I sat behind the mahogany desk in the board chair’s office, flipping through our third-quarter financial report. When Veronica knocked and stepped inside, a shadow of hesitation flickered across her face. “Ma’am, there’s something you need to see.” I looked up from the ledger. “Speak.” She extended her phone toward me. Displayed on the screen was a screenshot of a social media post. I recognized the background instantly. It was my home study. Hanging on the wall behind the subject was our family portrait, taken last Christmas. Garrett and I sat in the front row, our son standing proudly behind us. Everyone in the picture was smiling with practiced elegance. That wasn’t what caught my breath, though. It was the girl standing in front of it. Rita. A twenty-four-year-old intern who had joined our firm just three months ago. She was posed in front of the mirror in a tight gym tank top, taking a post-workout selfie. In my private study. Right in front of my family portrait. I stared at the glowing display. 1 Veronica lowered her voice to a near whisper. “It was posted last night, ma’am.” “Who sent this to you?” “Someone forwarded it into one of the company group chats. I took a screenshot before it got taken down.” I gave a slow nod. “Understood.” Veronica lingered by the desk, waiting for a breakdown, a scream, an order. I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t demand explanations. I simply handed the phone back to her. “Get back to compiling the Q3 metrics.” “Ma’am…” “Go on.” When the door clicked shut behind her, I turned my chair toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The reflective glass cast back a sharp image of my face. Calm. Almost icy. Garrett had told me last night that he was pulling an all-nighter at the office. He said the Q3 merger required his personal oversight around the clock. I had believed him. After fifteen years of marriage, he was the chief executive, and I was the chairwoman of the board. Together, we had transformed Ashford Holdings from a mid-sized venture into an industry titan. To the outside world, we were the ultimate power couple. He commanded the spotlight; I steered the ship from behind the curtain. A flawless partnership. Yet now, an intern was taking gym selfies in my private sanctuary, posing beneath my family portrait. I pulled out my own phone, opened the screenshot, and zoomed in. Rita’s smile was radiant. Fresh out of an Ivy League university, her resume had been spotless. Three months ago, Garrett had personally conducted her final interview. He praised her drive, claiming she was a rare talent worth grooming. I hadn’t given it a second thought back then. Looking at the picture now, every detail screamed a different story. I locked my phone without calling Garrett. Some things don’t require confrontational questions. They only require verification. At seven in the evening, a text popped up from Garrett. Running late. Still stuck in meetings. I glanced at the screen and sent back a single word. Okay. Then I opened our home security portal. The live feed in the study showed pitch darkness. The living room was equally deserted. I switched to the subterranean garage feed. His reserved spot was empty. I waited another thirty minutes before sending a follow-up text. Where are you meeting? His reply arrived almost instantly. At the office. Which conference room? A pause of several seconds. Room Three. I didn’t reply again. I knew for a fact that Conference Room Three had no bookings scheduled for tonight. I stood up and walked to the glass edge. Below, the metropolis hummed with blinding neon lights. The flagship tower of Ashford Holdings was built brick by brick through our joint effort. Fifteen years ago, we signed our very first merger agreement in a cramped conference room. Garrett had been sharp, brilliant, and fiercely ambitious. That relentless drive was precisely what drew me to him. After we married, we scaled the enterprise together. He handled external relations; I mapped out corporate strategy. Everyone called it a match made in heaven. And now, he believed I was blind. I dialed a private number. “Look into someone for me.” “Name the target, Audrey.” “Rita. An intern at Ashford.” “What am I looking for?” “Everything.” After hanging up, I sat back down. The framed portrait on my desk showed our twelve-year-old son, the spitting image of his father. Garrett and I rarely argued. Whenever friction arose, we resolved it behind closed doors. I had spent fifteen years assuming our marriage was built on bedrock. It turned out I was the only one building. The next morning, I walked straight into the CEO’s suite. Garrett was signing documents. Seeing me enter, he looked up, surprised. “What brings you up here?” “Just passing through.” I strolled to his desk, letting my eyes sweep over the paperwork. It was Rita’s permanent employment conversion form. In the signature block, his crisp signature was already inked. “How’s this intern performing?” I asked casually. His expression remained entirely unbothered. “Quite well. Exceptional potential.” “In what aspect?” “Strong execution and quick on her feet.” I nodded slowly. “I heard you’ve been mentoring her personally.” He closed the folder and raised his gaze to mine. “Is there a problem?” “Not at all. Just asking.” A soft smile touched his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Audrey?” I offered a slight smile of my own. “Over an intern? Hardly.” He stood up, walked around the desk, and stopped close to me. “Dinner together tonight?” “Sure.” As he turned back to grab his briefcase, I watched his posture. After fifteen years, I knew him inside and out. The more relaxed and normal he tried to appear, the deeper the deception went. In the office, he had always maintained strict professional distance, never initiating physical proximity. Yet today, he deliberately closed the gap. Compensatory behavior. A classic psychological reflex. I knew the playbook by heart. At dinner that evening, his phone screen lit up repeatedly. He refrained from checking it in front of me, merely casting brief downward glances before flipping it face down. “Work messages?” I inquired. “Just the executive group chat,” he replied. I lifted my wine glass. “Busy lately?” “The merger negotiation is at a delicate stage.” “Need me to step in?” “No need. I have it under control.” I dropped the subject. When we returned home, he headed straight for the shower. I stepped into the study and booted up my laptop. The window faced the rear garden. The family portrait hung quietly on the wall. I stood before the picture, remembering Rita’s selfie. She had stood right here. How did she get inside? Did Garrett bring her here? When? I pulled up the electronic lock records for our front door. Over the past three months, Garrett had returned home during business hours seven times. On three of those occasions, he left less than thirty minutes later. Abnormal. Next, I checked the residential garage gate logs. His vehicle had entered between two and four in the afternoon on five separate dates. Times when he was supposed to be chairing executive meetings. I exported the data and saved it into an encrypted drive. This wasn’t definitive proof of a crime yet, but it was more than enough to launch a war. The following morning, I met with a private investigator. A veteran with two decades in the business, he took the dossier on Rita without raising an eyebrow. “Track her connection with Garrett,” I instructed. “What do you need?” “Evidence. Every single scrap.” “Timeline?” “As fast as possible.” He nodded, took the folder, and slipped away. Back in my office, I initiated my own line of inquiry. I pulled Rita’s HR onboarding file. Her resume was stellar, top university, impressive internships. But one entry caught my eye: her background was listed as “working-class family.” Yet the diamond bracelet on her wrist cost six figures. An intern’s stipend couldn’t fund that. I followed the money trail. Bank statements, luxury purchase histories, social networks. In high finance, secrets do not exist. It only depends on whether someone is willing to dig. Three days later, the first preliminary report hit my desk. Rita’s spending trail showed four hundred and seventy thousand dollars spent at luxury boutiques over the past quarter. None of it originated from her personal bank accounts. The payments were wired from an offshore shell account. And the ultimate beneficial owner of that account was Garrett. I stared at the numbers, tapping my index finger rhythmically against the desk. So it wasn’t just an affair. It was financial misappropriation. Veronica knocked and entered. “Ma’am, here are the surveillance logs you requested.” I accepted the flash drive. “Internal company feeds?” “Yes. Parking garage and executive elevators.” I plugged it in and launched the video files. The footage clearly showed Garrett and Rita arriving together in his vehicle. The time stamp read 11:00 PM. The building was deserted. They took the private elevator directly to the executive suite. Duration of stay: two hours. I closed the window. My face remained impassive. Veronica stood beside me, holding her breath. “Is there more?” “One more file.” She handed over a thick manila envelope. I opened it. Inside were hotel registration records. Garrett’s ID had been used three times at a five-star hotel down the strip. Same room, every time. Dates corresponding exactly to the nights he claimed to be working late. I sealed the envelope. “Who else has seen this?” “Only myself and the investigator.” “Keep it locked tight.” “Understood.” Once Veronica left, I sat alone in the quiet office. Outside, brilliant sunlight poured over the city skyline, yet inside, the temperature felt frigid. Fifteen years of marriage. He wasn’t just betraying our vows. He was funneling corporate capital to maintain an intern. This was no longer a personal heartbreak. This was a crime. That evening, Garrett returned home. Changing into comfortable lounge attire, he sank onto the couch to scroll through his phone while I reviewed legal briefs nearby. “HR cleared Rita’s full-time status,” he remarked out of nowhere. My hand paused over the paper for a fraction of a second. “Oh?” “What do you think?” “You’re the CEO. It’s your call.” He cast a quick look in my direction. “You seem less involved in company affairs lately.” “With you handling things, I can rest easy.” A subtle smile appeared on his face upon hearing that, carrying a subtle smugness I had never noticed before. He truly believed he was pulling the wool over my eyes. He believed I was still the naive, trusting wife. I resumed reading, keeping my expression neutral. Now was not the time to blow his cover. I needed more leverage. Not just proof of infidelity, but the exact trail of corporate funds. Garrett had signing authority as CEO. If he embezzled corporate funds, it constituted corporate theft and fraud. Infidelity is a moral failure. Embezzlement is a felony. I didn’t want a simple divorce. I wanted retribution. A week later, the investigator’s second dossier arrived. This one was far more thorough. The frequency of Garrett and Rita’s encounters: at least three times a week. Locations included boutique hotels, private clubs, and my own residence. Yes, my home. Garrett had brought her into our house while I was away on business trips. In the study. Under that very family portrait. I stared at the surveillance stills attached to the file, my knuckles turning white. The investigator had also unearthed Rita’s background prior to her hiring. She wasn’t from an ordinary background. Her father had run a small logistics firm that collapsed three years ago. Before filing for bankruptcy, the firm had entered into several contracts with Ashford. Contracts signed under Garrett’s sole authorization. The sums involved weren’t massive, but the nature of the transaction was corrupt. He had funneled business to her family long before she stepped foot in the company. Self-dealing. I closed the report and began drafting my final strategy. Capital never seeks emotional revenge. Capital settles accounts strictly by the rules. I was his wife, but I was also the chair of the board. The marriage could end. The crime had to be paid for in full. Veronica placed the quarterly audit review on my desk. “Audrey, accounting flagged several irregular disbursements.” I opened the file. “Which ones?” She highlighted three separate consulting fees totaling eight point two million dollars. The payee was an offshore advisory firm registered in the Caymans. “This firm was incorporated less than eleven months ago,” Veronica noted. “Scope of work?” “Market research, according to the contract terms.” “Deliverables?” “A five-page slide deck.” I shut the folder sharply. “Who signed off?” Veronica hesitated before answering. “Garrett.” I nodded slowly. At Ashford, the CEO’s independent authorization limit was capped at five million dollars. Anything exceeding that threshold required my co-signature. These three consulting fees had been split into three separate agreements, each just under three million dollars. Right under his independent threshold. Structuring transactions. A crude technique, but effective if no one looked closely. “Is there a link between the shell firm and Rita?” I asked. Veronica shook her head. “No direct paper trail found yet.” “Keep digging.” After she left, I called a former classmate who now served as a senior financial regulator. “I need an offshore account traced.” “What kind of case?” “Potential corporate asset diversion.” A brief pause on the line. “Audrey, are you going for blood?” “I need the complete paper trail first.” Hanging up, I leaned back against my leather chair. Eight point two million was no small sum. Garrett earned a six-million-dollar annual salary; he didn’t need to take felony risks for pocket change unless those funds were destined for a specific purpose. That afternoon, I walked down to the finance department. The Chief Financial Officer, Brenda, had been with me for fifteen years. As I closed her office door, she looked up from her spreadsheet. “Audrey.” “Pull every contract signed solely by Garrett over the past twelve months.” She blinked. “All of them?” “Every single one.” She hesitated, then unlocked the filing cabinet to retrieve a thick stack of binders. I examined them item by item. Most were legitimate transactions, but near the bottom, I uncovered more red flags. Beyond the eight point two million in consulting fees, two “brand promotion” contracts were issued to another newly formed entity. Total value: five million dollars. Authorized by: Garrett. I pulled those contracts from the stack. “Make copies of these for me.” “Audrey, if Garrett finds out…” “Do as I say.” She nodded quietly. The hum of the copy machine filled the quiet room. I stood by the window, watching the traffic far below. Garrett was currently chairing an executive meeting. He had no idea what was transpiring. He was accustomed to being in complete command. In the company, he was the undisputed chief. At home, he assumed I was still his dutiful partner. But once trust fractures, it cannot be mended. I returned to my office with the copies, spread the documents across my desk, and photographed every page. I messaged my personal attorney. Is this enough to build a case? His reply arrived swiftly. We need to complete the chain of evidence connecting the funds back to him. Send me a list of what’s missing. While waiting for his response, I tallied the numbers. Nearly fourteen million dollars. A sum more than sufficient for a major felony conviction. That night, Garrett messaged again. Working late again tonight. I typed a single word back. Okay. I opened the GPS tracker on my phone. His vehicle was nowhere near the corporate tower. It was parked outside a luxury hotel downtown. I locked the screen. I didn’t rush over to catch them in the act. Catching him in bed would merely destroy his reputation. Proving grand larceny would send him to prison. I chose the latter. Early the next morning, I convened a closed-door meeting with the heads of legal and internal audit. The curtains were drawn tight. I laid the questionable contracts on the table. “Starting today, launch a full internal audit on every contract signed by Garrett.” The two department heads exchanged stunned glances. “Audrey, the scope…” “Every contract over the past three years.” “Do we notify Garrett?” “No.” “If he inquires?” “Call it a routine governance review.” They nodded soberly. Shortly after the meeting adjourned, my attorney called. “Audrey, we traced those shell companies.” “What did you find?” “Classic fronts. Offshore registrations with dummy directors. But we traced the ultimate destination of the funds.” He paused. “After passing through three intermediary accounts, eight million dollars landed directly in a domestic personal account.” My hand holding the phone stayed rock steady. “Under whose name?” “Rita.” I stood up and walked to the window. The city sparkled bright under the sun, yet my office felt colder than ever. Eight million dollars. Funneled to an intern through my husband’s signature. This was grand larceny and corporate embezzlement. I took a deep breath, then dialed my father’s private line. As the former chairman of Ashford, he had retired to the advisory board years ago. “Dad, I need to tell you something.” I gave him a concise summary of the situation. A long silence followed on his end. “Are you certain?” “Absolute certainty.” Another pause. “What is your move?” “I’m handling this according to the law.” He offered no objection, simply remarking, “You are sharper than I ever was.” Returning to my desk, I watched the audit files pile higher as the evidence chain locked into place. And I still hadn’t confronted Garrett. He remained completely in the dark, believing he was playing a master stroke. That was his fatal flaw. He underestimated me, and he drastically overestimated his own cleverness. Later that afternoon, Garrett pushed open my office door. Dressed in a bespoke suit with impeccably styled hair, he looked every bit the polished executive. “I hear internal audit is digging through financial records?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. I didn’t bother looking up from my screen. “Routine audit.” “Why the sudden move?” “Board directive.” He stepped up to my desk. “What’s the scope?” “All executive signatures across the board. Not just yours.” His shoulders visibly relaxed. “I see. When will it wrap up?” “Soon.” He searched my face, looking for any crack in my posture. I gave him nothing. “Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” I asked calmly. He blinked. “I have client engagements tonight.” “Fine.” He turned and left. The heavy strike of his leather soles echoed down the corridor. He had no idea that internal audit wasn’t investigating “all executives.” They were auditing him alone. And I already possessed everything required to destroy him. A week later, the final audit report was completed. Over the past two years, Garrett had executed eleven fraudulent contracts using structured payment schemes. Total amount embezzled: twenty-three million dollars. The funds had been split into three streams: Rita’s personal account, her father’s company, and an offshore asset management account held by Garrett himself. The room was deathly quiet when I received the final binder. Veronica stood nearby, barely daring to breathe. “Audrey… what do we do with this?” “Contact the federal authorities.” She gasped. “You’re filing criminal charges?” “It is grand larceny and financial fraud.” “But Garrett is…” “He is the prime suspect.” Veronica took a deep breath and nodded. I picked up the phone and dialed the director of the financial crimes division. I knew the chief well from my previous service on the state economic advisory board. “I am filing a formal criminal complaint.” “State the charges, Audrey.” “Corporate embezzlement, fraud, and money laundering. The suspect is Garrett.” A brief silence on the line. “Do you have substantiating evidence?” “Complete paper trails, bank transfers, fraudulent contracts, and forensic audit reports.” “We are dispatching an investigation team immediately.” After hanging up, I stood at the glass wall. I remembered fifteen years ago when Garrett and I stood in this very spot. He told me we would build Ashford into an empire that would outlast us both. Back then, his eyes were full of ambition and light. Now, that light was extinguished. Not by me. By his own hand. Federal agents arrived swiftly. After reviewing the binder, their expressions turned grim. “Audrey, this evidence is airtight.” “What do you need from me?” “Maintain normalcy for now. We need to secure the assets before executing a warrant.” “Agreed.” When they left with the evidence files, I remained seated in my office, waiting for the trap to snap shut. Veronica re-entered. “Audrey, Garrett is losing his temper in the main conference room.” “Why?” “Auditors just seized his workstation.” “Let him rage.” She hesitated. “He might come straight here.” “Let him.” Less than ten minutes later, Garrett stormed into my office without knocking. “Audrey, what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice raised. I raised my eyes from my desk. “What are you talking about?” “Internal audit seized my laptop and locked my access! They said it was on your direct orders!” “It was.” “Why?” “Routine governance review.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t play games with me! This isn’t a routine review! They’re targeting me specifically!” I met his glare dead-on. “Is there a problem if they are?” The words were spoken softly, but they struck him like a physical blow. Panic flashed in his eyes before he quickly masked it. “What problem could there be? Every contract I signed was completely above board!” “Then you have nothing to fear from an investigation.” “Audrey…” “If your hands are clean, you shouldn’t be sweating.” He stared at me, his lips trembling slightly. In the end, he said nothing, turning sharply on his heel and exiting. This time, his heavy footsteps sounded desperate. He didn’t know that federal agents were already freezing his accounts, seizing property, and interviewing witnesses at Rita’s residence. I said nothing to warn him. A marriage can be dissolved quietly. A man can walk away. But twenty-three million dollars must be accounted for. That was my boundary as chairwoman. And that was his price as a felon.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599284”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A catastrophic flood hit my hometown, trapping my parents on the second floor of their old house. I begged my husband to let me take the inflatable raft from his company’s equipment room. He sneered. “You’re a professional swim coach. Can’t you just swim through six feet of water? If you ruin an expensive raft, are you going to pay for it?” As I put on my waterproof gear, I overheard him on the phone in his study. “I’m bringing the jet ski over right now. Tell your parents to come down to the second floor and wait. Lives are on the line, so don’t stand on ceremony with me. If it gets damaged, it’s on my tab.” That call was for the widow of his late best friend. Her parents lived on the twelfth floor of a high-rise, far above any rising water. I froze at the doorway, my fingernails digging deep into my palms. Seeing me fully geared up without crying or throwing a tantrum, my husband nodded in approval. “That’s more like it. They’re your parents. Who else should be responsible for them if not you?” I nodded calmly. Watching him grab the jet ski keys and walk out the door, a sudden clarity washed over me. When a heart dies completely, even emotion feels like an unnecessary luxury. I pulled out the divorce papers I had printed long ago and signed my name, stroke by stroke. A hollow marriage where having a husband felt no different from being alone was a life I no longer wanted. 1 Justin came home at midnight. I was curled up on the sofa, my phone lying beside me with two read messages on the screen. My mother had written: Don’t worry, Evelyn. We have enough food and water. As long as the flood doesn’t rise any higher, we can hold out. My old classmate, Liam, who worked at the Emergency Management Bureau, had sent: I’m so sorry, Evelyn. All rescue teams have been deployed to the schools and high-risk zones. We can’t reach your parents right now. You’ll have to wait until outside reinforcements arrive. Justin barely cast a glance at me. “Why are you still up?” “My parents are still stuck in the flood zone.” “Didn’t you swim over to get them?” “My mother can’t swim, and my father is paralyzed. I could only help them climb to the neighbor’s third floor.” “Oh.” His tone was as casual as if we were discussing the weather. Taking off his shoes, he walked into the living room and slumped heavily onto the sofa. I looked at him as he stared down at his phone. Suddenly, my mind flashed back to earlier today. Typhoon Maysak had slammed into our county, triggering torrential rain. At noon, my mother called me in panic. “The flood reached the edge of the village at noon. Within an hour, it rose over twelve feet. The entire first floor is under water.” My mind went wild with fear. I begged Justin for a piece of water rescue gear from his firm. I told him, “Justin, if a motorboat is too much to ask, what about an inflatable raft? It costs barely a hundred bucks. Saving lives is what matters.” He scoffed. “Evelyn, can you be rational for once? A hundred bucks is a chunk of our monthly grocery budget.” We dated for five months and had been married for two years. Justin had always been like this. Every household expense was calculated down to the last penny. When I asked him why he had to be so stingy, he claimed every cent had to be spent where it counted most. Yet he turned around and drove his company’s most expensive jet ski straight to Serena. It turned out he didn’t hate spending money. He just hated spending it on me. I thought my heart was already numb. But after swimming for six exhausting hours to get back home, seeing his complete indifference made my chest ache as if my heart were being crushed to pieces. Justin finished scrolling through his phone, and his eyes finally landed on the papers on the table. “What’s this?” “Divorce papers.” “Evelyn, so your quiet act was just setting up for this drama?” I calmly pushed the signed document toward him. “I’ve already signed it.” He didn’t touch it. He just stared at the signature for a long time. “Earlier this year, you asked me to take time off to take your parents to the hospital. I refused, and you went back to stay with them for a month.” “Last month, you said you were ovulating, but I was busy and didn’t cooperate, so you banished me to the guest room for a week.” “And now, just because I didn’t give you a hundred-dollar raft, you want a divorce?” He wasn’t wrong about those events. Because my stay at my parents’ house forced him to come apologize, he developed a deep resentment toward them. Because I made him sleep in the guest room, he caught a mild cold and told everyone I was a nightmare to live with. Later, I saw on Serena’s social media feed that while my parents were sick, Justin was taking Serena’s parents for a comprehensive medical checkup. While I was ovulating, Serena caught a cold, and Justin stayed at her apartment for an entire week to nurse her back to health. Justin sneered. “Evelyn, I pinch pennies to build a future for us. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” I unlocked my phone, opened a text message, and slid it toward him. The notification read: System Alert: Routine maintenance identified damage to Jet Ski #005. Per contract terms, a repair fee of $1,500 has been deducted from your registered card. I looked into his eyes. “Fifteen hundred dollars for a single jet ski ride. Is this what you call pinching pennies?” “You changed the notification number on my bank account?” His immediate reaction wasn’t to explain the fifteen hundred dollars. It was to interrogate me on why I dared look at his financial statements. 2 Looking at Justin’s defensive face, a wave of regret washed over me. I should have handed him these divorce papers much sooner. He slammed his finger onto the document. “Greg was my brother! He died, and Serena is all alone in this city with no family or friends! What is wrong with me spending a little money to help her?” “Don’t you feel selfish?” I met his glare. “Justin, you’re helping another man’s woman.” “The people you are abandoning are the ones who called you son for two whole years.” He choked on his words, his tone finally softening a bit. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” “It’s just that you’re a swim coach. You can handle six feet of water easily. Why waste money on an expensive tool?” He leaned in, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Alright, stop being angry.” “Serena is different from you.” “She just lost her husband. She can’t handle losing another family member right now.” Perhaps realizing how terrible that sounded, he quickly added, “Tell you what. The warehouse has a batch of clearance inflatable rafts. I’ll get you one.” “But your parents need to transfer me that hundred bucks right now.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. So his agreement to help was still contingent on my parents paying him upfront. He wanted to exchange a defective piece of junk that should have been written off for a hundred dollars in cash from my parents. And he expected me to view it as an act of grand generosity. I pushed myself up from the sofa, leaning on the armrest. “Just sign it. We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow morning.” Justin frowned, examining me as if I were throwing an unreasonable tantrum. “Do you really have to be this stubborn?” “I keep my professional and personal life separate. Asking your parents to transfer a hundred bucks for a life-saving raft is making things difficult for you?” Losing his patience entirely, he stood up. “If you insist on turning a minor detail into a divorce, there’s nothing I can do.” “But Evelyn, I’m the only person in this whole county who can get you a raft right now.” “If you don’t agree to my terms, what happens if your parents drown?” Those words were spoken casually, yet they cut deeper than any insult he had hurled before. My fists clenched tight, fingernails cutting into my skin. “I will take full responsibility for my own parents.” My response thoroughly enraged him. “Fine. You think you’re so capable.” “You’d better not come back crawling and begging me for help.” I turned and walked toward the bedroom. The moment the door shut behind me, Justin’s phone rang in the living room. I couldn’t hear who was on the other end, but his voice softened into a gentle murmur. “Don’t worry, I’m taking them to the emergency clinic right away.” “Don’t stand on ceremony with me. If the jet ski breaks, I’ll just grab another one.” “I’ll cover all the damages myself.” A sharp, agonizing pain suddenly tore through my lower abdomen, forcing me to double over. I slid down against the doorboard, sitting cold on the floor. My phone lit up with a text notification from the local clinic. Ms. Vance, due to the flood disaster, our staff was short-handed, and your blood work results were delayed. As you suspected, you are currently ten weeks pregnant. I stared at the glowing words. A single tear fell, hitting the glass screen. 3 Justin didn’t come home all night. I sat on the sofa from four in the morning until nine, calling him twenty times. He didn’t answer a single one. It wasn’t until half-past nine that he sent a quick voice message. “I’m swamped at work and can’t step away. If you really want a divorce, go file a lawsuit.” I locked my phone. Half the day was already wasted. I immediately changed into my waterproof suit. Before leaving, I called my mother. She told me the floodwaters were still rising, but they had enough food and clean water to hold out for two more days. I called Liam next. He told me the local rescue teams were prioritizing schools, leaving residential areas for later shifts. “Rain fell all night, and the inland flooding near your parents’ village is getting severe. The longer it drags on, the more dangerous it gets.” “Where can I buy a rescue raft?” I asked urgently. “The county government requisitioned all commercial gear, but some vendors might have kept a couple for personal use. Let me check around for you.” I thanked him profusely. After hanging up, I stood on the balcony, looking out at the county town submerged in murky, raging water. The anxiety in my chest reached a boiling point. My phone chimed with a social media update. It was a new post from Serena. A candid photo showed Serena in a white dress, leaning weakly against Justin’s shoulder. Justin was holding her, his eyes filled with intense worry and comfort, an expression I had never seen on his face in all our years together. The next two photos showed a jet ski. One was taken inside her residential complex, and the other showed them arriving at the hospital emergency entrance. Her caption read: When I felt completely isolated and helpless, I was lucky to have his unconditional support. A mutual friend commented underneath: Justin is so good to you! Rescue gear is so scarce right now, yet he used two different jet skis in a single day to move your family. That must have cost a fortune! Serena replied: Don’t talk nonsense. He’s just being a loyal friend. The friend instantly shot back: Justin might be loyal, but everyone knows how tight he is with money. Anyone can see you matter way more to him than his own wife does. I stared at that comment, a chilling numbness spreading through my chest. My phone rang again. It was Liam. “I tracked down a vendor who has an inflatable raft, but a model that usually costs fifty bucks is marked up to five hundred right now.” I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take it. I need it right now.” Hearing my absolute tone, Liam paused for a few seconds. “At that price, it might be a low-quality knockoff. Are you sure?” “As long as it can pull my parents out of that water.” I added softly, “Liam, I have no other choice.” After he sent me the address, I headed downstairs. The water inside the residential complex had already risen to waist height. Near the main gate, I ran right into Justin. He was riding a high-powered jet ski, cutting through the waves with an energized expression, holding a sheet of paper in his hand. “I managed to get approval from the company for an inflatable raft. I can sell it to your parents at wholesale price.” “However, it’s a clearance item, so the company takes no responsibility once it leaves the warehouse.” He reached out, trying to hand me a receipt. “Sign this receipt on their behalf first. You can transfer the money to me later.” I stared at the paper, refusing to touch it. He tossed it straight into my lap. “I’m a man of strict principle.” “Compromising this much for you is already incredibly generous. Don’t be ungrateful.” Without another word, he revved the engine and sped off into the floodwaters. I looked down at the receipt, picked it up, and let the murky water sweep it away. 4 My phone rang again. Liam’s voice was shaking with panic. “Evelyn! A section of the upstream dam just breached! A massive surge of floodwater is heading straight for the downstream villages!” My legs went completely weak. I had to grab a streetlight pole to keep from collapsing into the water. It took me three grueling hours to pull my parents out of the flooded village. The raft I bought was small, its buoyancy barely holding us afloat. Underwater currents whirled with debris. Suddenly, a massive surge hit us, causing the boat to tilt violently. My mother gripped the rubber edge tightly, her face pale. “Evelyn! The boat can’t take all three of us! Put me down and let me wait for a secondary team!” “You can’t swim! Stepping into this water means death!” I yelled back. My mother wanted to argue, but sheer terror locked her throat. I tightened my life vest and plunged straight into the freezing water. Using one arm to grip the raft and the other to kick and push, I dragged them forward through the torrent. Four hours later, we finally reached dry ground. The moment my feet touched solid earth, I collapsed onto the concrete, gasping for air. Liam pushed through the crowd, running toward me. “Why were you pulling them yourself?!” I managed a faint murmur. “My… husband…” I fell silent. The embarrassment at that moment cut deeper than needles. A hollow marriage where having a husband was no different from being a widow. “Your mother has a high fever, and your father’s bedsores are severely infected,” Liam said urgently. “Paramedics just loaded them onto a transport.” My heart dropped. “They were fine an hour ago!” “Your mom confessed they were already feeling terrible last night, but they hid it because they didn’t want you to panic.” I forced myself up to follow the gurney, but a sharp, tearing pain in my lower abdomen made cold sweat drench my back instantly. That night, I went back to our apartment to grab essential supplies for my parents’ hospital stay. Pushing the door open, the sound of a woman’s laughter drifted from the dining room. Serena was sitting at the table, a steaming bowl of chicken soup in front of her. She was wearing my house slippers. Seeing me, she immediately stood up. “Evelyn, you’re back! Come join us!” She reached out affectionately to take my arm, acting for all the world like the mistress of this house. My eyes drifted to the open refrigerator. The free-range chicken my parents had brought from their farm last week was gone. I had wanted to make soup with it back then, but Justin had stopped me. “Our anniversary is at the end of the month. Instead of spending extra money on meat then, let me save this chicken for that special day.” Now, that very chicken was sitting in Serena’s bowl. Justin emerged from the kitchen, tying off his apron and frowning at me. “Why didn’t you call before coming back?” “Do I need to report to you before entering my own home?” The smile froze on Serena’s face. Justin removed his apron, his voice cold. “Your parents were frightened by the flood, and Serena has been too anxious to eat anything for two days. I brought her here to make her something easy on her stomach.” My parents had nearly drowned in the flood zone, sick and feverish, yet he hadn’t asked a single question about them. Instead, he was at home simmering chicken soup for another woman’s stomach. Serena put on an expression of deep guilt. “Evelyn, please don’t misunderstand.” “Ever since Greg passed, I haven’t had an appetite. Justin was just worried about me, so he brought me here for a homemade meal.” As she spoke, she naturally tucked her hand into Justin’s arm, gently nudging him toward me. “Go on, comfort Evelyn.” I simply offered a faint, lifeless smile. Turning on my heel, I walked into the bedroom. Justin followed me inside, snatching my packed duffel bag and kicking it across the floor. “Who are you giving that attitude to?” “Greg is dead! Serena is gentle and hates asking people for favors! As Greg’s sworn brother, what is wrong with me showing her some concern?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Do you have any idea that my parents are in the hospital right now?” He stalled for a second, but his face quickly hardened again. “Can your parents’ situation even be compared to hers?” “She is from out of state, completely alone with no family left! Greg is dead, and she has nothing!” “You have me! I cover everything for you!” Cover everything for me? I had a husband, yet I lived like a widow. I picked up the duffel bag and walked past Justin without another word. Two minutes later, a social media notification popped up on my phone. Serena had posted a photo of two beer bottles. The caption read: Someone got upset today, so I’m keeping him company for a drink. For the past two years, I had acted like a pathetic investigator, constantly checking Serena’s updates to see what she posted about Justin. Looking at those posts now, my heart didn’t feel a single flicker of pain. I pulled out my secondary phone, opened Serena’s profile history, and screenshotted every single post she had ever made involving my husband. Then, I forwarded the entire folder to my divorce attorney. 5 My phone vibrated violently as Liam called again. “Evelyn, where are you?!” “The medical supplies at the local clinic were washed away by the flood! The facility isn’t equipped to handle this. Your parents need an immediate transfer to the City General Hospital!” My vision went black, and my knees gave out, causing me to crash onto the concrete steps outside. The abdominal cramps came in violent waves, each sharper than the last. By the time I rushed back to the local clinic, it was eleven at night. Liam ran up to meet me, his face pale. “They only have basic cold medicine left here!” “Your mother’s fever hit a hundred and four, and your father’s back infection is escalating fast. It might not look like an emergency on the surface, but dragging this out will be fatal!” I stared at the inflatable raft parked in the courtyard. The bottom rubber had been torn open by submerged branches during my push through the flood. I had used it to haul my parents three miles from the village to this clinic, wading through the surge for six straight hours. Liam’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression shifting dramatically. “The emergency team needs me at the main dike right now! Evelyn, you have to find a way to transfer them immediately!” “I understand.” I knelt down, examining the torn raft over and over. The damaged section was worn thin. I didn’t know if it could hold air for another ten minutes. Biting my lip until I tasted blood, I pulled out my phone and dialed Justin’s number. The first call went unanswered. The second call rang out. On the twentieth attempt, Justin finally picked up. “What now?!” “I need to transfer my parents to the City General Hospital right now. Let me use the company jet ski. I will pay you two thousand dollars for it!” Justin let out a harsh laugh. “Evelyn, taking money out of our joint account to pay me back? Do you think I’m stupid?” He took a deep breath, his tone turning preachy. “I told you earlier, I could give you a hundred-dollar raft if your parents signed an IOU, but you refused.” “Now that raft has been reassigned to someone else, you come crawling back demanding a jet ski?” “Can you act like an adult for once and consider the consequences of your actions?” “Don’t expect me to make another compromise for you.” I squeezed the phone, trying to keep my voice steady. “Justin, I am your wife. I am the person you are supposed to care about!” “That doesn’t mean I have to pay for your childish tantrums,” he snapped back, raising his voice. “At first, I told you to swim over and carry them out. You swam over, but you came back alone.” “Then I told you to buy a raft for a hundred bucks, and you refused.” “I even compromised by letting you write an IOU on their behalf, and you still threw a fit!” Floodwaters were beginning to seep into the clinic’s ground floor. My parents desperately needed a transfer to save their lives, yet my husband was busy delivering a lecture on maturity over the phone. I asked softly, “Justin… what if the people in critical condition right now were Serena’s parents?” The line fell silent for a second. Then, over the speaker, I heard Serena’s tearful voice in the background. “Justin… water is pouring into the clinic! The doctor says we have to transfer my parents to the City General Hospital right away!” Justin’s tone transformed instantly, melting into pure urgency. “Don’t panic! I’m bringing the jet ski to get them right now!” My hand dropped to my side, fingers clenching into a tight ball. “Justin… you are using the jet ski right now to transport Serena’s parents, who are completely uninjured?” He gritted his teeth, speaking as if he were exercising extreme patience with me. “Serena lost her husband! She has no support in this city! As Greg’s brother, helping her is the right thing to do!” “I have a husband, yet I live like a widow. Who am I supposed to rely on?” “You’re actually cursing me now? You are completely unhinged!” A doctor hurried down the corridor and stopped in front of me. “Ms. Vance! Your father’s bedsore infection has turned severe! Any further delay risks septic shock!” “Your mother’s fever has been holding at a hundred and four for twenty-four hours! She needs immediate ICU intervention!” On the other end of the line, Justin was still lecturing me: “Fine, if your parents’ situation is so urgent, go handle it yourself!” The call disconnected with a sharp click. I stood frozen in the dim corridor, my arm hanging limp. My wedding band slipped from my slender finger, hitting the floor tiles. The crisp metallic clatter sounded like the final curtain call on our two-year marriage. It had finally hit rock bottom. 6 That day, twenty-four-hour rainfall reached a catastrophic twenty-eight inches. The surge swept through the valley, carrying mud and debris in an eight-foot wall of water. I gripped the edge of the damaged raft with one hand, kicking furiously through the current to push it forward. The raft was impossible to control. A sudden, violent wave slammed into us, flipping the rubber craft upside down. I heard my mother scream my name. I reached out frantically through the white water, but a powerful undercurrent swept past, ripping my parents’ clothes right out of my grip. “Ms. Vance! Ms. Vance!” Someone was shaking my shoulder vigorously. I forced my heavy eyelids open. A warm sensation spread across my lower body. Looking down, I saw my pants were soaked in dark crimson blood. I tried to sit up, my voice frantic. “My parents… I need to find my parents…” A nurse held me down firmly. “Don’t move! You’re bleeding heavily!” The doors to the emergency suite swung open, and an exhausted doctor stepped out, removing his surgical mask. “I am so sorry… we did everything we could.” “If they had arrived earlier, their conditions were manageable. But being trapped in the flood for three additional hours accelerated systemic failure. Please accept our condolences.” The doctor’s words hit me like a blunt blade, carving into my bones inch by inch. My vision flared dark, then bright, oscillating violently. “Ms. Vance! Stay with us!” “Don’t fall asleep! You need to stay conscious!” “You’ve lost a significant amount of blood, and the fetal tissue wasn’t fully expelled. We need to perform an emergency procedure right now!” The nurse scrambled through my belongings. “What is your husband’s name?! I need to call him immediately!” “I don’t have a husband.” The nurse cast a look of profound pity at me on the gurney. I stared up at the blinding, sterile white lights of the ceiling. As the double doors of the operating room closed, a frantic voice echoed from the main reception hall. “Doctor! Is there a patient named Evelyn Vance here with her parents?!” “Who are you?” “I’m her husband!” “Are you joking?! She was pulled from the flood after wading through it three times alone! She spent over eight hours in that water without a single soul helping her, and you claim to be her husband?!” “Poor woman… she dragged that leaking raft through the torrent, but her parents still drowned.” “When they brought her in, she left a trail of blood across the floor. Tragic… that poor baby never even got a chance to see the world.” A heavy thud echoed outside. It sounded like something heavy crashing against the floor. I couldn’t hear anything after that. As the anesthetic was pushed into my IV line, my entire world dissolved into total darkness. In that flood… I lost my unborn child. And I lost both of my parents.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599283”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Always overthinking, I’d spiral from a glance into a melodrama and want to kick away the stool under a ceiling fan. Returning to my wealthy biological family, my adoptive sister Wendy spilled orange juice on my dress. She whimpered fake tears, “Please don’t be mad.” I stared at the sticky stain, my mind racing. Is she mocking my clothes? Calling my legs fat? Hinting I should die? Suffocating, I flung open the window to jump. The maid shrieked, grabbing my ankles. My father, rattled, made Wendy write a three-thousand-word confession. Days later, Wendy livestreamed, dabbing her eyes. “My sister just came back. She might not like me yet.” Watching thousands of hate comments, I spiraled for three hours. Is my posture stiff? Do I not smile? Does my blinking look like bullying? Before she finished, I’d unbuckled my belt and looped it over the chandelier. The butler dropped to his knees, begging me down, while Mother confiscated Wendy’s phone indefinitely. The third time Wendy saw me, she sprinted away. “I’m sorry!” she screamed. “I’ll stay out of your way! Just stop trying to kill yourself every day!” … “Wren, I got this custom designer dress for you,” Wendy said, holding up a sparkling, tight glitter gown that looked like a sausage casing. She offered a picture-perfect, innocent smile. “It’s one size too small, but I’m sure you can squeeze into it if you just hold your breath.” My mental alarm bells blared like a nuclear siren. Hold my breath? Is she saying I’ve been eating too much of the family’s food? Is she implying I don’t deserve to breathe their air? My chest tightened as panic choked me. Right. I didn’t deserve food. I didn’t deserve to occupy physical space. The best thing for everyone was if I shrank into nothingness. Without a word, I set the dress down and walked straight into the kitchen. Wendy called out behind me, “Wren, don’t you like it?” I ignored her, walking up to the massive French-door refrigerator and yanking open the deep freeze drawer. I cleared out the frozen steaks, stuck my entire head inside, and slammed my body against the cold steel. Freeze-drying. If I dehydrated myself into a crisp, I’d lose two pounds, and then I wouldn’t be a waste of space anymore. “Wren! What in God’s name are you doing!” My mother, Eleanor, walked in and let out a blood-curdling scream. She rushed over, grabbing my arms and trying to haul me out. I gripped the plastic drawers, shivering violently. “Leave me alone! Wendy thinks I’m fat! Freeze-drying will shave off a couple of pounds!” “You don’t understand!” I gasped, my cheeks turning blue. “Every cubic inch of space I take up is a crime against this household!” My older brother, Harrison, sprinted into the kitchen. He grabbed me by the shoulders and yanked me out of the fridge with enough force to rattle my teeth. His face was twisted in pure disgust. “Wren, are you out of your mind!” he roared. “Wendy was just trying to do something nice for you! What kind of sick guilt trip is this!” He shoved me back against the counter, his eyes cold. Wendy appeared at the kitchen doorway right on cue, her eyes glistening with fresh tears. “Harrison, please don’t yell at her. It’s my fault.” “I didn’t know Wren had such a bad temper,” she sobbed softly. “If she hates the dress that much, I’ll just cut it up.” She grabbed a pair of sharp kitchen shears off the counter, holding them up against the fabric. Seeing the glinting metal made my brain go completely static. She’s holding shears. Is she going to stab me next? She thinks I don’t deserve nice things! She thinks a trash person like me shouldn’t even exist to pollute her sight! I leaped off the counter, snatched the shears out of her hands, and pointed them straight at my own head. Wendy shrieked, diving behind Harrison. Harrison went livid. “Wren! Put the scissors down right now!” “She’s right!” I screamed, clamping the blades over a thick hunk of my hair. “A disgusting monster like me doesn’t deserve anything! Not dresses, not hair!” Snip! I cut without hesitation. A huge clump of long hair hit the tile floor. Eleanor’s knees gave out. She collapsed onto the floor, wailing, “Wren! Stop it! You’re scaring me to death!” Snip! Snip! I hacked away recklessly, turning my hair into a ragged, butchered mess. “I deserve to die! I should have never come back!” Harrison lunged forward, ripped the shears from my grip, and slapped me hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed through the kitchen. “Have you had enough!” he yelled. “Look at yourself! You look like a complete lunatic!” I cupped my stinging, burning cheek, staring into his eyes. All I saw was revulsion. My heart sank to the bottom of an icy abyss. Behind him, Wendy hid her face, but I caught the small, triumphant smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Wren,” Wendy whimpered, her voice dripping with artificial pain. “Why are you doing this to us? Do you really want me gone that badly?” 2 “Doing this to you?” Holding my throbbing cheek, the thunderstorm in my brain hit category-five catastrophic levels. My brother hit me. He thinks I’m crazy. My sister says I’m forcing them out, which means my very existence is a cardinal sin. They are a real family, and I’m just an intruder ruining their peace. I can’t even breathe at the right frequency. Why am I still alive? I lowered my hand, staring at the three of them united against me. Eleanor sat on the floor, wiping her tears. Harrison stood like a protective shield in front of Wendy, glaring at me like I was his worst enemy. Wendy huddled behind him, trembling like a delicate white rose in a storm. “Right. I get it now,” I said softly, my voice completely devoid of emotion. I turned around and walked out. Harrison barked from behind me, “Where do you think you’re going! Haven’t you embarrassed us enough for one day!” I didn’t turn back. “To go die.” I walked straight out of the estate gates. Right outside was a busy six-lane intersection. Looking at the heavy traffic zooming past, every single speeding car felt like a welcoming haven. I walked right into the middle of the crosswalk. The pedestrian light turned red. I didn’t stop. I headed straight toward the fastest lane. Since they thought I was extra baggage, I might as well turn into street paint and give the asphalt some color. Tires screeched violently. “Are you insane! Find somewhere else to kick the bucket!” a driver screamed, leaning out his window. I closed my eyes and opened my arms, ready to embrace sweet relief. Suddenly, a massive force yanked me backward. I crashed hard into the roadside bushes, scraping my palms raw against the dirt. Harrison stood over me, panting heavily, his eyes bloodshot. “Wren! Just how long are you going to keep throwing these tantrums!” He grabbed my collar, hauling me up. “Do you have any idea how much damage this would cause the family name if you died here?!” “Wendy just offered you a dress! Was that really worth jumping into traffic over?!” I stared at his furious face, my internal pop-ups exploding again. Damage to the family name. That’s all he cares about. My life isn’t even worth their social status. If I die here, I’ll dirty the family reputation, so I have to find a cleaner place to end it. A laugh escaped my lips, sounding raspy and unhinged. “You’re right, Harrison,” I whispered. “Dying on the street isn’t eco-friendly. It’d get the poor driver’s license revoked.” “I’ll go find a quiet, abandoned corner and let myself starve to death.” Harrison froze, completely thrown off by my deadpan response. His grip loosened, and his voice softened a fraction. “Stop overthinking everything. Wendy had no bad intentions.” “There’s a socialite tea party tomorrow,” he added, trying to sound reasonable. “Go with Wendy. Make some friends. It’ll be good for your mental state.” A socialite tea party? My brain siren screamed again. Drag me out in public? To humiliate me in front of everyone? To use my ugliness to highlight Wendy’s grace? Look at my mangled hair! I look like a stray dog that got hit by a lawnmower. I’m going there just to be a laughingstock. I scrambled backward on the grass. “No! I’m not going! I’ll only bring shame to the family!” Wendy had crept up behind us. She reached out, timidly tugging on my sleeve. “Wren, please come with me. Those high-society girls can be so mean. I’m scared to go alone.” I yanked my arm away and sprinted straight toward a steel lamppost, slamming my forehead into it with all my strength. Crack! “I said I’m not going! Do you really have to drive me into a grave?!” Wendy screamed, covering her mouth. “Wren! Why are you hitting yourself! Stop it!” 3 To prevent me from actually cracking my skull open on public property, Harrison dragged me back home and threw me into the second-floor guest room. Not even the master bedroom. A guest room. Wendy lived at the end of the hall in the largest, sunniest suite in the entire mansion. I sat on the ice-cold hardwood floor, touching my butchered hair, as a massive black hole hollowed out my chest. The door handle clicked. Wendy walked in, carrying a small porcelain plate with a delicate pink macaron. She set it on the desk and looked down at me with condescending pity. “Wren, why do you keep doing this?” she sighed gently. “Harrison hates dramatic women who threaten to kill themselves. The more you act like this, the more he’s going to despise you.” She picked up the pink pastry. “Harrison drove across town and waited in line for two hours just to buy these for me.” “He said you were emotionally unstable and that sweet things might cheer you up, so he asked me to bring one in.” I stared at the pastry. Drove across town? Waited two hours in line? Harrison was always busy, yet he waited in line for two hours just to get her a dessert. And giving me a leftover piece was supposed to be a gift? No, it was a warning. A reminder that Wendy was his beloved sister, and I was just picking up her crumbs. That pink macaron looked like poison wrapped in sugar. “I’m not eating that,” I said coldly. Wendy’s eyes flashed with a hint of triumph, though her face instantly twisted into hurt. “Wren, are you still mad at me?” “I’m just looking out for you. You just got back from the countryside. You don’t know how things work, and you’re going to offend people.” She reached down to grab my hand. “Look at your palm, it’s all scraped up. Let me blow on it for you.” As her hand brushed against mine, I caught sight of a dark wooden beaded bracelet on her wrist. My breath hitched. That was the cheap wooden rosary the old orphanage director had put on my wrist before I left. It was the only item of personal value I owned. My only emotional anchor. I had accidentally left it in the bathroom last night. How did it end up on her wrist? I snatched my hand back, pointing accusingly. “Why do you have my bracelet?! Give it back!” Wendy pulled her arm back, her eyes darting around. “Wren, don’t be so aggressive. I thought it looked vintage, so I just borrowed it. Why are you being so stingy?” The last wire holding my sanity together snapped. “Give it back! That belonged to my director!” “Get off me!” Wendy shrieked, backing away dramatically. She tripped over her own heels and tumbled to the floor. Snap! During the scuffle, the elastic string snapped. Deep brown wooden beads scattered across the floor, bouncing in every direction. One bead rolled straight across the balcony threshold and plummeted down into the outdoor drainage grate below. I froze. My chest caved in as if someone had crushed my heart with a sledgehammer. Wendy sat on the floor, looking at the scattered beads, and burst into hysterical tears. “I’m sorry, Wren! I didn’t mean to!” “I just thought it looked pretty! I thought since we’re sisters, what’s yours is mine…” The door was kicked open. Eleanor and Harrison rushed inside. Seeing Wendy crying on the floor amidst the mess, Harrison didn’t ask a single question. He marched over and shoved me hard. “Wren! Are you insane! Why did you push her!” I stumbled back, my lower back slamming into the sharp edge of the desk. Pain shot through my spine, but I pointed at the floor with a shaking finger. “She broke my bracelet…” Eleanor rushed to scoop Wendy into her arms, checking her for injuries. “It’s just a string of dirty wooden beads! So what if she took it!” “Is the family short on money?! I’ll buy you ten gold ones tomorrow!” Dirty wooden beads. My entire world shattered into dust. To them, my most precious memory was just dirty wood. My past didn’t matter. My feelings were as cheap as garbage. If I had nothing left, why was I staying in this house? I slowly pulled myself upright, my eyes going completely hollow. “Right. You’re all right.” “I’m stingy. I’m ungrateful.” I turned around and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading out to the balcony. 4 Harrison barked impatiently from behind me. “What kind of episode are you throwing now!” I ignored him, pushing the sliding glass door open. The wind swept over the balcony, messily blowing my chopped hair across my face. This was only the second floor. Jumping off wouldn’t kill me. It would only break my legs at best. Unless I land headfirst. My internal calculator spun at lightspeed. The angle needs to be completely vertical to ensure the neck snaps instantly upon impact. I can’t hit the lawn. I have to target that concrete slab near the garden bed. That’s the fastest way. It won’t cause too much trouble for the cleaning staff either. I stepped onto the balcony railing, swinging one leg over the edge. Wendy let out a sharp shriek from inside the room. “Wren, don’t! It’s all my fault!” Eleanor’s voice cracked into an ungodly scream. “Wren! Get down from there! I’ll buy you the wooden beads! I’ll buy you a hundred of them!” Harrison sprinted onto the balcony, his face ghostly pale. “Wren, get your ass back over here! If you jump, I swear I’ll break your legs!” I looked at him, finding his threat almost hilarious. “You don’t have to break my legs, Harrison,” I whispered. “I’ll do it myself.” I closed my eyes and let myself fall forward into the open air. Weightlessness hit me instantly. Wind roared in my ears. CRASH! A violent force slammed into my back and shoulders, knocking the wind completely out of my lungs. Pain flared across my body, and my vision went dark for a second. But I didn’t hit the concrete. I opened my eyes and realized I had landed straight onto the heavy canvas awning extending over the first-floor patio. The metal support frames groaned and bent under my weight, leaving me dangling like a broken ragdoll in mid-air. Up on the second floor, Eleanor had collapsed onto the balcony tiles, weeping uncontrollably. Harrison leaned over the railing, his knuckles white as he gripped the iron bars. His eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror. Down below, the butler and house staff scrambled around in utter chaos. “Get a ladder! Get cushions!” “Call an ambulance!” … They hauled me down, and a private doctor arrived within twenty minutes to examine me. “Aside from some soft tissue bruising and a mild concussion, she’s miraculously fine,” the doctor muttered, wiping sweat off his forehead. He looked at me as if I were a wild animal. “However, her mental state is severely unstable. I strongly advise a full psychiatric evaluation.” Eleanor sat by my bed, clutching my hand while tears streamed down her face. “Wren, please… I’m begging you. Stop doing this to yourself. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just stop scaring me.” Harrison stood at the foot of the bed, silent. The revulsion in his eyes had faded, replaced by a dark, uneasy dread. Wendy walked into the room carrying a mug of hot milk, her nose red from crying. “Wren, drink some milk to calm down.” She approached the bedside and handed me the mug. As she bent over, I leaned in and whispered so only she could hear, “Are you disappointed I didn’t die?” Wendy’s hand jerked, sloshing hot milk over the duvet. She snapped her head up, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “Wren… how could you say that about me?” she sobbed, backing away. “I was terrified! I truly want what’s best for you!” She spun toward Harrison, her voice trembling. “Harrison, does Wren think I’m some kind of monster?” “If me moving out will make her happy, I’ll pack my bags and go back to the orphanage right now.” A classic tactical retreat. She played the helpless victim effortlessly. Harrison frowned, stepping forward to speak. Before he could say a word, I whipped off the blanket, grabbed the glass mug from Wendy’s hands, and smashed it against the nightstand. SMASH! Glass shattered everywhere. I snatched up the largest, sharpest jagged shard and jammed it directly against my throat. The sharp edge bit into my skin, and blood immediately bubbled out, staining my collar. “Don’t leave, Wendy! I’ll leave!” I screamed. “I’ll die right now and give you back the title of the only daughter!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599282”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I transmigrated into this beast-kin world and faced a mandatory matchmaking system, I couldn’t stomach the thought of human-animal intimacy. I bypassed all the muscular, half-beast suitors and chose a ordinary, limp-legged spider instead. I kept him as a pet for six months. Until one morning, right after waving goodbye to his fuzzy little legs before heading to work, my world turned upside down. I suddenly saw a floating wall of text glowing in the air. [Is this NPC crazy? She ignored all the fluffy, handsome beast-men and chose the ultimate villain as her husband!] [And she actually kept him locked in such a tiny terrarium. No wonder Gideon divorced her the second his wounds healed so he could go chase after the female lead.] [Poor cannon fodder. Before she could even taste the sweet life of a billionaire’s wife, the villain had her taken out.] As someone who worked a grueling nine-to-five and saved every penny just to retire early and do absolutely nothing, my vision went completely dark. I immediately called the Ministry of Marital Affairs to file for divorce, and then I promptly shipped the spider back to the wealthy family he belonged to. I thought I had cut all ties, ready to slip back into my quiet, average life as a corporate drone. But at the office, my boss, a man who was usually cold, distant, and serene with his subordinates, suddenly became a walking powder keg. He spent every day staring at me with bloodshot, furious eyes. According to the office gossip, his wife had walked out on him. “All those good looks wasted,” a coworker muttered in the breakroom. “He doesn’t even know how to seduce his own woman!” 1 My coworker looked completely exasperated. “What decent guy acts like that? He is constantly frozen over, never showing a hint of a smile. How is he supposed to keep his woman’s attention?” In the breakroom, Toby, the golden retriever beast-kin from the tech department, let his fluffy ears droop sadly. His long tail swayed slowly as his bright eyes remained locked on me. My fingers twitched. I had to restrain myself from reaching out to pet him, lest I get arrested by a police dog for workplace harassment. Three years ago, when I first crossed over to this world, the local administration immediately dragged me in for mandatory matchmaking. Female humans were incredibly rare in this world. Most male beast-kin were so desperate to marry that they were willing to offer their entire fortunes as a dowry just to marry into a woman’s household. The officer who found me, a German Shepherd with a sleek uniform and a high-ranking badge, had not even asked for my name or why I had suddenly appeared in the desolate wilderness of his patrol route. Instead, he simply flexed his muscles and kept showing me profiles of eligible bachelor candidates. He practically begged me to choose him too. To please a potential wife, the male beasts would show off their animal forms. The fluffy ones, of course, were the most popular. But as a pure-blooded human, looking at those suited cats and dogs did nothing for me. I wanted to pet them, not marry them. Committed to avoiding any beast-kin intimacy, I looked past the handsome models and pointed at a tiny, limp-legged spider that could not even take human form. Under the stunned stares of the registration officers, I took my newly minted ID card, the keys to my apartment, and a relocation fund of two hundred thousand credits. Then, I walked out, completely satisfied. 2 I kept my betrothed as a pet for six months. I had to admit, spiders in this world were surprisingly expressive. Before I left for work every morning, he would stare at me with his large, dark eyes, his fuzzy legs twitching slightly. I assumed he was waving goodbye. I would smile, look down at him, and whisper, “See you tonight.” Whenever I did, he would cover his eyes with his front legs, peeking at me through the gaps like a shy teenager. That routine lasted until last week, when those glowing bullet comments suddenly manifested before my eyes. [Wow, this cannon fodder is actually pretty, but her luck is terrible. She skipped the fluffballs and chose the big bad villain instead.] [She kept him locked in that tiny glass box too. No wonder he bolted the second he recovered.] [Later, when the villain wants to clear his past to pursue the heroine, he has this girl wiped out to erase his history.] Already exhausted by my morning commute, my mind went completely blank. I skipped work entirely. Under the spider’s curious gaze, I retreated to my bedroom and called the Ministry of Marital Affairs to demand a divorce. The officer on the line was Marcus, the German Shepherd who had first processed my arrival. He had apparently been promoted. When he heard my request, he did not ask any questions. He simply gave a soft, understanding, “Of course.” The divorce went through instantly, bypassing the usual bureaucratic nightmare. I packaged the little spider and sent him back to the prestigious family estate. He belonged to one of the wealthiest, most powerful clans in the country. Rumor had it their CEO had been missing for six months, yet no one had bothered to search for him, assuming he was just off searching for true love. While I felt a lingering twinge of guilt, I knew my dream of a quiet retirement could not be ruined by a hidden villain. I severed the bond cleanly. But the moment I returned to work, my icy, polite boss, Gideon, transformed. When I first applied to Aether Corp, I took a position as his secretary. Gideon, a brilliant and young general manager, had never minded that I relied on a translator. He had mentored me patiently, correcting my mistakes with clear instructions instead of anger. He had guided me through the rough transition of my new career. But when he returned from his recent leave, everything changed. It started with a meeting with our partner, David. David was thirty, unmarried, and a textbook billionaire bachelor. He was so eager to find a wife that he practically preened like a peacock whenever a woman walked by. In fact, his hair even had a few bright red feathers tucked into it. David and I were fairly friendly. Whenever I stood behind Gideon with a professional, expressionless face, David would secretly wink at me. But this time, Gideon stepped directly between us, his expression incredibly dark as he glared at his business partner. “If you have this much free time, David, it seems you aren’t serious about this merger. We will reschedule.” He turned on his heel and walked out. I followed him, utterly bewildered. Was this the same professional, unflappable boss I knew? Even worse, every time I went into his office to deliver documents, Gideon would look at me with profound sorrow. His beautiful eyes were swollen, as if he had spent hours weeping, and his gaze was that of a abandoned lover. The office gossip claimed his wife had left him. The younger bachelors in the company always joked that his cold demeanor would drive any woman away, but I had never taken those jokes seriously. Now, hearing Toby talk about Gideon’s red eyes, I shivered. Had his wife really run away? 3 Curiosity is a universal human trait. Even if it was unprofessional to gossip about my boss, I leaned closer to Toby, clutching my coffee mug. “Gideon is so handsome. Did his wife really leave him?” Toby’s fair skin flushed a soft pink. His tail wagged like a frantic fan. “Yeah. Allison, when you look for a husband, don’t pick someone like Gideon. A proper wife needs to be accommodating, but he looks like the possessive type who would hunt down a homewrecker and bury him in the backyard.” I nodded absently. “Good point.” I had no intention of marrying Gideon, or anyone in this beast world. The biological differences alone seemed daunting. Toby smiled warmly, stepping closer. To make office life easier, beast-kin usually remained in human form, though they kept a few animal traits. Toby’s long, fluffy tail was currently brushing against my legs, tickling the bare skin beneath my skirt. I smiled and gently nudged his soft ears, pushing him back slightly. “That tickles, Toby. You’re too close.” Toby’s eyes widened, turning glassy and soft like a typical puppy’s. He bit his lip, trying to hold back a happy whimper. “Right. Sorry.” The fluffy warmth receded as Toby suddenly excused himself, covering his face as he bolted from the room. Before I could wonder what had happened, the glowing text flashed again. [The dog looks calm, but his mind is completely blown right now.] [Classic golden retriever trait. The young master is barely holding it together. Look at his tight trousers, I won’t even spell it out for you.] [I’m so jealous. This cannon fodder really knows how to handle him. Let the dog out, let me in!] I rubbed my eyes, wondering if these comments were written in some bizarre online slang I couldn’t comprehend. Suddenly, a rustle came from the sofa behind the indoor plants. It sounded like a kettle coming to a boil. Realizing I had just been gossiping about my boss, I cautiously stepped around the greenery. To my horror, Gideon was sitting there. He slowly raised his head, a single tear slipping from his red-rimmed eyes. Beside him sat a crumpled, empty tissue box, his shirt looking just as disheveled. I offered a stiff, awkward smile. “Good afternoon, Gideon.” Who would have thought the untouchable general manager of Aether Corp would hide in the employee breakroom to cry? He was famous for his strict professionalism. His office was always spotless, his shirts buttoned to his throat, and his elegant hands were the only bare skin he ever exposed. He wore no jewelry, save for a simple silver band on his left ring finger. The female staff had discussed that ring before. “Gideon is so loyal, but that ring is so cheap. It looks like the standard issue from the Ministry. People with money usually upgrade theirs immediately. His wife must be a minimalist.” I had listened to those chats with amusement, vaguely recalling that the Ministry had given me a similar pair when I registered. I had left the spider’s ring in his terrarium, and I had no idea where I had tossed mine. Staring at Gideon’s bare ring finger, a cold sweat broke out down my spine. Oh, no. Did I just offend my boss? Is he going to cut my bonus? Gideon simply stood up, his wet eyelashes casting long shadows. He reached out and gently plucked a stray yellow dog hair from my shoulder. “You should change your shirt tomorrow,” he murmured softly. “This one is dirty.” “Right away,” I muttered, nodding quickly. No wonder everyone said he was a neat freak. His reputation was entirely justified. 4 I made it back to my apartment by ten past six, marveling at the incredible work-life balance of this world. Then, my phone buzzed with a message from the Ministry of Marital Affairs. [Dear Allison, since your previous marriage has dissolved, and in accordance with Article 3, Section 15 of the Marital Code, we have matched you with ten eligible bachelors. Please select your preferred method of contact.] I closed my eyes, my fingers hovering over the screen as I prepared a polite but firm rejection. Another text immediately followed. [Please note that if you decline to participate, the Ministry will initiate repatriation protocols, which include reclaiming your two hundred thousand credit relocation fund and the keys to your apartment.] I stared at the screen for two seconds. [Understood. I look forward to it. Let us start with online chatting.] I rolled my eyes and began scrolling through the sleek profiles. The candidates were exceptionally handsome, well-dressed, and wealthy. Any suitor presented to a human female was bound to be elite. But because they all retained animal traits, I felt less like I was choosing a partner and more like I was browsing a zoo directory. I lost interest quickly until I spotted the only profile without a photograph. The system labeled him as the “most difficult match.” All his personal records were classified, and there was no indication of his marital history. I smiled. I loved difficult cases. I could chat with him a few times, claim we were incompatible, and the Ministry wouldn’t be able to penalize me. But the moment our chat connection was established, the floating text reappeared. [Oh my god, what kind of cursed fate is this? The villain just got divorced and was supposed to match with the heroine, so why is he chatting with the cannon fodder again?] [Does this girl have a death wish? Someone give her a different man. The golden retriever boy would be perfect, he’d look so cute crying for her.] According to the comments, the villain’s online persona was cold and sharp, deterring most women. Only the original heroine would see past his icy exterior to the warm heart beneath, eventually healing him with her persistent, encouraging messages. As for my character, she would find him incredibly pretentious, mock his anonymity, and accuse him of hiding his face because of physical inadequacies. That insolence would seal her fate. I felt like I was holding a live grenade. Since I couldn’t throw it away, I decided to make myself completely unappealing. [I should warn you, I only practice Platonic love. If you can accept that, we can keep talking.] The comments erupted in laughter. [This is hilarious. Gideon becomes a total possessive maniac later. He literally breaks headboards, and she’s talking about Plato? Don’t make him laugh.] I bit my lip, hoping this would end it. A second later, a reply popped up. [That works for me.] What? 5 I was forced to keep chatting with the mysterious villain. He was incredibly clingy, almost suffocatingly so. He behaved as if he were constantly starved of attention, always finding ways to prolong our conversations. If I got distracted and stopped replying, my phone would buzz with massive wire transfer notifications. [You have received 50,000 credits… You have received 100,000 credits… You have received 100,000 credits.] When I opened the chat, he had sent a dozen pathetic spider emojis. Initially, he had sent some puppy emojis, but after I casually mentioned that golden retrievers were cute, he went silent for twenty minutes. When he returned, his profile was filled with custom-made spider stickers, complete with giant, watery eyes and adorable, pouty expressions. The local internet forums were losing their minds. [Did the official emoji store glitch? Why did they dump all the popular templates and replace them with spiders? Who actually likes spiders? Who approved this design?] The villain seemed quite hurt by the backlash. He sent me an emoji of a little spider rolling around on the floor, throwing a tantrum. I sent a lazy pet-on-the-head sticker. He perked up instantly, sending a brief voice note. His voice was low, raspy, and incredibly intimate. “Thank you for the pets, baby.” I nearly dropped my phone on my face. When Monday arrived, the office became incredibly busy. We were wrapping up a major merger, and the contract required endless legal and technical revisions. I spent my days running between departments and my nights sleeping like the dead, leaving no energy to check my messages. Gideon was also swamped, constantly staring at his phone between meetings. I certainly couldn’t slack off in front of him. Only during my lunch break did I leisurely scroll through the missed texts. I discovered the anonymous villain had sent a photo of his workout the previous night. In a dimly lit gym, he looked flushed from an intense session, beads of sweat rolling down his pale, chiseled chest, tracing the sharp lines of his lower abdomen before disappearing past the frame. His accompanying message was surprisingly shy. [I went to the gym last night. It was exhausting… (sad spider emoji)] I stared at the image, secretly pressing my fingers to my nose to check for a nosebleed. It was a delicate, perfect shade of pink. As an ordinary girl, I was entirely unprepared for this level of visual stimulation. I quickly saved the image to my hidden folder. “What are you looking at that’s making you smile like that?” Gideon’s cool voice suddenly sounded above me. I locked my screen in one fluid motion, stood up, and flashed my most professional smile. “Just chatting with a friend, Gideon.” His expression grew even more despondent. “What kind of friend makes you smile like that?” He looked miserable because I hadn’t replied to his texts, even though he had spent the entire night posing for that perfect gym photo, his heart racing the whole time. I kept my polite smile, too embarrassed to admit I was on a matchmaking app. Gideon shook his head, his voice soft and defeated. “Forgive me. That was intrusive. It is your private life.” He paused, looking down at me. “You’ve worked hard this week. Take the afternoon off, and I will double your quarterly bonus. Enjoy your weekend.” His deep-set double eyelids gave him a striking, romantic look. When he stared at you like that, it felt as though he were ready to fall in love. My heart hammered against my ribs, momentarily dazed by his generosity. What an incredibly manipulative executive. I eagerly packed my things, suddenly in the mood to reply to my mysterious spider. [Looks good. Keep them coming.] A loud thud echoed through the office. I looked up to see Gideon stumbling slightly, having bumped into the edge of his desk. When he noticed my gaze, he raised his head, his face flushed a deep crimson, his watery eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and desire. He looked like a ripe peach that would burst at the slightest touch. The word sensual almost escaped my lips, but I bit my tongue. My ears felt incredibly hot. What was Gideon doing? Where was his professional decorum? 6 On Sunday afternoon, the Ministry arranged a date for me at a private lounge. I took my time getting ready, applying light makeup and grabbing my bag. I expected to exchange a few polite words and leave. But the moment I walked into the private room, I froze, my professional mask slipping back into place. “Good afternoon, David.” The mature, thirty-year-old billionaire offered a low chuckle, gesturing to the sofa beside him. “You’re here. Come sit.” He wore a low-cut shirt that exposed his muscular chest, his long legs crossed casually, and his dark hair was styled with vibrant, elegant feathers. He possessed an aura so commanding it made people want to bow. David and Gideon had been classmates at Evergreen University, known as the legendary duo of their generation. But while Gideon was a freezing winter, David was a brilliant, blazing summer. His sharp features and charismatic personality allowed him to control every room he entered. Including this date. “Here, try this,” he said smoothly, offering a spoonful of delicate custard. “The chef here is decent. If you like it, I’ll take you to a better place next time.” I leaned in and took a bite. The simple dish tasted absolutely heavenly. David certainly knew how to live. Seeing my reaction, he curled his lips into a satisfied smile, resting his chin on his hand as he watched me. “Gideon kept you on such a tight leash. If you hadn’t gotten divorced, I would have stolen you away and hidden you from him.” David spoke of kidnapping as if it were a casual hobby. I stopped eating the food he offered, feeling a bit put off by his overbearing, possessive attitude. “Let’s just talk, David.” I wanted to finish the date and go home. David chuckled indulgently. “Of course. What would you like to know about me, Allison? My family fortune, my career, my height, or perhaps… other measurements? I am happy to share.” He kept leaning closer, invading my space. As a bird beast-kin, his body heat was incredibly intense. His pinky finger brushed against my wrist, and his red-soled shoes lightly tapped my ankle. He looked completely confident, as if I were already his prize. But my initial panic about dating a business partner had faded, replaced by cool calculation. The elite bachelors presented by the Ministry rarely had any relationship history, and despite David’s wealth, his aggressive personality had kept him single for years. His casual style today was actually meticulously planned, right down to his expensive cologne. He wanted to seem dominant, but his gestures were incredibly gentle, as if he were terrified of displeasing me. He had even fed me the exact dish my eyes had lingered on when I first sat down. Realizing this, I relaxed completely. Instead of pulling away from his close presence, I leaned forward, catching him off guard. Our breaths mingled. If David had not instinctively flinched, our lips would have touched. Even so, my lips brushed against his soft, flushed cheek. “What are you doing?” he gasped, recoiling slightly. His cool, confident mask shattered instantly, a dark blush spreading across his pale skin. He looked like a sheltered young man who had just been scandalized. “I heard bird beast-kin run very hot, sometimes even causing minor burns with prolonged contact,” I whispered, tilting my head. “I read that the base of your wings is the warmest spot. Can I feel it?” David’s eyes widened in utter shock, his face practically smoking. “Are you insane? You can’t just ask to touch a man there!” I shrugged, turning away. “Fine, if you won’t let me, this is boring. I’m leaving.” I knew I was teasing him, but his arrogance had annoyed me. As I stood up, a hand gently caught the hem of my jacket. David let out a soft, strained sound, his shoulders tensing. With a sharp rip of fabric, a pair of magnificent, flame-colored wings unfurled inside the private lounge. I leaned down, pressing my hands against his firm chest, my fingers sinking into the incredibly soft, downy feathers of his wing joints. “Good boy,” I murmured. David let out a small, helpless whimper as I thoroughly enjoyed petting his beautiful, warm feathers. On my way home, my phone buzzed continuously. I had muted it during the date to avoid distractions. [Baby, how is your weekend? Are you resting well?] [I went swimming today. Here is a photo from my workout.] [Allison, why aren’t you replying to me?] [Are you busy today? You didn’t… go see another man, did you? That’s impossible, right?] […Fine. It’s okay if you play around a bit, I will always be here waiting for you. Please reply when you can, I love you.] […Allison, did you really go?] [I’m going to die. (crying spider emoji)] He was incredibly intense, almost draining. But to keep the villain calm, I sent a quick reply. [The office had an emergency, so I had to work. I’m heading home now.] He replied within seconds. [I understand! Thank you for working so hard, baby. Here’s a little gift! (happy face)] [You have received 50,000 credits.] I sighed, realizing I was getting far too comfortable playing this role. But the men in this world were simply too skilled at temptation. At the exact same time, Gideon sat in his dark, empty office at Aether Corp, clutching his phone, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth nearly ground to dust.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599281”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After a grueling ten-hour shift, I bought a lottery ticket on impulse and won ten million. Heart racing, I ran home and kissed my husband Luke, breathless with the news. He dropped his phone. “What?” I handed him the ticket, his fingers trembling. “Let’s put it in our shared safe,” I suggested. He agreed. We locked it inside together. The next morning, I said, “Come on, let’s claim the prize.” I entered the six-digit code and opened the safe. Empty. Only our birth certificates and apartment deed remained. The ticket was gone. I turned to Luke. “Did you move it?” His face went pale. “I haven’t touched it since last night.” “Only we know the code, Luke. If not you, then who?” He yanked the safe from its shelf and slammed it onto the floor. “I told you, it wasn’t me! Are you accusing me of stealing our own ticket?” His reaction was far too intense for an innocent man. Yet the smart access log showed no one had entered the code between last night and this morning. How could a physical ticket simply vanish from a locked safe? … “Look at the log again,” Luke muttered, crouching on the floor. He flipped the dented safe over and pointed at the small digital screen on the back. I leaned in closer. The screen showed the access history in clear, bright text. The most recent opening was recorded at 8:07 AM today, marked as a passcode entry. That was the opening I had just performed. Scroll up. The entry before that was at 10:41 PM last night, also marked as a passcode entry. That was when we had locked the ticket away. There was absolutely nothing recorded in between. “See?” his voice sounded raw and dry. “It was opened exactly twice. Once to put the ticket in, and once when you opened it just now.” I stared at the screen, a loud ringing starting in my ears. “Then where is the ticket?” “How should I know?” “Luke, stop playing games with me.” He bolted upright, a thick vein throbbing on his temple. “Janice, what exactly are you accusing me of? Do you think I crept out of bed while you were sleeping, opened the safe, and took it? Why would I steal from my own household?” I stayed silent, my mind racing. He drew a sharp breath and thrust his phone in front of my face. “Look at my screen-time records. The screen locked at 11:02 PM last night and didn’t light up again until this morning. I didn’t even touch my phone, let alone get up.” The digital log confirmed his words. His phone had been completely inactive through the night. “So just because we can’t explain it, we’re supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?” I clenched my fists, my voice rising. “It’s ten million dollars, Luke. Not ten dollars.” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, as if something were choking him. After a long, heavy silence, he finally spoke. “Maybe we should call the police.” “And tell them what? That our lottery ticket grew legs and walked out of a locked safe?” He fell silent again. I knelt on the floor, systematically pulling everything out of the safe. Passports, the deed, our marriage certificate, and a small savings book. No false bottom, no hidden compartments. I even turned the heavy metal box upside down and shook it with all my might. Nothing fell out. “Is it possible…” he hesitated, looking at me with a strange expression, “that you made a mistake?” I looked up at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean, is there any chance the ticket didn’t actually win? You were so incredibly excited last night. What if you misread the numbers?” I stared at his face, trying to detect a lie, but his expression was entirely earnest. “Luke, you looked at the ticket too.” “I did, but I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t verify the numbers carefully.” “Six numbers, matching perfectly. I checked them three times.” “Then…” He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots. “Then I honestly don’t know what to tell you.” I stood up, my knees feeling weak. Ten million dollars. Only last night, I was planning to send fifty thousand to my parents and pay off our remaining mortgage. Now, those bright dreams had popped like soap bubbles. “I’m going to check the building’s security cameras,” I said. While our apartment didn’t have cameras inside, the building corridors did. The property management’s footage would show if anyone had entered our floor. Luke didn’t try to stop me, but he didn’t follow me either. When I looked back, he was sitting on the floor of the study, his face buried in his hands. It was a posture of absolute defeat, though I couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or despair. I turned and walked out, my hand trembling as I pulled the door shut. The mirror in the elevator reflected a face that was ghostly pale. In the lobby, the security guard, Roy, was scrolling through his phone. “Roy, could you help me check the corridor cameras for the seventeenth floor from last night?” He raised his head. “Did something happen, Janice?” “I lost something valuable.” “How valuable? Should we call the police?” “Let’s look at the footage first.” He led me into the security room and pulled up the feed for our floor. We fast-forwarded through the footage, watching the time stamp fly by. From 10:30 PM last night when we came home, to 8:00 AM this morning when I walked out of the study. Near ten hours of footage. The hallway remained completely silent. Not a single soul had approached our door. “No one came near your apartment, Janice,” Roy said, gesturing to the screen. I stood there, completely numb. No one had walked down our corridor. The safe had not been opened. The ticket had simply vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed in the first place. As I walked out of the management office, my phone buzzed with a text from Luke. “Janice, have you considered the possibility that we never actually put the ticket in the safe?” 2 “What on earth do you mean by that?” I stood near the entrance of our building, clutching my phone, my voice sounding much sharper than I intended. Luke remained silent on the other end for a few seconds. “I just mean, is it possible you were holding a different piece of paper? Or maybe you set it down somewhere else in the apartment and forgot about it?” “Luke, you stood right beside me and watched me put it in.” “I know, but I wasn’t looking at your hands that closely.” “You held that ticket yourself for at least half a minute. You even commented on how much your hands were shaking. Have you forgotten that?” “…No, I haven’t.” “Then why are you trying to tell me we never put it in?” His heavy, strained breathing came through the speaker. “Janice, I’m just trying to explore every possibility. Don’t lose your temper.” I hung up on him. When I got back to the apartment, Luke had already tidied up the study. The safe was back in its corner, its cracked plastic casing held together with a neat layer of duct tape. He sat on the sofa, looking up at me as I entered, but he didn’t speak. “The security cameras didn’t show anyone,” I said, breaking the silence. He nodded slowly, as if he had already expected that result. “I’ve been playing the whole night back in my head,” he said quietly. “Last night, you showed me the ticket. We went into the study. You entered the passcode, opened the safe, and put the ticket inside.” “Yes.” “Then you closed the door, and I watched you do it.” “Yes.” “Is there any chance the door didn’t latch completely? Maybe the ticket slid out of the gap?” I went back into the study and searched every inch of the room. I checked behind the bookshelves, under the desk, along the edges of the carpet, and within the folds of the curtains. Nothing. “There’s nothing there,” I said, walking back out and staring directly at him. “Luke, I am asking you one last time. Did you take it?” His tired expression hardened into a cold, defensive mask. “Janice, I already told you I didn’t. How many times are you going to ask me that?” “Then give me a reasonable explanation!” “I don’t have one!” He stood up, towering over me, his gaze fierce. “I want to know what happened to it just as much as you do! But you keep questioning me over and over, as if I’m some common thief in my own home!” “Only the two of us know that passcode.” “What about you then? You know the passcode too. Maybe you sleepwalked in the middle of the night and threw it away?” The accusation felt like a slap to my face. I stood frozen. Realizing he had crossed a line, he looked away, his tone softening slightly. “Just try to remember,” he muttered. “Did you dream about anything last night?” I had indeed dreamed. I dreamed of bank vaults, of money, and of my mother calling to ask why I hadn’t sent her any funds. But those were just dreams. I had never sleepwalked in my life. “I don’t sleepwalk, Luke.” “How would you know? You’re asleep when it happens.” I wanted to argue, but a part of me wondered if there was some terrifying truth to his words. No, that made no sense. “The safe logs,” I pointed out. “Even if I had sleepwalked, I would have had to enter the passcode, and the logs would have recorded an entry.” He had no answer for that. We were back in the same impossible loop: the safe had never been opened, yet the ticket was gone. For the rest of the day, neither of us brought it up again. But the atmosphere in the apartment had shifted, a sharp, invisible tension settling between us. I made dinner, but he only took a few bites before putting his fork down. I had no appetite either, moving the food around my plate until it went cold. When we went to bed, we stayed on opposite sides, separated by a wide, silent gulf. At three in the morning, I woke up suddenly. It wasn’t a sound that woke me, but a sudden, heavy wave of anxiety that pulled me from my sleep. I lay in the dark, listening to Luke’s steady breathing, when a memory suddenly sparked in my mind. When I bought the ticket last night, the clerk had stared at me for a long time. The lottery kiosk was right by our neighborhood entrance, and I occasionally stopped by to buy a scratch-off. The owner, a man in his early forties named Gavin, always wore a baseball cap and offered a friendly, wide smile. When I had scratched the ticket in the shop, he had been standing right next to me. I distinctly remembered him saying: “Well, look at that. You’ve got some serious luck, lady.” At the time, I had been too dizzy with excitement to pay attention to his tone. But thinking back on it now, his voice hadn’t sounded casual at all. He had seen the winning numbers. But even if he knew, what difference did it make? He couldn’t possibly get into our apartment. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. Perhaps Luke was right. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me. Perhaps the ticket hadn’t won ten million dollars at all, but some minor prize, and my eyes had deceived me in my excitement. Perhaps the ten million dollars had never existed. The thought brought a dry, bitter chuckle to my throat. The only thing more terrifying than losing a fortune was starting to doubt your own sanity. 3 “You look awful lately.” During lunch the next day, my coworker Phoebe nudged my shoulder. I had been staring blankly at my computer screen for an hour without typing a single digit. “I’m fine.” “Sure you are. Those dark circles under your eyes look like they were painted on with charcoal,” she said, pulling her chair closer. “Did you and Luke have a fight?” I hesitated for a moment. “Phoebe, do you believe that a physical object can just… vanish into thin air?” “What kind of object?” “Like a piece of paper. Say you lock it inside a secure safe yourself, and the next morning you open it, and it’s gone.” Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Then obviously, someone took it.” “But only two people know the passcode. The security cameras show no one entered the apartment, and the safe’s digital log shows no access during the night.” She gasped, lowering her voice. “Did you get robbed?” “No one could have gotten inside.” “Then it has to be your husband.” “The logs prove the safe wasn’t opened.” “What on earth…” She leaned back, looking spooked. “That sounds like a ghost story.” “So now I’m starting to think my memory is playing tricks on me. Maybe I never actually put it in the safe.” Phoebe stared at me for a long moment. “Janice, you are the most organized person I know. You don’t just lose things like that.” I offered a bitter smile. When I got home from work, Luke had surprisingly prepared a full dinner: roasted chicken, garlic broccoli, and a warm soup. “I got off early today, so I thought I’d cook,” he said, setting the table with an artificial, forced cheerfulness. I sat down and took a piece of chicken. He watched me from across the table, clearly wanting to say something. “What is it?” I asked. “Janice, about that ticket… maybe we should just let it go.” My fork hovered in the air. “Let it go?” “Let’s just pretend we never won. We can go back to living our lives exactly as we did before. Maybe that ten million dollars was never meant for us anyway.” I set my fork down. “Are you asking me to just forget this ever happened?” “That’s not what I mean.” “That is exactly what you mean. You want me to accept that a fortune vanished into thin air and act like everything is perfectly fine.” He let out a long sigh. “Then what do you want to do? How long are you going to let this consume you? You haven’t been yourself for days.” “How can I be fine when we lost ten million dollars?” “Here we go again.” He slammed his fork onto the table. “Ever since that ticket went missing, you’ve been looking at me differently. Do you think I don’t notice?” I couldn’t find the words to argue, because he was right. For the past two days, every time I looked at him, the same dark question flashed through my mind: Did he take it? “Luke, if you didn’t take it, why aren’t you helping me figure out what happened? Why are you so desperate to make me give up?” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve spent two days trying to find an explanation, but I can’t.” “So your solution is to just accept the loss.” “What else can we do? Call the police? Send the safe to a forensics lab? Hire a psychic?” His voice rose, tinged with a sharp anger. I refused to back down. “You haven’t seemed worried at all. Ten million dollars is gone, and you are far too calm.” “Calm?” He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You think I was calm when I threw that safe onto the floor yesterday?” “You threw it because you felt guilty.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. His face went entirely rigid. The room fell into an icy, suffocating silence. “Fine,” he said quietly, his voice dangerously low. “You’ve already decided I’m a thief.” “I didn’t say that.” “Janice, let me make one thing clear. If you are going to keep treating me like this, I can’t stay in this house.” He turned and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I sat alone at the dinner table, the food growing cold before me. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Phoebe. “I just thought of something. Is your safe one of those models with both a fingerprint scanner and a keypad?” “Yes. It has a six-digit code.” “Is there any chance the design itself has a flaw? Like a physical gap, or maybe a manufacturer override code that came with it?” I stared at the screen. An override code? I opened a browser and began searching for the specific model of our safe. After scrolling through dozens of forums, I found nothing about override codes. But then, I spotted a customer review from seven months ago. “The gap between the door and the frame is far too wide. You can easily slide a thin wire through the side and hook small papers out. Terrible design. One star.” I stared at the review, my heart suddenly leaping into my throat. You wouldn’t need a passcode. You wouldn’t even need to open the safe. You could simply slide a wire through the gap and fish the ticket out. 4 “Take a look at this review.” The next morning, I handed my phone to Luke. He took it and stared at the screen, his expression shifting from confusion to quiet realization. “Fish it out through the gap?” “Do you think it’s possible?” He immediately walked into the study and knelt in front of the safe, examining it closely. I knelt beside him. The gap between the door and the frame was indeed quite wide. It was narrow, but with a thin, flexible tool, it was certainly possible to reach the interior. “But even if that’s true,” he said, turning to look at me, “who could have done it?” We were back to the same problem. The security cameras showed no one entering our floor, and our doors and windows were completely locked. “Unless they didn’t enter through the front door,” I murmured. “If they didn’t use the door, how did they get in? Did they fly?” I ignored his sarcasm, walking over to the window. We lived on the seventeenth floor. There was nothing outside the balcony but open air. No one could climb up there. What about the study window? It faced north, overlooking a quiet alleyway and the flat roof of the unit’s shared garages below. I pushed the window open and looked down. The garage roof was only about three or four meters below our window. If someone were to climb up from the roof along the external drainage pipes… No, we were on the seventeenth floor. That was far too high to be realistic. “Janice,” Luke said, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you suggesting someone scaled the building like Spider-Man?” “I am simply exploring every physical possibility.” “Have you considered the most likely explanation?” “What?” “The ticket might have slipped into the internal mechanism of the safe and got shredded when we locked it.” I took a flashlight and thoroughly examined the inside of the safe, peering into every dark corner and shining the light through the gaps. There was absolutely nothing. “No paper fragments,” I reported. He leaned his head against the doorframe, his face lined with an exhausting sense of helplessness. “Janice, I really don’t know what to do anymore.” Neither did I. That afternoon, I took a half-day off from work. I spent the hours pacing the apartment, replaying every single detail of that night in my head. Buying the ticket, scratching it, finding out I won, running home, showing Luke, and locking it away. Every single step was crystal clear. I remembered the slight tremor in Luke’s hands. I remembered the texture of the ticket, the thick paper, and the slightly rough edges. I remembered entering the passcode, my fingers slipping because of my excitement. I remembered the distinct click of the safe door locking. Those memories were too vivid to be a trick of my mind. The ticket had been in that safe. Someone had taken it. But who? And how? As I sat on the study floor, my back resting against the safe, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello?” “Hello, is this Janice?” “Yes, who is this?” “I’m Gavin, from the lottery kiosk near your building entrance.” I sat up straight. The lotto clerk. “You left something at my shop. A keychain with your building access card. I figured it belonged to you, since I saw it hanging from your bag when you bought that ticket.” I reached into my bag and felt around. My keys and access card were right there. “Gavin, I have my keys with me. Are you sure you have the right person?” “Oh,” the voice on the other end paused. “My mistake then. Sorry to bother you.” The line went dead. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the call log. How did he get my phone number? I had never registered my personal details at his kiosk. The realization felt like a cold needle piercing through the fog of the past two days. I finally knew who had stolen my ticket.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599280”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband has a lean waist, long legs, pale skin, and a face that could launch a thousand ships. His only flaw? He is completely impotent. Our sex life consists entirely of me waging a solo battle. Tonight, I was planning to spice things up a bit when I suddenly saw floating text drifting across the bedroom like live chat comments: [Lmao, this supporting female character is jumping around like a total clown.] [The male lead is a pure Platonic romance guy. He only has eyes for his soulmate.] [Just wait until the female lead shows up. Those two pure-love warriors will fly off into the sunset together.] [In the original story, she clings to him, refuses to sign the divorce papers, and gets kicked out with absolutely nothing. She ends up dying alone in some cheap rental apartment, and nobody even claims her body.] As I stared in a daze, my husband pushed open the bedroom door. Catching sight of me in sheer black lace, his ears turned a faint crimson, and he quickly looked away. “My hands are a bit tired today… Can I use my mouth instead?” 01 “Never mind. Let’s just go to sleep.” I pulled the duvet over myself, wrapping it tight, and turned my back to him. Larry’s hand, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, froze in midair. Thinking I was upset because he got home late, he sat on the edge of the mattress and gently brushed my shoulder. “Did I come home too late? I’ll be earlier next time.” I didn’t say a word. He leaned in closer, his ears flushed so deep they looked ready to bleed. “If you want… you can sit on my face instead.” I admit I hesitated. My lust almost won. But then, another wave of comments floated past. [Ugh, such a pure and elegant guy being ruined like this.] [Well, he’s a live-in husband relying on her family. What choice does he have?] [If her family hadn’t used their influence to force him into this marriage, would a guy like him ever stoop to her level?] [While he was winning awards in Paris, she was busy blowing money on designer bags.] [The first thing he does when his company goes public is divorce her. She won’t get a single penny.] [Even after the divorce, she won’t stop making a scene, and the whole internet mocks her for going crazy. She literally dies in a tiny, dingy apartment, and it takes days for anyone to find her body.] “I’m really not in the mood. Just go to sleep.” Larry stared at me, utterly bewildered. Usually, I would have pounced on him like a starving predator. But now, my heart was as still as dead water. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. It took him a long moment to offer a quiet, slow, “Oh.” He stood up and headed to the bathroom. I pulled out my phone and texted a doctor friend: I’m seeing floating words in the air. They’re insulting me. My friend replied instantly: Could be mushroom poisoning. Get to an ER. Me: But I had that wild mushroom hotpot last week. My friend went silent for a moment. I’m on duty Monday. Let me book you an appointment in psychiatry. I put my phone down. The words on the ceiling hadn’t vanished. Piece by piece, I reconstructed the entire story from the comments. I was the villainous supporting female character in a PG-rated romance novel on some web platform. My husband was destined for a purely Platonic romance, and the female lead was his true soulmate. As for me, my ending was nothing short of tragic. Wait. This is a female-targeted web novel, and they couldn’t even keep the male lead a virgin for the female lead? What kind of messed-up world is this? I let out a heavy sigh. Suddenly, a bright red comment pinned itself right in front of my eyes. [The male lead actually developed sexual trauma as a kid when he walked in on his dad messing around with his aunt right in his mom’s funeral home.] [The female lead (supporting character) forces herself on him every day, and he’s too scared to say anything. He’s been secretly seeing a therapist.] [That’s literally how he meets the female lead! The female lead is his therapist!] I stared blankly at the words, my mind going completely numb. Did intimacy actually cause him pain? 02 Before Larry married into my family, he warned me that he was impotent. We tried it once on our wedding night. I lay on top of him for ages, coaxing and whispering sweet things. In the end, he closed his eyes and whispered in a raw, tight voice, “I’m sorry. I… I can’t.” I froze for a solid thirty seconds. What an absolute waste of god-tier genetics. Having a face like that just to keep it on display? But he was just too beautiful. His skin was so pale it seemed translucent, his eyes slightly rimmed with red, and his long lashes were damp. He looked so vulnerable, so quietly desperate to please. I stared at him for a long time and finally let it go. Keeping a gorgeous centerpiece in my house wasn’t a bad deal, after all. The next day, I had someone consult a traditional specialist, bringing home dozens of natural herbal remedies to boost his performance. He drank every bitter cup without a single complaint, but nature refused to cooperate. Eventually, I gave up on the hardware. If the hardware didn’t work, there was always the software. He was incredibly talented with his hands, and his mouth was magic. He never rejected a single request I made. But he was never enthusiastic about it. At first, I assumed it was just his physical limitation. Later, I realized something was off. He always took perfect care of me, yet he remained completely detached. When we were done, he would hide in the bathroom for hours. When I asked, he simply said he was washing up. I hadn’t thought much of it. Nobody is perfect. With a face like that, how could I demand blazing passion too? Not until tonight, when I saw the comments. Only then did I realize that for all these years, he had been swallowing his disgust just to please me. 03 The bathroom door creaked open slightly. Larry’s voice drifted out through the warm steam. “…Catherine, I forgot my pajamas. Could you pass them to me?” I blinked. There were towels in the bathroom. Since when was he so modest? I rolled out of bed and grabbed a silk robe. The door opened a fraction wider. He hadn’t wrapped a towel around himself. He stood entirely bare in the swirling mist. Damp hair clung to his forehead, and his pale skin was flushed a delicate pink from the heat. His waist was impossibly lean, droplets of water tracing the curve of his hips. My pulse quickened. My gaze drifted downward, but I forced myself to snap back. “Here,” I said, shoving the robe through the gap. He took it but didn’t close the door. As the steam poured out, he stood half-cloaked in the light, murmuring, “Thank you, sweetheart.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. The corners of his eyes were flushed, and he looked at me as if there was something he desperately wanted to say but couldn’t. That look was different from before. My heart skipped a beat. A comment floated above my head: [The male lead is terrified. He’s so scared she’s going to force herself on him.] [Then why did he ask her to bring him pajamas?] [Because walking out naked would guarantee she’d eat him alive! A towel can slip off easily, but a robe at least has a belt.] Me: “…” Larry waited for a few seconds, only to hear me say, “Dry your hair before you come out.” He seemed momentarily dazed, looking down at himself. He lingered, waiting for something more, but nothing came. Finally, he lowered his lashes and quietly pulled the door shut. [Lmao, look at his face! He is so confused!] [Safe for another day.jpg] I slid back under the covers. Ten minutes later, he emerged. Carrying the cool, damp scent of the bath, he carefully lifted the duvet and slid in beside me. The faint scent of the rose body wash, the exact same one I used, drifted off him. I kept my back turned, pretending to be fast asleep. Behind me, the space fell quiet. [The male lead must be laughing in relief right now, celebrating silently.] [Oh my god, his silent joy is sending me.] I didn’t turn around. I only heard the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over, facing my back. After a long while, a tiny whisper broke the quiet. “…Catherine?” I didn’t move. A gentle tug pulled at the edge of the blanket, tucking the cold draft away from my exposed back. 04 The next morning, by the time I finished getting ready, Larry was already at the door, briefcase in hand, slipping on his shoes. On the dining table sat a bowl of warm oatmeal, some fresh fruit, and a perfectly peeled egg. “Morning,” he said, his eyes curving into a gentle smile. “Your breakfast is ready.” “Thanks,” I murmured. Having finished putting on his shoes, he lingered by the door. He adjusted his cuffs, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. [What is he waiting for? Buddy, you’re going to be late for work.] [He’s waiting for her to let him go. Usually, she wraps her arms around him and kisses him for ten minutes before he can leave.] [He’s forced to do this routine every morning like a punch-card at a job. He’s probably sick to death of it.] I sat at the table, clutching my spoon, frozen. Larry stood there a moment longer, then slowly walked back to me. He leaned down slightly, turning his cheek toward me. He was waiting for his morning kiss. I tilted my head away. His lips brushed past my cheek, finding only empty air. Larry’s eyelashes fluttered. He stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Straightening up, his voice dropped a fraction lower. “…I’m leaving then.” The front door clicked shut. My spoon tapped against the side of the bowl with a sharp clink. He really must hate being physically close to me. All these years, I had been the one forcing it. The morning kiss was a chore, bedtime was an obligation. Now that I was pulling away, he could finally breathe easy. [Whoa, did she actually change her tune today? She avoided the kiss?] [Look at his face… that does not look like relief.] [Duh. When you’ve been treated like a puppet for years, a sudden change in routine just makes you wonder if you’re about to get chopped.] I stared at my breakfast, my stomach tying itself into a painful knot. 05 At nine sharp, I arrived at the office. My secretary followed me in, arms loaded with files. I didn’t hear a single word she said. My eyes were locked on the empty air in front of me. [The male lead is meeting his therapist after his meeting today. Is the female lead about to make her entrance?] [Isn’t he supposed to divorce her the second his company goes public? If you look at the timeline, it’s coming up fast.] My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the mahogany desk. I snapped back to reality. My secretary jumped. “Is everything alright, ma’am?” “Carry on,” I murmured. Once she left, I stared at the business proposals on my monitor, my mind drifting for hours. Around noon, the secretary knocked, announcing that my husband had arrived. He was standing at the door holding a pastry box. He wore a light gray button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The sunlight flooded in from behind him, turning his long eyelashes a soft, spun gold. “I was passing by that bakery you like,” he said softly, “so I picked something up.” His office was all the way uptown; that bakery was miles downtown. “Have you had lunch?” he asked. “Not yet.” “Let’s eat this then.” He sat across from me and began opening the box. [He just saw the female lead. She validated all his childhood trauma, so now he’s bringing the supporting female character some cake out of guilt.] I stared at the slice of Black Forest cake in front of me, my fork hovering in the air. “Aren’t you going to eat?” He looked up, his eyes bright and hopeful. I wanted to ask him if he hated touch. If he did, we could just have a Platonic marriage. I wouldn’t mind. But then, another line of text drifted overhead. [Ah, I get it! His company’s latest project is short on cash flow. He’s here to ask her for money.] [Wait, doesn’t he hate using her money?] [He used to, but now he’s desperate to build his own empire so he can run away with the therapist.] I froze. After staring at him for three agonizing seconds, I set my fork down and forced a faint smile. “Larry, you didn’t just come here to bring me cake, did you? Is something on your mind?” His lashes fluttered nervously. “…I just… wanted to bring you this.” “And?” “Our latest project hit a bit of a funding bottleneck,” he murmured, keeping his head down. “Catherine… do you think you could transfer me two million?” I couldn’t quite describe the sensation in my chest. It felt hollow, bitter. After a quiet pause, I nodded. “Sure. I’ll give you your salary card back when we get home.” He looked up, completely blank. “…What salary card?” “The one you gave me when we married. You need money, right? The savings from the past few years should be more than enough. Take it back and use it however you need.” His brow furrowed. “Why are you giving me that card? If I need a transfer, you could just send it to me.” [Wait, if he’s desperate for money, shouldn’t he gladly take his card back?] [Maybe he’s just embarrassed?] [Stop making excuses. He’s desperate to start over with the female lead, why would he refuse his own money?] Me: “You said you were short on cash. The money in that account will cover it.” “If I’m short, you can just wire it,” he said, his voice tightening with a sudden edge of panic. “Why are you trying to hand it back to me?” He stared at me, his dark eyes searchingly deep. “Are you hiding something from me?” I went quiet for a second. “…No.” “Then why are you suddenly returning my card?” “It’s just easier if you have it. You won’t have to keep asking me.” “…Oh. Fine. I’ll give it back once the project is settled.” [Lmao, the male lead is so good at acting dumb. His own tiny salary is nothing; her family’s money is the real prize.] [Honestly, I think he just genuinely loves her. Is it just me?] [Shut up.] [Is there a chance he’s actually head over heels for her?] [Did you write the book? No? Then sit down.] 06 That night, I slid the card across the bedside table to him. Larry was leaning against the headboard reading. He didn’t pick up the card. He just looked up at me. “Do you really want to give this to me?” “Yes. You need it,” I said, placing it firmly on the nightstand. “The PIN is still your birthday.” He stared at the plastic card for a few seconds. Suddenly, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me toward him. Caught off guard, I lost my balance and ended up leaning against his chest. He tilted his chin up, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth with feather-light pressure. Every time I gave him an allowance, he would kiss me like this. But tonight, the kiss lingered. The moment I felt the warm slip of his tongue, I jerked my head aside. His lips brushed past my cheek again, left kissing the empty air. Larry froze. He remained frozen in that slightly upturned posture. After several long seconds, he slowly let go of my wrist and sat up straight. His voice was barely a whisper, thick with some suppressed emotion. “…Are you avoiding me?” I said nothing. He bit his lower lip. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You shrank away from me last night, too.” What was I supposed to say? That I could see floating insults in the air? That I knew he felt nothing but disgust every time he had to touch me? That our marriage was a mistake from the start? I closed my eyes, feeling as though the thin thread holding my sanity together was about to snap. “Larry, let’s just make this a Platonic marriage.” “I know you’ve never really been into the physical side of things. I was too demanding in the past. From now on, we don’t have to do any of that. It’s better this way.” I watched the color drain from his face as if he’d been hit with a bucket of ice water. His throat bobbed, then went still. He didn’t say a single word. [The male lead must be thrilled inside. She’s proposing a platonic marriage, saving him the trouble of faking it.] [Finally, he doesn’t have to treat sex like a chore. Victory lap!] [Does he look happy to you?] [Silence is consent, sweetie. With his upbringing, did you expect him to throw a party and applaud?] A dull ache flared in my chest, but I pushed it down. I leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Get some sleep.” I stood up, pulled a spare blanket from the closet, and turned toward the door. His voice drifted from behind. “…Where are you going?” “The guest room. We should sleep in separate rooms tonight.” There was no response. As I reached the doorway, I looked back. He sat with his head bowed, his face cast in shadow. Right as the door clicked shut, I caught him raising his head. The overhead light shattered into tiny, glistening fragments in his eyes. His lips parted, moving silently, but no sound came out. 07 I slumped against the guest room door, my heart hammering so hard it rattled my eardrums. That silent movement of his lips, it looked like he was saying, Don’t go. [The male lead is definitely celebrating in there.] [Probably trying not to laugh out loud.] [The villainess finally did one good thing, even if it’s late.] [He’s going to tell the therapist the good news tomorrow, mark my words.] I took a deep breath and threw the blanket onto the bed. Slowly, the stream of comments began to thin. One, then another, drifting past after long intervals, their color fading. [Actually, when are they getting divorced…] Once the last comment vanished, the ceiling returned to a pristine white. I stared at the blank space, entirely stunned. From the moment these comments appeared, they would multiply exponentially whenever I interacted with Larry. The more there were, the more my emotions were hijacked. No. I shouldn’t let these bizarre floating letters dictate how I felt about my husband. I closed my eyes and replayed the events of the last forty-eight hours. I needed to go back and talk to him. But the second my feet touched the floor, my knees gave out. It felt as though an invisible, heavy hand was pinning me down. Slow drops of crimson text began to bleed into the air before my eyes. [Please adhere to the main storyline. No deviations allowed.] I blinked. Unlike the comments, this message stayed locked in place. I tried to lift my foot, but my soles felt welded to the floorboards. I couldn’t budge. [Warning: Character attempting to alter the plot. Forced Correction Mode activated.] Cold sweat broke out across my back. From down the hall, a soft rustle broke the silence. Footsteps were approaching. Larry knocked softly. “…Catherine? Can we talk?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A new prompt flashed: [Initiate divorce with the male lead.] The doorknob turned. Seeing me standing frozen in the middle of the dark room, Larry paused. “Why are you in the dark?” He strode over, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on my cheek. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Only then did I realize my face was wet. Larry, I’ve been seeing these terrible words for days. They say you hate me, that I’ll end up dying alone in some slum. Larry, there’s something in my head controlling me. But the words that actually tore past my lips were, “Larry, let’s get a divorce.” His hand froze against my cheek. “You’ve been acting so strange lately. Are you sick? If something is wrong, we can fix it together. Please.” [Character deviating from the plot! Correcting!] I heard my own voice, cold and mocking, say, “Are you deaf? I said I want a divorce. I’m bored of you.” “You’ve been a total bore all these years. You’re useless in bed, and you’re useless out of it.” “If it weren’t for your pretty face, do you think I would have ever looked at you twice? I’m tired of looking at you.” He stood entirely still, looking as if the skeleton had been ripped right out of him. My mouth kept churning out poison, each sentence sharper than the last. He stared at me for a very long time. Long enough that I thought he might never speak again. Then, slowly, he let go and took a half-step back. His knees bent, and he sank to the floor, kneeling at my feet. He looked up at me. “Are you finished?” “…Yes.” “Then it’s my turn.” He reached up, taking my limp hand in his. “Catherine, what are you so afraid of?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599279”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Everyone called me the luckiest in our blended family, the only child shared by both parents. No one saw behind closed doors. Missing kitchen money meant Mother’s slap across my face while my step-siblings went unquestioned. Father “forgot” my allowance, leaving me with their discarded hand-me-downs. Their fights made me the punching bag. “Too young for depression. Stop dramatizing,” Mother sneered at the scars on my arm. I did the chores, endured the abuse, then cut my wrist one Tuesday night. That finally rattled them. For the first time in seventeen years, I got a room, a cramped study with a mattress. Privacy, however small. Until Logan and Amber fought. Next day, my room was stripped, my things dumped in the living room. Mother’s tone was flat. “Their rooms are too close. Logan’s gaming keeps Amber awake. Be reasonable, Jesse. We humored your suicide act long enough. Don’t make things difficult.” This time, numbness settled over me. I didn’t scream or cry. I couldn’t hear them anymore. I wanted nothing from them. … As I turned toward the study, my mother lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. The moment her fingers brushed the thick, raised scars on my skin, she recoiled as if she’d touched a live wire. “Did you not hear me? That room belongs to your brother now! He needs his gaming space!” With a sharp click, she slammed the door shut, as if even my gaze would defile the space. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my throat. “Then where am I supposed to sleep?” My mother froze, her face flushing with anger. She gestured wildly around the living room as if I were an idiot. “Are you blind? We have a couch! We have rugs! Sleep wherever you want. Stop playing the victim!” Sleep anywhere. Like a stray dog. “Don’t I deserve a room of my own?” My voice was barely a whisper, but it triggered my father. He stormed over, looking like he’d reached his absolute limit. “You have everything in this house! You have both your biological parents under one roof! Why do you always have to fight your brother and sister for every little thing?” “Logan’s dad walked out on him. Amber lost her mother. You have us both, and yet you are the one acting like a spoiled brat!” “They manage to be happy, while you walk around with that miserable, depressing face all day!” A mountain of guilt crashed down on me, crushing the air from my lungs. The words I wanted to scream died in my throat. I had heard variations of this lecture for seventeen years. If I ever stood up for myself, I was labeled selfish, ungrateful, and toxic. I was terrified of that label. Amber walked in after her shift, her heel catching on my pile of luggage. She stumbled, her brow furrowing instantly as she spotted me. “What is it now?” My mother sneered, her voice dripping with mock-exhaustion. “He is throwing another tantrum because he wants his own room. Never lets us have a moment of peace.” Amber let out a dry chuckle, her lips curling into the exact same condescending smirk my mother wore. “Kids these days and their privacy.” She said it so casually. She completely forgot that when she moved in at six years old, she was immediately given the master guest room, a brand-new computer, and a weekly allowance. Back then, everyone had to knock three times before entering her room, or she would scream the house down. Yet here she was, mocking my despair. “That’s enough of this nonsense,” my mother declared, shoving a heavy hamper of dirty laundry into my chest. “Go wash these.” “My college placement exams are next week…” “Don’t use exams as an excuse! Your brother and sister both graduated, and they never whined like this!” Of course they didn’t. They never had to touch a dirty dish, sweep a floor, or scrub endless piles of clothes. My mother wouldn’t dare ask Amber because she didn’t want my father to think she was being a cruel stepmother. My father wouldn’t dare ask Logan because he didn’t want to upset my mother. I was the only safe target. Hurting or exploiting me cost them nothing because no one would ever take my side. My silence only fueled my mother’s rage. She shoved me into the bathroom. Before I could steady myself, her palm connected with my face. The force of the blow spun my head to the side. Under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent light, her face twisted into something monstrous. “Hurry up and wash them. Your brother needs that shirt tomorrow. Do you think my life is easy? I run myself ragged for this family of five, and you, the luckiest one of all, do nothing but work against me!” “How am I lucky?” “What did you say?” Her voice pitched so high it practically rattled my eardrums. I blinked back my tears, staring at her through the throbbing heat on my cheek. “Does getting beaten every day make me lucky?” “You wouldn’t get hit if you weren’t constantly defying me! You bring this on yourself!” But the old, submissive Jesse was gone. I looked her dead in the eye. “Maybe I don’t bring it on myself. Maybe you are just a coward who only picks on the weak.” She froze, the color draining from her face before rushing back in a wave of hysterical fury. “I might as well just die!” she screamed, clawing at her own chest. The bathroom door burst open. My father stormed in, his face darkened with rage. I couldn’t stop the primal shudder that racked my body. He stared at me for a fraction of a second before his boot slammed into my ribs. A sharp cry tore from my throat as I was launched against the cold tiles. My face reflected in the glossy wall, distorted in agony. Then came the slipper. He whipped it off and began striking my face, over and over. “How dare you talk back to your mother! We raised you, fed you, and this is how you repay us? You are nothing but trouble!” Behind him, my mother crossed her arms, a look of smug satisfaction washing over her features. “Hit him harder. I’ve had it with his attitude these past few months, acting like he owns the place just because he spent a night in the ER.” The corner of my mouth split open. Dizzy spells washed over me, and the muffled sound of laughter echoed from the other side of the wall. Logan and Amber were chatting in the living room. They knew exactly what was happening. They just didn’t care. It didn’t affect them. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, closing my eyes as the world faded away. My mother called me out of school for five days. My face was too bruised for me to be seen in public. On the third day, my friends came to check on me. When I opened the door, they froze. The swelling had gone down, but the mottled purple and yellow bruises were still painfully obvious. Humiliation washed over me, but before I could explain, my mother pushed past me to usher them in. “Don’t just stand there, Jesse. Go get some sodas for your friends.” “Mom, let them just…” “Oh, so now you care about looking bad?” My mother laughed, eager to expose my shame to my peers. “Since you are Jesse’s friends, I won’t hide it. He didn’t take sick leave. His father had to teach him a lesson. If I hadn’t stepped in, his father would have beaten him to a pulp.” My friends stared at me, their eyes shifting between pity, confusion, and horror. At school, I was the quiet, straight-A student. At home, I lived worse than a stray dog. “He brought it on himself,” she continued, warming up to her audience. “We give him everything, yet he treats us like trash. He even screams at his own parents.” “Mom, please stop…” My head hung low, my voice cracking with unshed tears. But my plea only made her louder. “He thinks he is a prince. We ask him to do a little housework and he throws a tantrum. What’s the point of raising such an ungrateful brat?” My father took the sodas from my hands, setting them down with a warm, deceptive smile. “We are the only ones who could ever tolerate him. Even his brother and sister walk on eggshells around him. Does he act like this at school too?” He smiled, trying to bait them into validating his narrative. I stood frozen, trembling from head to toe. My friends looked at me helplessly, unsure of what to say. One of them looked like she was about to cry. My desk-mate, Mason, gathered his courage and stepped closer to me, grabbing my hand. “Come out with us to get some fresh air. It’s Dylan’s birthday today. We are going to celebrate.” “He’s not going anywhere. He has to make dinner,” my mother snapped, her face darkening. Seeing that she wasn’t getting the agreement she wanted, her patience evaporated. “Actually, it’s getting late. You all should leave.” “Ma’am, can’t Jesse just come out to relax for a bit?” Mason asked, taking a deep breath. My mother stared at him as if he had spoken in tongues. “Relax? From what? We are the ones who need to relax!” Her anger boiled over, and she whipped around to glare at me. “What did you tell your friends? What lies have you been spreading about us?” “We didn’t mean that, we just…” my friends stammered, terrified. But my father cut them off with a cold wave of his hand. “That’s enough. Get out.” He shook his head with mock sorrow. “Jesse has already corrupted you. Stay away from him, or you’ll turn into ungrateful brats just like him.” The tears finally spilled over. I snapped, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Why do you have to do this to me in front of my classmates? What did I ever do to deserve this?!” “Oh, look at him! He is showing his true colors now!” My mother shrieked with glee, pointing a finger at me. “See? I told you he is insane!” She looked so thrilled, so vindicated. It was as if driving me to madness was her greatest achievement. Unable to bear the tension, my friends bolted for the door. My mother watched them run, turning to me with a triumphant smirk. “See? Even your friends can’t stand your crazy behavior. That shows you how messed up you are.” “It’s you they can’t stand!” I screamed, shoving past her and running out the front door. I barely made it to the hallway before her heavy footsteps caught up to me. She grabbed me by the collar, pulling me back. “You stop right there! What did you just say to me?” Her lips trembled with rage. She raised her hand to strike me, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted our neighbor stepping out of the elevator. Her hand froze in mid-air. Instead of hitting me, she brought her hand down hard across her own face. “What did I do to deserve this? Why is God punishing me like this?” she wailed, collapsing to the floor. The neighbors rushed over to intervene. “Calm down, Susan! Don’t hurt yourself!” Susan wept hysterically, playing the martyr. “He tortures us at home, and now he brings his friends over to join in. He makes his father and me look like monsters. I don’t want to live anymore. I’ve sacrificed everything for him. If it weren’t for him, I would have divorced years ago!” My father wrapped his arms around her, glaring at me with disappointment. “He is driving us to our graves. We only want him to be happy and healthy. Why is that so hard?” The world went quiet. The murmurs of the neighbors lecturing me, the dramatic wailing of my parents, it all faded into static. I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my chest. I started sobbing, slapping my own face repeatedly. My parents watched cold-eyed, showing no concern. To them, it was just another act. Suddenly, a sharp ringing filled my ears, and the ground rushed up to meet me. When I opened the eyes, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I was in a hospital bed. Through the glass window of the door, I could see my mother on her phone. “I know, he is throwing another fit. I’ve suffered so much because of him… But what can I do? He is still my son… Yes, thank you for caring about me.” She hung up, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Seconds later, she dialed another number, my Aunt Sarah. “Sarah, you have no idea. I just want to end it all… I did everything for him. He is the only one with both biological parents in that house, and yet he is never satisfied… My heart is breaking.” She went on and on, soaking up the sympathy pouring from the receiver. Finally, she exhaled deeply and hung up. When she turned and saw me staring at her, the warmth vanished from her face. She walked in, her movements slow and cold. Under the harsh hospital lights, she looked like a stranger. “Jesse, acting crazy isn’t going to work anymore.” I kept quiet. She looked down at me. “Since your mental state is so unstable, you won’t be taking your college placement exams this year.” My eyes widened, horror gripping my chest. A cruel smile played on her lips. “I’m doing this for your own good. If you go to college in this state, you might hurt someone.” With that, she turned on her heel and locked the door from the outside. I cried until my throat was raw. But somewhere in the darkness of that night, a cold clarity washed over me. I figured out a way to escape. Completely. Starting the next morning, I became the perfect, obedient son. I did everything without a word of protest. A week later, she brought me home. The moment we walked through the door, I was greeted by a mountain of dirty dishes. “Go wash those. No one’s helped me since you left, and I’m exhausted,” she muttered. I didn’t say a word. I just walked over and started washing them. Next was a basket of laundry, filled with delicate fabrics that had to be hand-washed. As I scrubbed, Amber opened the door and tossed two more shirts into the tub. “Jesse, thank God you are back,” she said, her smile genuine. But it wasn’t because she missed me. It was because she finally had her servant back. Once she stepped out, I heard my mother’s smug voice in the hall. “People like him just need to be put in their place. See? He is much better now.” She didn’t even bother to lower her voice. I remained quiet, playing the part of the meek lamb. But my mother had no intention of letting me return to school. She wanted to teach me a lesson I’d never forget. Three days before the exams, Mason secretly slipped me my admission ticket. I hid it in the absolute bottom of my backpack. That evening, while we were watching TV, my mother cast a calculating look my way. “Everyone else is preparing for the exams. Are you jealous?” “Yes,” I murmured. She smiled, thoroughly pleased with herself. “Well, you’ll just have to deal with it. You brought this on yourself.” I said nothing. On the morning of the exams, I kept my eyes on the clock. The second they left for work, I grabbed my bag, called a cab, and headed straight for the testing center. I had already booked a cheap motel nearby for my luggage. By the end of the first day, my phone was ringing off the hook with fifty missed calls from my parents. “Where are you? Did you seriously go to the exams?” “When will you ever learn to obey?” “I told you that you aren’t mentally fit for this! Get back here right now before I come find you myself!” I ignored the messages and spent every second cramming for the next day’s subjects. But the next morning, as I approached the testing center, my parents were waiting. Their eyes locked onto me like predators spotting prey. But I was faster. I slipped past the security gates just in time. My mother looked ready to explode, glaring at me through the barrier. “Jesse! You just wait!” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I didn’t look back. I ran toward the examination hall, toward the only escape route I had left. I poured everything into the papers. I felt like I was flying. But by the afternoon of the final day, my luck ran out. I thought I might actually make it. But they caught me right outside the exit. My father clamped a hand over my mouth, twisting my arm behind my back to drag me toward their car. My mother struggled to keep her anger in check, whispering fiercely, “When will you stop causing trouble?” The other parents waiting outside watched us, hesitating to interfere. Seizing the moment, I bit down hard on my father’s hand. He yelled, releasing his grip, and I screamed with every ounce of air in my lungs: “Please let me take my exams, Dad! I don’t want to drop out and work in a factory! Mom, I promise I’ll make money and take care of you! Please just let me finish my exams!” Within seconds, a dozen parents closed in, their faces tight with fury. “He is just a kid! What is wrong with you people?” “This is his future! Whatever problems you have, let the kid finish his exams first!” “Let him go right now, or I’m calling the police!” My mother’s face turned white, then red. “Don’t listen to him! He is mentally unstable!” But no one bought it. “You look like the unstable one,” an older man barked. “What kind of parents try to ruin their own kid’s future?” Intimidated by the crowd, my father let go of my arm. “Run!” a woman in the crowd yelled. I bolted back inside the school gates. My parents could only watch helplessly as my figure disappeared into the building. For the remaining exams, they didn’t dare show their faces. But the moment the final bell rang, the real nightmare began. My parents, accompanied by Logan and Amber, showed up at my motel. My father slammed his hand onto the front desk, holding a thick coil of rope. “Which room is my son, Jesse, in?” They had come prepared to tie me up and drag me home. The exams were over; there would be no crowd of angry parents to protect me this time. They thought they had won. But the receptionist’s next words made their faces turn pale.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599278”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My father dominated New York documentary circles, his shelves bowed under industry awards. When my sister turned sixteen, he flew her to New Mexico for a month to film Native folklore. He pinned her campfire photo holding a boom mic to his studio’s corkboard. Later, I asked him to be DP for my graduation film. Eyes glued to monitors, he scrubbed footage my sister shot. “Just use your iPhone,” he muttered. I pressed for better cinematography. He finally spun his chair. “Artistry isn’t about gear.” Yet in New Mexico, my sister had used his borrowed ARRI Alexa kit. After my screening, Mother shared my film in the family chat. Half a day later, Father replied: “It’s coherent.” Scroll up two screens to his review of my sister’s desert short: “Born for this. Just like me.” His Instagram bio read “Proud father of two.” But in thirty years of filming, thousands of hours of raw footage held not one frame of me. … “Aurora, pass the orange juice to Jennifer. You know she can’t drink cold water.” My mother’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. We had booked a private dining room at a high-end Manhattan bistro on the night of my graduation screening. But this dinner wasn’t to celebrate me graduating top of my class at NYU. It was to celebrate Jennifer landing the Network’s “Emerging Filmmaker Grant.” Twenty grand. I pushed the room-temperature pitcher of juice across the table. Jennifer flashed me a sweet smile. “Thanks, Rory.” Next to her glass of juice sat a black velvet box. My father had handed it to her personally just moments ago. Inside was a master-class Zeiss prime lens. It retailed for over six thousand dollars. Jennifer played with the lens cap. The plastic clicked sharply in the quiet room. “Dad, can this aperture really get that starburst effect you have in your photos?” “Absolutely.” My father took a sip of his sparkling water to clear his throat. “This focal length really tests your fundamentals. You have a great foundation. Keep practicing, and you’re a lock for the Tribeca Emerging Filmmakers Showcase this fall.” He looked at her with a gaze overflowing with undisguised pride. That was a look I only ever experienced when I was staring at his back. This afternoon, my graduation film premiered in Theater One on campus. I had emailed them digital invitations half a month in advance and double-checked their availability via text three days prior. My father had replied, “Got it. Three o’clock. I’ll try my best.” At three o’clock, the theater lights dimmed. I sat in the director’s row and stared at the screen. The two seats to my left were empty. They remained empty through the fifty-minute runtime, right up until the lights came back on and the applause erupted. Walking out of the theater, I called my mother. “Mom, you guys didn’t show.” “There was an emergency review at the Network today. Jennifer’s piece needed a few shots re-edited, and we couldn’t just leave.” “It was just a preliminary review. My premiere…” “Aurora.” My mother cut me off. “You’ve always been low-maintenance. Jennifer lacks experience, so your father and I have to keep a close eye on her. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight to make it up to you.” To make it up to me. Their version of making it up to me was gifting my younger sister a six-thousand-dollar piece of glass at my graduation dinner. “Earth to Rory. What are you spacing out for?” Jennifer waved a hand in front of my face. “Do you want to check it out? Dad says the coating on this glass is super clean.” “No thanks.” I looked away. “I don’t really shoot at that focal length.” My father set his glass down and turned his attention to me. “Your mother sent your graduation short to the group chat. I skimmed through it.” I instinctively sat up straighter. My knuckles turned white under the table. “What did you think?” “The narrative is coherent.” Those same words again. “And?” “That’s it.” His tone was flat, dripping with the authority of an industry veteran lecturing a subordinate. “Your visual language is incredibly stiff. You’re too obsessed with technique. It lacks effortless grace and soul.” I couldn’t speak. I had spent two months crouching in a decaying rust-belt neighborhood in Queens with a dying Sony mirrorless camera to shoot that documentary. No lighting crew. No lavalier mics. I had to color-grade it frame by grueling frame, pulling curves and masking noise just to make the footage usable. He said I was obsessed with technique. What he didn’t see was that without technique, there wouldn’t have been a picture at all. “Dad.” I took a deep breath. “If I had access to the Network’s ARRI cameras, my footage would look effortless too.” The private room went dead silent. My mother paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and frowned. “Aurora, is that how you speak to your father?” My father looked at me, a flicker of reprimand in his eyes. “Artistry isn’t built on a mountain of gear. If your fundamentals are solid, you can shoot a masterpiece on an iPhone. If you’re full of excuses, you won’t survive in this industry.” I stared right back at him. “Then why did Jennifer need a full ARRI cinema rig for a trip to New Mexico?” Jennifer set the lens cap down and lowered her head, looking exactly like a child who had just been scolded. “Are you mad at me, Rory? Dad, maybe I should return the gear to the Network tomorrow. If Rory needs it…” “Return what?” My mother’s voice was ice-cold. “Your pitch was approved for a budget by the Network. Drawing equipment is standard procedure. Aurora, your sister earned those resources on her own merit. Why are you being so petty?” Why was I being petty. When Jennifer was sixteen, she didn’t even know what white balance was. My father personally flew her out to the desert and held her hand to teach her framing. Every single piece of gear was secured because my father cashed in his favors with the network executives. It was the first time in thirty years he had abused his industry connections. Back then, he had told me: “Jennifer is timid. She needs encouragement. You’re different. You need to hit a few brick walls on your own to build character.” Their twisted version of independence was nothing more than a convenient cover for blatant favoritism. I didn’t say another word. I picked up my water glass and took a sip. It was completely lukewarm. “Aurora.” Seeing that I wasn’t fighting back, my father’s tone softened a fraction. He pulled a hardcover book from his leather briefcase and slid it across the table. “This is the new anthology on film theory your Uncle Harrison just published. I got him to sign it. Read it thoroughly, it’ll help broaden your perspective. Consider it a graduation gift from me.” I stared at the book. It was bound in grey. The shrink wrap hadn’t even been fully removed. I opened the front cover. Scrawled across the title page in bold ink were the words: For your critique, Arthur. It was a complimentary copy meant for him. He hadn’t even bothered asking Uncle Harrison to change the name. My name wasn’t anywhere on it. “Thanks, Dad.” I casually shoved the book into the side pocket of my tote bag. Jennifer looked at my book, then down at the expensive lens in her hands. She spoke up in a soft, sweet voice. “Don’t worry, Rory. Once I start making real money, I’ll buy you a red-ring lens.” My father chuckled. “Hear that? Look how thoughtful your sister is. You’re the older sibling, Aurora. Try to look at the bigger picture.” I stared at the steamed fish sitting in the center of the table. It was stone cold. I had ordered it. But from the moment we sat down, not a single person had touched it. Because Jennifer had casually mentioned her stomach was acting up and she wasn’t in the mood for seafood. “Got it, Dad.” I answered quietly. My voice was incredibly steady, devoid of any ripples. Because I finally understood that no matter how hard I thrashed, the ending was already written. In this feature-length film about family, I wasn’t just an extra. I didn’t even deserve a name in the rolling credits. 2 I went to my father’s studio the next morning. When I pushed the door open, only Marty, his assistant, was calibrating the monitors. “Hey, Rory. Early start.” “Morning, Marty. Is my dad around?” “Arthur went into the Network for a pitch meeting. He’ll be back later. You need him for something?” “Just came to grab a flash drive,” I said. I walked over to my father’s editing bay. The desk was cluttered with tape drives and SD cards. And there was that photo of Jennifer holding the boom mic in New Mexico, pinned down securely at the edges. She was smiling so brightly. I pulled open the bottom drawer and dug around for my silver thumb drive. It contained a documentary script I had been developing for over a year about fading rural traditions. I called it The Turning Seasons. The Tribeca pitch deadline was next week, and today was the day I needed to finalize the draft. Finding the drive tucked in the back, I plugged it into a spare iMac to print a hard copy. The moment the document opened, I froze. The file’s last modified timestamp was 11:00 PM last night. I clicked into the properties. The title had been changed to: First Light: The Wheel of Seasons. The author line, where the name “Aurora Gallagher” used to sit, had been wiped clean. Replaced by a different name. “Jennifer Gallagher.” My fingertips went numb. I gripped the mouse and scrolled down. Eighty pages of scripting, from shot lists to voiceover narrations. Even the specific camera angles I had meticulously noted in the margins were identical. The only thing that had changed was the name on the cover. The studio door swung open. My father and mother walked in. Jennifer followed close behind, clutching a freshly printed, spiral-bound booklet. Emblazoned across the cover was First Light: The Wheel of Seasons, by Jennifer Gallagher. Seeing me standing by the computer, my father’s footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. “Aurora, what are you doing at the studio so early?” I pulled the flash drive from the port and turned to face them. “Dad, that script is mine.” My tote bag was still stuffed with library index cards from the countless all-nighters I pulled. The folklore of every single changing season was something I had documented by driving out to a dozen remote farm towns alone. My father’s expression didn’t shift. He walked over to his desk, pulled out his chair, and sat down. “I know you wrote it. Your mother and I discussed it last night. We feel the subject matter is a perfect fit for Jennifer’s pitch this year.” “A perfect fit for her?” I stared at his unapologetic face. “That’s my submission piece.” “Your draft is too academic,” my mother said, setting her designer handbag down. “It reads like a textbook. It’s dry. Your sister might lack your technical experience, but she has charisma. Having her step in as the first-person narrator will inject some much-needed warmth into the project.” “She doesn’t even know the history behind those traditions. She couldn’t tell the difference between the harvest equinox and the spring solstice if her life depended on it. How is she supposed to narrate?” “Which is exactly why she needs your script to anchor her.” My father frowned, rapping his knuckles against the desk. “Do you not understand how teamwork operates? You have a strong script, Jennifer has strong screen presence. It’s a win-win.” A win-win. Cannibalizing my blood, sweat, and tears to build up her name. That was their definition of a win-win. Jennifer stood to the side, biting her lower lip. Her eyes welled up with practiced tears. “Rory, please don’t be mad at Mom and Dad. If you really think this is unfair, I’ll give the script back. I just won’t enter the pitch fest. I’m useless anyway. I only ever cause problems for this family.” She placed the bound booklet on the edge of the desk and took a step back, her shoulders trembling slightly. My mother instantly rushed forward, grabbing Jennifer’s hand with fierce protectiveness. “Don’t talk nonsense. Your father made the call on this script. Is your older sister really so devoid of grace?” She whipped her head around to glare at me. Her eyes were razor-sharp. “Aurora, you two are sisters. Maximizing the family’s resources is the logical play here. Why do you always have to nickel-and-dime everything? If your sister makes it big, do you honestly think she’d forget you?” I stared at my mother. My own flesh and blood. She was an incredibly ruthless producer, accustomed to measuring human connection through the lens of leverage and the “big picture.” “If your big picture requires erasing my name from my own work, then I want no part of it.” I reached out to grab the bound script off the desk. “I’m not giving this up.” My father slammed his hand onto the desk. The sound wasn’t deafening, but it carried a suffocating weight. “Aurora, are you done throwing a tantrum?” He stood up, locking eyes with me. “Do you have any idea how many favors I called in at the Network to pave the way for this project? The equipment is rented. The crew is booked. You want to pull the rug out now and make us look like fools?” I knew. Because just two weeks ago, I had begged him to help me secure a drone operator. He told me funds were tight and he couldn’t justify the expense. Yet he turned right around and blew thousands renting cinema-grade gear to bring First Light to life. “You’re using my work to pave her way.” “You are the older sibling.” My father enunciated every word with cold precision. “You have thick skin. Even if you have to start from scratch today, you’ll get it done.” That same old excuse. “Jennifer can’t. She hasn’t faced adversity. She’ll crack under the pressure.” I let out a laugh. The corners of my mouth twitched. The sheer absurdity of it all was suffocating. “So, because I can take the hit, I deserve to be robbed?” “It’s not robbery, it’s resource management!” my mother snapped, cutting me off. “What is wrong with your attitude? How did we raise you? To be independent. To be strong. Are you seriously going to rip the food right out of your little sister’s mouth?” I stopped looking at them. I looked down and tightened my grip on the flash drive. The silver metal casing dug into my palm, biting into the skin. “It’s fine,” I said softly. “Since it’s just resource management, I wish her a great shoot.” I knew better than anyone. Arguing was utterly pointless. In their eyes, my self-defense was petty jealousy. My boundaries were just a sign of a narrow mind. It didn’t matter that I had spent over a hundred days drafting those pages. As long as they decided “Jennifer needs it more,” they could strip it from me without a second thought. Jennifer peeked at me through her eyelashes. “Rory… do you want me to buy you a coffee later?” “No.” I hiked my tote bag higher onto my shoulder and turned toward the door. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I heard my father speak to Marty inside. “Dig that ancient camcorder out of the storage closet this afternoon and send it over to Aurora. She can make do with it for her new script.” That ancient camcorder. The relic the Network had phased out when I was in middle school. It didn’t even shoot in HD. That was his version of “resource management.” I stepped out of the building into blinding sunlight. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from my college professor. “Rory, the state pitch deadline is closing soon. The Turning Seasons passed the preliminary review. Just make sure you get your dad’s studio stamp of approval on the forms by next Wednesday and hand it in.” I stared at the glowing screen for a long, quiet moment. Without that studio stamp, I wouldn’t even qualify for the exhibition. And that stamp was locked inside my father’s desk drawer. I deleted the long, rambling explanation I had typed out in the text box. I replied with three words. “Got it, Professor.” 3 Monday morning. Two days before the pitch portal closed. I went back to the family house. My father was sitting on the living room sofa, reading the Wall Street Journal. A steaming bowl of soup sat untouched on the coffee table in front of him. “Dad.” I walked over. “The pitch deadline is tomorrow afternoon. Professor needs the endorsement forms. I need to borrow the studio stamp.” He didn’t stop turning the pages of his paper. “Stamp for what?” “For Concrete Folds.” After losing The Turning Seasons, I spent four sleepless days and nights rushing out a gritty, raw documentary about the demolition of a rust-belt neighborhood. It was rough around the edges, but it was the only piece I had left to show. My father finally lowered his newspaper. He took a sip of his black coffee, his brow furrowing. “I watched the cut of Concrete Folds. The editing is too chaotic. The emotion is too heavy-handed. If I stamp that paperwork, I’m putting the studio’s reputation behind it. It reflects poorly on my brand.” “It’s just a standard youth exhibition. Nobody is going to scrutinize your studio’s reputation over a student film.” “Absolutely not.” His tone was dismissive. “Filmmaking is an unforgiving art. I’m doing this for your own good. You need to understand where the standard lies.” For my own good. The standard. I stood there, looking at the man who never dropped his pretentious facade. “But last week, when Jennifer submitted that behind-the-scenes desert footage where half the shots weren’t even in focus, you didn’t just stamp it. You pulled strings to get her a twenty-thousand-dollar grant.” The air in the living room froze instantly. The newspaper was slapped violently onto the coffee table. “Are you interrogating me?” My father’s face darkened. “I’m just stating facts.” “Jennifer is a rookie, they look at her potential and her raw talent!” he raised his voice. “Why are you comparing yourself to her? You were top of your class, your work is expected to be mature! Do you honestly think I should hold you to the same standard I hold her?” What an airtight, bulletproof double standard. Because I was strong, I was required to be flawless. Because she was weak, every catastrophic failure was glossed over as “potential.” My mother walked out of the kitchen holding a plate of sliced fruit. “What is all this yelling about so early in the morning?” She set the fruit down and shot me a dark look. “Aurora, your sister is already stressed out of her mind trying to prep The Turning Seasons. Not only are you refusing to help her, but you keep coming back demanding things. Can you not be a little more considerate of this family?” “All I want is the stamp that was supposed to be mine in the first place.” “The stamp is right there, but your father has his professional integrity as a director.” My mother sighed heavily. “He can’t lower his standards just because you’re his daughter. That would ruin you.” Ruin me. Right. I nodded slowly. “Okay. I understand.” Without the stamp, I couldn’t enter as an independent producer. I would lose my only ticket into the premier production houses. But I didn’t have the time or the energy to bleed out on their living room floor. I turned to leave, but my father called out to me. “Friday afternoon. I’ll let you borrow the DJI grading monitor I use for my own work. You can do a final color pass on your film. Marty will drop it off. Consider this me bending the rules for you because you’re rushing. I’ll give you a chance to fix those hideous colors.” I stopped in my tracks. That monitor was the absolute top of the line on the market. The color accuracy was flawless. If I could run my footage through it, the visual quality of my rushed film would jump an entire letter grade. “Friday at 3 PM?” I asked. “Yes.” He picked his newspaper back up. “Don’t ever say I don’t give you opportunities.” “Thanks, Dad.” I walked out the door. For the next three days, I gambled everything on that monitor. I even cancelled the editing bay timeslot my professor had scrambled to book for me on campus. With the DJI gear, even without the stamp, I could polish the film enough to throw it into the general submission pool two hours before the deadline. Friday afternoon. I cleared off the hard drives in my tiny, cramped Brooklyn apartment and ran the extension cords. Every single raw clip was lined up on the timeline. I had pre-marked every frame that needed tweaking. Three o’clock hit. The hallway outside was dead silent. At three-thirty, I called Marty. “Hey Marty, it’s Rory. Did you head out with the monitor yet?” The line was staticky. Wind whipped loudly in the background. Marty’s voice sounded strained. “Ah, Rory… I don’t actually have the rig.” My grip on the phone tightened instantly. “You don’t have it? My dad said you were dropping it off at three.” “Arthur took the gear with him.” “Took it where?” “To… out to the Hamptons. Jennifer said she wanted to get some backlit shots of the sunset on the beach. She said the colors were tricky and she needed the best monitor to check the live feed. Arthur flew out with her at noon.” The wind howled through the speaker, punctuated by Jennifer’s bright, giggling voice in the background. “I’m so dumb, I can’t even find the focus ring!” she was joking with the crew. I stood motionless in front of the folding table in my apartment. Staring at the muddy, pixelated footage on my laptop screen. Three hours until the portal closed forever. All my late nights, all my desperation. In their eyes, it couldn’t even compete with Jennifer’s sudden whim to go look at a pretty sunset. “Marty, put my dad on the phone.” I said, my voice eerily calm. A dozen seconds passed. My father’s irritated voice crackled through the speaker. “What is it? We’re on the beach, the wind is bad.” “Dad, you took the DJI monitor.” “Oh, right.” He didn’t sound even remotely apologetic. “The light wasn’t waiting for us, Jennifer only has a fifteen-minute window for this sunset. Just tweak your little project on your laptop, it’ll be fine. Stop being so stubborn about needing high-end gear.” “You promised it to me for three o’clock today. Today is the final deadline.” “So what?” His tone dropped, turning icy. “You want me to make an entire professional crew stand around on a freezing beach just so you can polish a mediocre student project? Aurora, can you not prioritize for once in your life?” Click. He hung up. Prioritize. On their set of scales, they had weighed it all out. On one side: a fleeting sunset Jennifer decided she wanted to see on a whim. On the other side: the culmination of four years of my life, the one project that could decide the entire trajectory of my career. I stared at the blacked-out screen of my phone. Suddenly, a wave of profound exhaustion washed over me. It wasn’t rage. It was a heavy, suffocating tiredness, the kind that drags you straight to the bottom of the ocean. This exhaustion filled the space in my chest where a thing called “hope” used to live. It filled it to the brim, and then it overflowed. They didn’t ignore how important this monitor was to me. They just didn’t care. Deadline: 6:00 PM. I reached for the mouse, dragged the project file for Concrete Folds into the trash bin. I clicked “Empty.” The icon shattered into pixelated paper scraps and vanished completely. 4 Two hours left until the portal closed. I didn’t run out to beg for a campus computer. I didn’t try calling anyone else. I just sat in my cheap desk chair, watching the daylight bleed out of the sky beyond my window. Five years ago, on my first day of film school, my father had told me: “A documentary filmmaker cannot afford to be sentimental. You must be exactly like your lens: absolutely objective and relentlessly cold.” For five years, I had executed that flawless detachment. When I faced injustice, I backed down. When I saw blatant favoritism, I kept my mouth shut. When my opportunities were hijacked, I started over from scratch. I had almost forgotten that even lenses need UV filters. Even sensors blow out when exposed to too much blinding light. My phone buzzed against the desk. My mother had uploaded a photo grid to the family group chat. Nine photos. A gorgeous Montauk sunset, the ocean burning with tangerine fire. Jennifer stood on the rocks in a flowing white dress, holding up the heavy, top-tier DJI monitor I had spent three hours waiting for. The caption read: Our little muse directing her first location scout for ‘The Turning Seasons’. The lighting is absolutely flawless. Thanks to Director Arthur for personally supervising! A cascade of likes from the extended family poured in. Uncle Robert sent a voice memo: “Jennifer looks like a movie star. So much better than that block of wood personality her sister has.” My mother replied with a smiling emoji. My father dropped a two-hundred-dollar digital gift card into the chat. The memo attached to the money read: Drinks are on Jennifer tonight. I tapped on the photo of Jennifer smiling at the camera, holding the heavy monitor. The screen of the monitor in her hands was pitch black. She hadn’t even turned the power on. It was just a prop for a photoshoot. And for the sake of a dead prop, my father had effortlessly murdered my very last chance at a career. I put the phone down and stood up. I pulled the scuffed grey suitcase I had bought freshman year out from under my bed. Unzipping it, I began packing. I didn’t own much to begin with. It was actually pathetic. My closet held a few black hoodies and some faded jeans. Most of the textbooks on my shelf were second-hand copies I bought off street vendors. I stacked four years of lecture notes and storyboard sketches into the bottom of the suitcase. My eyes landed on the corner of the desk. There was a small glass display box. Inside was a fountain pen. My father had bought it for me when I won a city-wide essay contest at ten years old. It was the only time in my entire life he had bought me a gift without Jennifer tagging along. Tucked under the pen was a faded card from my mother. It read: Aurora, stay independent. You never need to be jealous of anyone. Stay independent. Never be jealous. Because I would never be given anything to begin with. It was easier to just kill the envy at the root. I opened the glass box, took out the dried-up pen, and tossed it straight into the garbage can. The yellowing card followed right behind it. The room emptied out incredibly fast. Besides the mattress and the desk, you wouldn’t even know someone had lived here for four years. Zipping up the suitcase, I walked to the door and paused. I dug a spare key out of my pocket, along with a green debit card. My mother had given me this card two years ago. She said it was my emergency fund, promising to wire me two thousand dollars a month. But she only ever remembered to send money when it suited her. Most of the time, I survived by cutting highlight reels for corporate events. I set the key and the debit card side by side on the shoe rack by the door. I found a scrap of blank paper. I wrote one sentence: I dropped out of the exhibition. The $800 left on this card is the final payment from my last editing gig. Keep it so Jennifer can buy some filters. No greeting. No signature. I picked up my phone and opened the family group chat. I pressed and held my father’s icon. [Delete Contact.] I pressed and held my mother’s icon. [Delete Contact.] I pressed and held Jennifer’s icon. [Block Contact.] Then, I backed out of every single group chat labeled “Family” or “Gallagher Relatives.” I popped the SIM card tray out of my phone. With a sharp snap, I broke the plastic chip in half and dropped it into the trash. The entire world went violently silent. No notification chimes. No studio demands. No more sermons whispering in my ear about “the big picture.” I pushed open the door to the apartment. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway flickered on, illuminating the worn steps leading down to the street. The cold city wind hit my face, and for the first time in my life, my head felt utterly clear. I didn’t have to burn my life away waiting for someone to call me “coherent” ever again. The wheels of my suitcase rolled over the concrete, a dull, rhythmic thud echoing into the night. Fading away. There were no stars in the New York sky that night, but for the first time, I could see the road ahead of me with perfect clarity.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “588004”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Derek and I had been living together for three years when our apartment gained a permanent squatter. My best friend, Giselle. It started with the occasional sleepover. Before long, her slippers sat permanently by the front door, her plush bathrobe hung in our bathroom, and her oat milk took over the entire middle shelf of the fridge. Our couple’s mug set turned into a set of three. The accent pillows on the sofa multiplied. Even our vacation photos started featuring her in the background. I told myself to let it slide. She was going through a rough patch, after all. Then my mother was diagnosed with a tumor. After her surgery, she needed a quiet place to recover, so I planned to set her up in our guest bedroom. Derek blocked me at the hallway, his eyebrows pulled tight. “That’s Giselle’s room,” he said, sounding exasperated. “All her stuff is in there. Where is she supposed to go?” I stood there, stunned. “Derek, that’s my mother. And I’m the owner of this house.” He spoke with complete conviction. “Your mom can stay at a hotel nearby. Why do you have to kick Giselle out?” Standing in the hallway, staring at the guest room door covered in Giselle’s favorite cartoon stickers, a cold realization washed over me. In this home, I was the guest. … “I’ll cover your mom’s hotel bills,” Derek sighed, his tone overly soft, like he was pacifying a throw-a-fit child. He reached out to grab my wrist. I stepped back, dodging his grip. His hand froze in midair, his brow furrowing deeper. “Nora, Giselle is a light sleeper. If she switches beds, she won’t sleep a wink. Your mom needs peace and quiet after her discharge. A hotel has daily maid service and twenty-four-hour room service. Isn’t that better for her?” He looked at me as if his logic were unassailable. The guest room door creaked open. Giselle poked her head out, wearing the pink silk bathrobe that was supposed to be mine. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling. “Nora, please don’t be mad at Derek. It’s all my fault. I’ll pack my things and leave right now. Your mom’s health comes first. I can just rent a basement room somewhere.” Tears streamed down her cheeks right on cue. Derek’s face darkened. He stormed over and stepped right in front of her, shielding her with his body. “What are you talking about? A girl like you, living in a basement?” He turned back to glare at me, his voice sharp with disapproval. “Nora, can you grow up? Giselle just got laid off. She’s under massive pressure. Do you really have to push her into a corner right now?” I watched the two of them. I watched how Derek reflexively put her behind him. A wave of nausea hit me. “I’m pushing her?” My voice was barely a whisper. “I pay half the mortgage on this place every single month. I want my mother, who just had a tumor removed, to rest in my own guest bedroom. And you call that pushing her?” Derek blinked, caught off guard by the mention of the mortgage. He lowered his voice. “We can discuss money later. Right now, we’re figuring out where your mother stays.” “No need to figure it out.” I turned toward the entryway to grab my bag. “I’ll take my mother to a hotel.” Giselle took a quick step forward. “Nora, let me help you take your mom’s luggage downstairs.” “Don’t touch my mother’s things,” I said, eyeing her coldly. She flinched and retreated closer to Derek’s side. A flash of annoyance crossed Derek’s eyes. “Nora, what is wrong with you? She’s just trying to help. What’s with the attitude?” I ignored him, opened the front door, and walked out. 2 The hospital hallway reeked of disinfectant. I finished checking my mother out, picked up her bag, and hailed a cab to the nearby Grand Hyatt. The lobby was gleaming and quiet. The receptionist checked my ID. “Ms. Vance, I have you down for an executive suite at two hundred and fifty dollars a night.” I handed over my credit card. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from Derek. I booked the hotel. It’ll charge directly to our joint household account. Don’t pay out of pocket. I glanced at the screen and didn’t bother replying. I took the key card, went upstairs, and helped my mother get settled in bed. She looked around the spacious room, clearly uncomfortable. “Nora, sweetie, this is way too expensive. I should just go back home to rest.” “Mom, the doctor said you need a follow-up checkup in a week. The clinics back home don’t have the right equipment.” I poured her a glass of warm water. “Just relax and stay here. Don’t worry about the money.” Once she fell asleep, I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the streaming traffic below. My chest felt heavy, like a soaked sponge pressing against my ribs. I suddenly remembered that in my rush this morning, I had left my mother’s health insurance card on the console table in our hallway. I pulled out my phone and launched our smart home management app, intending to check the hallway camera to see if the card was actually there. The screen buffered for two seconds before a pop-up window appeared. Access Denied. Please contact the administrator “CutieGiselle” to request access. I stared at those words for a full minute. My mind went completely blank. I had spent three thousand dollars out of my own pocket to custom-install that smart home system. The primary administrator account had always been mine. I clicked on the device settings. System records showed that just an hour ago, the master admin rights had been transferred to “CutieGiselle.” My account had been demoted to “Temporary Guest.” I didn’t even have permission to view the security feed. I dialed Derek’s number immediately. It rang five times before he picked up. The background noise was filled with video game sound effects and Giselle’s light giggles. “What’s up?” Derek sounded completely relaxed. “Why were the admin permissions changed on our smart home app?” My voice was devoid of emotion. The line went quiet for a second. The game sound was muted. Derek spoke nonchalantly. “Oh, that. After you left this morning, Giselle wanted to set a smart alarm, but she didn’t have access. I just handed the admin rights over to her. It doesn’t matter who holds the account as long as you can still unlock the door.” Handed it over. Doesn’t matter. A cold smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Derek, I paid for that system.” “Yeah, I know you paid for it,” he said, his tone turning irritable. “Nora, it’s just an app account. Do you really have to be so petty? Giselle is at home all day looking for a job. She uses the system way more than you do. What’s the harm in letting her manage it?” Giselle’s soft, sweet voice drifted over from his end. “Derek, is Nora upset? You should give the permissions back to her. I don’t need a smart alarm anyway, I can just use my phone.” Derek let out a heavy sigh. “Listen to how understanding Giselle is. Why do you always have to assume the worst of people? Fine, I’ll add you back later tonight.” “Don’t bother.” I hung up the phone. I stared at the grey “Temporary Guest” badge in the app. Then I tapped the top right corner and unlinked my account entirely. Since I was just a guest, there was no reason to stay in the system. 3 The next morning, my mother mentioned she craved soup from a famous diner down the street. I went downstairs to pick it up. While I was waiting in line, my phone rang. It was Derek. “How’s your mom feeling today?” He sounded warm and familiar, as if nothing unpleasant had happened yesterday. “She’s fine,” I replied coolly. “I have a meeting at noon, but I’ll pick you two up at the hotel tonight for dinner. A new place opened nearby with light, healthy dishes. Perfect for her.” I looked at the long line in front of me and thought it over. “Sure. What time?” “Let’s say six-thirty. I’ll drive straight over after work.” After hanging up, I brought the soup back to the hotel. At five in the afternoon, I helped my mother change her clothes. She looked in the mirror, smoothing down her hair nervously. “Nora, Derek is so busy with work. It feels wrong to make him drive all the way here.” “It’s fine. He offered.” I sat on the sofa, watching the clock on the wall. Six o’clock. Six-thirty. Seven o’clock. Derek didn’t show up. He didn’t call, either. My mother sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands together anxiously. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic? Why don’t you call him?” I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. No answer. I tried three times in a row. Every call went straight to voicemail. My mother’s face paled slightly. “Nora, let’s forget about going out. I’m not really hungry anyway. We can just order room service.” Seeing the cautious, timid look in her eyes made my heart ache. “Wait for me a moment.” I walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Opening Instagram, I tapped on Giselle’s profile. She had posted an update just one minute ago. The photo showed a ginger cat hiding under a bed, and a man’s long-fingered hand holding a toy wand to lure it out. On his wrist was the Cartier watch I had bought him for his birthday. The caption read: The little rascal ran under the bed and refused to come out. Thank goodness my superhero came to save the day! [Heart] I stared at the picture. The background was the master bedroom of our apartment. The twenty-five-hundred-dollar silk sheets were crumpled into a mess, marked by several obvious claw snags. Those were the sheets Derek had promised we would save for our wedding night. I shoved the bathroom door open. “Mom, put your coat on. We’re going to that restaurant.” “Is Derek here?” “He’s not coming. Something came up at work,” I lied without batting an eye. After dinner, I brought my mother back to the hotel. It was already nine in the evening. Standing in the hotel lobby, I dialed Derek’s phone again. This time, he picked up almost instantly. “Hey, Nora.” He was breathing somewhat heavily. “Where are you?” “Still working overtime at the office. I was in a back-to-back meeting and couldn’t check my phone. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to your mom another day.” His tone was seamless, devoid of any flaw. I took a deep breath. “Derek, how do you plan on getting the cat claw marks out of our master bed?” The line went dead quiet. Several seconds passed before he finally spoke, his voice laced with the irritation of being caught. “You’re stalking Giselle’s posts?” I let out a bitter laugh. “She posted it for the whole world to see. You call that stalking? So, this was your ‘meeting’?” He let out an annoyed noise. “Nora, can you be reasonable for once?” “I was literally on my way to pick you up when Giselle called. The neighbor’s cat climbed through her balcony window. She’s deathly afraid of cats. She was crying hysterically on the phone. Was I supposed to just leave her like that?” I gripped my phone tightly, my fingernails digging into my palm. “She’s afraid of a cat, so you went into our master bedroom to play with it on our bed? Derek, I bought those sheets! We agreed to use them when we got married!” “It’s just a set of sheets!” His voice spiked. “The cat was stuck under the bed, so I had to lure it out! It got a little messy, we can just wash it! Do you really have to make a huge scene over a pair of bedsheets?” I stood by the revolving doors, watching the endless stream of headlights outside. Suddenly, all the energy drained out of me. “Derek.” My voice was so steady it surprised even me. “Do you remember my mom’s follow-up checkup today? The doctor said her blood markers looked abnormal.” He paused on the other end. “You… you didn’t tell me that…” “Right. I didn’t.” “Because when I called you, you didn’t answer.” I paused for a beat. “You were busy saving Giselle.” “All because she was scared of a cat.” Derek’s breathing hitched. “Nora, I didn’t know… Is your mom okay?” “She’s not dead yet.” I didn’t want to hear another word. “I’m stopping by the apartment tomorrow at noon to pick up some things. And I’m throwing those sheets in the trash.” “Don’t you dare!” His tone turned cold. “Nora, don’t push it. I told you I’d wash them.” “They’re filthy.” I dropped those two words and hung up immediately. Back in the room, my mother was already asleep. I sat by her bed, watching her pale face. Three years ago, when Derek bought that apartment, he could only afford a partial down payment. Forty thousand dollars of that money came from my mother selling her old home back in her hometown. Back then, Derek held my mother’s hand and swore up and down. Auntie, the guest bedroom has the best sunlight. I’m keeping it for you. You can move in with us later, and I’ll take care of you forever. Now, that sunny bedroom door was covered in Giselle’s cartoon stickers. 4 At noon the next day, I took a break during lunch to head back to the apartment. The moment I pushed the door open, I thought I had walked into the wrong place. Seven or eight pairs of shoes were piled chaotically in the entryway, both men’s and women’s. The coffee table in the living room was littered with empty takeout cups and half-eaten pizza boxes. On the couch, Giselle and two girls I didn’t recognize were lounging in face masks, laughing out loud at a reality show on TV. At the sound of the door, they all turned around. The room fell silent for a moment. Giselle reacted first. She peeled off her face mask, offering a sweet smile. “Nora, you’re back!” She pointed to the girls on the sofa. “These are my former coworkers. They had the day off today, so I invited them over to hang out.” I looked at the two girls. One of them was holding my newly opened jar of La Mer cream. She was scooping out a generous blob and smearing it onto her neck. Seeing me stare, she didn’t look embarrassed at all. Instead, she giggled. “Giselle, your roommate’s moisturizer is amazing. Mind if I borrow a bit?” Roommate. In my own home, I had been demoted to Giselle’s roommate. I walked straight over and snatched the cream out of her hand. “Yes, I do mind.” The girl froze, her face flushing bright red. “What’s your problem? It’s just a little lotion, don’t be so stingy.” Giselle quickly stood up, grabbing my arm. “Nora, don’t be mad. She didn’t know it was yours. I thought anything on the counter was open for everyone to use…” I shoved her hand off me. “My electric toothbrush is on the counter too. Do you want to share that as well?” “Nora!” The master bedroom door swung open. Derek walked out in loungewear, his face twisted into a deep frown. “What kind of crazy fit are you throwing the second you walk through the door?” I looked at him, surprised to see him home on a weekday. “I’m crazy?” I gestured to the messy floor and pointed at the girl holding my cream. “Derek, this is my home. It’s not Giselle’s homeless shelter, and it’s certainly not her lounge for playing hostess.” Derek strode over, pulling Giselle behind him. “It’s just a bit of face cream! I’ll buy you ten jars, alright?” He glared at me with pure disgust. “Giselle finally had a good day and invited friends over. Who are you trying to intimidate with this ‘lady of the house’ routine?” Lady of the house. Coming from his mouth, those words felt like a slap in the face. Looking at Derek’s familiar features, he suddenly felt like a complete stranger. Seeing Derek back her up, the guest chimed in with a sarcastic sneer. “Seriously. Giselle always says her bro is the sweetest guy, turns out he’s henpecked by a girl who throws a fit over a jar of lotion. I don’t know how Derek puts up with you.” Derek didn’t dispute it. He accepted her framing as a badge of honor. He pulled a credit card out of his wallet and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Take it. Go to the mall and buy a new one yourself. Stop embarrassing me.” That card was the one I used to pay the household utilities and condo fees. Every single dollar in that account came from my monthly transfers. I stared at the card and let out a dry laugh. “Derek, you’re using my money to play the big man?” Derek blinked, realizing which card he had thrown down. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by defensive anger. “We share everything anyway, why are you splitting hairs? Have I ever kept money from you?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked into the guest room. The room that should have been kept empty for my mother was now cluttered with Giselle’s clothes and handbags. Unopened delivery boxes were stacked right on the bed. I walked over to the desk, intending to retrieve a few important documents I kept there. I pulled open the drawer. It was completely empty. Frowning, my eyes scanned the desk. I noticed a thick stack of papers jammed under one of the desk legs to level it. Those were my personal health reports, along with copies of my mother’s medical charts from her initial diagnosis. They were crumpled, creased, and stained with dried coffee, serving as a makeshift shim for a wobbly desk. My heart plunged straight into ice water. I yanked the papers out from under the leg and marched back into the living room. Slap. I slammed the stained documents onto the coffee table. “Who did this?” Giselle jumped. When she saw what the papers were, her face drained of color. “Nora, I’m so sorry… I spilled coffee the other day and just grabbed some scrap paper to level the desk. I didn’t know those were your mom’s medical records…” “Scrap paper?” I stared at her coldly. “My name and my mother’s name are printed right on top. Are you blind?” “Nora!” Derek snapped, completely losing his temper. He shoved me back hard. “Have you had enough?! She already apologized! It’s just a copy, you can print another one!” The force of his shove made me stumble back. My lower back slammed hard against the sharp corner of the dining table. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through me. I held my waist, refusing to make a sound. I just looked at Derek with dead eyes. “Derek.” “Do you even know that my mother has a biopsy scheduled for tomorrow?” Derek’s aggressive expression froze. “A biopsy? You didn’t tell me…” “I tried,” I interrupted. “Last night, I called to tell you. But you were busy catching a cat for Giselle, and you complained that I was bothering you.” Silence swallowed the entire living room. The two visiting girls realized things were spiraling out of control. They grabbed their purses and slipped out the door like mice. Giselle, eyes brimming with tears, tugged at Derek’s sleeve. “Derek… it’s my fault… You should go check on Auntie…” Derek looked at me in a panic. “Nora, I’m sorry, I really didn’t know. Tomorrow I’ll go to the hospital with you. I’ll take the day off.” I stared at him for a long, quiet moment. Then I packed the dirty documents into my bag. “No need.” “Tomorrow at two in the afternoon. If you still consider yourself a human being, show up.” Without another word, I turned and left the apartment. 5 The next afternoon at one-thirty. I sat on a plastic chair outside the hospital operating room, staring at the digital clock on the wall. One-forty. Derek hadn’t shown up. My mother, dressed in a thin hospital gown, sat beside me, clutching my hand tightly. “Nora, is Derek too busy with work?” Her voice carried a heartbreaking disappointment. “It’s fine, sweetie. I’m not scared to go in alone. You just wait for me out here.” I squeezed her rough hand, offering her a reassuring smile. “Even if he doesn’t come, I’m here. Don’t worry.” A nurse walked over holding a clipboard. “Family member, sign the consent form.” Just as I reached for the pen, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Derek. I picked up. “Where are you?” “Nora, I’m so sorry.” Derek’s voice was drowned out by the roar of highway wind and frantic car horns. “Something came up on my end. I can’t make it right now.” I watched the nurse’s pen hovering in the air. “What came up?” “Giselle went out to the suburbs for a job interview, and her car broke down on the interstate. She’s stranded on the shoulder, crying and terrified. I have to go pick her up. Your mom’s procedure is just a minor thing, right? You can just sign the form yourself. I’ll drop by her room later tonight.” Over the line, I could hear Giselle’s tearful voice in the background. “Derek, am I ruining your important plans? I’m so scared, big trucks keep driving past…” Derek’s voice softened instantly to comfort her. “Don’t be scared, I’m almost there.” A wave of ridiculous irony washed over me. My mother was going in for a tumor biopsy, with life-or-death stakes. To him, it was a “minor thing.” Giselle’s car was safely parked on the shoulder of a highway, and to him, it was a life-threatening crisis. “Derek.” I spoke his name softly, my voice as flat as a stagnant pond. “Do you have any idea that a tumor biopsy comes with a severe risk of internal hemorrhaging?” The line went silent for a beat. Then Derek’s voice returned, laced with irritation. “Nora, stop catastrophizing everything!” “We live in a modern world, people don’t just bleed to death from a quick needle test! You’re doing this on purpose to guilt-trip me. I’m taking the highway exit now, I have to go.” Click. The call disconnected. I stared at the home screen of my phone, slowly closed my eyes, and opened them again. “Nurse, I’ll sign.” I took the pen and steadily wrote my name on the family signature line. In that exact moment, a string that had been pulled taut inside my heart for three years snapped without a sound. There was no screaming. No heartbreak. Only absolute, overwhelming relief. The procedure took an hour and a half. Fortunately, everything went smoothly. My mother was wheeled back to the recovery room and fell fast asleep. I hired a private duty nurse to watch her, then took a cab straight back to the apartment. At four in the afternoon, the place was empty. Sunbeams streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the trash left on the coffee table. I walked into the master bedroom and pulled my suitcase from under the bed. I didn’t take much. A few outfits, my vital documents, and the bank card linked to our joint household account. I swept my personal skincare products off the vanity into my tote bag. Opening the drawer, I saw the pair of matching Bvlgari rings. Derek had bought them for our anniversary last year. Back then, he had hugged me from behind and promised, Nora, give me two more years. Once the mortgage is cleared, we’ll get married. I picked up his ring, stared at it for a second, and tossed it into the trash can. I slipped my own ring into my pocket. I had paid for half of it anyway; I could always pawn it later. At the front door, I put on my shoes. My gaze landed on the pink slippers Giselle always wore. I walked over and kicked them straight into the garbage bin. At six-thirty, Derek sent a text message with a photo of a strawberry shortcake. Passed by your favorite bakery and waited thirty minutes in line for this. I’ll bring it to the hospital later to apologize to your mom. Giselle’s car got towed, and she says she’s really sorry too. Staring at the notification, I could practically picture the condescending grace on his face. A slap on the cheek, followed by a piece of candy. He honestly thought I would cave like I always did over the past three years, sacrificing my dignity for his crumbs of affection. My fingers tapped against the screen. Eat the cake yourself. Derek, we’re done. You’re free now. Go save your precious Giselle. Send. Then: Block. Delete. Done in one smooth motion. I pushed the door open and took one last look at the place I had poured my heart into for three years. No lingering regret. Only pure disgust. Click. The door locked behind me as I rolled my suitcase toward the elevator.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “587997”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Seven days before our wedding, my fiancé vanished into thin air. His car was found abandoned by the river, his wallet, phone, and wedding band left sitting on the driver’s seat. I didn’t sleep a wink for three days and three nights. My future mother-in-law fainted twice from grief, and my best friend walked the streets with me, plastering missing person fliers on every lamp post in the city. Until my best friend went to take a shower, and her phone lit up with a notification from a group chat named “Operation Dream Come True.” I unlocked her phone. The latest message was from my missing fiancé. Is she still searching by the river? My best friend’s reply was right below it: Don’t worry, she can barely stand up right now. She’d never guess you’re watching the sunrise on the mountain with your first love. 1 Seven days before the wedding, Jonah disappeared. At two in the morning, the police called to tell me his car had been found along Coastal Highway. The driver’s side door was wide open. His wallet, phone, and platinum wedding band were resting neatly on the driver’s seat. Near the guardrail by the riverbank, a set of chaotic footprints trailed off into the mud. By the time I rushed to the scene, yellow police tape had already been strung up around the perimeter. It was pouring rain. The black river churned in the dark, roaring like a gaping maw ready to swallow everything whole. Jonah’s younger brother, Seth, hurried over to catch me as I stumbled. “Mindy, don’t panic! My brother probably just got stressed out and stepped down to catch some fresh air.” I stared at the wedding band resting on the leather seat, my legs giving out beneath me. Just seven hours ago, Jonah had called me on the phone, asking whether I wanted white roses or champagne roses for the bridal bouquet. I had teased him for asking so many little details and told him to pick whatever he liked. He had laughed softly. “Then I’ll go with white roses. Mindy, I’m going to make sure you’re the most beautiful bride in the world.” Those were the last words he ever spoke to me. The officers asked if Jonah had been acting unusually before his disappearance. I shook my head violently. We had been together for six years. We were getting married in seven days. Lately, he had been busy handing out invitations, refining the reception schedule, and practicing his wedding vows in secret. Just last night, he had warmed up a glass of milk for me before stepping out. How could a man like that suddenly abandon his phone and his wedding ring beside a dark river? When Jonah’s mother arrived, she was so distraught she had put her shoes on backward. The moment she saw her son’s car, she collapsed onto the muddy ground. “Jonah! My boy!” I forced myself to pull her into my arms. She clutched my arm with hysterical strength, her fingernails digging deep into my skin. “Mindy, you have to find him! He loves you more than anything, he would never abandon you!” My throat felt choked with ash, but I nodded repeatedly to reassure her. “We’ll find him, Mom. He’ll be back in time for the wedding, I know he will.” She shook violently against me, weeping tears of agony. My best friend, Tori, pulled off her raincoat and draped it over my shivering shoulders, giving me a tight squeeze. “Mindy, go sit in the car for a minute. We’re all here. You can’t break down first.” I shook my head. Jonah was missing. How could I possibly sit still? 2 The search and rescue team dragged their nets along the riverbanks. Seth and a few mutual friends split up to search the nearby pine woods, abandoned industrial lots, and surrounding countryside. Tori stayed glued to my side. As dawn began to break, a text notification lit up her screen. Her face turned pale in an instant. I grabbed her wrist immediately. “Is there news about Jonah?” She reflexively slammed her screen off before forcing a strained, reassuring smile. “Someone said they saw a guy who looked just like him near the East Pier. I already sent Mark over to check it out.” I turned to go there right away, but Tori pulled me back. “You haven’t eaten a bite all night, Mindy. Going there in this state will just slow things down. Mark knows Jonah well, he’ll call us the second he confirms it.” I refused to sit around waiting. In the end, Tori had no choice but to drive me to East Pier herself. We searched the docks for three excruciating hours. The so-called eyewitness was long gone, and the security footage nearby only picked up a grainy figure in a black jacket walking away from the camera. You couldn’t make out his face at all. I stood in the security room, staring at the blurry screen, playing the clip over and over. The gait was wrong. The height was off by an inch or two. It wasn’t Jonah. Tori let out a heavy, sympathetic sigh and guided me out by the arm. “Don’t lose heart, Mindy. At least it proves someone fitting his description is out there. Maybe Jonah really is safe.” I gave a numb nod. By the time we returned to the riverbank, my future mother-in-law had woken up from her dizzy spell. With bloodshot eyes, she handed me a thermos cup of warm water. “Mindy, Jonah is so blessed to have you. Don’t you worry, when he gets back, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind for putting you through this.” I took the warm cup, and tears spilled over my eyelashes without warning. 3 By the second day of Jonah’s disappearance, the rain showed no signs of stopping. The river swelled, forcing the rescue team to expand their search radius downstream. The police pulled traffic camera footage from the highway. At one-seventeen in the morning, Jonah’s car had entered Coastal Highway alone. However, the spot where he parked was right next to a construction barrier, where a dirt path led down toward an abandoned freight dock. That path had been decommissioned years ago and had zero security cameras. The footage showed his car pulling in, but nobody ever saw how or where he left the vehicle. Later that afternoon, the search team pulled a wet black leather shoe out of the muddy water downstream. The moment Jonah’s mother caught a glimpse of it, she wailed and threw herself toward it, crying that it belonged to Jonah. I held that soaked, heavy shoe, my heart practically stopping in my chest. Jonah had bought a brand-new pair of formal shoes just like this for our wedding. I tried to break through the crowd to reach the water’s edge, but Tori and Seth held me back in a vice grip. “Mindy, calm down!” Tori yelled over the wind. “The shoe hasn’t even been identified yet! What good does rushing into the mud do?” I struggled until my arms throbbed with pain. “Let go of me! I have to look for him! He’s terrified of deep water! If he fell in, he’s scared out of his mind right now!” Seth shouted at me with red, angry eyes, “Mindy, stop making a scene! The rescue crew is doing everything they can, going down there just gives them one more person to save!” All the strength drained out of my limbs. I collapsed into the mud, sobbing until I couldn’t catch my breath. Tori dropped to her knees and pulled me into a tight embrace. “Mindy, look at me. Jonah promised to marry you, he wouldn’t just leave you behind.” I clutched at her jacket, asking her over and over, “Why did he take off his wedding ring? Did he regret marrying me?” Tori denied it fiercely. “How could he? Everyone knows how much he adores you! Maybe the ring just slipped off his finger when he opened the door.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the ring hadn’t slipped off. It had been placed upright, perfectly aligned right next to his phone. It didn’t look like an accident. It looked like a goodbye. Over the past forty-eight hours, moments from the night before Jonah vanished kept flashing through my mind. Before he left the house, he had hugged me for a very long time. He had asked me, Mindy, if something unexpected happens on our wedding day, will you wait for me? I had been buried in guest lists at the time, answering casually, Depends on what kind of unexpected thing. Jonah had fallen silent for a moment, then leaned down to press a soft kiss against my hair. You’ll wait. I know you will. Thinking back on it now, those words felt like a jagged needle thrust into my chest, leaving me icy cold. By evening, the shoe was officially confirmed not to belong to Jonah. Everyone let out a collective breath of relief. However, the emotional roller coaster proved too much for my future mother-in-law, and she fainted once again. I had to leave the riverbank to accompany her to the hospital. The doctor informed us it was severe physical and emotional exhaustion and advised plenty of rest. Sitting by her hospital bed, she gripped my hand tightly. “Mindy, if anything terrible really happened to Jonah… I don’t think I could go on living.” My nose stung with tears. “Mom, don’t say that. You still have Seth.” She blinked, surprised for a second, before bursting into even heavier tears. “How could Seth be the same? Jonah has always been the most dutiful, caring son. You two were about to start a life together, how could fate be so cruel to us?” I leaned down to tuck her blanket in securely. “Get some rest, Mom. I’ll step out to buy you some warm soup.” Just as I pulled the door shut behind me, a loud text chime echoed from inside the room. Her weeping stopped dead instantly. Through the thin door panel, I caught her low, hushed voice saying something softly. I couldn’t hear the full sentence, but I distinctly caught a single name: Serena. 4 I pushed the door open and stepped back inside. She frantically shoved her phone beneath her pillow, her face instantly morphing back into a mask of pure tragedy. “Why are you back so soon, dear?” “I forgot to ask what kind of soup you wanted.” Her eyes darted around nervously. “Anything is fine. Mindy, go on ahead, I just want to be alone for a bit.” I stood by the door, watching her for a few silent seconds. A strange, inexplicable knot tightened in my gut. A second later, fresh tears spilled from her eyes once more. “Do you think… do you think Jonah is already…” “No.” I cut her off sharply, burying the flicker of suspicion deep down. She was a mother sick with worry over her missing son. How could I entertain dark doubts over a misheard name? Leaving the hospital, I received a pin location from Seth. He claimed someone had spotted a man matching Jonah’s description along the North Outskirts highway. I couldn’t hail a cab in the downpour. I ran through two flooded streets in the freezing rain before Tori managed to pick me up in her car. Throughout the drive, her phone rang repeatedly. Every time I glanced over, she immediately tapped the decline button. “Who keeps calling?” “The wedding coordinator,” she explained under her breath. “They were asking if they should halt the preparations. I told them to keep everything moving according to plan.” My heart squeezed with dull pain. In just five days, our wedding was supposed to take place. Was Jonah still alive? Would he come back to me? Was there any chance our wedding would still happen? I had no answers. But I didn’t dare cancel it. I was terrified that canceling the venue would mean admitting he was never coming home. When we arrived at the North Outskirts, we found a blood-stained jacket inside an abandoned gas station. It was Jonah’s. I recognized it instantly. On the left pocket was a tiny, custom cross-stitch I had sewn by hand to fix a snag. The blood on the sleeve was dried and crusty, mixed with dark mud. I clutched the jacket to my chest, the world spinning black around me. Seth rushed deep into the abandoned station, shouting his brother’s name. Tori held me up, her voice trembling with tears. “Mindy, stay strong! Jonah might be injured, he’s waiting for us to find him!” I nodded, holding his coat tight as I sprinted toward the overgrown hill behind the gas station. The muddy trail was slick. I fell three times, scraping my knees and palms raw against sharp rocks. Blood mingled with rainwater, dripping down my hands. Tori ran behind me, calling my name, but I couldn’t hear a word. Only one thought consumed my mind: Jonah was hurt. He was bleeding out in some dark corner, waiting for me. By nightfall, the rescue team had combed every inch of the hill. Still nothing. The officers examined the jacket and informed me that the blood spatter was minimal, suggesting a minor surface wound rather than a fatal injury. That meant Jonah was likely still alive. I hugged that jacket tightly, refusing to let go of it all night. I didn’t find out until much later. Before setting off, Jonah had personally sliced his own forearm with a razor, smearing his blood onto the sleeve. He had even pressed it against the fabric several times, terrified it wouldn’t look convincing enough. Then he had handed the jacket to his brother, Seth, instructing him to plant it at the abandoned gas station the following day. That very night, Serena dropped a digital cash gift into their private group chat. Her memo read: Thank you, everyone. Jonah says thanks for keeping her occupied for another day. The person who claimed the highest amount in that cash transfer was my best friend, Tori, who had spent ten hours standing beside me in the pouring rain. 5 By the morning of the third day, I ran a burning fever of a hundred and two degrees. Tori practically dragged me back to her apartment. She fetched fever reducers, sat by my bedside, and patiently fed me porridge spoonful by spoonful. My throat was so swollen and raw I couldn’t speak. She gently touched my burning forehead, her eyes bloodshot. “If you keep destroying yourself like this, Jonah will be heartbroken when he comes back.” I stared at her, my voice raspy. “Do you really think he’s coming back?” Tori’s hand holding the spoon paused for a fraction of a second. “Of course he is. You two love each other so much, how could he bear not to?” I closed my eyes. Ever since Jonah went missing, every single person had been repeating the exact same script to me. He loves you. He can’t bear to lose you. He will definitely come back to marry you. Yet for three whole days, search and rescue hadn’t found a single trace of him. His phone GPS, transit records, and bank transactions were completely frozen on the night he vanished. It was as if he had evaporated into thin air. I forced myself to sit up against the headboard. “I need to go back to the river.” Tori pressed me down by the shoulders. “You have a fever of a hundred and two! Will you please stop pushing yourself? The search team hasn’t stopped, you waiting at home makes no difference!” “It makes all the difference,” I rasped, shoving her hands away. “That was the last place he was seen. If he comes back and doesn’t see me there, what will he do?” Tori stared at me, her lips parting slightly. In that fleeting second, a deeply complex emotion flickered across her eyes. It looked like guilt, mixed with a trace of pity. Ultimately, she helped me lie back down. “Mindy, take a quick nap first. I’ll take you there in two hours, okay?” Overpowered by the medicine, I drifted into a heavy, fitful sleep. When I woke up, the sky outside the window had turned dark. Tori was in the bathroom, the sound of the shower running echoing through the apartment. Her phone sat on the nightstand. The screen suddenly lit up. I hadn’t intended to pry. But the pop-up notification displayed my name clearly. How is Mindy holding up today? The sender contact was saved as Aunt Jennings. I froze. Mrs. Jennings was supposed to be lying in a hospital bed, claiming she didn’t even have the strength to touch her phone. I reached out and picked up Tori’s phone. On instinct, I typed in the four-digit passcode she had used for twelve years, the date we signed the lease on our first shared apartment. The device unlocked instantly. The message had come from an active group chat. The group name was: Operation Dream Come True. There were eleven members in total. Seth, Mrs. Jennings, Tori, Serena, and all of our mutual closest friends. At the very top of the list was a profile picture I knew by heart, Jonah’s secondary account. And the administrator at the top of the member list was a woman I recognized instantly. Serena. Jonah’s first love, the woman he had dated for four years before me. 6 The most recent update had been posted three minutes ago: a photo sent by Jonah. A sprawling, majestic snow-capped mountain peak was bathed in the golden light of the morning sun. Serena, wearing a bright red wool scarf, was leaning her head gently against Jonah’s shoulder, her eyes shimmering with faint tears. Tied to the fringe of that red scarf was a delicate, hand-woven red silk cord. It looked hauntingly familiar, but before I could process where I had seen it, my eyes moved down to the text. Jonah was looking down at her in the photo with an expression of tender devotion, a look I had once believed belonged exclusively to me. Below the photo, Serena had sent a message first. Jonah, maybe we should head back early. Mindy has been looking for you for three days, she must be going out of her mind. Jonah’s reply came swiftly: We’re already at the summit. We leave after watching the sunrise. Serena sent a crying emoji. But I feel so guilty inside. She’s about to become your wife. I don’t want her to get hurt because of me. A few seconds later, she added: I just wanted to say a proper goodbye to the man I loved most before I get married abroad. Once the sun rises, I’ll give you back to her. The group chat went quiet for a moment. Mrs. Jennings was the first to chime in with words of comfort. Silly child, you’re just fulfilling a final wish. Don’t go blaming yourself for everything. Seth chimed in right after: My future sister-in-law has a gentle temper. Once my brother gets back and sweet-talks her a bit, she’ll be fine. Serena didn’t refuse their comfort. She posted another photo of herself snuggled deep into Jonah’s chest. Thank you, everyone. Without you, I would have carried this regret for the rest of my life. Right after that, Jonah typed: Is Mindy still searching by the river? Tori replied: Don’t worry, she came down with a heavy fever, she can barely stand. I locked her up at home. She won’t interrupt your sunrise view. Seth dropped a laughing emoji. She’s so dense. She literally cried all night holding that bloody jacket. Bro, you better sweet-talk her real good when you get back. Jonah replied: She’s easygoing. A few sweet words and it’ll blow over. Serena leaves tomorrow, I can’t leave her with regrets at the end. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the phone. The chat kept scrolling with incoming messages. Mrs. Jennings typed: My head aches from pretending to faint all day! You guys better wrap it up. If the search party keeps dragging the river, this is going to turn into a massive public scene. A mutual friend added: Tomorrow, according to plan, Jonah will magically show up at the abandoned cabin on Shadow Ridge. Tear his shirt up a bit, smear some blood on his forehead, and say he fell down a slope and passed out. Seth asked: Will Mindy buy it? Tori replied: She lost her damn mind these past three days. As long as Jonah walks back alive, she’ll believe whatever comes out of his mouth. Tears flooded my eyes, blurring the harsh white text on the screen. I scrolled up through the chat history. Three days ago, Serena had dropped a long voice message into the group. Her voice had been trembling with soft, fragile restraint. Jonah, I’m moving abroad to get married next week. All these years, I keep dreaming about that snow mountain trail we never got to finish. But you’re getting married soon, I shouldn’t disrupt your life. Forget it, pretend I never mentioned it. Directly beneath that voice note, Jonah had typed: I’ll take you. Serena took a long time to reply: What about Mindy? Jonah said: She won’t agree, so she can’t know. What followed was a step-by-step masterclass in deception, as everyone in that chat helped them engineer the perfect lie. Mrs. Jennings was the first to give her blessing. Go ahead. Mindy is sensible, she won’t break up with you over a small thing like this. Seth had asked: What about Mindy though? You two are getting married in seven days. Jonah replied: As long as she thinks I met with an accident, she won’t have the time or energy to track my whereabouts. Tori had paused for a long time before sending her message: Isn’t this a bit too cruel? My heart squeezed tight in my chest. I stared at the screen, a pathetic, foolish spark of hope still lingering in my soul. A second later, Tori added another line: Mindy is hyper-perceptive. A simple disappearance won’t trick her. You have to park the car by the riverbank. Leave the phone, wallet, and wedding ring behind to make it look real. Serena had immediately chimed in: Won’t that terrify Mindy? Jonah, maybe we shouldn’t go. I’m not worth putting her through all this. Right after typing those words, she had posted a picture of herself sitting in a hospital corridor, looking pale with an IV band on her wrist. The doctor says my anxiety has been acting up again. But don’t worry, I’ll pull through on my own. The group chat exploded with concern. Everyone scrambled to comfort her. Not a single person mentioned whether I would be driven out of my mind with terror. The eyewitness at East Pier was arranged by Tori. The bloody jacket in the North Outskirts was planted by Seth. Mrs. Jennings was tasked with using fainting spells and hysterics to tie me down. Our closest friends took turns driving me to dead-end locations to keep me running in circles. Even the wet leather shoe dragged out of the river had been purchased in advance by them and tossed downstream on purpose. They had outlined every single detail in cold, meticulous prose. And they had taken my complete mental breakdown as proof that their “Operation Dream Come True” was proceeding with wild success. In the group media gallery, there was a short video clip. In the video, Serena stood beneath the snow-capped peak, asking softly, “Jonah, lying to Mindy like this… is it really okay?” Jonah adjusted her red scarf, pulling it snug around her neck. “She won’t find out. Everyone is on our side.” Serena lowered her eyes, a single tear falling right on cue. “I still envy her. No matter what you do, she’s the one you’re going to marry in the end.” Jonah stayed silent for a few seconds before wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. “Don’t bring her up today.” Leaning against his chest, a subtle, triumphant smile flickered across the corner of Serena’s lips. The video cut off. The shower in the bathroom shut off with a metallic click. I swiftly forwarded the chat logs, photos, and video files to my own phone, cleared the transfer history, and placed Tori’s device back onto the nightstand. The bathroom door swung open. Tori walked out drying her wet hair with a towel. Seeing me sitting upright on the edge of the mattress, she froze. “When did you wake up, Mindy?” 7 I raised my head and looked at her. This woman had been my best friend for twelve years. When her stepfather used to beat her, I was the one who snuck her out of her house in the middle of the night. When her mother needed emergency surgery, I lent her the money I had saved for my housing down payment without a second thought. During the darkest six months of her unemployment, she lived under my roof, eating my food and wearing my clothes, without paying a dime. When Jonah vanished, she had held me while I cried, walked the freezing streets pasting fliers, and wiped the blood off my scraped palms. Yet she was also the very first person to suggest leaving Jonah’s car by the river. She knew precisely how to break me because she knew me better than anyone alive. Tori shuffled uncomfortably under my gaze. “Mindy, what’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?” I shook my head slowly. “Nothing.” She walked over and pressed her palm against my forehead. “Your fever dropped a bit. Seth just texted saying there might be a new lead near Shadow Ridge. Get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll head over tomorrow morning.” Looking at her face, which was painted with such convincing concern, I suddenly wanted to ask her a question. Tori, during those three days, when you held me in your arms, did you feel even a single second of disgust at yourself? In the end, I asked nothing. I pulled the blanket back over myself and closed my eyes. “Okay. Tomorrow, we’ll go together and bring Jonah home.” Tori let out a quiet sigh of relief. She had no idea. When I said “bring him home,” I meant bringing him back to watch this sickening play crash down around his ears.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “587995”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel