face up at me and pointed. “Is it because of that man that you were late?” Startled, I followed her finger and turned around. Adrian was standing behind me. I had no idea when he’d gotten out of the car. The usual careless swagger was gone, replaced by a heavy gravity. And a flicker of something I couldn’t quite identify… joy? I froze, my hand tightening on my daughter’s. He walked over and slowly crouched down in front of her, his gaze fixed on her sweet, angelic face. Adrian’s voice, usually so cool and detached, softened. “How old are you? What’s your name?” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t stop him. We had been together for three years. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t believe me unless he saw her with his own eyes. I looked at my daughter, my expression gentle, and gave her hand a small, meaningful squeeze. She got the hint. “My name is Poppy,” she said clearly. “And I’m three years old.” Phew. I let out a quiet breath of relief. Adrian stared at the little girl, at the eyes and brows that were a startling echo of his own. The initial rush of paternal joy that had been rising within him was instantly extinguished by her words. The questions he was about to ask died in his throat. Poppy was premature, and because I’d been malnourished during the pregnancy, she was smaller than other kids her age. Besides, with a child that young, it was hard to guess their exact age. After breaking up with Adrian, I had blocked him on every social media platform. He, in turn, had made no effort to keep tabs on me. We were like two intersecting lines. We’d had our brief, tangled moment, but once pulled taut, we returned to our separate paths. We had lived in the same city for five years. I won’t deny that I had fantasized about seeing that familiar car at an intersection, of us crossing paths by chance. But it never happened. We were moving in different orbits, each with our own rhythm, our own destination. Even under the same sky, we lived in different worlds. That night at home, my daughter tugged on my shirt, her face a mask of confusion. “Mommy, I’m four. Why did we have to lie?” She was right. Why was I teaching my child to lie? Perhaps, I thought, because I didn’t want to invite trouble into our lives. Not long after our last meeting, I discovered I was pregnant. I considered ending it. But lying there on the table at the clinic, I hesitated. A stubborn defiance burned inside me. I admit it, I was bitter. Even if we can’t be together, I thought, at least I’ll have a child who shares his blood. So I went through with it alone. But the moment I held that tiny, pink bundle in my arms, I was overwhelmed with relief. I knew I had made the right decision. This was my child. Half of her was me. She didn’t belong to anyone else. She deserved a chance to see the world. … After putting Poppy to sleep, I got a call from the head of HR. He told me not to bother coming in tomorrow. I frowned. “Whose decision was that?” He paused for a moment on the other end, clearly not intending to answer. I didn’t press the issue. One day sooner or later made no difference to me. 5 After leaving my job, I didn’t look for another. Instead, I opened a small children’s clothing studio, with my daughter volunteering as my adorable model. Thanks to her cute face and my hard-won video editing skills, I managed to build a small following. Between scattered orders and the occasional ad sponsorship, I could make ends meet, and even save a little. I thought that quitting my job meant I was once again free of Adrian. But I was wrong. He showed up at my door with a paternity test. I wasn’t surprised. The night before, while I was giving Poppy a bath, she had a troubled look on her little face. She clearly had something on her mind but didn’t know how to say it. I pretended not to notice and kept washing her hair. After a while, she finally spoke in a small voice. “Mommy, I saw that man at school again today.” I didn’t respond, continuing to lather the shampoo. Fearing I was angry, she waved her soapy hands in the air to reassure me. “He didn’t talk to me! He just patted my hair and then he left.” “Mommy, you’re not mad, are you?” Looking at her anxious little eyes, I sighed, a wave of helplessness washing over me. For a child, parents are their entire world. When Poppy started talking, her first word was “Mama.” Her second was “Dada.” But there was never anyone to answer that second call. When she was three, she asked me why all the other kids had a mommy and a daddy, while she only had a mommy. I didn’t hide the truth from her. I didn’t lie or spin some tale about her father being far away. I told her, “You have a father. Your father and I just chose not to be together. He might not even know you exist in this world.” “You can choose to find him, and you can even choose to live with him, but I can’t promise he will accept you. It was my mistake to have you without telling him.” I showed her a picture of Adrian. My daughter is very smart, with a child’s sharp memory. She recognized him instantly that day at school. But she didn’t approach him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389316”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel