There were two stray cats living in the flowerbeds of our apartment complex. My daughter, Harper, would go down every day to feed them. But I noticed something odd: she only fed one of them. She completely ignored the other. In fact, I once caught her sneaking down to kick over the second cat’s bowl if a neighbor had left food out for it. When I asked her why, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “That one’s a male. Males are trash. He deserves to starve.” I was shocked. I immediately tried to correct her. “Harper, saying all males are trash includes me. I’m a man. Am I trash too?” She shook her head vigorously, hugging my waist. “No, Daddy, you’re the best father in the world. But except for you? Yeah. Men are garbage.” I mentioned this to my wife, Linda. She just laughed it off. “Kids that age go through phases. Boys play with boys, girls play with girls. It’s normal to have prejudices.” She even argued it was a good thing. “Look, the world is a dangerous place. It’s like a dark forest. You never know if a stranger is a predator or a person. Keeping her guard up against men? Better safe than sorry.” I thought Linda had a point, so I let it slide. As for the male cat? He got bullied out of the territory. The remaining female didn’t last long either; she was chased off by a scarred, aggressive tabby a few weeks later. I didn’t think much of it until a few days later, when Harper came home claiming she’d been “touched.” “I was trying to get off the bus,” she sobbed, “and the driver blocked the aisle. He said unless I let him touch my… you know… he wouldn’t open the door. I was so scared.” She added that four other girls on the bus had seen it. They’d been touched too. This was serious. I immediately contacted the other parents. Once we confirmed their stories aligned, we marched straight to the precinct. Because the victims were minors, the police moved fast. Within an hour, they had the driver in custody. His name was Caleb Vance. A veteran, high school education, unmarried, living with his elderly mother. When the police brought Caleb in, the parents lost it. It turned into a brawl. Linda even swung her heavy Louis Vuitton bag at Caleb’s head, snapping the strap as she struck him. But under interrogation, Caleb screamed that he was innocent. He swore on his life he never touched those girls. He dropped to his knees in the interrogation room, sobbing until he hyperventilated. “My mother is bedridden. She’s dying. I’m the only one she has. Please, you can’t do this to me…” 1 I’ve always prided myself on being a good judge of character. Caleb Vance didn’t fit the profile. In all the years Harper had ridden his bus, he was never late, never rude. It was hard to reconcile that man with a child predator. I decided to press Harper for details. “Honey, I need you to be brave. Were you the first one he touched? Who was in front of you? Who was behind you?” Simple questions. But Harper stammered. She couldn’t keep the sequence straight. “Harper,” I lowered my voice. “Look at me. Did Caleb actually touch you?” She burst into tears. Linda was furious. She shoved me out of the room, accusing me of betraying our daughter. “We are her parents! We are supposed to be on her side, no matter what!” Linda screamed. “Who cares if Caleb is innocent? That’s for the cops to figure out. Worst case scenario? We apologize. Big deal.” I was speechless, but she wasn’t entirely wrong. The legal system is designed to find the truth. They wouldn’t convict an innocent man. The police pulled the bus surveillance and GPS. Caleb had followed his route perfectly. Unless he could grope a child while driving a forty-foot vehicle with both hands on the wheel, the timeline didn’t make sense. However, forensics found trace DNA on the girls’ clothes. No fingerprints, just contact transfer. It wasn’t definitive proof of assault, but it didn’t rule out contact. The police released a statement: “No direct evidence of molestation found.” The parents went nuclear. They flooded the Mayor’s office with calls, accusing the police of laziness and incompetence. Hours later, the statement changed: “Cannot rule out the suspect’s involvement.” Same meaning, different framing. But that was enough for the District Attorney. They pressed charges. Given the number of alleged victims, the DA pushed for the maximum. Seven years. At the trial, Caleb’s defense called two witnesses. First was his former Platoon Sergeant. He testified that Caleb was a model soldier in Afghanistan, decorated for bravery. “A man like that doesn’t hurt kids,” he said. The second was Caleb’s mother, Martha. The frail old woman wept on the stand. “He never married because he takes care of me and my medical bills. He is a good son. He would never do this.” But character witnesses aren’t factual evidence. Only God knew what happened on that bus. The jury found Caleb guilty. He was sentenced to five years. Caleb screamed he would appeal. The parents complained the sentence was too light. 2 A few days later, an old woman blocked my path at the grocery store. It was Martha Vance. Her hands shook as she tried to shove an envelope into my jacket pocket. Inside was five thousand dollars—mostly in small bills—and a box of homemade cookies. She begged me. She pleaded for me to help her son avoid prison. I knew Caleb made less than four grand a month. This envelope was likely Martha’s life savings. I gently pushed it back. “Mrs. Vance, I can’t help you. The verdict is in. Even if I wrote a letter of forgiveness now, it would only help with parole hearings later. He’s going to prison.” Martha shook her head frantically. She didn’t want a letter. She wanted Harper to recant. “My son didn’t touch your girl. Please, you have to believe me! It’s because…” She stopped, her face twisting in pain, as if she were swallowing a secret that burned her throat. I was losing patience. “Use this money for a better appeal lawyer, ma’am. That’s the best way to help Caleb.” Maybe my advice worked. A week later, I received a notice. Caleb had a new attorney for his appeal. They were going for full exoneration. The lawyer added a note: “If we win, we will be countersuing for defamation and malicious prosecution. As her guardian, you will be held liable.” I chuckled. I’m a lawyer too. That was just posturing. But the other parents panicked. The group chat exploded. They tagged me relentlessly: What do we do? Can we lose our houses? I told them the truth: “Overturning a conviction on appeal is incredibly hard. They must have found new evidence.” My honesty terrified them. Weeks later, a hashtag started trending: #JusticeForOurGirls. I clicked the video. It was a montage of Harper and the four other girls, looking innocent and tearful, set to sad piano music. Then, a jump cut to a photo of Caleb, greasy and dirty, changing oil under the bus. The contrast was manipulative and effective. The comments section was a cesspool. “Monster.” “Animal.” “He deserves to die.” The case went national. Other parents in the district started panicking, wondering if Caleb had touched their daughters too over the last decade. My colleagues, my friends—everyone offered their “sympathy.” It was humiliating. Bowing to public pressure, the appellate court delayed the hearing indefinitely. But the person who suffered most was Martha. The vigilantes found her address. They threw paint on her door. They mailed her dead rats. Even at the hospital, nurses treated her with cold contempt. Martha couldn’t take it. A month later, she went to the courthouse steps. She doused herself in gasoline and lit a match. Witnesses said that as she burned, she didn’t scream in pain. She just kept yelling, “My son is innocent! Why won’t you believe him?” 3 I was terrified Martha’s suicide would traumatize Harper. I decided to take her to Disney World to get away from the news. She had a blast. But one night, while she was sleeping, her iPad lit up. I usually respect her privacy, but something made me look. The messages were a long thread with her friends. They were trash-talking me. Harper complained I was cheap, that I checked coupons at restaurants, that she wished she had a rich, famous dad. Then, a friend text: “Why don’t you just send your dad to jail too?” Harper replied: “Can’t. I need him to pay for college. Maybe later.” My blood ran cold. I shook her awake. “Harper! Did Caleb touch you? Tell me the truth!” She tried to lie, but Linda wasn’t there to coach her. Under pressure, the truth spilled out. Caleb never touched her. He never touched anyone. The reason? The bus route passed our apartment complex, but the designated stop was two blocks away. Harper wanted to get off early. Caleb refused because of insurance regulations. That was it. That was the motive. The other four girls? Harper’s clique. They didn’t like Caleb because he was strict and, in their words, “fat and gross.” Harper tugged at my pajama pants, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted to get him fired, Daddy. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, okay?” The banality of her evil left me paralyzed. She didn’t understand the gravity of what she’d done. She thought an apology fixed everything. We flew home the next morning. I told Linda everything. Linda’s reaction was to hush me. “Bury it,” she whispered. “Take this to the grave.” “Martha is dead, Robert! Even if Caleb gets out, he won’t thank us. He’ll hate us. He might come after us.” She argued that the best outcome was for Caleb to die in prison. “The other girls won’t talk if Harper doesn’t.” But what if he didn’t die? Five years is a long time to nurse a grudge. 4 I couldn’t live with it. The only way to mitigate Caleb’s potential rage was to give him his life back. I tried to get the other parents to come forward. They refused. They were terrified of the liability and the social stigma. So, I took over Caleb’s defense myself. I met him in the visitor’s center. He looked like a skeleton. His eyes, once kind, were now hollow pits of darkness. I apologized. He scoffed. But when I told him I could clear his name, he listened. He told me his plan. When he got out, he would bury his mother properly. Then he’d buy a small truck and haul cargo cross-country. He just wanted to leave this town and never come back. I felt a wave of relief. Prison hadn’t destroyed his humanity yet. I prepped Harper. “It’s never too late to do the right thing,” I told her. “Tell the truth in court. I will protect you.” She nodded, promising she wouldn’t lie again. The appeal hearing arrived. I put Harper on the stand. The Prosecutor asked, “Did Caleb Vance touch you?” Harper looked at the jury, then at me. “Yes,” she said clearly. The courtroom gasped. I froze. “Then why does your father claim you lied?” the Prosecutor asked. “Because…” Harper sniffled, “My dad is old-fashioned. To him, my… purity… is more important than my safety. He didn’t want a ‘damaged’ daughter. He tried to make me change my story.” I stood up, mouth open, but no sound came out. Harper stepped down and walked into Linda’s arms. They left without looking at me. The appeal was denied. The light in Caleb’s eyes finally went out. I went home and screamed at Linda. She called me a fool. “Women lie to survive, Robert. It’s nature. I’m proud of her.” She filed for divorce the next week. Harper changed her social media bio: “Men really are trash.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388824”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When Caleb brought me breakfast, he discovered a man hiding in my apartment. He was shocked. Then, he was furious. He pointed a shaking finger at Hayes’s nose and shouted, “You shameless homewrecker!” Hayes looked at him with utter disdain. “Kid, I knew her before you were even born.” Caleb looked even more horrified. He turned to me. “Wait… so, am I the side piece?” Hayes smirked. “No. You’re number four. Get in line.” 1 I woke up to see Hayes standing by my bed, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants and my floral apron. I thought I was still dreaming. Until he reached out, touched my forehead, and asked in that cold, crisp voice of his: “Still hungover?” I jolted awake like I’d been electrocuted. “Why are you in my house?” “I made oatmeal…” We spoke at the same time, then fell silent at the same time. Thankfully, a knock at the door broke the suffocating awkwardness. “I’ll get it.” I grabbed a trench coat, threw it over my silk nightgown, and fled the bedroom. The person at the door was Caleb, a junior colleague from work. I was surprised. Caleb’s face was glowing with youthful energy. He was holding a bag of warm comfort food. “Morning, Nora! I brought coffee and those bagels you like from the corner deli.” But his smile vanished the second he looked past me and saw Hayes. Hayes, being the psychopath he is, had taken off the hoodie he was wearing under the apron. Now, the floral fabric barely covered his broad, muscular chest. The apron cinched at his waist, emphasizing his V-taper. Below that, grey sweatpants. It was a look that screamed “we just had sex.” Shocked and angry, Caleb covered my eyes with his hand and yelled at Hayes. “Who are you?” “Don’t you know Nora has a boyfriend?” “What is this behavior? Put some clothes on!” The more he spoke, the angrier he got. But his voice was trembling. It went from rage to grievance, and finally, to choking back tears. I tried to explain. “Caleb, it’s not what it looks like.” Nobody was listening to me. Caleb was pointing at Hayes, cursing him out. calling him a “shameless homewrecker.” Hayes didn’t say a word. He glanced at the bagels in Caleb’s hand, then calmly grabbed my wrist and sat me down at the dining table. “The oatmeal cooled down. Eat.” Caleb stormed over, snatched the bowl of oatmeal away, and laid out the bagels he brought. That was when Hayes finally looked annoyed. Caleb pointed at the door. “I’ll take care of Nora. You—whoever you are—get the hell out.” He was acting like the man of the house. Hayes just let out a cold laugh. “I knew her before you were even born.” I tried to de-escalate. “Caleb, he and I… we aren’t in a relationship like that.” But Caleb, immersed in his own heartbreak, had his own logic. He looked at Hayes. Then at me. Then back at Hayes. “So… am I the side piece?” “No,” I said quickly. Hayes threw gasoline on the fire. “You’re the side piece’s understudy. Number four.” The apartment was chaos. Caleb looked at me, his expression shattering. He looked like a kicked puppy. I glared at Hayes. “Since when is he number four?” I tried to remember last night. I remembered getting drunk, calling Hayes, and him telling me to stay put. Before that… Caleb had confessed his feelings to me. But I vividly remembered rejecting him. I asked Hayes, “What exactly happened last night?” While Caleb was zoning out in shock, Hayes swept all the bagels into the trash can. Then he answered casually: “After you passed out, this kid texted you a confession. I thought he seemed sincere, so I accepted on your behalf.” Hayes cleaned the table as he spoke. Then he looked up at me, a bitter smile on his lips. “Since you already have a side piece, I figured one more wouldn’t hurt. I’m not the jealous type.” I rolled my eyes. “Generous of you.” Caleb seemed to reboot. His righteous indignation was gone. He looked at Hayes, his voice small. “If I’m number four… does that make you the boyfriend?” That question hit a nerve. Hayes paused for two seconds. “No,” he said darkly. “I’m the mistress.” 2 I fell silent. Technically, Hayes and I were in a shady, secret arrangement. But hearing it said out loud in front of an outsider made me want to crawl under the floorboards. Thankfully, Caleb was too traumatized to ask follow-up questions. He left shortly after. Hayes scooped a fresh bowl of oatmeal and slammed it in front of me. Seeing me stare at the door, he sneered. “Miss him?” “Want me to run down the hall and get him back for you?” The acid in his tone could burn through steel. He was mocking me, but mostly, he was hurting himself. As I ate quietly, Hayes finally snapped. He tore off the mask of indifference. “That kid really likes you. Why haven’t you mentioned him?” “He calls you ‘Nora’ so casually. Did you know him in college?” “How much younger is he? You’re into interns now?” I didn’t respond. Hayes looked like he was about to lose his mind. He pulled out the chair opposite me and sat down. Silence. Then: “You think I’m too old?” “I’m five years older than you… that’s not exactly geriatric, Nora.” “But I guess fresh meat is appealing.” I rubbed my temples. “Can you stop making a scene?” Hayes opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Brother, please.” I said it out of habit. It meant nothing. But Hayes stood up so fast his chair screeched across the floor. He stared at me, eyes dark. “You haven’t called me ‘Brother’ in years. Why now?” ” trying to break up with me?” Terrified that I might say yes, Hayes grabbed his clothes and fled the apartment before I could explain. I stared at the closed door. I thought about what he told Caleb: I knew her before you were born. It was true. Caleb is two years younger than me. The year he was born was the year my mother married Hayes’s father. I was two. Hayes was seven. Hayes hated my mother. At his seventh birthday party, he swore he’d kick us both out of the Sterling estate. My mother would smile and say, “He’s just a child, I don’t mind.” In private, she ground her teeth so hard I thought they’d crack. She was desperate to have a son to replace Hayes as the heir. I did whatever my mother told me. She told me to suck up to Hayes, so I did. Even when he bullied me, even when he pranked me, I chased him around calling him “Big Brother.” It didn’t work. The year he hated me most, he locked me in the basement while our parents were away. Two days. No food. I almost died. Mr. Sterling couldn’t ignore it anymore. He forced Hayes to apologize and demanded he treat me like a biological sister. What did Hayes say back then? He said: “I would rather die than like her.” But years later… The man who begged me. The man who willingly became my dirty little secret just to stay near me. It was him. 3 The next day at work, Caleb cornered me in the breakroom. He’s the CEO’s son. We went to the same university. Now that he’s graduated, his dad put him under my wing. I tried to explain the previous morning. “You know I was drunk. That wasn’t me accepting your confession on WeChat.” Caleb nodded. “I know.” I sighed, relieved. I thought the drama was over. Then he said: “But we can just go with it.” He looked deadly serious. “Nora, I’ve thought about it.” “If I can be with you, I don’t mind being number four.” “You’re amazing. It’s normal for guys to chase you.” “I don’t care about the other guys. I believe if I work hard, I’ll get promoted to boyfriend eventually.” “I haven’t met the others, but the guy at your apartment… he seemed old.” “You’re young, beautiful. Can an old man like that keep up with you?” “Why don’t you dump him and let me be the mistress?” Caleb scratched his head. “Being the ‘mistress’ sounds cooler than being ‘number four’.” Just then, the breakroom door swung open. Hayes walked in, face like a thundercloud. “Who are you calling an old man?” Hayes’s company had a contract with ours. He was here for a meeting with the CEO. He just happened to walk in on Caleb badmouthing him. “Did you forget who got you into that college prep school, kid?” “If it weren’t for my recommendation letter, you wouldn’t even be qualified to be number four.” Usually, Hayes wouldn’t stoop to arguing with a fresh grad. But the word “old” was his trigger word this week. “Biting the hand that feeds you. Is that how your daddy taught you business?” Caleb didn’t flinch. He looked Hayes dead in the eye and scoffed. Knowing Hayes was just a “side piece” gave Caleb confidence. “We’re competitors now.” “I’m just marketing my advantages to Nora.” “I wasn’t wrong,” Caleb looked Hayes up and down. “You are older than me.” “Who is the boyfriend and who is the side piece… that’s Nora’s decision.” “If she prefers youth and dumps you for me, that’s just natural selection, isn’t it?” Every “old” was a dagger in Hayes’s heart. He laughed, a cold, sharp sound. He pulled out his phone and dialed the CEO’s office. Minutes later, Caleb was summoned by his father. As he left, Caleb gritted his teeth and whispered, “Old fossil. Plays dirty.” Hayes closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked calmer. “It’s Dad’s birthday. Are you going back to the estate?” I nodded. “I have to.” My mother had called three times to remind me. “Okay. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” The elevator ride down was silent. Hayes was regretting everything. Accepting Caleb’s confession on my phone had been a strategic error. He did it because my actual boyfriend—the love of my life—was returning to the country this week. Hayes knew he couldn’t compete with Dr. Ethan Cole. So, he tried to throw a wrench in the gears by adding Caleb to the mix. He figured Caleb was a harmless distraction. He thought, I can’t beat Ethan, but I can definitely beat this college kid. Now, he realized he’d just played himself. He didn’t hurt Ethan. He just annoyed himself to death. Hayes sat in the car, unlit cigarette in his mouth. He needed the nicotine, but he wouldn’t light it. I was getting in the car. And I hate the smell of smoke.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388823”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I discovered my husband was cheating on me when I was sixteen weeks pregnant. We hadn’t been intimate in a long time. Worried he was sexually frustrated, I even asked my OB-GYN during my check-up. She said as long as I was past the first trimester, it was fine. That night, I cuddled up to him, wrapping my arm around his waist. Half-asleep, he let out a low groan, a sticky, satisfied chuckle rumbling in his throat: “Seven rounds and you’re still hungry, you little glutton…” 1 I never thought my husband, Caleb Sterling, would cheat. From college sweethearts to walking down the aisle, our eight years together looked like the American Dream. Caleb was a respected Associate Professor of Philosophy, on the tenure track. I was a thoracic surgeon at a top-tier hospital. We had money, respect, and a perfect marriage. Caleb was the last of his family line, and when I got pregnant early this year, we were the envy of everyone in our social circle. I couldn’t fathom a reason for him to stray. Until I unlocked his phone. Until I scrolled through the texts. Until I found her—Vanessa. I’d heard of Vanessa from Caleb’s college buddies. She was the high school Prom Queen. The girl every guy in their small Rust Belt town dreamed about. Caleb pined after her for three years. At their graduation party, his friends pressured him to confess. Vanessa, who was being chased by the son of a local car dealership owner, shot him down cold. “Caleb, you’re cute, but let’s be real,” she had said, swirling her red solo cup. “I’m going places. You’re… from the trailer park. You can’t even afford to buy me a deceptive knock-off purse, let alone the real thing. Come back when you’re somebody.” Caleb was poor, but he had an ego made of glass. That night, he changed his college applications. Vanessa went South. He went North. That’s how he met me. The first time I saw Caleb, my father—the Dean of his department—brought him home for Thanksgiving. He was wearing faded jeans with frayed hems. He looked hungry, cautious, and desperate to please. He became my father’s star pupil. He started coming around more often. We fell in love. With my father’s connections and his own grit, Caleb got his PhD, got published, and landed a coveted position at the university. On our wedding night, Caleb held me like I was fragile porcelain. “Elena,” he whispered, “I came from nothing. Your dad gave me a career. You gave me a home. I owe the Vance family my life.” “I will always be loyal to you. I will love you and take care of your dad until the end. If I ever break this vow, may I rot in hell.” I kissed him to stop him from saying more. The vow still echoed in my ears. But the man beside me had clearly forgotten it. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, cutting Caleb’s sleeping face in half. I stared at the texts, feeling like an invisible hand was crushing my windpipe. When was their first time? 2 I found the answer in their chat history. Two months ago. Right after I confirmed the pregnancy. It started with a high school reunion back in Ohio. Vanessa added him on Facebook. Caleb accepted. She sent him a video. I clicked play. It was grainy footage from a dive bar. A group of paunchy, balding men were chanting, circling Caleb and Vanessa. “Come on, Prom Queen! Make Caleb’s teenage dreams come true! One shot!” “You don’t know, Vanessa,” one guy slurred. “Caleb used to pray to a shrine of you.” Caleb stood next to her. He was taller, fitter, wearing a bespoke suit and designer glasses. He looked like a king among peasants. “Alright, guys, knock it off,” Caleb laughed, swirling his whiskey. “That was years ago. Don’t embarrass Vanessa. Her husband wouldn’t like it.” Vanessa looked down, her voice trembling. “It’s fine. I’m divorced.” The table went silent. Vanessa gave a brave, tragic smile. “It really is fine. It’s in the past.” She looked up at Caleb, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I actually envy your wife, Caleb. She comes from money, she’s beautiful… but mostly because she gets a good man like you. Unlike me. I chose… poorly.” Under the pressure of the crowd, they did a “couples shot”—arms interlinked. To “close the chapter” on their youth. The video ended with them staring into each other’s eyes. Vanessa texted him later that night: Caleb, thanks for saving me back there. I added you to apologize properly. When I rejected you at graduation… I was forced to. That rich guy threatened to jump you if I said yes. I didn’t want him to break your legs. I said those mean things to protect you. I wanted to take that secret to the grave, but seeing you tonight… I couldn’t hold it in. But at least you’re happy. That’s enough for me. Caleb didn’t reply for hours. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the ghost of his bruised ego. At 3:00 AM, he texted back: If it wasn’t for him, would you have said yes to me? Vanessa replied instantly: In a heartbeat. The screen glowed in the dark. The words seemed to expand, filling the room, then shrink into needles pricking my eyes. After that night, radio silence. Until a stormy night two weeks later. Vanessa texted: Caleb, my car died. I’m stranded on the Interstate. I’m scared. Can you come? I remembered that night. There was a severe weather warning. Caleb had picked me up from the hospital early, but we still got soaked running to the house. I had a fever. Because of the baby, I couldn’t take strong meds. Caleb spent hours sponging my forehead with cool water. Around midnight, I was burning up. Caleb’s phone rang. He hung up and told me his best friend, Mark, was stranded on the highway. “It’s pouring,” I said, shivering. “It’s dangerous out there. You should go help him.” “I can’t,” Caleb said, looking torn. “Mark isn’t as important as my wife. You’re sick. I’m not leaving you.” I smiled weakly. “I’m feeling better, really. Go. Be a hero. Come back safe.” He looked conflicted. But he grabbed his keys and left. That was the night he slept with Vanessa. 3 The next morning, Vanessa texted: Caleb, let’s treat last night as a beautiful mistake. I won’t wreck your home. I don’t expect you to love me. Giving my purity to you was enough. Caleb sent three question marks. Purity? You were married. Vanessa replied after a long pause: People think I married my ex for money. They don’t know he had… issues. He was impotent. I married him for safety, not desire. I lied to you. That blood on the sheets wasn’t my period. It was my first time. Caleb, I’ve loved you since homeroom. Giving myself to you… I have no regrets. Don’t worry. I won’t be a burden. Maybe in the next life, I won’t miss my chance with you. Caleb lost his mind. He video-called her fifteen times. No answer. He sent voice notes, his voice cracking with panic. Vanessa, I’m driving to your motel right now. Don’t do anything stupid! Do you hear me?! I admit, I slept with you to get back at the girl who rejected me. It was an ego trip. But that was a lie I told myself. You’ve always been the one! The rain, the car… it wasn’t just heat of the moment. It was inevitable. Vanessa, let’s start over. Please. I can’t lose you twice! Vanessa didn’t reply. Because she had slit her wrists. The ambulance brought her to the nearest Trauma Center. My hospital. I met Vanessa in the recovery ward. I was doing rounds. She stared at me from the bed. I checked her vitals, professional and cold. As I turned to leave, she spoke. “Dr. Vance. Nice name.” I turned. She stared at my ID badge, a pale smile on her lips. “I heard your husband is a professor. Funny. My boyfriend is a professor too.” Caleb and I were the hospital’s power couple. Everyone knew us. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just said: “Self-harm isn’t the answer. Take care of yourself.” Vanessa tilted her head. “You’re right. I won’t be that stupid again. I need to stay healthy. I have a lifetime to spend with my boyfriend.” 4 I put the phone back on the nightstand and didn’t sleep a wink. I was going to divorce Caleb. But not yet. My father had been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. He didn’t have long. Caleb visited him daily. If we had a messy split now, Dad would die with a broken heart. Caleb was his greatest creation—the rough diamond he polished. I couldn’t destroy my father’s final illusion. So the next morning, I played the part. Caleb went for a jog and brought back bagels. We ate breakfast. He kissed my forehead before leaving. “Elena, Mark is throwing a birthday thing for a buddy tonight. I’ll be late. Don’t wait up. Love you.” I smiled. “Drive safe.” I knew whose birthday it was. Vanessa had sent him a photo of a new Louis Vuitton bag yesterday. Thanks, Hubby. Caleb, for my birthday, I want to pretend. Just for one night. Can we be a normal couple? Hold hands in public? Dinner with your friends? I don’t want to steal you. You belong to Elena. But just for 24 hours… let me be your wife. It worked like a charm on Caleb. He organized the dinner at a high-end French bistro. I knew the owner, a single mom who had survived a nasty divorce. I called her. She gave me the security footage without hesitation.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388822”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My wife and I were the world’s greatest liars. She lied and told me we were going for a routine check-up. In reality, she was harvesting my heart to save the love of her life. I lied and told her I was going to a private sanitarium to clear my head. In reality, I left signed divorce papers on the counter and vanished to die alone. It wasn’t until three years later, at her lover’s birthday gala, that my wife of four years finally remembered we shared the same birthday. Feeling a rare moment of mercy, she ordered the leftover cake to be sent to the facility where she thought I’d been rotting for three years. The nurse on the other end of the line was shocked: “Ms. Thorne, didn’t you know? Mr. Vance’s body rejected the trauma. He died three years ago.” Serena Thorne sneered, convinced I was playing another game. She dialed my number: “Ethan, you better get your ass back here right now. Liam wants to see you.” Beside me, my mother heard my name. Blood tears streamed from her blind eyes: “Are you a friend of Ethan’s? My son has been dead for three years.” 1 “Where is Ethan Vance? Tell him to get out here! Now!” “If he hadn’t agreed to the surgery back then, do you think I’d ever set foot in this godforsaken trailer park?” Serena Thorne, fresh from a board meeting in the city, kicked open the rusted door of my childhood home. My mother, who was carefully wiping dust off a framed photo, turned around. Because we couldn’t afford treatment back then, her eyes had healed into two terrifying, hollow pits. She reached out, her hands trembling as she felt for her white cane. “Is that… is that Serena? Are you back from work?” Serena scanned the room, her gaze colder than the winter wind blowing through the cracks. “Where is he? I don’t have time for hide-and-seek.” Mom froze, her hand hovering over the cane. “You’re not Serena. Who are you? Are you Ethan’s friend? Ethan… he passed away.” Mom’s voice cracked, wet with grief. Serena let out a cruel, sharp laugh. “Did Ethan tell you to say that? Three years of silence, and now he’s playing dead?” “If he doesn’t come out, tell him not to bother showing his face to me ever again!” As you wish, Serena. I really won’t appear again… Mom gripped her cane until her knuckles turned white. “Ethan is gone. He died three years ago…” Serena looked around the room. She spotted the photo Mom had been cleaning. It was a funeral portrait—me at twenty-five, smiling, full of life. “He even photoshopped a funeral portrait to make me feel guilty? I don’t find it sad; I find it disgusting!” “Don’t touch Ethan’s picture! Give it back!” Mom stumbled forward to grab it. Because she couldn’t see, she tripped and fell hard onto the floorboards. I instinctively reached out to break her fall. But my hands passed right through her trembling body. It hit me again. I was dead. I had been dead for three years. Serena kicked Mom’s cane away. She smashed the picture frame onto the floor. My twenty-five-year-old smile shattered into a thousand pieces. “Tell him to come out. Stop wasting my time!” Mom crawled through the glass shards, frantically feeling for my photo. Her hands were cut and bleeding. My heart—or the phantom of it—was being crushed in a vice. I tried to grab her hands, to stop her, but I was nothing but air. After her bodyguards tore the small house apart and found nothing, Serena turned her rage back to my mother. 2 Her designer stiletto ground down on Mom’s hand, pressing it into the broken glass. “Where is he? Did he run off with some other woman? I knew it. He’s unfaithful trash. I never should have married him!” I didn’t cheat! I was already dead! I died three years ago because of your bias and Liam’s cruelty! When I was alive, I couldn’t stop my fate. Now that I’m dead, I could only kneel on the floor, screaming, begging Serena to lift her foot. Just as Mom cried out in pain, the door burst open. My sister, Harper, rushed in, still wearing her security guard uniform. She only had one arm left. She shoved Serena away with a force born of pure fury. “You psycho! You killed my brother, and now you want to kill our mother too?” Serena scoffed, dusting off her coat. “So that’s the script? Ethan told you to lie so he could live happily ever after with his mistress? Newsflash: The doctors said the surgery was safe.” “I sent him to the best sanitarium. I hired the best private nurses. How could he be dead?” Safe? The only one safe was Liam! Less than a month after they took my heart, my body began to fail. The facility rushed me to the ER. While I was lying on a gurney, waiting for the treatment deposit and a family signature, Serena was walking on the beach with Liam. When the doctor called time of death, Serena was draping her jacket over Liam’s shoulders, terrified he might catch a chill. Harper shielded Mom with her single arm. “Ms. Thorne, my brother is dead. If you don’t believe me, go ask the hospital that tried to save him!” Serena looked down at them like they were insects. “You think I’m stupid? The sanitarium director told me everything. Ethan checked himself out with a woman!” No! 3 It was Liam Cross. He bribed the director to frame me. It was such a clumsy lie, yet Serena swallowed it whole. Harper, who used to be so proud, fell to her knees. “Ms. Thorne, Ethan died of post-op infection three years ago. We didn’t have the money for the treatments. We watched him die. Please.” “No money? I gave your family a settlement of ten million dollars. How could you be broke?” “Ethan really will say anything to make me the villain.” “I don’t know what settlement you’re talking about! He’s dead!” Harper screamed. Serena’s eyes went cold. “Beat them. Don’t stop until Ethan comes out.” The bodyguards moved in. Harper curled into a ball, taking the kicks meant for Mom. The sound of boots hitting flesh filled the tiny trailer. Mom waved her hands helplessly, blood tears streaming down her face. “Please stop! He’s my only son! He’s gone!” Serena kicked Mom aside. I screamed, throwing myself at Serena, trying to rip out her black heart. But I was a ghost. I couldn’t touch her. I could only listen to my own desperate wails. “Stop it! Stop it! I’m already dead! Why won’t you let my family go?!” Harper coughed up blood. “Serena! If you want to hurt someone, hurt me! Leave Mom alone!” Serena looked at them with disgust. “If Ethan has the guts to run away with a mistress, he should have the guts to face the consequences. This is on him.” “Did you forget how you lost your arm? Did you forget how your mother went blind? If you don’t want a repeat performance, tell Ethan to get out here and kneel.” Three years ago, to force me into the surgery, Serena used her connections to get Harper fired from the police force. 4 Harper had just received a commendation for bravery. Her future was bright. But Serena framed her for taking bribes and protecting a felon. I knelt in the rain outside Serena’s estate for twenty-four hours before she agreed to let Harper go with just a firing. Mom, who ran a small art studio, was smeared online until she was a social pariah. Our family was buried in debt from the lawsuits. But Harper and Mom didn’t give up on me. They tried to help me run away. To escape Serena. But Liam found out. He tipped off Serena. Serena’s “fixers” chopped off Harper’s arm. Mom was blinded by a shattered mirror while trying to protect Harper. Three years ago, I signed the consent form to save them. Three years later, I still couldn’t protect them. A bodyguard ran in. “Ms. Thorne, Mr. Cross is here.” Serena stopped instantly. The cruelty vanished from her face. “Who told him to come? His immune system is weak. This place is filthy. What if he catches something?” Seeing the tenderness on her face, my soul ached. To her, Liam was porcelain. I was just the packaging. She stole my heart to fix him. She turned a living man into a corpse for him. Serena looked at my dying sister and mother. “Make them talk. Just don’t let Liam see the blood. He gets faint.” I drifted after her as she walked to the waiting limo.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388821”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My billionaire husband never touches me. But I’m pregnant. To avoid him discovering the green hat I presumably forced on his head, I filed for divorce and ran to another state to book an abortion. Later, he tore my dress apart. His kisses fell like rain, his tone dark and dangerous. “Don’t cry. I haven’t even started yet.” “Be good. Once I become your first love, you won’t want to leave.” 1 I stared at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test. My vision went black. I’d taken a dozen tests, and the result was always the same. But I hadn’t slept with my husband. How was I pregnant? I replayed the last few months in my head. I hadn’t even touched a male dog, let alone a man! Wait. Was it my birthday? The night I got blackout drunk? That night, Declan promised he’d be there. But I waited until midnight, and he never showed. Declan Sterling was forced to marry me. He disdained touching me. He was always cold, maintaining a polite, icy distance. I had hoped my birthday would bridge the gap. But he ghosted me. He didn’t answer my calls. My best friend, seeing me heartbroken, joked she’d hire a guy to keep me company. I drank too much. The next morning was a blur. I thought the soreness in my body was from falling down the stairs. I didn’t think I’d actually slept with someone! Suddenly. The sound of an engine cut through the silence. Declan was home. Oh god. How was I going to explain this accidental infidelity? 2 I frantically swept all the pregnancy tests into the trash can. I rushed downstairs. Declan looked exhausted, carrying the chill of the night air. I noticed a smear of blood on his white dress shirt and gasped, stepping forward. “You’re hurt?” I tried to check him. Declan dodged my hand, his voice cold. “Don’t touch me.” I almost forgot. He hated my touch. I retracted my hand, feeling the sting of rejection. I was about to get the first aid kit when he spoke. “It’s not my blood. It’s from a subordinate.” “He sold me out. I handled it. He’s on a one-way trip to nowhere.” “Traitors deserve to die, don’t you agree?” “…” I hid my trembling fingers behind my back, my throat tight. They said Declan Sterling was ruthless in the business world, a man who burned bridges to build empires. If he knew about the green light flashing over his head… My fate would probably be worse than that subordinate’s. Declan studied me, frowning. “You look pale. Did the blood scare you? I’m going to shower.” He started up the stairs. I looked at his tall, imposing back. I couldn’t help but ask: “Declan, why didn’t you come to my birthday?” “…” Declan stopped, his back to me. He didn’t answer for several seconds. It seemed like a difficult question. Actually, I knew. That day, his childhood sweetheart returned from Europe. He went to her welcome party. Sloane had posted on Instagram, saying nothing had changed. In the photo, they stood together, a bond so tight no one could squeeze in. “I had work. Didn’t I send a gift? You didn’t like it?” “No, it was fine.” My chest felt heavy. I knew I was just a wife in name only, less important than his Sloane. But his clumsy lie made me feel even more pathetic. The “gift” was a designer bag his assistant picked out. Expensive, but not my color. I couldn’t help but think… If he had come that night, maybe I wouldn’t be pregnant right now. 3 Declan and I slept in separate rooms. Most of the time, he was away on business. Maybe he just didn’t want to see the wife who occupied a space that wasn’t hers. My phone pinged with an anonymous message. It was a photo of Declan and Sloane shopping together. In the picture, his eyes were glued to the beautiful woman beside him. Declan never shopped with me. He said it was a waste of time. Even our wedding rings, I picked out alone. I was the “good girl.” My father was new money—a lottery winner turned investor. Without the old-money pedigree, I was always ostracized by the socialites. In high school, during a track meet, someone soaked my shirt with water. It was thin. My bra showed. The crowd laughed. One person handed me a jacket and pointed to the locker room. I looked up, but the tall figure was already walking away. The name tag on the jacket read: Senior Class A, Declan Sterling. I started watching him. I never thought I’d become his wife. I secretly hoped he might eventually fall for me. But reality was harsh. He wouldn’t. There was only one person in his heart. If Sloane hadn’t needed to flee the country due to a family scandal, he never would have married me. 4 I deleted the photo and went down to dinner. Seven o’clock. Declan wasn’t back. When he wasn’t traveling, he usually came home for dinner. I waited a long time, only to get a call. “I’m not coming home tonight. I was in a meeting, forgot to text.” In the background, a woman’s voice. Soft, sweet, telling him to get in the car. It was Sloane. I swallowed the lump in my throat, playing the role of the understanding wife. “Okay. Remember to eat.” I was about to hang up. He suddenly asked: “You aren’t going to ask why?” “I know you’re busy.” Busy dating your childhood sweetheart. I knew Sloane sent the photo. She was hinting that it was time for me to leave. Declan seemed bothered by my calm tone. “What’s wrong with you lately? Is this about your birthday?” “…” So what if it is? His devotion to Sloane was common knowledge in New York. My silence made him panic, which was rare. “Harper, don’t overthink that night. I’ll explain when I get back.” “Okay.” I hung up. I picked up my fork, but nausea hit me instantly. I ran to the powder room to avoid the maids and vomited. Looking at my pale reflection, seeing the faint spots from pregnancy… I wasn’t as pretty as Sloane. Now, I wasn’t as “clean” either. If Declan found out… What would he think? He’d probably be disgusted.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388820”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day Ethan proposed to me, I broke up with him. Our friends were baffled. He knelt on the ground, pleading that he had been planning this proposal for a month. Roses everywhere, the scent filling the garden—it was indeed thoughtful. But… what a coincidence. I had made up my mind to leave him exactly one month ago. 1 I said the words before Ethan could even pull the ring out of his pocket. The friends who were cheering us on suddenly went silent, as if someone had hit the pause button on the world. A gentle breeze carried the rich scent of roses to my nose. The proposal setup was truly beautiful. Back when we started dating, I told him that if he ever proposed, it had to be in Napa Valley, under an arch of white roses, and I wanted to be wearing a white vintage dress. He remembered everything. He even did more than I asked. “Why? Don’t you love me anymore?” It took Ethan a long moment to react. His face turned beet red. I looked quietly at this face, the man I had loved for ten years. He was still handsome, still capable of making my heart skip a beat. But… I helped him up and gently patted his shoulder. “Ethan, it’s you who doesn’t love me anymore.” 2 Ethan and I met in high school. He was the captain of the debate team; I was the editor of the school paper. Our main activity was competing over GPAs. During senior year, we often stayed late at the library. Sometimes, we’d quiz each other before AP exams. He would poke my shoulder with his pen. “Summer, how did you do? I only missed one question on the History mock exam.” I wouldn’t back down either. We competed like that all the way to graduation. On the night of our graduation party, things went late. Ethan drove me home. For some reason, we got stuck in traffic on the 405. Amidst the honking of cars, I heard his voice. “Summer, I really like you. Will you go out with me?” I heard him clearly, but I pretended I didn’t, turning back to ask, “What did you say?” The night was dark, but I saw his ears turn bright red instantly. He stammered, “Nothing.” He walked me to my front door. Just as I was about to go inside, he suddenly closed his eyes and shouted. “Summer, I like you!” “I heard you. Summer likes you too.” I stood in front of him, grinning. He stepped back, startled. “I thought you went inside?” “Because I heard someone say he likes me, and since I like him too, I came back out.” His face turned completely red. That night was the beginning. The summer wind was hot, his white dress shirt was thin, and his bright laughter echoed in my mind for the next ten years. Back then, even holding hands made us blush for hours. We held hands, and we didn’t let go for ten years. In those ten years, we traveled everywhere. We went to New York, walking through Central Park, getting soaked by a sudden thunderstorm and failing to hail a cab; we went to San Francisco, haggling with a vendor at Fisherman’s Wharf for fresh crab; we went to New Orleans, leaving a note in a crack of a jazz bar wall that read: Hope everyone finds happiness; we went to the Grand Canyon, taking silly photos of each other on the rim… The internet says if a relationship lasts more than five years without marriage, it likely never will. I scoffed at that. Marriage felt like a natural progression to me. When the time was right, it would happen. I believed that. Until this year, when we went to Chicago. While watching the lights on the riverwalk, I accidentally saw his phone. 3 The Chicago skyline was breathtaking. I took a picture and turned to show him. But I saw him smiling, his fingers flying across the screen. Even though he locked it quickly, I saw the contact name and the profile picture. The name was “Zoe,” and the picture was Lotso the Bear from Toy Story. I couldn’t convince myself that a guy would use Lotso as a profile pic. Nor could I convince myself they were just friends. I had never checked his phone before. But that night, after he fell asleep, a gut feeling urged me to look. My hands trembled as I unlocked his screen. Zoe was a pretty girl. Her Instagram was vibrant. Selfies with Lotso. Funny memes. She posted daily updates about her life, full of emojis. Much livelier than my feed, which was mostly reposts of financial news. I didn’t want to scroll up their chat history, but I couldn’t stop myself. I scrolled to the very top and found they had added each other back in college. Her first message was: “Hi Senior, I’m Zoe.” Zoe. Ethan. Their names sounded good together. I read their chat logs like a masochist. When did it cross the line? It seemed to be this year. Zoe shared a playlist; he said it was great. Zoe said it was her birthday; he Venmoed her $100 and sent a plush toy. Zoe said, “I’m so tired today, Ethan.” He said, “Get some rest, don’t stay up late.” Zoe said, “I miss seeing you.” He replied with “…” and then, “Don’t think about it.” Zoe said, “Ethan, I’m lost.” He said, “Stay there, I’ll call a friend to pick you up, or I’ll come myself.” … These countless messages screamed that boundaries had been crossed. If I hadn’t been holding Ethan’s phone, I would have thought I was reading a romance novel. It turned out that while he was baking me cakes, replying to my texts, and buying me gifts, he was also messaging someone else. Did I make Ethan too comfortable? So comfortable that he never deleted a single message. I couldn’t even lie to myself if I wanted to. That night, I sat on the hotel sofa, looking out at the Chicago River. The water was beautiful under the moonlight, but in the reflection of the glass, I saw a pathetic, tear-streaked Summer. 4 I didn’t know how to face Ethan. So I booked the earliest flight back to D.C. My thesis advisor sent me a pile of research papers, and I buried myself in work. I rejected Ethan’s texts, calls, and requests to meet, using my thesis as an excuse. When he came to my campus, I lied and said I was on a research trip with my professor. I didn’t know why I was being so difficult. It felt like there were two little people in my head. One said: Summer, it’s ten years. Not ten days, not ten months. Ten years. The other said: Summer, he emotionally cheated. They tortured me day and night. Combined with the pressure of my PhD, I barely slept. During that time, I didn’t contact Ethan, and he thought I was genuinely busy, so he didn’t disturb me. One day, after a dinner with my cohort, we discussed research methods. Someone mentioned you could find data on Twitter by searching keywords. I don’t know why, but I searched for Zoe’s handle. One account popped up with the exact same profile picture. She had 1,323 tweets. I read every single one. She was full of energy. She donated to charity monthly, volunteered at animal shelters. She complained about her workload but finished it anyway, then tweeted a “Good job, me!” If she hadn’t intruded into my life, I would have liked her. But she chose to intrude. She even started a thread: My journey chasing the dream guy. Did she not know Ethan had a girlfriend? Ethan’s Facebook cover photo was of us. Or did she just think I wasn’t a threat? I found the answer quickly. That day, while walking to the cafeteria after reading papers, I checked Twitter. She had a new update: Confessed to him after the movies and got rejected. But it’s okay, he likes me. I just need to try harder. There was a screenshot attached. I clicked it. The person with Ethan’s profile pic said: “I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend. She’s been with me for ten years. I need to be responsible for her.” I dropped my tray. Silverware clattered loudly on the floor. A student asked if I was okay. I waved them off calmly. I didn’t cry this time. There was nothing to cry about. I was free. His reason for rejecting her wasn’t that he didn’t like her. It was because he had to be “responsible” for me. Not because he loved me, but because he felt guilty for wasting my years. In other words, Ethan gave her the confidence to compete with me. He made me—someone who was agonizing over whether to give him a chance to explain—look like a joke. I was the obstacle in the way of his true love. The villain in a soap opera. Funny. That girl had only been in the picture for a few months, yet she outweighed our ten years.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388819”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After recovering his memories and resuming his life as the scion of an Old Money dynasty, everyone assumed Julian Sterling would divorce me. Now, a single cufflink on his wrist is worth millions. And I, holding our daughter’s hand, am just the “shampoo girl from the trailer park” in the eyes of his elite friends. We look like we belong to different species. But the man looked at me with indifferent eyes and said only, “Stay by my side.” I thought our marriage still counted. I thought I was still his lawful wife. Later, news of his engagement to an heiress spread through the entire Upper East Side. As for me, he said with certainty: “Nora is still here. She won’t leave.” I simply smoothed the hem of my dress and went to his mother: “I want to leave.” Later, I went south alone. I didn’t take the child. I didn’t take him. 1 “Mommy, is Daddy going to marry someone else?” When Sunny asked this, the spoon in my hand clinked against the porcelain bowl. I turned around to meet her innocent, confused eyes, filled with layers of grievance. I stroked her hair, instinctively forcing a laugh. “How could Daddy marry someone else? Where did you hear such nonsense?” She picked at her fingers, her small mouth trembling. “Ms. Higgins said it. She also said… Sunny is a bastard child. Mommy, what is a bastard child?” A child’s voice is crisp and sweet, but those words hit my chest like a sledgehammer. I didn’t have time to think. I just hugged her tight, comforting her, but mostly trying to keep myself sane. “Sunny will always be Daddy and Mommy’s treasure. Ms. Higgins is just… sick lately.” I tapped her nose with a smile. “You know how people get confused when they’re sick, right?” She pursed her lips and smiled a little, scrunching her nose. “Confused heads talk nonsense.” I smiled back. “Exactly. You’re so smart.” The little girl hugged her stuffed rabbit and rested her head on my hand. “Mommy, don’t be sad.” My palm burned. My eyes stung. It took everything I had not to cry at her clumsy attempt to comfort me. I stared at her, my gaze moving from her face to the stuffed rabbit in her arms. The rabbit was grey and plain, with droopy ears. It looked like nothing special, but it cost $12,000. She had a room full of toys like this. Who would have thought that a year ago, the best we could give her was a $10 toy from Walmart? The room was carpeted with plush wool, silencing my footsteps. I no longer needed to tiptoe out of her room like I used to in our thin-walled trailer. Ms. Higgins was the nanny Julian brought from the Sterling estate to take care of us. I always knew she didn’t like me or Sunny. Later, I found out she had a daughter who had been in love with Julian for years. The villa’s security cameras were high-definition. I heard every word clearly: “The mother has no title, no ring. If the kid isn’t a bastard, what is she?” I looked down, clenching my fists until my nails dug into my palms. 2 The day Julian suddenly recovered his memory, he got into a car accident. When I rushed to the hospital with Sunny, he was sitting up in bed. Hearing us, he turned his head slowly. He was still wearing the faded clothes he left the house in that morning, but his eyes were so unfamiliar that I froze. Before, whenever Sunny called him “Daddy,” no matter what he was doing, he would squat down to answer her. But that day, Sunny’s voice grew quieter with each call. It wasn’t until the seventh time that he gave a faint acknowledgment. I was terrified by his strangeness, but also relieved he was alive. In a person’s life, no matter how much love a newcomer gives, the soul always seeks its origin. Only then is one complete. I just didn’t know then that between him and me, between his world and our trailer park, lay a canyon a thousand miles wide. I thought about it countless times. If fate hadn’t played a trick, our lives wouldn’t have crossed for generations. When the Sterling family came to pick him up, they were swift and discreet. They didn’t even alert the neighbors. Even with my limited understanding of the world, I knew in that moment: I couldn’t stop him from leaving. And once he left, we would never meet again. I looked at our empty, unfinished house. The money we saved over the years was only enough for the frame. The walls were bare concrete. We needed to save for a few more years to finish it. We always said Sunny was still small; we could finish it later. In the chaos of my thoughts, I made a rational decision. I reached out to him. “You can go. But for saving your life, for our time as husband and wife, and for your duty as a father, you should give me a sum of money. I need to raise Sunny.” I couldn’t keep him, but logic dictated I should keep what I could. Under the dim light of a naked bulb hanging from a wire, Julian looked at my outstretched hand for a long time. No one knew what he was thinking. I only remember him grabbing my cold hand, his voice lazy and detached. “What are you thinking? You and Sunny are coming back with me.” So that day, a black SUV drove straight onto a private ferry, leaving the island. Until we boarded the private jet, no one knew who was inside. Maybe I was too greedy, using the excuse of giving Sunny a complete family to step into a completely alien world. Everyone thought Julian brought me back just for show, that we would divorce soon. But for a year, no matter how busy or late, he came back to this villa. Earlier, I heard him come in. I needed to discuss Sunny with Julian. He needed to handle this. We had a marriage license, a wedding. Sunny was born of love and expectation. She was never a bastard. Julian promised that once things settled, we would register our marriage under his real identity. If he knew Sunny was being called names, he would be furious. Walking down the stairs, I rehearsed my words, trying to be tactful. The villa was so big it felt empty. I checked a few rooms but didn’t see him. At the turn of the stairs, a voice came from a slightly ajar door. 3 “Julian, the Madam says you’ve picked a date for the engagement?” Engagement? I thought I was hearing things. The word “engagement” and Julian didn’t belong in the same sentence. He had a child. He had a wife. How could he get engaged to someone else? Through the crack, I saw a man in a bespoke suit, looking impatient as he loosened his tie. His cufflinks gleamed under the light. “My mother told you?” He lit a cigarette, smoke curling around his sharp nose. “Stop prying. And keep your mouth shut in this house.” “Everyone knows, Julian. I didn’t need to ask your mother. I’m happy for you. Marrying the heiress of the Vanderbilt family is the right path.” “Your father let that illegitimate brother of yours into the house while you were gone. He almost took your place.” “You are the legitimate heir. A legitimate marriage should be with a proper family.” “It’s just… that Miss Ning. How do you plan to settle her? Send her back to the countryside?” Julian glanced at her. “Are you joking? She doesn’t need to leave. And she won’t. Sunny is here. Where would she go?” The old nanny laughed. “True. Just keep her as a mistress. It doesn’t matter.” From my corner, I clearly saw the indifference in his eyes. Power and privilege truly reshape a person’s soul. In the past, his eyes never held this cold, god-like detachment. He used to stand awkwardly in front of a flower stall, smiling humbly, haggling patiently for a bouquet I liked. It wasn’t until this moment that I truly woke up. The man named Nathan, my husband, died the moment he became Julian Sterling again. I clutched my phone, my heart a hollow cavity. I desperately needed something to fill the void. I looked around, suddenly desperate to see my daughter. I quickened my steps, shutting out the voices from that room. “And,” he stubbed out the cigarette, “how many times do I have to say it? Call her by her name or Mrs. Sterling. What is this ‘Miss Ning’ nonsense?” “The food on the table, did she not touch a bite?” I hadn’t eaten. She deliberately didn’t clear the table. “She’s hard to serve. Why don’t you eat some? It’s all your favorites.” “Ms. Higgins, you better remember why I let you in here. It’s been a year, and you still don’t know she’s allergic to eggs? If you can’t do simple things, go back to the estate. Plenty of people can do your job.” Julian rarely lost his temper with her. She had been with his mother for decades. A man born into privilege, after years of hardship, had lost his temper but learned to treat everyone with polished grace. Seeing her bow apologetically, he offered no comfort. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and walked out. 4 I pushed open the door to Sunny’s room. Seeing her sleeping face, my breathing slowed. If anything had kept me from collapsing under the gossip this past year, it was her. From a barren village to the neon metropolis, the world had opened a new door for me. Behind this heavy door lay a dazzling world I had never touched and was destined never to belong to. For a year, I was lost in a fog, thinking true love conquered prejudice, that life would be brilliant forever. But now, I needed to think. A warm hand touched mine. I looked down. The sleeping girl was frowning, gripping my hand tight. I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, straightened my back, and held her small hand. “Don’t be afraid. Mommy is here.” “Why aren’t you asleep?” A slightly hoarse voice came from behind, accompanied by the scent of whiskey. I didn’t turn around. I tucked the blanket in. “Julian, when are we going to get our marriage license?” It wasn’t a conversation for a bedroom. We walked down the hall to his study. I crossed my arms, keeping a distance, adopting a negotiating stance. He glanced at me. Perhaps he didn’t care, so he didn’t question my sudden seriousness. He chuckled lightly, taking off his watch, his posture relaxed. “The books I gave you, did you finish them?” How did I not see this obvious evasion before? It was different. It was all different. Julian was just Julian. I turned away, silent. When he made that decision to engage, he knew how helpless I would feel. But now, he ignored that helplessness. I looked at the desk on the left. It was piled high with books—art appreciation, economics, management theory. For the past year, he had been like a farmer forcing a crop to grow, trying to transform me overnight. I thought it was because I embarrassed him. But he never hid me. He introduced me to his friends openly. But I had nothing to talk about with them. They talked about stocks, global economics, tariffs, billion-dollar deals. So when I came back from the restroom and heard them call me the “shampoo girl from the trailer park,” I couldn’t find a reason to be sad. I never mentioned it to Julian. I learned etiquette quickly. Even if I didn’t, people wouldn’t dare embarrass me to my face because of him. When he first told me to take the SATs and go to college, I thought it was absurd. I was anxious to prove something. “College is for getting a job to make money. I can make money.” “Degrees don’t make billionaires. I don’t think skipping college stops me from earning.” “Remember when I met you? I owed five grand. In a few years, I paid it back, built a house, and opened two salons.” “I’m good at making money. My salon is still number one in town…” Under Julian’s helpless gaze, my voice trailed off. I smiled lonely. “I forgot. Your family doesn’t need money.” He said casually, “Just study. If you get in, we’ll get the license.” I looked at him seriously. “Really? If I get in, will your mother like me?” He paused, silent for a moment. “She will.” I had good grades in high school. If not for bad luck, college would have been easy. When I got the acceptance letter, Julian donated a building to the university, as was the Sterling custom. I was supposed to start in September. But now… I looked at Julian. Under the lamp, he was flipping through my notes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388818”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After starting high school, my mom gave me a monthly allowance of $50,000. My desk mate was green with envy and engineered a soul swap with me. She excitedly ran towards the luxury limo: “Woohoo! The rich mom is mine now!” I silently shouldered her tattered backpack, hopped onto her mom’s little electric scooter, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Great, I finally escaped my mom. 1 Before school let out, Chloe handed me a cup of boba tea: “This is the first time I’m treating you. I saved up for half a month to buy the most expensive one, please don’t turn it down.” I hesitated for a moment, but eventually took it politely and took two symbolic sips. It was strawberry, my favorite flavor: “Thanks, it’s delicious.” As soon as I finished speaking, a white light flashed before my eyes. When I opened them again, I was shocked to find that I had swapped souls with Chloe. “Chloe, you…” “Shh, you are Chloe now. From today on, I am Summer. The rich mom is mine!” 2 Looking at the excited Chloe, I suddenly understood. Not long ago, she borrowed money from me to buy boba tea and accidentally saw my seven-figure balance. She was so shocked she counted the digits several times. “Summer, how do you have so much money?” “My mom gives me $50,000 a month. I just saved it up.” “Your mom… is so rich. What does she do?” “She runs a few companies.” “Wow, that’s amazing! You’re so lucky!” Chloe complained while drinking her tea. “My mom is a stay-at-home mom and she’s stingy as hell. She only gives me $15 for lunch every day. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have to borrow money from you.” I listened quietly, swallowing as I looked at the boba tea in Chloe’s hand. Actually, I envied her too. Because after I turned ten, I never drank boba tea again, nor did I ever taste happiness. 3 After that day, Chloe often told me she was fed up with her mom and wanted to be my mom’s daughter. I thought she was just saying it on a whim. I didn’t expect her to actually swap souls with me to steal my mom. “Summer, accept your fate. You and I will never swap back in this lifetime.” While I was distracted, Chloe drank all the drugged boba tea in her hand and ran towards the black luxury van that came to pick me up every day after school. Watching her cheerful retreating figure, I slowly put on her old backpack, found her mom’s electric scooter in the crowd, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Great, I finally escaped my mom. 4 “Chloe, did something good happen today?” Chloe’s mom handed me a helmet. She wasn’t wearing makeup, wore a pair of dirty slippers and a black jacket. She looked a bit thin and her complexion wasn’t great, but her eyes were incredibly gentle when she looked at me. “Yeah, a difficult problem I couldn’t solve before suddenly got solved.” I answered while trying to put on the helmet. Being unfamiliar with it, I got the strap stuck inside. Seeing this, Chloe’s mom immediately parked the scooter and helped me put the helmet on properly. Instead of scolding me, she affectionately pinched the tip of my nose: “You’re acting like a little kid. Sit tight now.” I obediently sat on the electric scooter. The tip of my nose, where Chloe’s mom had touched, suddenly felt a bit tingly. From the age of ten, I started living alone. My mom was very busy, flying all over the world. She never picked me up or dropped me off at school, nor did she allow me to waste time acting spoiled with her. We hadn’t touched each other in a long time. Our communication was like boss and employee: she gave orders, I executed them. If I did well, she transferred money; if I did poorly, there would be punishment. Thinking of the various punishments I had experienced, I suddenly shivered. The fear engraved in my bones instantly spread throughout my body. I quickly comforted myself in my heart: Don’t be afraid, you are Chloe now, not Summer. You won’t die. 5 Returning to Chloe’s home, it was even smaller than I imagined. The living room was a bit messy, with children’s picture books and toys piled on the sofa. Right, Chloe mentioned she had a younger sister who was not yet three years old. “Chloe, are you still angry with Mom?” Chloe’s mom took out a shoe box and put it on the coffee table: “Mom saved up and bought you the shoes you liked. Look, are these the right ones?” I opened the shoe box. Inside was a pair of fake Loro Piana shoes. I was certain they were fake because just last week, my mom bought me a real pair and required me to wear them to school on the 15th of every month. Although I didn’t like those shoes at all, I numbly obeyed her order and wore the Loro Pianas to school on the 15th. Chloe noticed the new shoes, specifically checked the price, and then sulked for a whole day. “Chloe, did Mom buy the wrong ones?” Chloe’s mom’s gentle and cautious inquiry pulled me back to reality. Looking at her expectant eyes, a warmth surged in my heart: “No, it’s just that my classmate has these shoes too. Can I choose another pair?” “Of course. Here’s the phone. Add the ones you like to the shopping cart. Mom is going to pick up your sister from the neighbor’s house first.” Chloe’s mom handed me the phone and turned to leave the house. It turned out she had to leave her younger daughter with a neighbor every day to free herself up to pick up her older daughter. But a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl could have taken the bus to and from school by herself long ago. She didn’t actually need to pick her up every day. Was it to save the $4 bus fare? I stared at her phone. It was an old model from three years ago, with two cracks on the screen. Both the wallpaper and lock screen were photos of Chloe and her sister together. It was evident that Chloe’s mom was very frugal and loved her two children very much. It’s so good. Such a good mother is mine from now on. 6 Because I chose a cheap pair of shoes and patiently read picture books with my sister, Chloe’s mom specially made a large plate of sweet and sour pork to reward me. That night, for the first time, I ate according to my own preferences, picking whatever I wanted and eating as much as I wanted, instead of eating at fixed times and quantities according to my mom’s requirements. Those nutritional meals and body-shaping meals that spanned my entire adolescence were perfect but also cold. The sweet shrimp air-freighted directly from Argentina lacked a trace of motherly warmth, far inferior to the dishes carefully cooked by Chloe’s mom in my bowl. “Chloe, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” “No, it’s just that the sweet and sour pork Mom made is so delicious, I can’t bear to eat it.” “Silly girl, if you like it, eat more. Mom will make it for you again tomorrow.” Saying that, she put all the sweet and sour pork from the plate into my bowl, not leaving a single piece for herself. My eyes felt a bit sour. The broken bones and emotions in my body suddenly began to heal bit by bit. So being loved by a mother feels like this… Like a spring breeze, like the warm sun in winter. But just when I thought I would slowly pull myself out of hell in this warm family, Chloe’s mom got into a big fight with her husband because of me. 7 Two in the morning. The sound of the door lock turning came from the living room. Chloe’s mom got out of bed quietly. I was a light sleeper and woke up in a daze, just in time to hear the man’s roar from outside the door: “She’s a girl, isn’t $15 enough for a meal? Why increase the food allowance?” “Chloe loves meat. Now a meat dish costs seven or eight dollars alone. Sometimes she buys stationery or something, it really isn’t enough.” “If she spends so much, she might as well stop studying and go sell herself sooner!” The room fell silent, and my heart pounded. Go sell herself sooner… he couldn’t mean that, right? I couldn’t believe a father could say such vicious words. “Husband, three years ago, you asked me to quit my job to have a second child. You agreed to give $5,000 a month for household expenses. Two years ago, you said the pressure was high and reduced it to $3,500. This year, you only give me $2,000 a month. Then make up the $3,500, and I’ll increase our daughter’s food allowance.” “Bang!” It sounded like a vase breaking. Chloe’s dad exploded: “You three females only know how to ask for money all day long! You can’t even give birth to a son, why should I spend $3,500 to support you? With $3,500, I could raise a chicken outside and it would still lay eggs!” Another suffocating silence. I thought that after being humiliated like this by her husband, Chloe’s mom would definitely propose a divorce. But she said nothing, just returned to the room in disappointment. I quickly closed my eyes. She didn’t notice I was pretending to sleep. She tucked me in, sat beside me, and wept silently. At that moment, I suddenly understood why Chloe wished she had a rich mother so much. 8 In the morning, Chloe’s mom apologetically told me that the neighbor had something to do and couldn’t help watch my sister, so I had to take the bus to school myself. “Mom transferred $24 to your WeChat. $4 for the fare, $20 for lunch.” “Wasn’t it $15…” Last night, Chloe’s dad clearly refused to increase the food allowance. “You are still growing, you can’t skimp on food money. An extra $5 a day is only $130 more a month. Mom will add it for you.” Chloe’s mom touched my face: “Chloe, don’t mistreat yourself at school. Buy whatever you want to eat.” The thin calluses on her fingertips gently rubbed against my skin, a little ticklish and a little painful. I couldn’t help but hug her: “Thank you, Mom.” Chloe’s mom clearly paused. She gently patted my back and muttered: “You child, it’s like you’ve changed into a different person.” I instantly sobered up. I didn’t expect her to notice the anomaly so quickly. I ran out of the house as if escaping, taking out the phone I hadn’t taken out at home yesterday. Unlocking the screen with my fingerprint, Chloe’s messages popped up one after another. 9 [The etiquette teachers just praised me, saying I’ve improved a lot compared to before.] [I got three A’s in oral English class. If it were you, would you get none?] [The psychology teacher is so cute, hahaha. She actually seriously advised me to feel the sunshine more. My life is so happy, even if it rains every day, it won’t get me wet.] [Hehe, did you know? The butler just reported to Mom that I successfully completed all the goals for Tuesday. My mom was very satisfied and casually bought me a haute couture dress.] Haute couture? What’s there to be happy about? There were more than ten haute couture dresses in the cloakroom. Those expensive and luxurious clothes were not as comfortable as school uniforms to me. Because once I put on those haute couture dresses, my name became “President Su’s Daughter.” In those suffocating occasions, even my emotions and expressions didn’t belong to me. “Chloe, your mom can’t take you to school again today?” Jasmine from the next class called out to me. Her sympathetic voice pulled me out of bad memories. I paused slightly and smiled at her: “Yeah, Mom has to take care of my sister.” Jasmine tilted her head and naturally took my arm to walk together: “Why aren’t you angry today? Didn’t you hate your sister?” Hate my sister? Chloe’s sister was like a soft little dumpling. When she blinked her big eyes and called me “sister” in a milky voice, my heart melted. Why would Chloe hate her? Was it because of money again? 10 Sitting on the bus, I continued reading the messages sent by Chloe. [Mom is returning to the country next week. I’ll tell her then that I want to go back to a private school and then study abroad.] [Desk mates for three years, we are somewhat fated. As long as you keep my high school experiences a secret for me, I can give you a hush money before I leave.] In the early morning, she sent a photo of the brilliant night view outside the bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling window: [Envious? Chloe, this is the top floor of a mansion you will never reach, and a life you will never have.] The last two messages were from five minutes ago: [Princess transferred $100 to you.] [Chloe, just saw you waiting for the bus. Your mom left you alone for your sister again, right? So pitiful. Take a taxi to school quickly. I’ll wait for you in the classroom.] I clicked to receive the money and turned off the screen. It seemed Chloe adapted very well to the identity of “Summer.” She could accept those tasteless nutritional meals, accept the tense and oppressive three-on-one tutoring sessions, and accept the empty home without any relatives or vitality. She was simply the perfect daughter tailored for my mom. My mom always wanted a daughter who obeyed her instructions precisely like a robot. Seeing Chloe’s performance yesterday, she must finally be satisfied. Wait… I suddenly realized something and gripped the phone tightly, but my palms still sweated from fear. Chloe made three fatal mistakes!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388817”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day Sebastian proposed to me, I broke up with him. Our friends looked confused. He knelt on one knee, eyes red, telling me he had been planning this proposal for an entire month. Red roses, flown in from Ecuador, covered the ground. The scent was intoxicating. He really had put his heart into it. But… what a coincidence. I had made up my mind to leave him exactly one month ago. 1 I said the words before Sebastian could even take the ring out of the velvet box. The cheering friends around us seemed to hit a pause button. The evening breeze blew gently, carrying the rich scent of roses into my nose. The proposal scene he prepared was exactly as perfect as I had once fantasized. During the year we were madly in love, I told him that if he ever proposed, it had to be at a vineyard in Napa Valley, with an arch of roses and a white dress like a princess. He had all of that. He had prepared even more. “Why? Don’t you love me anymore, Violet?” It took Sebastian what felt like half a century to react. His usually arrogant face flushed red. I looked quietly at this face. The man I had loved for ten years. He was still as handsome as a fallen angel, still capable of making my heart skip a beat. But… I helped him up and gently patted the shoulder of his expensive suit. “Sebastian, you stopped loving me first.” 2 I was the most invisible “wallflower” on the college campus. My roommate, Serena, was the dazzling sorority queen. She looked down on me, despised me, and humiliated me for fun, treating me like her sidekick. Until the man she was crazy about returned to the States. At his grand welcome party, she threw a dusty, gray dress at me. “Put this on. Go do your makeup. Use a darker foundation shade; it’ll hide that pale, sickly look of yours. You’re coming with me.” “I have a shift at the library tonight…” Serena pulled a stack of cash directly from her Prada bag and threw it in my face. The edges of the bills scratched my cheek, stinging slightly. But I numbly squatted down and picked them up, one by one. It was a few hundred dollars. Enough to cover my medical bills for the week. Today, she acted out of character. She didn’t dress up like a peacock spreading its tail. Instead, her makeup was light, her blonde hair straightened. She wore a pearl-white, Audrey Hepburn-style dress. She looked elegant and noble, like a white swan. And I, wearing a foundation shade that didn’t match and exaggerated eyeliner, was the control group for the white swan. An ugly, ridiculous ugly duckling. 3 I knew tonight’s party was crucial to her. I heard that the man from the top tier of Manhattan’s elite, the one she had a crush on for years, was back. Serena was nervous as hell. She barely spoke in the Uber, constantly checking her makeup in a compact mirror. When getting out of the car, she was so flustered she almost twisted her ankle in her red-bottom heels. Habitually, she pinched my arm. “Watch where you’re going! Are you blind?” The hangers-on around us laughed and persuaded her, “Alright, Serena, calm down. Sebastian will be here soon. It won’t look good if he sees you like this.” Inside the private club, Serena was busy touching up her makeup and taking selfies. I sat in the corner, calculating how to use those few hundred dollars. I raised my hand and gently rubbed my left eye, which was becoming increasingly blurry. My heart was filled with a sense of lost direction. I didn’t know how long I had to endure those dark part-time jobs to save enough money to fix my eye. Maybe, before I saved enough, this eye would go completely blind. Just then, the carved wooden doors were pushed open, and the crowd suddenly erupted. “Sebastian is here!” Serena screamed, “Oh my god, my lipstick!” She scrambled to fix it. I didn’t move. The excitement of the elite class had nothing to do with me. I was just curious. What kind of man could make the arrogant Serena humble herself like this? Through the crowd, I saw the young man. Superior height—the kind of physique built from years of equestrian sports and sailing clubs. The impact of that face was enough to suffocate any woman. But I only dared to glance once before lowering my head. 4 The atmosphere in the room was as hot as a champagne tower overflowing. Cries of “Bash” or “Sebastian” never stopped. Serena shed her usual arrogance, acting like a trained socialite. No one noticed me, the gray blur in the corner. I quietly stood up, wanting to go to the restroom for some air. But just as I stood, the man surrounded by the crowd suddenly looked at me. I lowered my head in panic, my limbs feeling awkward and misplaced. The terrible makeup on my face made me want to crawl into a hole. “Is that your classmate?” A deep, magnetic male voice rang out. Serena paused, then laughed, her tone contemptuous. “Ugh, I didn’t want to bring it up. That’s my roommate.” “She insisted on tagging along to see the world.” “Sebastian… you know me. I’m too soft-hearted to say no.” “But I get it. Who doesn’t want to social climb a little?” A thunderclap exploded in my ears. Sebastian… How could his name be Sebastian? No, maybe it’s just a coincidence. He’s not the only Sebastian in the world. I pinched my palm hard, desperately trying to stay calm. But my blood felt like it was on fire, cold sweat breaking out in layers. I couldn’t help but lower my head further, yet I could still feel that burning gaze. I couldn’t hear what else Serena said mockingly. My left eye throbbed painfully, and tears uncontrollable welled up. Just as I was about to wipe them, the room suddenly went quiet. A moment later, Serena’s sharp voice trembled in the air: “Sebastian, what did you just say?” 5 Sebastian lifted his eyes lazily. He leaned back on the leather sofa, legs sprawled comfortably. His gaze swept lightly over the meticulously dressed Serena and landed on my face with its ruined makeup. Then, he lifted a slender finger and pointed at me. “I said, she is better looking.” The room went dead silent. Sebastian added, unhurriedly: “Considering she’s my first love, of course she’s better looking than you.” The crowd looked at each other, not daring to breathe. I could even hear Serena’s furious, rapid breathing. The next second, Serena lost it completely. She turned around, grabbed a glass of cranberry juice, and splashed it onto my face. “Bitch!” She completely forgot her disguise. “Trying to seduce my man right under my nose?” Serena grabbed my hair, about to slap me. But her wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. “Sebastian!” Serena cried out in anger. “Before you hit someone in front of me, I suggest you weigh your own importance.” Sebastian threw her hand aside, his eyes cold as the Hudson River in winter. Serena covered her face, daring not to make a scene, and ran out crying. The others tactfully left, even though they were dying of curiosity. “Violet.” Sebastian spoke, calling my name. In that instant, I felt like I was sentenced to death. The sticky juice dripped down my face, staining the cheap dress. I stared at the dark water stains. They seemed to merge with the red blood on the infirmary sheets at boarding school years ago. “Violet, don’t always look down. You’re not ugly at all.” “Really?” “Of course. They just don’t have taste.” Eighteen-year-old Sebastian was the king of our private boarding school. He gradually became unsatisfied with just holding hands and hugging. That restless summer night, in the abandoned music room. He coaxed me, unbuttoning my school shirt. When I was nervous and scared, he promised: “Trust me, babe. We are in love. This is natural.” “Sebastian, will we be together forever?” “Of course. Forever.” “But I’m scared… scared of getting pregnant…” “You won’t. Trust me. I’ve got you.” That night, white sheet music was scattered all over the floor. I remember he wouldn’t stop even when the sky turned light outside. He kissed me, biting my earlobe, whispering, “Violet, seeing you… I knew you were the one.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388816”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years chasing Lucian, and he finally said yes. But everyone knew he was still hung up on his ex. After our first fight, I drove off into the night in a fit of pique. A car crash later, I woke up with my memory wiped. In the hospital room, Lucian handed me a phone number. “This is your boyfriend, Sebastian’s number.” I believed him. He let out a breath of relief, like a weight had been lifted. But later, he crashed my wedding to Sebastian. He gripped the hem of my Vera Wang gown, refusing to let go: “Don’t marry him. Please.” 1 On my fifth day in the hospital, Lucian came again. Unlike the previous days, today he handed me a slip of paper with a number on it. “This is your boyfriend, Sebastian’s number.” Lucian didn’t even blink. “Before the accident, you two had a fight. You deleted all his contacts.” “Did we break up?” If we didn’t, why hadn’t he visited me once in five days? Lucian shrugged. “That’s between you two. I’m just an outsider.” Before I could reply, the door swung open. A tall, imposing figure walked in. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs that went on for days. His bespoke suit screamed money and power. He was walking testosterone. I stared blankly as he leaned in close to my face. “Heard you knocked your head loose?” Excuse me? “Who are you?” “Sebastian.” My feelings were complicated. I turned to Lucian. “Is he really my boyfriend?” Sebastian paused, looking at Lucian. Lucian stared back at him intently, but spoke to me: “Yes. He is your boyfriend.” Sebastian narrowed his fox-like eyes. A moment later, he let out a scoff. “Indeed. I am your boyfriend.” Maybe it was my imagination, but after Sebastian said that, Lucian seemed to exhale a heavy sigh of relief. “When are you discharged?” Sebastian asked. “Tomorrow.” Sebastian’s eyes danced with amusement. “Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow, girlfriend.” The last word curled up at the end, lingering with infinite suggestiveness. My face heated up, heart pounding. “Chloe…” I turned to see Lucian’s displeased gaze. I stopped smiling. “What?” He pursed his lips. “I have my engagement party in a few days. I can’t pick you up tomorrow…” I nodded, understanding. “My boyfriend is here. You go do your thing.” 2 The next afternoon, Sebastian picked me up. He packed my bag, handled the paperwork. Ideally attentive. He took me home—to his home. I looked at the brand-new toiletries in the bathroom, confused. “Why is everything new?” He answered slowly, methodically. “The day we fought, I threw out everything related to you.” My mouth twitched. “Are you still mad?” He nodded, then shook his head. “What does that mean?” He looked up lazily. “You’re in this state. I have no choice but to forgive you.” I froze. “I started the fight?” He didn’t answer, just looked at me silently. His gaze made me guilty. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I coughed lightly and turned to the walk-in closet. “Let’s put it behind us. We’ll be good from now on.” I opened the closet doors and found rows of clothes with tags still on. From lingerie to coats, everything was brand new. An entire wardrobe, untouched. I couldn’t hold back. “Sebastian, why didn’t you throw yourself out too?” He looked confused. “What?” “You threw out everything I touched. I touched you. Why didn’t you throw yourself away?” It took a second for it to click. He turned his face away unnaturally, a flush creeping up his ears. After a long pause, a aggrieved voice floated over: “You haven’t touched me.” I shook my head immediately. “Impossible.” He was exactly my type. I had amnesia, not a lobotomy. With a man this gorgeous in front of me, there was no way I kept my hands to myself. The more I thought about it, the weirder it got. “Sebastian… do you have ED?” “What the hell!” Sebastian grumpily pulled a set of pajamas from the closet and shoved them at me. “Go shower. I’ll make food.” He walked out before I could react. That night, bedtime arrived. I waited and waited, but Sebastian didn’t come to bed. I walked out and found him in the guest room! When I pushed the door open, he was just unbuckling his belt. Our eyes met, and he yanked his pants back up, wrapping a robe around himself like a shield. Tsk. We were living together, and he was guarding himself like a virgin. I walked over silently, lifted the duvet, and crawled in. Sebastian’s eyes popped. “You… you…” I patted the space beside me. “Come here.” He didn’t move. “Aren’t you sleeping?” I asked. He stared at me, opening and closing his mouth. “Are you scared? Or do you really have a problem down there?” Sebastian finally moved. He marched over, wrapped me in the duvet like a burrito, and carried me back to the master bedroom. When the door clicked shut, I realized: My boyfriend might actually be impotent. In the middle of the night, half-asleep, Sebastian came into my room. He lifted my nightgown, doing everything but the main event. He teased me until I was dry-sobbing, but refused to give me release. I cried out in frustration, “Sebastian, I’m breaking up with you! I’m finding a man who can actually do it!” He bit my shoulder hard. “You dare!” “Just watch me! Get off!” I kicked out, but hit empty air. The jolt woke me up. Sunlight streamed in. I stared at the ceiling. Just a dream. Outside, Sebastian knocked. “Breakfast.” Ten minutes later, I sat at the island. His shirt was buttoned to the very top. He looked like a puritanical librarian. But I remembered the previous times—he never buttoned it properly, showing off hints of pectoral muscles. I couldn’t let it go. “Sebastian, maybe I should make you an appointment with a urologist.” Sebastian choked on his coffee, coughing violently. I handed him a glass of water, speaking slowly. “Don’t worry. As long as it’s treatable, I won’t leave you.” He coughed until he was red in the face. I patted his back, gave him water. Finally, he stopped. “I am perfectly healthy.” Before I could question him, he added, “It’s Lucian’s engagement party today. You’re coming with me.” 3 We arrived late. Sebastian insisted I dress to the nines. I should have listened to my gut. The moment we walked in, every eye in the ballroom landed on me. I felt uneasy. “Sebastian, why is everyone staring?” He smirked. “Because you’re stunning.” I wasn’t used to this attention. I excused myself to the restroom. As soon as I entered a stall, voices drifted in. “Can’t believe Sebastian brought Chloe. Isn’t that a slap in Lucian’s face?” “It was supposed to be Chloe and Lucian’s engagement. Who knows what scene she’ll make when she gets her memory back.” “What can she do? Lucian doesn’t love her. He wouldn’t have switched fiancées last minute otherwise.” “Just bad luck for Chloe. Getting brain damage right when Seraphina came back.” “But why is Sebastian with Chloe? They’ve been enemies since kindergarten. Now she gets amnesia and they’re dating?” “Who knows? Maybe Sebastian is just playing with her.” “Probably. Sebastian once said he wouldn’t marry Chloe even if she was the last woman on earth.” “Shh, someone might hear.” Silence fell. I stayed in the stall for a long time. When I came out, I saw Lucian. His eyes were dark. “You just got out of the hospital. Why aren’t you resting?” “Thanks for the concern. I’m fine.” I tried to walk past him, but he blocked my path. “Chloe, did you hear anything today?” “You mean about me and Sebastian being enemies? Enemies can make peace. Besides, I quite like him now.” “You don’t like Sebastian.” I frowned. “You aren’t me. How do you know?” Lucian realized he slipped up and tried to recover. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just… before the accident, you told me you didn’t like him anymore.” “Chloe.” Lucian’s brow furrowed. “You don’t remember the past. As a friend, I suggest you break up with Sebastian while you have the chance.” Before I could speak, a scoff came from the shadows. “Lucian, that’s low.” Sebastian stepped into the light, reaching my side in two strides. “Haven’t you heard? Bad karma to break up a happy couple.” Lucian: “You aren’t married.” Sebastian took my hand. “Matter of time.” He checked his Patek Philippe. “We have places to be. Oh, happy engagement. Hope you two stay together forever.” He dragged me away. In the car, buckled in. Sebastian said, “I’m taking you for a ride.” He floored it. We hit the highway doing speeds that were definitely illegal. I gripped the handle, terrified. I should never have gotten in this car. Sebastian looked relaxed, like he was pedaling a bike in the park. An hour later, the car slowed and stopped on a deserted beach. I scrambled out, gasping for air. Sebastian walked over, smirking. “Car sick? Weak.” I ignored him. He pulled two beers from the trunk and sat on the sand, waving at me. “You drove like a maniac just to drink here?” “Alcohol helps the mood. Didn’t you know?” After a moment of silence, I sat next to him. I reached for a beer, but he snatched it away. “You just got out of the hospital. No drinking. I’ll drink for you.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388815”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel