I was having dinner with the heads of 120 of our company’s most important partners when I received my year-end bonus of $950. When they found out that I, the person providing all services for them, received such a pittance, the atmosphere at the table shifted. Meanwhile, my colleagues were blowing up the group chat, celebrating their $20,000 bonuses. I calmly finished my meal. Seven days later, my contract expired, and I walked away. My boss’s wail nearly burst through the phone: “Why?! Why did they all pull their funding?!” 1. Seven days until contract expiration. The banquet was held at “The Pinnacle,” the city’s premier hotel. Crystal chandeliers scattered light like crushed diamonds across well-dressed faces. Seated here were the heads of 120 partners who controlled 90% of revenue for “InnoTech Networks.” And the person responsible for maintaining all 120 client relationships was me, Ethan Chen. I navigated between tables with ease, glass in hand, exchanging pleasantries with every CEO I knew. Many of them had dealt with me since my first year. Our relationships had long transcended simple business transactions. “Ethan, for our group’s new project next year, it has to be you. I don’t trust anyone else,” said Director Chen, procurement director for a well-known national conglomerate, patting my shoulder earnestly. I smiled and nodded. “Rest assured, Director Chen. As long as I’m here, your business is my business.” Just then, the phone in my pocket vibrated frantically. I excused myself to the restroom and checked the screen in a quiet corner of the hallway. It was the company’s main WeChat group, currently flooded with festive red. “Thanks, Boss Zhang! Thanks to the company! The $20,000 bonus is in! Let’s achieve even more next year!” That was Linda, my colleague whose main job was organizing my project reports and putting her name on them. “Wow! Linda, you rock! I got $20,000 too!” “Me too! The company is awesome this year!” “Boss Zhang is generous! Hard work pays off!” … Screenshots of $20,000 transfers felt like silent slaps across my face. Expressionless, I swiped past the glaring red and opened my banking app. A new transfer record lay there quietly. Amount: $950.00. No decimal points, no blessings, just a cold integer, like a token fee for an intern. I stared at the number for a full ten seconds. No anger, no disappointment. The last flicker of “expectation” in my heart was extinguished, leaving only numb ashes. I should have known. Back at the main table, the atmosphere was still lively. I put on my professional smile again, as if nothing had happened. Director Chen next to me was clinking glasses. His elbow accidentally nudged my phone. I instinctively lit up the screen to put it away, and the number 950 flashed in his peripheral vision. Director Chen’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He put down his glass and asked casually, “Ethan, your company did so well this year. Your bonus must be substantial, right? Your colleagues in the group seem overjoyed.” I met his gaze frankly and calmly spat out three words: “Nine hundred fifty.” The noisy main table seemed to have been muted. Within a second, all voices vanished. The CEOs nearby heard the number. Their expressions ranged from surprise to disbelief, finally settling into a collective, angry realization. They were shrewd people. A core backbone who provided 24/7 service and maintained 90% of the company’s lifeline received a measly $950 bonus, while office staff whose names they didn’t even know got $20,000. The implication was self-evident. The atmosphere grew awkward. Yet I acted like nothing happened, raised my glass, stood up, and smiled decently at the silent table. “Thank you all for your support over the past year. This toast is to you. I’ll drink it all; you do as you please.” I downed it in one go. The spicy liquid slid down my throat, burning away years of forbearance and exhaustion. I actively steered the conversation to next year’s market planning, using my professionalism to force the dinner back on track. But the thorn was already lodged in everyone’s heart. No matter how I livened up the atmosphere, the subtle barrier remained. Clients began exchanging frequent glances filled with sympathy, indignation, and a certain resolve. The dinner ended hastily. Guests left one by one. Director Chen was the last. Passing by me, he stopped. Those eyes that had seen countless people looked at me deeply. He lowered his voice to a volume only we could hear: “Ethan, you’ve been wronged. This place isn’t worth it. Any thoughts, contact me anytime.” Warmth filled my heart. I nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Director Chen.” Sending off the last guest, I returned to my empty home. Instead of immediately opening my computer to handle emails as usual, I made myself a cup of tea. I felt no anger, no sadness. When a person completely gives up on something, emotions become a superfluous luxury. I opened my computer, ignored the annoying work, and created a new document titled “Handover List.” I methodically listed every workflow, every client’s basic information, every project’s basic framework. My thinking was terrifyingly clear. Then, I looked at the calendar on the wall. A red circle marked the date seven days from now, labeled: Contract Expiration. My eyes were calm and determined, like a general about to press the nuclear button. Finally, I opened my phone and found the WeChat of a headhunter added a month ago. He had asked if I was interested in changing jobs. I replied, “Stable for now.” Now, I deleted that sentence and typed five words. “We can talk now.” 2. Six days until contract expiration. Walking into the office, I was hit by an air of cheerfulness so thick it was almost sticky. Everyone’s face beamed with the excitement of receiving a huge sum, discussing European trips or new cars. Linda, in brand new red heels and carrying a luxury bag with a blindingly large logo, sashayed past me. She deliberately stopped by my desk, placed the bag “casually” on the corner, and complained exaggeratedly, “Oh, impulse buy yesterday. This bag isn’t even that nice. Ethan, what do you think?” I didn’t look up, staring at the handover document on the screen. “It’s okay.” Linda’s smile stiffened, then she raised her voice to shout to colleagues: “Sisters, to celebrate our big harvest this year, afternoon tea is on me! Top tier, order whatever!” “Wow! Linda’s generous!” “Thanks, Linda!” A group surrounded Linda, happily ordering on their phones, turning the small office area into a market with their laughter. From start to finish, no one asked me, “What do you want to drink?” I was like an invisible person, automatically isolated from this celebration that had nothing to do with me. At 3 PM, Boss Zhang Wei, with his signature beer belly and flushed face, appeared in the office. “Colleagues, quiet down!” He clapped, and everyone fell silent, looking at him with adoration. “This year, our company achieved unprecedented results! This is inseparable from everyone’s hard work!” His voice boomed as he scanned Linda and other employees who received high bonuses, a smile of approval on his face. “I always say, InnoTech never mistreats any striver! As long as you work hard, the company sees it! Next year, I hope everyone continues to work hard, and we’ll double the bonuses!” He passionately painted a rosy picture, but his shrewd eyes perfectly avoided my direction, as if by design. As if I, who brought in 90% of the business, didn’t belong to the ranks of “strivers.” After the speech, Zhang Wei waved at me. “Ethan, come to my office.” I stood up calmly and followed him. Closing the door, Zhang Wei’s smile faded slightly, replaced by an earnest expression. “Ethan,” he poured me a glass of water personally, “don’t overthink this year’s situation. I know your contribution is significant; the company sees it all.” I held the cup, silent, quietly watching his performance. “But you must understand, your success relies heavily on the company’s platform. Without InnoTech’s signboard, how would those big clients know you? Although Linda and the others aren’t as capable in business, they put a lot of effort into internal coordination and process management. There’s hard work even without credit.” He started his best gaslighting spiel. “Your bonus is a bit low, but that’s a result of comprehensive consideration. You’re young; look at the long term. Next year, as long as you maintain this momentum, I guarantee your red envelope will be the biggest!” I nodded, showing just the right amount of gratitude and obedience. “I understand, Boss Zhang. I’ll keep working hard.” Zhang Wei was clearly very satisfied with my “sensible” and “obedient” attitude. He felt this useful old ox had been thoroughly tamed. He patted my shoulder. “That’s right. Work hard, the company won’t mistreat you.” Walking out of the office, I heard snickering from the pantry. “See that? Ethan is destined to be a workhorse. Does the most work, gets the least money, and is appeased by the boss’s empty promises.” “Exactly. Does he really think clients recognize him? It’s all for our company’s face. Without the platform, he’s nothing.” “Serves him right. Who asked him to be so capable, making us look useless.” I walked past the pantry expressionless, returning to my desk. Those vicious words, like the buzzing of flies, could no longer stir any waves in my heart. I opened an encrypted folder containing a fifty-page document titled “In-Depth Core Client Relationship Maintenance Manual.” It recorded not just contact info and contracts, but complex internal relationships, decision-makers’ preferences, psychological bottom lines in negotiations, even “unspoken rules” like where their kids went to school. This was the crystallization of years of effort, the true lifeline maintaining these 120 clients. Calmly, I encrypted and packaged the core parts of this manual, uploading it to my private cloud. Done, I felt a heavy shackle lifted. Just then, Zhang Wei walked out, announcing proudly: “Good news everyone! We won another new project! The client specifically asked for our strongest team! Ethan, this project is yours. Follow up long-term, make it our benchmark for next year!” Everyone’s eyes focused on me, filled with jealousy and schadenfreude. I looked up at Zhang Wei’s triumphant face and, for the first time, rejected him directly. “Sorry, Boss Zhang.” My voice wasn’t loud but exceptionally clear. “My contract expires in six days. I can’t guarantee the continuity of this project. For the client’s sake, please find someone else.” The office fell silent instantly. 3. Five days until contract expiration. The calm was broken by an urgent phone ring. The system of HuaSheng Group, the company’s largest and longest-standing client, suddenly had a major bug, halting their entire production line. The technical department investigated for two hours with no solution. As the nominal client contact, Linda was scolded bloody by HuaSheng’s technical director over the phone. Aside from “we’re handling it,” she knew nothing. Finally, HuaSheng called Zhang Wei directly. The tone was icy, issuing an ultimatum: “Boss Zhang, I don’t care about your internal issues. I want Ethan to handle this. If it’s not solved in two hours, we terminate cooperation and pursue legal liability!” Zhang Wei’s face turned white. HuaSheng’s orders accounted for nearly 20% of the annual revenue. Losing them meant breaking a leg. Sweating profusely, ignoring dignity, he trotted to my desk, voice unprecedentedly humble: “Ethan, Ethan! Emergency! Quick, HuaSheng’s system has a problem, handle it!” Everyone watched with complex eyes. I made no conditions, put on no airs, just calmly closed my laptop. “This is the last thing within my duties.” I put on my headset and remotely connected to HuaSheng’s server. Zhang Wei and the tech staff surrounded me, holding their breath. Linda stood outside, face changing colors, eyes full of resentment. Lines of code scrolled rapidly. Relying on five years of maintenance experience and a private contingency plan for potential loopholes, I quickly located the root cause. A hidden database interface conflict, a hazard left by HuaSheng’s internal IT staff’s non-standard operation. Tech staff couldn’t find it without knowing the whole system architecture. My hands flew over the keyboard, modifying code, restarting services, clearing caches… Operations flowed smoothly. An hour later, I took off the headset. “Solved.” Almost simultaneously, my phone rang. HuaSheng’s technical director. “Ethan! Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver! Production is restored!” Relieved, he changed tone, hinting, “Brother, honestly, a talent like you staying at InnoTech is a waste. This company isn’t worth it.” I smiled. “You’re too kind.” Crisis averted, Zhang Wei sighed in relief. But his look towards me wasn’t gratitude, but fear and dissatisfaction. He realized this employee he thought he controlled held power he couldn’t grasp. Seeing this, Linda whispered to Zhang Wei: “Boss, isn’t this suspicious? Tech spent ages with no clue, he fixed it instantly. Did he hide a trick to leverage the company for conditions?” This hit Zhang Wei’s suspicion. He’d rather believe an employee was plotting than admit his management failed. His wariness deepened. I ignored their inner drama. Task done. I printed a file, placed it on Zhang Wei’s desk. “Boss Zhang, this is my handover list. Please review and designate a successor.” Zhang Wei flipped through it casually. It listed only the names, contracts, and public contacts of 120 clients. As for the core maintenance manuals, key network maps, communication skills relying on personal experience… None. A procedurally perfect but practically worthless list. 4. Four days until contract expiration. Zhang Wei assigned Linda to take over my work. Perhaps a power play, showing me that a favored employee could easily take over my core work. Holding the dry list like a royal decree, Linda sat opposite me arrogantly. “Ethan, start. Tell me each client’s quirks, likes, taboos, clearly.” Her tone was more interrogation than handover. I pointed to the first client. “HuaSheng Group, Procurement Director Chen Jianhua, phone 139xxxxxxxx, public info. Contract terms here, special needs in Annex 3. Next.” “Wait!” Linda interrupted. “That’s it? Who wants this! I want the ‘unspoken rules,’ stuff not in docs! Like what tea Director Chen likes? What to note when dining?” I looked at her calmly. “Sorry, my handover is limited to recorded company assets. My personal friendship with Director Chen and communication experience are personal and not within handover obligations.” “You!” Linda flushed red. “You’re uncooperative! Ethan, don’t think you’re special because you’re leaving! You’re making things difficult!” Her voice shrill in the quiet office. Leaning back, I showed undisguised aggression for the first time. “Which sentence in my document don’t you understand? Or is your professional ability insufficient to grasp basic client data?” A direct hit to her incompetence. Her face paled, lips trembling, unable to refute. Whispers started. Some gloated at Linda’s embarrassment; others thought I was too arrogant. Seeing the situation spiral, Zhang Wei came out to mediate. “Alright, all colleagues, talk nicely.” He turned to me with an elder’s tone. “Ethan, be generous. Linda is doing this for work. Just impart your ‘experience.’ For the company’s good.” Looking at his hypocritical face, I found it funny. “Boss Zhang,” I responded calmly, “Experience can’t be imparted, only accumulated personally. My obligation is to hand over work, not run a years-long private training for my successor. If Ms. Linda needs hand-holding for basic client relations, I suggest reassessing her competency.” My words, like a sharp knife, cut Linda’s face and Zhang Wei’s mediation. Zhang Wei’s face darkened completely. The office fell deathly silent. In the solidified atmosphere, my phone vibrated. A WeChat from Director Chen. An exquisite electronic offer from a new company I’d never heard of: “Value Co-Creation.” Position: Senior Partner. Salary: A figure I never imagined. Closing the phone, I looked up at Zhang Wei’s gloomy eyes, feeling unprecedented relief. I’m done with this mess.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388273”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After we decided to reconcile, I found an open wrapper for an ultra-thin condom in the passenger seat of Liam’s car. I silently put it away for him. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t make a scene. Liam gave me a complicated look and voluntarily explained, “Check the box again. It’s all there. We just ran out at home, so I bought a new pack.” I hummed a response, leaning back against the uncomfortable seat to feign sleep. He eventually pulled over to the side of the road, his voice turning gentle. “Let’s go buy some supplements. For New Year’s, we’ll go back to your hometown together. We should visit Mom.” The tears finally broke through. I turned my body away, presenting my back to him. My mother had passed away. And he still didn’t know. Chapter 1 “Hazel? Are you listening to me?” Liam’s voice dropped an octave, heavy with pressure. My voice was hoarse when I replied, “No need.” There was no need to go back. Not anymore. Not ever again. He misunderstood my refusal and leaned over, peering at my face. “Are you angry? Trust me, okay? Look, count them if you want.” He opened the box of condoms, dumping them out to show me. His eyes held a mix of helplessness and indulgence, as if he were dealing with a tantrum-throwing child. I wiped my tears and looked at him. “I’m really not angry.” Liam leaned in and hugged me, sighing. “You say you’re not angry, but you look it. Didn’t you always want me to go back with you? I finally cleared my schedule for New Year’s. No business dinners. If we miss this, who knows when the next chance will be?” He stroked my back gently, just like he always did. I pushed him away, numbly nodding. “Okay. Let’s go then.” Before she died, my mom kept murmuring about how busy her son-in-law was, regretting that she hadn’t seen him one last time. If Liam had the time over the holiday, going to pay respects at her grave would be good. After the divorce, I’d have no reason to ask him to go. I bought a lot of things online. Mostly paper money to burn for the dead. I was worried about inflation in the afterlife, so I planned to burn a little extra. But on New Year’s Day, Liam didn’t come home. Chapter 2 As if I had expected it, I calmly accepted the possibility that he wouldn’t make the train. I called a cab and went to the station alone. It wasn’t until the train started moving that he finally called. “I’m so sorry, something came up here. Can you change your ticket? We can leave tonight instead.” I watched the scenery receding outside the window, swallowing my tears. “No need. I’ve already left.” I didn’t even bother asking for the reason. But Liam offered it anyway. “It really isn’t because of Chloe. There was a sudden issue with a project we negotiated earlier. I thought I could make it. Hazel, don’t be like this.” I didn’t know where he got the idea that I was throwing a fit. I spoke calmly. “I know you’re busy. You can just come tomorrow.” Waiting one more day didn’t matter. It is what it is. Liam breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait for me. When I get there, I’ll make Mom that lamb stew she loves. She always said I was a good cook. She probably hasn’t had it in years. This time, I definitely…” “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” I interrupted his fantasies, tears streaming down my face uncontrollably. I wanted to scream. Mom can’t eat it anymore! Where the hell were you before? But I was tired. I didn’t want to argue. We had argued so much that I was exhausted. It made me feel like I had no self-respect, begging for his attention like a stray dog. As long as he came. That was enough. As long as he came to kowtow and light incense, so my mom could see him one last time. It wouldn’t be in vain that she supported him for so many years. It wouldn’t be in vain that I brought him home fifteen years ago, and he ate dinner at our table every single day. But in the end, I overestimated him. Chapter 3 My uncle’s face fell when he saw I had returned alone again. That evening, my aunt asked tentatively, “Are you and Liam fighting? Actually, when your mom was hospitalized, she sensed something was wrong. She just didn’t mention it because she didn’t want to upset you.” “Hazel, you need to temper your personality a bit. Your parents are gone; you only have your husband to rely on. Having a child quickly is the most important thing right now.” I listened quietly, telling her Liam would arrive tomorrow. I explained, “Business hasn’t been great the last few years; he has a lot of social obligations. He wanted to come when Mom was in the hospital, too. Don’t worry, we’re fine.” I didn’t want my family to know about my plan to divorce. I didn’t have the energy to deal with their mediation. But I never expected Liam to break his promise again. In the morning, he told me he was on his way to the station. My uncle killed a chicken he’d been raising for a year, and my aunt went grocery shopping at dawn. “It’s good he’s coming. He didn’t show up for the funeral, and the villagers have been gossiping that you were abandoned. This will shut them up. You two need to visit more often.” My aunt chattered away while busy in the kitchen. But after a table full of food was prepared, Liam didn’t pick up a single one of my calls. “Let’s eat first,” I said, suppressing my emotions and looking at them apologetically. My aunt and uncle exchanged a look and nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s eat. I’ll call your cousins over; we can’t finish all this food anyway. They can go up the mountain with you later.” My aunt busied herself getting bowls and chopsticks. The food on the table, sitting in the winter air for half an hour, had long lost its heat. I fought back tears, forcing a difficult smile. My uncle suddenly sat next to me and patted my head. “You’ve always had a mind of your own since you were little. Do what you want to do. If your dad were still here, he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this. Uncle’s house is always your house. You still have family. Don’t listen to your aunt; you need to live freely.” I smiled at my uncle, then got up and went to the bathroom. I came out only after I finished crying. My aunt and uncle were heating the food in the kitchen when my phone rang. It was Liam. Chapter 4 “She’s hospitalized. She’s in surgery. It’s a matter of life and death; I can’t just ignore her. Hazel, wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll come to pick you up. We can bring Mom back to the city for a few days, too.” I listened to his words numbly, emotions churning in my chest. I didn’t want to get angry. Mom always said, “Hazel, don’t always get worked up. It’s not worth it. Let’s just live a peaceful life. Turn a blind eye, and decades will fly by. Look at how many complaints I had about your dad, but after he passed, I only remember the good things.” But Liam was bullying me too much. “You don’t need to come. I’ll find you when I get back.” I hung up the phone coldly. Liam called back, but I declined it. His messages started flooding in. [Don’t be unreasonable. Just wait there.] [If there was anyone else who could help, she wouldn’t have called me.] [She wanted to apologize to you for the last incident, but I didn’t let her.] [Hazel, you know your temper. I was afraid you’d hit her again.] [Can’t we just live our lives? Why do you have to throw a tantrum over small things?] […] He sent a lot. I skimmed through a few lines. My cousins arrived, so I turned off my phone and ignored him. The meal was eaten with heavy hearts. When we went to my mother’s grave, my cousins waited at a distance. I sat on the ground, looking at the photo on the tombstone, and tears just started falling. I had so much to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. Before leaving, I finally told her, “I’m sorry, Mom. I lost the son-in-law you liked so much. You won’t blame me, will you?” The wind picked up, brushing against my face like a gentle touch. I held back my tears and walked down the mountain without looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388272”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After the divorce, I found a diary at home. It was the one Aiden Blackwood had shoved into my hands back in high school. It was filled with trivial little things about my day-to-day life. We were so young then, so perfectly in sync, never imagining that ten years later we’d be tearing each other to shreds. I picked up a pen and wrote: “Carol, don’t fall in love with Aiden Blackwood.” Suddenly, new words bloomed on the page. “Who are you? What gives you the right to say that!” It was the handwriting of seventeen-year-old Aiden. 1 The hand holding the pen hovered in midair, my mind a complete blank. The tears that had been streaming down my face a second ago stopped. A cold wind swept across my tear-streaked cheeks, the icy touch yanking me back to reality. I stared at the diary, my hand trembling as I wrote. “Are you the seventeen-year-old Aiden?” An instant reply. “My name’s Aiden Blackwood, and I don’t change it for anyone. Now what kind of freak are you, and why would you say that!?” Shock and disbelief warred within me. I took several deep breaths before my shaking hand steadied. I wiped my eyes and wrote slowly, deliberately: “You will make her miserable.” He immediately crossed out my words and wrote with absolute certainty: “I will only ever love Carol! I could never hurt her!” Reading those words, I felt a bitter laugh bubble up inside me. “Only love Carol? Is that why, ten years from now, you’ll cheat on her with her best friend?” “Never hurt her? Is that why, ten years from now, you’ll force her into a divorce?” “Aiden Blackwood, stay away from her.” The words that had been furiously appearing on the page finally stopped. I closed the diary and let out a long, shuddering breath. 2 There were once two incredibly important people in my world. One was Lila Miller, my best friend, who transferred to our school in our senior year. At the time, she was living with her grandmother, a woman who made no secret of her preference for grandsons. Lila was withdrawn, introverted, and painfully shy. I was the one who pulled her into my circle, forcibly inserting her into the rest of my life. The other was Aiden Blackwood. To this day, I remember the day after our high school graduation. He stood in the ivy-covered walkway, handed me the diary with a look like he was facing a firing squad, and said, the tips of his ears bright red: “Carol, will you be my girlfriend?” The sun was perfect that day. We were surrounded by a crowd of cheering classmates. Lila was among them, her arm linked with mine, smiling even wider than I was. After that, Aiden and I started dating, and eventually, we got married. It all felt so natural. I truly believed it would be forever. Until the day I saw him at the hospital with Lila for her prenatal check-up. The ginkgo leaves had blanketed the streets in gold that day. Aiden had told me early that morning he was going upstate for a business trip. I, on the other hand, had gone to the hospital on the north side of town for a blood test because of a persistent low-grade fever and nausea. I saw them the moment I walked out of the lab. Aiden, his arm wrapped intimately around Lila’s waist, stood by the entrance to the obstetrics department. A nurse called out, “Lila Miller, 12-week prenatal report.” My brain, fogged by the flu, couldn’t process the overload of information. I even started making excuses for them. When Aiden saw me, he snatched his hand back. Lila quickly hid behind him. “What are you doing here?” he asked. As if I hadn’t told him that very morning I was so sick I had to go to the hospital. I wanted to smile and ask them what was going on, but my lips wouldn’t move. Tears instantly welled up in Lila’s eyes. She said nothing, just clung to Aiden’s hand. I suddenly remembered the earrings—the ones I had given her—that I’d found in our bed a few months ago. I remembered Aiden’s explanation: “She fell asleep while waiting for you.” And Lila’s excuse: “I wanted to surprise you, but I nodded off.” And I, like an idiot, had lived in the web of lies they wove around me. I fought to stay calm, but my voice trembled as I demanded to know when it had started. They didn’t answer. Aiden just shielded Lila, his voice cold and flat. “Carol, don’t make a scene.” A scene? I reached out, trying to pull Lila out from behind him. I wanted to ask her why. I needed an answer. Lila clutched her stomach, struggling and crying out in fear. Aiden grabbed my hand, prying my fingers off Lila’s arm, one by one, his knuckles white with effort. All my pent-up grief and anger exploded in that moment, burning my reason to ash. I raised my hand, blind with rage. But I never touched Lila. Aiden shoved me, hard. I lost my balance and nearly fell to the ground. A crowd gathered around us, just like the day he’d asked me out. Through the ringing in my ears, I finally heard Lila’s sobs. “Carol, I’m so sorry… but we’re really in love… I just want to keep this baby…” My head was spinning, a deafening buzz drowning out everything else. I could barely stand. Aiden carefully helped Lila up, then turned to me, his voice calm. “Just look at the state you’re in.” “Carol, what do you have that she doesn’t?” I stared at him, watching him protect another woman. The fire inside me suddenly went out, leaving only a cold, dead emptiness. The sun began to set, the sky darkening around us. Looking at the closed diary, I subconsciously rested a hand on my stomach. There was a baby here. A baby I had been so excited for. Aiden’s baby. I had imagined his reaction to the news a thousand times. But on the day it was finally real, he was celebrating another child. 3 I tossed the diary into a corner of my desk, determined not to touch it again. But the next day, my chunky ginger cat knocked it to the floor. I meant to just put it back, but once it was in my hands, I opened it, as if compelled by some unseen force. In just one day, the pages were filled with blue ink. After all the frantic arguments, there was a new, determined line: “I’ll prove it to you!” From that point on, the diary became a chronicle of Aiden’s day-to-day courtship. He wrote about the mechanical pencil we’d traded ten years ago, the carton of strawberry milk he’d secretly left in my desk, the smiles I had given him over the years. Every line overflowed with a joy he couldn’t contain, as if his entire world was filled with ‘Carol’. A decade of memories flooded back with his words, a tight knot forming in my chest. I grabbed a pen and, with a kind of self-destructive malice, refuted every single one. The other side was silent for a long time before new words appeared. “You’re not her. How would you know?” I gripped the pen, my knuckles white. The words “I am Carol” refused to form on the page. Frustrated, I decided to disguise myself as a ‘System’, even revealing a few of his well-kept secrets to sell the act. He was stunned. After a long pause, he asked in a pleading tone: “So… Mr. System, can you tell me what flavor of milk Carol likes?” Looking at his cautious question, I suddenly understood. In this diary, I didn’t have to be the 27-year-old Carol. I could set aside my current pain and bitterness. I just had to be an observer called the ‘System’, watching his secret crush unfold from a god’s-eye view. And just like that, I became seventeen-year-old Aiden’s “Dating System.” Every day was filled with endless happy things to say and see. Opening the diary became the thing I looked forward to most. Until one day, he suddenly told me: “System, I just told Carol about you, and she doesn’t believe me!” The moment the last stroke of his writing appeared, a strange yet familiar memory surfaced in my mind. Sophomore year, Aiden had run up to me, his eyes wide with conspiracy. “I found a diary that lets me talk to a ‘System from the future’.” My fingers traced the words in the diary. I clung to them like a lifeline. An idea began to grow wildly in my mind—this diary could change the past! If it could really change the past, couldn’t it change this miserable present? What if I had never approached Lila? What if we had never become friends? Would Aiden still be the same boy from seventeen, who loved me and only me? Would our child still have a father who loved him? The hand holding the pen trembled uncontrollably. There was only one thought in my head: I had to test it. “There’s a hair clip shaped like a ginkgo leaf at the corner store. Carol really likes it.” I scribbled the words, the pen tip tearing the paper. “Tell her to keep it safe.” Almost instantly, the ginkgo leaf hair clip appeared on my desk. A large blank space appeared in the diary. One memory began to fade rapidly as a new, vivid one rushed in to take its place. A sunny afternoon. Aiden, drenched in sweat, ran up to me, holding the hair clip, his eyes shining. He said, “This! You have to keep it safe!” I slumped over my desk, laughing and crying at the same time. There was still time. Everything could still be fixed. 4 I started conducting more dangerous experiments. I had the Aiden from ten years ago give me small, insignificant things. A bag of fruit-flavored hard candies appeared in the early summer of my sophomore year. A small eraser, carved into the shape of a cat, lay in my pencil case during midterms that fall. Using my own memories as anchors, I began to map out the rules of time and space governed by this diary. My life, however, remained exactly the same. As the time in the diary approached the end of my sophomore year, the final week of my real-life divorce cooling-off period began. I looked at the pregnancy test report on my desk and finally sent Aiden a message: “Saturday, 2 PM. The usual café. We need to talk.” He replied with a curt, “Okay.” I stared at his profile picture. The photo I had taken of ginkgo leaves was gone, replaced by a stretched-out silhouette of him and Lila leaning against each other. In the diary, an oblivious seventeen-year-old Aiden was still writing excitedly: “Carol came to watch my game today! She even remembered to bring me water! Do you think she might like me a little bit too?” I silently closed the chat window. On Saturday, a light rain began to fall. I sat in our usual spot and opened the diary to chat with the eighteen-year-old Aiden. “System, I had a dream last night that Carol and I had a baby! I was so happy! I hope it’s a girl, so she can look just like her, with dimples when she smiles. But a boy would be fine too…” Reading his words, I touched my stomach and couldn’t help but smile. The real Aiden was half an hour late. When he arrived, he looked tired and annoyed. “What…?” He didn’t finish his sentence. His eyes locked onto the diary in my hands, and he even reached for it. I quickly put the diary in my bag and took out the pregnancy report, pushing it towards him. “I thought you should know about this.” His gaze was still fixed on my bag as he distractedly took the report. “Aiden!” Lila burst out of nowhere, snatched the report from his hand, and tore it to shreds. She was wearing the loungewear I’d given her last year, her belly swollen. The rain had plastered her hair to her face, making her look like an abandoned victim. “You promised you wouldn’t see her again!” she screamed, crying. Aiden immediately stood up to comfort her, not even bothering to look at what I had given him. But Lila kept crying, her sobs wracking her body. She pointed an accusing finger at me. “Carol, you have everything… a perfect family, a perfect life… What about me? My family said I was useless! A disgrace!” Her voice suddenly rose to a shriek. “Aiden was the first person to ever tell me, ‘I’ll protect you.’ You already have so much, why can’t you just let me have him?!” The commotion drew the attention of everyone in the café. I could hear their whispers. Then, as if she’d gone mad, she ran to the edge of the café’s balcony and yelled at me. “Carol! Promise me! Promise you’ll never see him again for the rest of your life! Or I’ll jump!” Everyone was looking at me, including Aiden. “Carol,” Aiden said, “talk her down. Isn’t she your best friend?” Someone in the crowd muttered, “Wow, the mistress is actually pushing the wife to this…” A profound sense of absurdity washed over me. “You want me, your legal wife, to go and talk down your mistress?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it broke on the last word. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, Lila scrambled onto the railing, half her body hanging over the edge. We were on the second floor. Aiden grabbed my arm and started dragging me violently towards the balcony. I struggled, but I couldn’t break free. His voice was hoarse. “Just this once. I’m begging you. Get Lila back over here and tell her to her face that we’ll never see each other again!” But as he pushed me closer, Lila suddenly reached out and yanked me forward with all her strength. Caught off guard, my stomach slammed hard against the balcony railing. She seemed to be cursing at me, but I couldn’t hear a thing. An excruciating pain overwhelmed everything. I collapsed, curling into a ball on the ground. In my peripheral vision, I saw Aiden pull Lila back into his arms, frantically checking if she was hurt. “Blood!” someone in the crowd shrieked. I looked down. Blood was seeping from between my legs, staining my clothes. Aiden looked over, his face instantly turning a deathly white. I remembered then. I had come here today to tell Aiden. We were having a baby. 5 I sat on the hospital bed, staring out the window. The feeling of being hollowed out and the physical pain were a constant reminder. The baby was gone. The ginkgo leaves outside the window glistened in the rain. I remembered junior year, when Aiden had stood under that huge ginkgo tree, holding up two leaves to make a golden “leaf butterfly” to make me smile. He had said, “I swear, I’ll never make Carol cry again!” But the Aiden standing at the foot of my bed now just looked exhausted. “Lila has been emotionally unstable since she got pregnant. Her grandmother found out she was pregnant out of wedlock and called her a disgrace, wouldn’t even let her in the house… Don’t blame her…” A massive, heavy weight of grief crushed my chest, making it hard to breathe. I grabbed my bag and threw it at him with all my might. “She killed my baby! She’s a murderer!” He didn’t move, letting the bag hit him squarely, its contents spilling onto the floor. Including the diary. The other people in the room had quietly slipped out. In the dead silence, he picked up the diary and asked softly, “Are you the System?” I froze. The grief and rage were pushed aside, replaced by a dizzying mix of shock and disbelief. I suddenly realized that Aiden was the one who had truly lived through this diary.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388271”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was reborn the rainy night my father brought his pregnant mistress home to humiliate my mother. Just as he announced, “She carries the Gray heir. She must have a title,” a tremor shook my mother’s womb. Panicked, I clung to the umbilical cord, screaming in my mind: Don’t tell him you’re pregnant too! He’s taking her side—this isn’t about the baby! Mom, feeling the stir, initially raised her hand to tear up the check he offered. I wailed inwardly. Last life, you stayed and fought that mistress, and Justin framed you. You died in prison! This time, take the money. Let’s live well! A realization flashed through her. You’re right. Why waste tears on a man who can’t stay faithful? The next moment, she snatched the check—and tore it to pieces. But now, she met Justin’s gaze squarely. “Fine, we’ll divorce. But you’re at fault. We split everything by the book.” She patted her belly, calming my kicks. “Don’t worry, little one. Thirty million is an insult. Mommy will make him pay—dearly.” … Justin stared at my mother’s face and sneered. “I earned every penny of this money. You think you can just walk away with half after a divorce? Dream on!” But if it hadn’t been for my mom’s savings that funded his startup, Justin Gray would be nothing today. My mom didn’t back down. “You cheated. I’m legally and morally entitled to half.” Before she could finish, the mistress, Lily, walked in. “I see what you’re doing. You’re just making a scene because you don’t want to divorce Justin.” “Face it, sister. You’re just a washed-up hag who can’t even lay an egg. Justin’s fortune belongs to me and my child.” Justin shot my mom a look of pure scorn. “She’s right. You should be on your knees thanking me for thirty million.” I could feel my mom’s explosive temper about to detonate. I quickly tugged on the umbilical cord and yelled in her mind: Stay calm, Mom! The baby in Lily’s belly isn’t even Justin’s! She’s just trying to bait you into hitting her so she can fall and frame you! If you slap her now, you’ll walk right into her trap! Realization dawned on my mother’s face. She immediately backed away a good ten feet, treating Lily like the plague. Lily froze, a flash of hatred in her eyes. “Sister, why are you standing so far away?” As she started to walk over, my mom turned and strode away. “If you won’t agree to split the assets, we’ll see each other in court. I’m not signing anything until I get what I’m owed.” Lily’s plan to stage a miscarriage was foiled. She swayed, looking faint. Justin, thinking she was worried about her status, rushed to her side. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the divorce goes through.” But a court battle takes time. My mother sold some of her jewelry and found a quiet place to stay. She gently stroked her swelling belly, her expression full of wonder. “Are you really my baby?” One hundred percent, Mom! To prove it, I added, Mom, you like to pee standing up in the shower. Her face flushed a deep crimson. “Okay, stop. I believe you.” Her phone chimed. It was a reminder from the OB-GYN for her scheduled abortion. She swiped it away without a second thought, then asked me, puzzled, “Then how were you reborn? I would never have gone through with it!” You didn’t, Mom, I continued. In your last life, you couldn’t bear to lose me, so you refused the divorce. But that just gave Justin the perfect opportunity to frame you! The Gray Group is about to face a massive crisis. Justin will accuse you of stealing corporate secrets and running off with the money. He’ll send you to prison, and… and the baby won’t make it due to malnutrition. My mother’s eyes turned red, and she gritted her teeth. “Then I need to divorce him, fast. I can’t be Mrs. Gray a second longer.” “Don’t worry, baby. Mom’s done being blinded by love. I’m going to be smart, get us the best deal possible, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives having fun!” Just then, her phone rang. It was my grandmother. “I assume you know about Lily’s pregnancy. Come back to the family estate. It’s time to settle this.” In my past life, my grandmother had always maintained a benevolent facade and was kind to my mom. Her later favoritism toward Lily became a thorn in my mother’s side, driving her to fight for an explanation. I felt my mom’s body tremble. I immediately cranked up the volume in her head: Go! You have to go! Grandma cares more about the family line than money. This is our golden opportunity to threaten her and walk away rich! And more importantly, once Lily has that baby, Grandma will show her true colors! Heh heh heh! I let out a wicked little laugh. My mom paused, her eyes lighting up. “Oh? You seem to know quite a lot, baby.” You bet I do! This time, we’re all about the money! I held on tight to my umbilical cord as my mom hailed a cab and sped to the Gray estate. The moment we walked in, we were greeted by the sound of Lily’s soft sobs. “Justin and I are truly in love. That’s how this baby came to be.” “But his wife won’t let him go. This child will be born without a name, a bastard. Imagine how people will mock him!” I felt my mom’s sadness through the cord as Grandma shot her a reproachful look. True to her fiery nature, my mom was about to retort, but I stopped her. Let her spin her lies to Grandma, Mom! Don’t be fooled. Grandma may be protecting her now, but she only cares about her son and her grandson. In the last life, when you were pregnant with me in prison, Grandma even paid for people to protect you. But after I was lost to malnutrition, she immediately had you bullied to death. That old hag is a traditional nouveau-riche snob, rotten to the core! My mom looked closer and saw it. Grandma’s gaze was fixed on Lily’s stomach, but when her eyes met Lily’s, it was like she was looking at a breeding tool, devoid of any warmth. My mom got it. She strode forward, her purpose clear. “Justin told me everything. I agree to the divorce.” Grandma was stunned. The entire speech she had prepared was stuck in her throat. Lily’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re just putting on a show. You still refuse to sign the papers.” “Good thing Justin comforted me yesterday. He set off fireworks by the river and proposed to me.” “You should just step aside, sister. A marriage without a man’s heart is just an empty title.” As she spoke, Lily casually flashed a diamond ring the size of a pigeon’s egg. Justin arrived just in time to sweep Lily into his arms, shooting my mom a disgusted look. “I’d rather buy Lily a thousand more rings and transfer all my money to her and our child than give you another cent!” But when Justin was so broke he was living on instant noodles, my mom had married him for a ring made from a soda can tab. As expected, my mom’s blood started to boil. I quickly cooled her down. Don’t worry, Mom! That baby in her belly isn’t even his! When that kid is born, you can sit back and watch him wear the green hat! The old hag put on her fake-benevolent face. “Stella, thirty million is enough for you to live on. A smart woman knows when to quit. Don’t be so greedy you end up with nothing.” I kept encouraging my mom. Just you wait, Mom. When the old hag finds out the truth about that baby, it’s going to be one hell of a show. My little pep talk cleared my mom’s head completely. She smiled. She looked at the old hag. “My demand is simple, Mother. We follow the legal process for asset division.” “And if you try to claim Justin isn’t at fault, well, videos of his grand proposal are all over the internet. And last I checked, Justin and I are still married.” With that, my mom held up her phone, playing a video. That scumbag was only offering my mom thirty million, but he had spent twenty million on fireworks alone for the proposal. The whole thing was broadcast on the giant screen in the city’s central plaza, which cost millions per minute. On my urging, my mom had recorded the whole thing as evidence for the divorce. It was already coming in handy. My mom wiped a fake tear from her eye. “Oh, dear. I seem to recall that bigamy is illegal in this country. I believe it’s called infidelity during marriage? Grounds for being left with nothing, I think.” “But out of respect for our years together, I’m only asking for half. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?” Justin and Lily’s faces turned livid. My mom and I shared a wicked, telepathic grin. You think that’s bad? We were just getting started. My mom kept a safe distance from Lily and pointed at the ring on her finger. “Actually, according to marital law, I paid for half of that ring, too. If I end up destitute, I might just have to come and… take it off your finger.” Lily turned pale, swaying as she bit her lip. “Justin, this woman is insane.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388270”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was choosing my tenth anniversary gift when my son’s preschool called. His teacher said he’d fought over a story he wrote. I picked him up, his face full of hurt pride, and took him home. After calming him, I opened his notebook. The title was shakily written: My Real Mom and My Fake Mom. “The fake mom takes care of me and Daddy. She’s our unpaid maid.” “My real mom works far away. Her job is to love me and Daddy.” My hands turned cold holding the paper. Just then, my husband Simon came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. He hugged me from behind. “What did our boy write this time?” But when he saw the page, his smile stiffened. His voice tightened as he reached for the book. “It’s just a child’s nonsense. Is his teacher overreacting?” I didn’t let go. I turned and looked at the face I’d slept beside for ten years—now a stranger. In the living room, Liam watched cartoons, unaware. If I was the “fake mom”… Who was the “real mom” far away? And the son I carried for nine months—where had he really been? … “Clara? What are you spacing out for?” Simon waved a hand in front of my face, his voice light and casual. “It’s our tenth anniversary today, you know. What did you get me?” He winked, deftly changing the subject. I watched him in silence for a long moment before reaching into my purse. I pulled out the box I’d prepared and handed it to him. His face lit up as he took it. He opened it to reveal the limited-edition watch he’d been wanting for ages. “It’s beautiful! Honey, you have the best taste!” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Will you put it on for me?” I did as he asked, my movements mechanical as I fastened the watch around his wrist. For ten years, for nearly every important occasion, I had never missed a gift. He, on the other hand, rarely bothered with such details. I had always told myself it was just his personality, that he wasn’t good at expressing himself. But Liam’s story said something different. “Daddy loves getting presents for my real mom. He says picking out a gift for someone you love is more important than the gift itself.” The innocent words of a child were now a blunt knife, twisting in my heart with every letter. It wasn’t that he was bad at expressing himself. It was just that I was never the one he wanted to express it to. “Simon…” I started, the words catching in my throat as I tried to figure out what to say. “Are you… are you hiding something from me?” His body stiffened. He turned away from me, his face clouded over with irritation. “Clara, are you seriously questioning me? Don’t forget, Liam is six years old. Are you really going to take something he scribbled in a notebook seriously?” I wanted to press him, but he had already turned and walked back into the bedroom. Watching his retreating back, I realized for the first time just how vast the distance between us had grown over ten years. Late that night, the man beside me was fast asleep. But the words from the notebook, Simon’s forced smile… the images churned in my mind, chasing away any hope of sleep. I slipped out of bed and crept out of the bedroom. The door at the end of the hall—to Simon’s study—was slightly ajar. He’d always hated me going in there, and for ten years, I had respected his privacy. But tonight, some unseen force pulled me toward that door. I pushed it open and stepped inside. I searched every corner, every drawer, desperate to find a clue, a single thread of an explanation. But I found nothing. Straightening up, my gaze landed on the picture frame in the center of his desk. It was a photo of the three of us. Simon was holding Liam high up on his shoulders, and I was leaning against him, my face beaming with happiness. To anyone looking at it, we were the perfect, loving family. I picked up the frame, my fingertips tracing the smiling faces of my husband and son. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Was I really going to doubt the man who had loved me for a decade, all because of a six-year-old’s story? A wave of guilt washed over me. I sighed, ready to put the frame back and convince myself it was all in my head. As I moved to set it down, I noticed the base of the frame was loose. I instinctively tried to fix it, but my fingers slipped. CRACK! The frame clattered to the floor. I bent down quickly to pick it up. But as my fingers closed around it, I froze. The back of the frame wasn’t a solid piece of cardboard. Tucked inside was a carefully folded photograph. It was Simon, looking young and bright, with his arms wrapped around a girl in a white sundress. Holding my breath, my hands trembling, I turned the photo over. On the back, in his familiar, bold handwriting, was a single line. “Anna, no matter who I marry, my heart will always be yours.” The date was the day before our wedding. 2 The next morning, after dropping Liam off at preschool, I didn’t go to the office. Instead, I drove to the nearest phone carrier’s store. “Hi,” I said, handing over my ID, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’d like to see a detailed call log for our family plan. The bill seems unusually high lately.” The clerk typed efficiently, and within moments, our call history for the last six months was on the screen. My eyes immediately found it: a number from the neighboring state that appeared over and over again. The calls were mostly late at night, ranging from ten minutes to over an hour. I discreetly copied the number down and left. That night, while Simon was in the shower, he left his phone charging on the nightstand. The screen was locked. I typed in the password we used to share. Password incorrect. I then tried his birthday, our anniversary, every significant date I could think of. All incorrect. Finally, with a self-mocking bitterness, I typed in the date from the back of that photograph. Password correct. My heart sank into a cold, dark pit. I searched his phone, but the number wasn’t in his contacts. I found it in his blocked list. How could a blocked number have such a frequent call history? There was only one explanation: he unblocked it to talk, and then blocked it again immediately after. A chill crawled up my spine. I opened his social media apps, searching for more clues. I typed the phone number into the search bar, and a profile popped up. The background photo was a silhouette of a family of three against a sunset. Two adults holding a child’s hand. The man’s profile was identical to Simon’s. I put the phone back exactly where I’d found it and called my assistant, Laura. “I need you to run a background check on a phone number. As fast as you can.” … After the call, I crept into Liam’s room. He was fast asleep. Simon always said our son looked just like me, but now, looking closely at his eyes, his nose… I couldn’t see any of my features in his face. The splinter of doubt in my heart dug deeper. When the school sent out a notice for annual health check-ups, I took Liam to the hospital myself. After all the tests were done, I gently plucked a few strands of his hair, making sure to get the follicles, and sealed them carefully in a small plastic bag. That afternoon, I dropped off the bag, along with a sample of my own hair, at a DNA testing facility. During the week I waited for the results, Simon started staying out late more often, using “guys’ night” as an excuse. Before he left, he’d spend an unusual amount of time in front of the mirror, fussing with his hair. One evening, after he left, I got in my car and followed him. He drove across town, finally pulling into the parking lot of a secluded spa resort on the outskirts of the city. As Simon got out of his car, a woman in a long dress, who had clearly been waiting for him, walked up to meet him. I recognized her instantly. It was the woman from the photograph. Simon casually took her handbag, his other arm wrapping expertly around her waist. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and a deep blush spread across her face. After a few more quiet words, they walked into the resort, their bodies pressed close together. I sat in my car, the heater blasting, but I felt a chill that went straight to the bone. Just then, my phone buzzed with an email notification from the testing facility. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. I opened the attachment and scrolled straight to the bottom. “Based on the DNA analysis, Clara Mills is excluded as the biological mother of Liam Scott.” That one sentence was a poisoned blade, skinning me alive. The son I had raised for six years, the boy I loved more than life itself, was not mine. The woman’s face from a moment ago flashed in my mind, her features overlapping with Liam’s. The resemblance was sickeningly clear. I felt a wave of nausea so strong I thought I was going to be sick. But I remembered being so careful. The hospital where I gave birth had a reputation for being chaotic, so I’d specifically arranged for a private nurse to conduct a paternity test and had hired security to watch over the nursery. The results had been clear, written in black and white. We had our son. So why… why six years later was he someone else’s child? And the baby I carried for nine agonizing months… where was he now? I picked up the phone and dialed my assistant. “Two things, Laura.” “First, find out everything you can about the connection between a woman named Anna Ross and my son, Liam.” “Second, find my real son. Spare no expense.” Laura was silent on the other end for a beat. “Understood,” she said, her voice grim. “I’m on it.” In the days that followed, I went about my life as if nothing had changed. I could even face Simon and pretend everything was normal. But I no longer returned his hugs. At night, I slept in the guest room. When he asked why, I told him I was stressed with a big project at work and didn’t want to disturb him. He looked at me with a flicker of something in his eyes but didn’t push it. A week later, Laura placed a sealed envelope on my desk. “We acquired a DNA sample from Anna Ross through… certain channels,” she began, her voice low. “We ran it against Liam’s sample.” She paused. “The results show a biological mother-daughter relationship.” Even though I had expected it, the confirmation hit me so hard I had to grab the edge of my desk to stay upright. Six years. For six years, I had poured every ounce of my love into a child who carried another woman’s blood. “We also looked into your hospital records from the birth,” Laura continued. “The only other woman who gave birth on the same day as you was Anna Ross.” “She checked in alone. The emergency contact she listed was… Simon Scott.” My head snapped up. “What about her baby?” Laura’s expression was somber as she consulted her notes. “There were complications during the delivery. The baby boy she gave birth to… he passed away on the third day.” The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place, forming a horrifying picture. “Keep digging,” I ordered, my voice raspy. “I want every single detail about that baby boy.” Laura’s efficiency was remarkable. She quickly managed to track down a retired nurse who had been on duty at the maternity ward that week. The old nurse glanced around nervously before leaning in to speak. “Those two mothers went into labor almost at the same time,” she whispered. “But that Ross woman, she had a rough time. Three days of labor, and the baby still didn’t make it.” She took the cash from the envelope Laura handed her, licked her thumb, and counted the bills with a smack of her lips. “But that… that was just the official story. To fool everyone else. But I saw it with my own eyes… That Ross woman, she switched the babies herself! Her baby never died! They were all lying!” After dropping her bombshell, the nurse stuffed the envelope into her purse and scurried away, leaving Laura and me frozen in place, a chilling dread washing over us. My voice was a raw, unrecognizable whisper. “Find my son. I don’t care what it takes.” A few days later, all the leads pointed to a remote orphanage in the next state. The admission date, the child’s age—it all matched. I couldn’t wait another second. I drove the hundreds of miles myself, following the address Laura had given me. The afternoon sun bathed the orphanage’s yard, where children were playing in groups. My eyes scanned every face, a frantic hope pounding in my chest. And then I saw him. In a corner, far from the other children, a small figure was curled up, his little hands blue from the cold seeping through his threadbare clothes. The orphanage director noticed my stare and followed my gaze, letting out a soft sigh. “That’s Aiden. He was brought here six years ago, covered in bruises. He doesn’t talk much. He’s terrified of people.” She shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine what that poor child has been through.” In that instant, my heart stopped beating. Even from a distance, I could see my own features reflected in his small, frightened face. He was my son. When he needed his mother the most, what was I doing? I was giving all my love, all my devotion, to another woman’s child. An all-consuming agony ripped through me. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, my nails digging into my palms. Simon. Anna. You stole my life. You stole my son. For everything you took from me these past six years, I will make you repay it a thousand times over.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388269”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my grandfather died, he left behind two things: a multi-billion dollar inheritance, and three simple matchsticks. “You and your sister may each choose one,” the lawyer said, his voice echoing in the sterile office. “Mindy, as the eldest, you choose first.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I chose the billions. My adopted sister, Nicole, was left with the three matches. I never imagined those matches held the power of prophecy. That by striking one and making a wish, it would come true. Nicole, simmering with resentment over our parents’ perceived favoritism, used her first wish to curse them. Just as she wished, it happened. My father had a sudden, fatal heart attack. My mother, racing to the hospital, was killed instantly when a semi-truck ran a red light. I grabbed a kitchen knife and went straight for her. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you that when you turned eighteen, I’d give you half of Grandpa’s inheritance!” I screamed, my voice raw with grief. “Mom and Dad took you in! They gave you everything I had! How could you do this?!” Nicole’s face was a mask of pure greed. “If they were going to adopt me, they should have gotten rid of you! I should have been the one to get everything! I don’t want your charity. With all of you dead, the money is all mine!” With a cold smirk, she struck the second match. “I wish for my sister to be sold off to a remote village, forced to be a breeding machine until she dies in childbirth!” Panic seized me. I liquidated every asset I had and hired a thousand bodyguards, turning my home into a fortress. But one night, every single guard fell into an inexplicable, simultaneous stupor. I was taken, just as she’d wished. I was dragged to a remote village, where I was tortured and broken, my life reduced to a cycle of forced pregnancy and birth, treated worse than an animal. I don’t know how much time passed before I took my last breath in a storm of agony and humiliation. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the inheritance. … A murmur went through the room as my grandfather’s lawyer, following the will’s instructions, shakily placed three matchsticks on the table next to the thick portfolio of assets. “Has the old man lost his mind? Are those supposed to be a family heirloom?” “Maybe it’s his way of insulting the adopted one? That’s just cruel.” The lawyer cleared his throat, his voice thin and frail, just like Grandpa’s had been. “The multi-billion dollar inheritance and these three matches. You and your sister may each choose one. Mindy, you are the eldest. You choose first.” A jolt went through me. I was back. I was really back. My eyes darted to my parents, standing beside me. They were whole, they were alive, and they were smiling at me, giving me a nod of encouragement. My vision blurred with tears. Last time, I chose the billions. And Nicole used those three matches to destroy my family and send me to a living hell. The phantom pains of my death still lingered. This time, I would not make the same mistake. “I’ll take the matches,” I said, my voice clear and firm. The room fell silent. “Is Mindy insane? They’re just matchsticks, not solid gold.” “We’re talking about billions of dollars! And she’s just going to hand it over to an adopted kid? If she wants to play the saint, she picked a hell of a time to do it!” “This is painful to watch! If she doesn’t want it, I’ll take it!” My parents rushed to my side, tugging at my sleeve. “Mindy, honey, did you misspeak?” my mother whispered urgently. “Dad’s start-up just went public, and your mother’s health isn’t the best. We could really use the capital right now…” “Sweetheart, I know you have a good heart, and you’re always thinking of your sister. But you could have taken the inheritance and given her half later! You didn’t have to do this…” They pleaded with me, but my resolve was iron. “I want the three matches,” I repeated. “Nicole lost her parents when she was young. Her life has been harder than mine. The inheritance… I don’t want a single penny. It all goes to her.” Nicole looked like she was about to jump for joy. As she eagerly signed the inheritance documents, she shot me a saccharine, fake thank you. “Thank you, sister, for being so generous. Don’t worry, when you’re begging on the streets, I’ll be sure to buy you a bread roll!” My parents were so furious with me they were speechless. When Grandpa was bedridden, I had taken care of him tirelessly for three years. Nicole, who complained about the “old people smell,” only ever spoke to him when she wanted a cash gift for the holidays. That’s why, in both lifetimes, Grandpa gave me the first choice. I ignored the whispers and jeers from the others. They didn’t know the secret these matches held. They were priceless. That night, I heard my parents tossing and turning in their bedroom. “What on earth was that child thinking?” “We raised her for over twenty years, and she turns out to be a complete fool!” “The creditors are coming tomorrow. If we can’t pay them back, we’re going to lose the house!” My grandfather had been a firm believer in self-reliance, a rule he’d instilled in all his children. My father’s new company wasn’t profitable yet, and he’d taken on high-interest loans to keep it afloat. He had been counting on my inheritance to see them through. Nicole, meanwhile, was already out on the town, flaunting her newfound wealth. Getting a dime out of her to help our parents would be impossible. Hearing their worried whispers, my own heart ached. I slipped out of bed, went to my room, and silently struck the first match. “I wish,” I whispered into the tiny flame, “for my parents to become fabulously wealthy overnight.” Satisfied, I crawled back into bed and fell into a peaceful sleep. The next morning, I was jolted awake by my mother’s bloodcurdling scream. “It’s over! Everything is over!” “The office building caught fire! Everything’s been burned to the ground!” “The fire spread to the neighboring shops! We’re liable for tens of millions in damages!” My father was slumped on the floor, his head in his hands, his body wracked with tremors. I stood frozen, clutching the blackened stump of the matchstick, a deathly chill spreading through me. How could this happen? My mother, frantic and overwhelmed, saw me standing there in a daze, and all her pent-up frustration exploded. “This is all your fault! It’s because you chose those stupid matches!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Matchsticks… fire… oh god, it was a sign… it was all fated!” “If you had just chosen the billions, none of this would have happened!” She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. My father just held her, his eyes closed in exhaustion, saying nothing. My head spun. How? I wished for them to be rich. Why did they go bankrupt instead? Could it be… because I was reborn? Had my interference changed the rules? Did the wishes now work in reverse? The thought sent me scrambling back to my room for the second match. But before I could even strike it, the front door was kicked open with a deafening crash. “Well, well. Look at you all, relaxing at home while we’ve been sweating our asses off trying to collect,” a brutish man sneered, flanked by a group of thugs. “This is your final warning. If you don’t have the money by tomorrow, we’re chopping off your hands.” He leered at me. “And I hear you’ve got a pretty daughter. Maybe she can help the boys… unwind.” They proceeded to smash everything in sight with their clubs, leaving our home in ruins. On top of the loans, we now owed millions in damages. Desperate, my parents had no choice but to call Nicole. She ignored the first nine calls. On the tenth, she finally picked up. “Honey, your mom and I are in trouble,” my father began, his voice strained. “Grandpa left you billions… we don’t need much, just thirty million. Please, can you help us?” “If we can’t pay, the loan sharks are going to… they’re going to take our hands…” I had seen Nicole’s social media posts. She’d just bought a new emerald necklace that cost fifty million. But in response to our parents’ desperate plea, she sighed dramatically. “Mom, Dad, it’s not that I don’t want to help. But this was Grandpa’s inheritance for me. I can’t just spend it recklessly. If you want to blame someone, blame my sister for only choosing three matchsticks.” Before they could say another word, she hung up. A moment later, a new post appeared on her feed. It was a picture of her cuddling a small puppy. On the puppy’s head sat a tiny crown made of solid gold. The caption read: “Money should only be spent on those who are worthy.” My parents trembled with a rage that left them speechless. To scrape together the money for the next day, I sold everything I owned: my collection of rare cards, my autographed memorabilia. I even sold my smartphone for a cheap, second-hand flip phone. My mother sold her wedding jewelry, and my father sold his car. We managed to gather a few million. A sliver of relief softened my father’s brow. “This should be enough to hold off the loan sharks for tomorrow.” My mother, now calmer, turned to me, her expression grave. “Mindy, I’m so sorry. I lost control this morning and I took it out on you. I know none of this is your fault. Please, forgive me.” A lump formed in my throat. I almost started crying. “Maybe I really did make the wrong choice…” My father gently patted my shoulder. “It’s over and done with. Money is just money. But seeing Nicole’s true colors for what they are? In a way, that’s priceless. To think we took her in because we felt sorry for her, and we ended up raising a viper.” Dinner was just plain bread, but huddled together, we found a warmth that had been missing. My father started talking about the future, a spark returning to his eyes. “As long as I have my health and my hands, I can rebuild. I know I can.” That night, I steeled myself and lit the second match. “I wish,” I whispered, my voice trembling, “for my parents to be crippled and live a life of poverty.” If the first wish was reversed, then I had to wish for the opposite of what I wanted. Please, let this work. Let them live long, prosperous lives. I clutched the spent matchstick, too terrified to sleep. I was petrified that I would wake up to another disaster, just like the morning before. I didn’t need them to be rich. I just needed them to be healthy and happy. Around five in the morning, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit me. My head lolled to the side, and for a moment, the world went black. When I woke up, the house was eerily silent. My heart pounded against my ribs. I crept to my parents’ bedroom and peeked inside. They were sleeping peacefully. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. But as I turned to go back to my room, two piercing, agonized screams erupted from behind the door.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388268”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d finally decided to say yes. After three years of being pursued by Leo, the most popular guy on campus, tonight was the night. He’d asked me to meet him at the campus’s “Lover’s Lane,” a secluded grove of trees, promising a surprise. Right before I left, I was scrolling through my phone and stumbled upon a livestream. A car auction. “Pristine, one-owner vehicle, never been on the road. Check out these headlights. Available for pickup tonight!” the host’s voice purred with a suggestive undertone. “She’s bright and white, a real beauty. Connoisseurs, you know what to do!” The moment he finished, a photo flashed on the screen. It was blurry, but even so, the ridiculously full curves were visually arresting. What made my heart stop, though, was the profile. It bore a striking resemblance to my own. The chat exploded. The car, listed at fifty thousand dollars, sold out in a second. The winning bidder, some rich guy, typed excitedly, “Can’t wait! Where do I pick her up?” The host giggled. “Be patient, honey. Nine p.m. Lover’s Lane. In-person inspection. First come, first served.” My heart skipped a beat. Lover’s Lane? Just then, my phone chimed. A message from Leo: “Babe, are you almost here?” 1 Leo’s message made my heart skip a beat. I frantically exited the livestream, but the image of that profile picture was seared into my brain. Trying to stay calm, I typed out a reply. “My stomach’s suddenly killing me. I don’t think I can make it tonight.” I sent the message and stared at the screen, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Leo’s reply was almost instantaneous. “What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad?” Normally, that’s what he would have asked. He was always so solicitous, so caring. But tonight, his response was different. “The surprise can’t wait. You need to get here. I’m waiting.” I stared at the words, a chill creeping up my spine. This wasn’t like him. After chasing me for three years, he’d always treated me like I was made of glass. If I even hinted at feeling unwell, he’d drop everything to come to me. Tonight, all I got was an impatient demand. The suspicion in my gut grew heavier. I dug my heels in. “I’m serious, I can barely get out of bed.” “Why don’t you bring the surprise to my dorm?” I added, testing him. This time, his reply took much longer. “No. It has to be at Lover’s Lane.” “Hurry up. Don’t drag your feet.” His tone had turned sharp, almost hostile. I gripped my phone, my palm slick with sweat. Just then, my roommate, Lily, walked over. “Chloe, you’re so pale. Are you okay?” she asked, her face a mask of concern. My family was wealthy, and I was always generous with her. The latest phones, designer bags—if I had one, she had one. She’d always been a good friend to me, like a sister. I told her about the livestream, framing it as a bizarre coincidence. My voice was hesitant; the whole thing sounded absurd even to my own ears. “Lily, do you think it could be some kind of prank?” Lily immediately shot down the idea. “Chloe, you’re just being paranoid. People are always trying to go viral online. Someone probably saw how pretty you are and is just trying to copy you.” Her words made a strange kind of sense. “I mean, think about it. Who would be bored enough to orchestrate a prank that just happens to match the exact time and place Leo asked you to meet him? The world isn’t that small.” As she spoke, she picked up a glass of papaya milk from my desk and handed it to me. “See? You’re getting all worked up over nothing. You need to relax.” “Leo bought this for you. He said you were craving it. Drink it and get some sleep.” The papaya milk was from my favorite brand, the packaging familiar. But looking at it, my appetite vanished. The livestreamer’s crude slang—“bright and white”—and this glass of papaya milk formed a grotesque connection in my mind. I pushed her hand away. “I don’t want anything cold right now. I think I’ll get some hot water.” “I’ll get it for you,” Lily offered eagerly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll go myself.” I stood up and grabbed my kettle. As I turned to leave, I caught Lily’s reflection in the full-length mirror by the door. She had snatched up her phone, her expression tense. Her thumbs were flying across the screen, typing at a furious pace. It was a stark contrast to her usual languid texting style. My heart sank. Back in my bed, I pretended to sleep, my phone on silent, the screen dimmed to its lowest setting. I joined the fan group of the “rich guy” from the auction. He was in the middle of a tirade. “What the hell is going on?” “The seller says my fifty-grand deposit doesn’t mean anything. The car broke down. Can’t pick it up tonight!” Sympathetic messages immediately followed. “Patience, my friend. A classic like that is worth the wait.” “Yeah, man, what’s one more day for a ride like that?” The rich guy wasn’t having it. “I’ve got my pants down, and you’re telling me this now?” “The seller said tomorrow. If I don’t get her tomorrow, I’m gonna kill him!” I stared at the words “broke down,” my body frozen. I had just told Leo my stomach hurt, that I couldn’t get out of bed. And just like that, the fifty-thousand-dollar “new car” had “broken down.” 2 I didn’t sleep a wink. The words “deposit” and “broke down” echoed in my mind all night. This was no coincidence. The next morning, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, my phone rang. It was Leo. I ignored it. A moment later, Lily’s call came through. “Chloe, are you awake? Leo’s downstairs. He brought you breakfast.” Her voice was cheerful, perfectly normal. I hung up without a word. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Lily opened it to reveal Leo, holding a bag of food, an apologetic look on his face. Somehow, the dorm mother had let him up. “Babe, I’m so sorry.” He came in, set the breakfast on my desk, and walked over to my bed. “I was just so excited about the surprise last night, I wasn’t thinking about your feelings. Please don’t be mad at me.” His voice was gentle, his eyes sincere. He was a flawless actor. If it hadn’t been for the livestream, I would have melted, would have thrown myself into his arms. Now, all I felt was a wave of nausea. Lily chimed in. “It’s true, Chloe. You have no idea how many all-nighters Leo pulled to get this surprise ready for you. He was just anxious last night. You can’t blame him for that.” She nudged my arm. “Come on, get up and eat. It’s your favorite, crab roe buns.” I watched their perfectly choreographed performance, a chilling coldness spreading through my chest. I pretended to be appeased. “I’m not mad.” I sat up and took the bun Leo offered me. “I really wasn’t feeling well last night.” A smile instantly lit up his face. “I knew my girl was the most understanding.” He reached out to stroke my hair. I flinched away instinctively. “I have to go to the library. I need to study for finals.” Leo’s smile faltered. Lily quickly jumped in. “Right, right! Studying is the most important thing. We’ll leave you to it.” I avoided them both and left for the library alone. I didn’t use my phone. Instead, I took out my tablet and logged into a niche forum I rarely used. In a discussion thread about last night’s livestream, I found new screenshots. It was the “rich guy” again, bragging in his fan group. “The seller sent me another picture to prove she’s ‘brand new.’ Check this out, boys. Perfect condition!” The picture was of a sliver of pale skin on a lower back. Just above the dimple of the waist was a tiny, crimson birthmark. The world tilted on its axis. My blood turned to ice. The location, the shape of that birthmark—it was identical to mine. Only two people knew about it. Lily, who I never bothered to be modest around when we were changing in our dorm room. And Leo, who had once “accidentally” walked in on me changing. He’d turned beet red and apologized profusely, swearing it was an accident. Looking back, it was all an act. The fact of their betrayal was now undeniable. I was a product on their shelf, with a price tag attached. 3 A tremor of fear ran through me. I had been living with two people who were planning to destroy me. I replayed the past few years in my mind. Lily, casually asking about my family’s business, my parents’ assets. Leo, playing the part of a hardworking, impoverished student, designed to evoke my sympathy and a desire to protect him. The expensive gifts I’d given him, which he’d always protested against before gratefully accepting. Their goal, from the very beginning, had been to sell me. I had no concrete proof. Going to the police now would only tip them off. I had to save myself. So, I returned to the dorm and acted as if nothing was wrong. Lily was lounging on her bed, wearing an expensive face mask I’d bought her. “Oh, you’re back,” she said, her tone casual. “Did you know Leo’s been working multiple jobs to save up for your gift?” She was trying to make me feel guilty, to lower my guard. “Oh,” I said, my voice flat. I opened my closet and started packing a suitcase. Lily sat bolt upright, the mask crinkling on her face. “What are you doing?” I tossed a few items into the suitcase. “I’m tired of the dorms. I’m going to get my own place.” A flicker of panic crossed her eyes. She scrambled off her bed and rushed to my side. “But that’s so expensive! And it’s not safe. Hey, I just rented a place near campus. Why don’t you move in with me? We can keep each other company.” Her invitation was effusive, but her eyes held a nervous glint. Her hypocrisy was almost laughable. She was afraid I’d slip through her fingers, trying to keep me close. I paused. “Where is it?” “It’s at the Green River apartments, right by the school.” I considered her offer. “I’ll think about it.” I stopped packing. That night, the car auction livestream was back on. “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” the same host purred. “We had a little mechanical issue yesterday, but she’s all tuned up and ready to go. Tomorrow, our top bidder will finally get his hands on the wheel. I guarantee she’s got plenty of horsepower, and those headlights are brighter than ever.” The chat was a frenzy of excitement. The “rich guy” replied from the bottom of the screen. “You’d better be right. Otherwise, I’ll have to hire some people to… loosen a few screws.” The threat was unmistakable. I stared at the screen, my grip on my phone tightening. They were going to make their move tomorrow.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388267”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years after our breakup, the court’s gavel fell. I owed my ex-boyfriend exactly one hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars. Those extra twenty-three dollars? That was for a candied apple I’d wanted on a street corner in LA, one that cost three bucks back when we had nothing. I’d hesitated, but he just smiled and bought it for me. Now, even that sweet memory had been sharpened into a blade aimed at my heart. He didn’t sue me for the money. He did it because his new wife was bored, and I was her new plaything. He knew my health was failing. He knew that after my parents died in a car crash, depression had swallowed me whole, and I depended on a cocktail of pills just to find the oblivion of sleep. He knew I’d already tried to end it all once, landing me in the hospital with a ‘critical’ tag on my chart. But he did it anyway. What he didn’t know was that the hundred thousand dollars was every last cent to my name. It was the money for my next round of chemotherapy. 1 After the verdict was read, I ran right into Alexander Armitage in the courthouse hallway. He’d changed so much in the few years we’d been apart. The broke student who had been scrambling to build a startup out of a cheap rental was now a titan in the green energy sector. He stood there, formidable in an immaculately tailored suit, his gaze landing on me with a cold, detached distance. My feet froze. My first instinct was to pretend I hadn’t seen him, to find another way around. But he spoke first, his voice slow and deliberate. “So… any regrets?” I blinked, confused. “What?” A cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. “You must regret it now, right? Dumping me for money.” The late autumn wind cut through my thin clothes. I instinctively curled my fingers into a fist, but a deep, unshakable chill had already settled into my bones. After a moment, I took a deep breath and offered him a perfectly practiced smile. “Mr. Armitage, the debt is settled. We broke up years ago. Aren’t you worried your wife might misunderstand a conversation like this?” As if on cue, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Anabelle standing there, her face a mask of fury. The anger vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a saccharine smile that didn’t quite hide the venom in her eyes. Tapping forward on her stilettos, Anabelle looped her arm possessively through Alexander’s. “Darling, what on earth should I do with this hundred thousand dollars? A new wardrobe? Shoes? Or that designer bag I saw last week?” She shot a pointed look at me, her voice dripping with faux pity. “Actually, that’s not nearly enough for any of those, is it? You’re so stingy, Alexander. Couldn’t you have been a little more generous with your ex? This pittance wouldn’t even cover a new hair clip for me.” Alexander and I had been together for five years. While he was studying in the States, I’d flown back and forth to LA every month. Most of the hundred thousand I now owed him was for the plane tickets he’d paid for, money he’d earned working grueling odd jobs day and night. Now, he and Anabelle had used those transaction records, weaponized by their lawyers, to demand every penny back. The hair clip Anabelle was wearing was from Chanel’s latest collection. It cost twenty thousand dollars. The money she’d just pried from my hands really wasn’t enough. The next moment, Alexander’s expression softened as he looked at her. He tenderately brushed a stray hair from her face. “Hush. Keep it as pocket money. I’ll add to it if it’s not enough.” Anabelle’s face lit up. She leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, darling, you’re the best!” Then, she turned back to me, her smile wide and triumphant. “Laura, I am so sorry. We obviously don’t need the money, but Alexander and I made a little bet. He did this just to make me happy, you know?” Her voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. “Ever since we got married, Alexander has insisted I stop working. He says it’s too stressful. So all I do is skincare, spa days, and travel. A girl has to find some way to pass the time, right?” She reached out and grabbed my hand, her eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “Thank you for making this so entertaining. And for proving just how much my husband adores me.” A sharp pain, like a thousand tiny needles, pierced my heart. To the wealthy, I was just a game. A tool to prove how doting a husband Alexander Armitage could be. 2 I forced my trembling hands to still and summoned another one of those perfect, empty smiles. “A debt is a debt. It’s only right.” Anabelle’s grin widened. “I hope you always feel that way. My husband is a simple man, you see. He was tricked by someone greedy and superficial. I just wanted to help him get a little payback. No hard feelings, I hope.” Suddenly, her grip tightened, her nails digging viciously into my wrist. I gasped, stumbling backward from the unexpected pain. My heel caught the edge of the top step, and I tumbled down the marble staircase. My knee slammed against a sharp edge, and a hot, wet rush of blood immediately soaked through my jeans. Wincing, I fought back the tremor of pain and looked up at the two figures looming over me. Anabelle covered her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand, her eyes wide with fake shock. “Oh, Laura, are you alright? It was only a hundred thousand. Surely you’re not so devastated you can’t even stand up straight? You look badly hurt. Should we give you a ride home?” That proud smile returned. “Alexander just bought me a new sports car. The gas money to get you home should only cost about a hundred bucks or so.” Her sports car was Alexander’s anniversary gift to her, a monstrosity covered in pink diamonds that perfectly matched her taste. She loved parading it around the city, causing a stir with the paparazzi and collecting the envy of thousands. My gaze shifted to Alexander. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools of shadow. He looked down at me from his lofty height, his expression as cold as a winter storm. Like a stray dog that had lost a fight, I scrambled to my feet, brushing myself off. I managed one last smile. “No, thank you. I can get home on my own.” Anabelle burst into a peal of laughter. “Well, we’ll be on our way then.” She turned to Alexander, her voice bright. “Darling, I know what to buy now.” “Lulu’s dog bowl is broken. I want to get her one of those new smart-feeders.” Alexander’s cold eyes remained locked on me, a flicker of some unreadable emotion crossing his face before it was extinguished. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. “Whatever you want.” Anabelle took his arm, and they walked away, giddy with their victory. I watched as their dazzling sports car roared past me, disappearing down the street. It wasn’t until a taxi pulled up to the curb that I remembered. I didn’t have any money left for the fare. Alexander would never know. The money he was going to spend on a dog bowl was the money that was supposed to save my life. 3 I dragged my battered body home. My place was a tiny room under a corrugated tin roof, perched atop a tenement building in the city’s forgotten corner. Whenever the wind blew or the rain fell, the metal would groan and screech, a symphony of decay that kept me awake all night. In the summer, it was an oven. There was no air conditioning, and I couldn’t afford the electricity for a fan anyway. I’d suffered from heatstroke more than once. I thought I had hidden myself well enough that Alexander would never find me. I never imagined our reunion would be in a courtroom. My eyes fell on the wall, covered with articles I’d carefully clipped from magazines and newspapers. I walked over and began to tear them down, one by one. They all had pictures of Alexander. Alexander, the rising star of the green energy sector, giving his first major interview. Alexander, accepting an award as one of New York’s Top Ten Young Entrepreneurs. And… Alexander, down on one knee, proposing to Anabelle, followed by photos of their lavish wedding, a spectacle for the media and the public to devour. I took a deep, shaky breath and ripped the last page from the wall. I gathered the scraps and shoved them into a cardboard box I kept hidden under my bed. My gaze caught on a photograph at the bottom of the box. A wave of bitterness washed over me. In the photo, a younger Alexander had his arm wrapped around me, his smile so genuine, so full of shy, uncontainable joy. It was a world away from the icy stranger in the courthouse. He was the CEO of a publicly traded company now. A powerful figure in New York’s business world. A renowned philanthropist. The perfect husband who cherished Anabelle like a fragile treasure. He was everything… except my boyfriend. With a final, humorless laugh, I closed the lid on the box, sealing away the photos and the memories along with them. Then, I went to the mirror, began applying my makeup, and squeezed into a tight-fitting uniform. “Hey, boss,” I texted my manager. “Starting today, I want to work the night shift.” The bar at night was crawling with sleazy men with wandering hands, but the tips were much, much better. I had no choice. To stay alive, I had to earn the money to pay for my own life. But I never, ever expected to see Alexander there. There he was, holding court in the center of a VIP booth, surrounded by his entourage. My fingers clenched into fists, and the exposed skin of my arms and shoulders began to prickle with a hot flush of shame. Of course, he saw me too. A flicker of shock and disbelief crossed his face, quickly replaced by that familiar, sneering contempt. “So this is where you work now.” My palms were slick with sweat, but I forced myself to remain calm. “Your drinks, sir.” Alexander looked at me with the kind of morbid curiosity one might reserve for a rat struggling in a sewer drain. “Makes sense, I suppose. Latch onto any of the rich guys in here and you’ll be set for life. Right up your alley.” I took another deep breath. “Your drinks, sir.” He arched an eyebrow. “How long have you been working here? Don’t you know how to serve a customer?” He pulled a checkbook from his jacket, scribbled a number with a flourish, and tossed it onto the floor in front of me. “Take good care of my friends tonight. Do that, and this is yours.” The check landed at my feet. I slowly bent to pick it up, a searing pain shooting through my injured knee. When I saw the number written on the check, my breath hitched. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. One hundred thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three dollars. The exact amount I had just been forced to pay him. He was using it to humiliate me. I stood there, my eyes locked with his. After a long, heavy silence, my lips parted. “This is payment, Mr. Armitage? So… I don’t have to pay it back, right?” 4 My doctor had warned me about alcohol. But I needed the money. For the past few years, just to survive, I had swallowed my pride and done whatever it took. What were a few drinks compared to that? The men with Alexander tonight were his friends. They knew our story. They knew that three years ago, when Alexander was on the brink of bankruptcy, frantically seeking investors and being hounded by banks, I was the one who walked away. They knew he’d searched for me like a madman, gotten into a car accident because of it, and begged me from his hospital bed not to leave. And I still hadn’t looked back. They hated me. They wanted to defend Alexander’s honor, and they weren’t going to show me any mercy. They plied me with drink after drink until the world dissolved into a meaningless blur and I was nothing but a wreck, slumped over the table. I reached for another bottle, but Alexander’s hand shot out, his grip like iron on my wrist. “Is there truly nothing you won’t do for money?” he snarled. I blinked, trying to focus on his face. Like a beggar, I held out my other hand. “Alexander… the money. You promised…” My voice was a slurred mess. “You said if I drank… if I took care of your friends… you’d give me the money. And you wouldn’t take it back…” His gaze on me grew even more complicated, his thumb brushing over my wrist, over the jagged, faded scars that marred the skin. After my parents died, depression had claimed me. I’d tried to end it more than once. It was always Alexander who pulled me back from the edge. Back then, he would hold me and plead, “Laura, you still have me. Please, live for me. Okay?” But now, he shoved my hand away as if my touch was filth. An even more derisive sneer spread across his face. “I made a promise, yes. But look at my friends. Have you taken care of them?” The circle of men stared down at me, their eyes filled with cold amusement, watching the clown perform. The guests were still sober, but I was already gone. I had failed at my job. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I gave him a weak, foolish smile. “I’ll start over. I’ll keep going until you’re satisfied.” I reached for another bottle, but Alexander had finally had enough. With a roar of fury, he kicked the leg of the table. The whole thing flipped over. Bottles shattered on the floor. I was thrown sideways, my hand landing directly on a shard of broken glass. The pain was sharp, immediate, and blood began to well up from the gash. The door to the room burst open and my best friend, Mia, rushed in. She dropped to her knees and threw her arms around me. “Laura! Are you okay?” She looked up, her eyes blazing with a righteous fury I hadn’t seen in years. “Alexander, are you even human?” she screamed. “After everything she did for you, you force-feed her alcohol like this?” “She has stomach cancer, you bastard! It’s killing her, don’t you get it?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388266”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I had the girl trying to worm her way into my husband’s bed committed to a psychiatric hospital. That night, Damien lost his mind. He strapped our son to the landing gear of a helicopter. The aircraft circled three hundred feet in the air. His ultimatum crackled through the intercom. “Elara, get her out of there, right now. Unharmed.” “For every hair on her head that’s out of place, I’ll cut off one of your son’s fingers and drop it down to you as a gift.” I fell to my knees on the helipad, my heart twisting in agony as I watched the tiny, dangling figure above. “Damien, are you insane? That’s your son! Your only son!” His voice came back, devoid of all warmth. “She’s just a girl. You locked her away in a place like that. When did you become so venomous, Elara?” “You have three minutes. If I don’t see her, I cut the rope. He can experience what a freefall feels like.” “The countdown starts now.” … My hands trembled so violently I could barely hold my phone. “Two minutes, fifty seconds.” My fingers stabbed blindly at the screen, misdialing several times before I got it right. The moment the call connected, I shrieked into the receiver. “Release her! Let Seraphina out, now! Have her call Damien the second she’s free!” The hospital director on the other end stammered, saying her discharge paperwork wasn’t even processed. Tears streamed down my face. I knelt on the rough concrete, screaming into the phone. “Forget the damn paperwork! Just get her out! If you’re a minute late, Damien will kill my son! Go! Now!” I hung up and tilted my head back, my eyes fixed on the helicopter circling in the night sky. The small, dark shape was tossed about like a dead leaf in the gale. I could hear his faint, terrified cries. “Mommy, it’s so high! Leo’s so scared… Where’s Daddy…?” I snatched the intercom, my voice a broken, trembling mess. “Damien, I’ve told them to release Seraphina! She’s coming out right now! Please, just bring Leo down! The wind is too strong up there, he can’t take it!” A cold laugh echoed in my headset. “Now you’re worried about your son, Elara? When you threw Sera into that hellhole, did you ever stop to think that she might be scared, too?” “One minute left.” The howling wind swallowed the sound of my sobs. I began slamming my forehead against the ground, again and again. Blood trickled into my eyes, turning my vision a sickening red. “I was wrong, I was wrong! Please, don’t take it out on Leo! He’s your son! I’m begging you, just land the helicopter! You can punish me however you want!” “Fifty seconds.” He ignored my pleas, his voice a metronome of doom, counting down the seconds. The psychological torture was tearing me apart. I scrambled to my feet, trying to get closer to the helicopter, but one of Damien’s bodyguards kicked me squarely in the knee. I crumpled to the ground, my chin splitting open on the concrete. I didn’t feel the pain. All I could do was crane my neck, my desperate gaze locked on the sky. My phone chimed. It was a video from the director. Seraphina was being escorted out of her room. I held the phone up, aiming it at the helicopter. “Damien, look! She’s out! They’ve released her! Stop this, now!” Two seconds of silence. Then, Damien’s voice, colder and darker than before. “Too late.” “I want you to remember this pain, Elara. This way, you’ll never dare to touch what’s important to me again.” Then came the sickening slice of a blade through rope. “NO—!” A horrifying scream ripped from my throat as I watched the small, dark shape detach from the helicopter. The aircraft was hovering directly over the man-made lake on the estate. Three hundred feet. Such a small child. I watched him plummet, a straight, unyielding line, with nothing to break his fall. A few seconds later, a massive splash erupted from the water, sending a plume several feet into the air. In that instant, my heart stopped beating. I shoved the bodyguards aside like a madwoman, stumbling and scrambling toward the lake, losing a shoe but not even noticing. I was about to jump in when more security guards tackled me, pinning me to the muddy bank. “Let me go! I have to save my son! Leo’s in the water!” I bit down on a guard’s arm, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth, but they didn’t budge. Damien’s helicopter descended slowly. He stepped out of the cabin, looking down at my soaked, pathetic form with an air of detached superiority as he adjusted his cuffs. “What’s all the screaming for? It’s a lake. He’s not going to die.” His lip curled in a sneer. “A little lesson for him. So he learns whose side he should be on. So he doesn’t grow up to be a spineless bitch like you.” The rescue team took a full ten minutes to pull Leo from the water. His little face was a ghostly white, his chest barely moving. His limbs hung limp and lifeless. I lunged forward, clutching his cold, small body, my trembling fingers searching for the faintest breath from his nose. It was barely there. “Call an ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!” I shrieked, my voice raw and broken. Damien watched, impassive. He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s enough. Leo didn’t fall from the helicopter. This was a lesson for both of you.” He gestured to his men. “Have the guards take him to the hospital, put him on an IV. He has to apologize to Sera tomorrow.” I held my unconscious son, a rage so profound it threatened to tear me in two boiling in my chest. Damien, if anything happens to Leo, I swear to God I will kill you. The red light above the emergency room door was a blinding glare. I stood there, soaked to the bone, water dripping from my clothes to form a small puddle on the sterile floor. A doctor burst through the doors, his surgical mask stained with blood. “The patient has ruptured internal organs! Three broken ribs have punctured his lung! He’s in critical condition and needs surgery immediately! We need a signature from his next of kin!” I grabbed the doctor’s arm. “I’ll sign! I’m his mother!” The doctor hesitated. “Mrs. Vance, Mr. Vance is his legal guardian. He gave us specific instructions that he must personally approve any surgery for Leo.” My world exploded. Damien. It was always Damien. My hand shaking, I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he answered. Seraphina’s delicate, cloying sobs whispered through the speaker, followed by Damien’s low, comforting murmur. “Damien, my wrist hurts so much. Those restraints at the hospital were so tight. Do you think they’ll leave a scar?” “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve already sent for the best scar cream. You’ll be fine.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed into the phone. “Damien! Leo needs surgery! You have to sign! He has massive internal bleeding, he’s on the operating table dying! Just tell the doctor it’s okay!” A moment of silence on the other end. Then, Damien’s cold, emotionless scoff. “Elara, you’re a compulsive liar. Wasn’t he perfectly fine at the lake a little while ago? Now he’s suddenly dying at the hospital?” “I’m busy helping Sera with her medication right now. I don’t have time for your little stories.” My knuckles were white, my nails digging into the palm of my hand. “He fell three hundred feet, Damien! Are you even human? That’s your son!” My voice broke into a desperate plea. “I’m begging you. Just tell the doctor you consent. If you wait any longer, it will be too late…” As I spoke, my legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor. I bowed my head to the empty air, slamming my forehead against the linoleum again and again. “Damien, please. I’m on my knees. I’ll never go near Seraphina again. Just save Leo… please…” The disgust in his voice was palpable. “Enough! Stop trying to manipulate me with this pathetic act. Sera has a red mark on her wrist. That’s what’s important. If Leo were really in trouble, you wouldn’t have the energy to be screaming like a banshee.” He hung up. When I tried to call back, the line was dead. I listened to the dial tone, and a tide of despair washed over me, pulling me under. The operating room doors opened again. A nurse ran out, holding a critical condition notice. “Did you reach Mr. Vance? The patient’s blood pressure is still dropping! If we don’t get a signature, we can’t take responsibility for what happens next!” I snatched the pen from her. “I’ll sign!” I yelled, a crazed look in my eyes. “He agreed on the phone! You can call him back if you don’t believe me!” The nurse gave me a skeptical look but handed over the consent form. With a trembling hand, I signed my name, and she rushed back inside. Leo, don’t be scared. Mommy’s here. You have to hold on. Please, don’t leave Mommy all alone. The seconds ticked by, each one a new slice of a blade against my heart. At three in the morning, the light above the operating room went out. The doctor emerged, pushing a gurney. The medical staff all stared at the floor, none of them daring to meet my eyes. A white sheet was draped over the gurney, covering him from head to toe. I stood up, my limbs numb and wooden. I walked over and pulled back the sheet. Leo’s small face was as white as the cloth, completely drained of color. There were marks all over his body where tubes had been, and his chest was wrapped in thick gauze, but it would never rise and fall again. Just yesterday morning, he’d slung his little backpack over his shoulder and told me in his sweet, soft voice, “Mommy, you look so pretty today! I’ll draw you a picture when I get home from school.” Now, my Leo was a cold, lifeless body. “Aaaargh—!” A gut-wrenching, soul-tearing scream ripped from my throat as I collapsed beside the gurney. “Leo! Wake up! Mommy’s here to take you home!” I clung to his body, still faintly warm, refusing to let go. Doctors and nurses tried to pull me away, but I shoved them back with the strength of a madwoman. “Get away from me! Don’t touch my son! He’s just sleeping!” Just then, footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. Damien approached, his arm wrapped around Seraphina, who was draped in his jacket. She leaned against him, a triumphant smirk on her face, though her words were meek. “Damien, Elara is so upset. Do you think something really happened to Leo?” Damien didn’t even glance at the body on the gurney. “For God’s sake, Elara, what are you wailing about in the middle of a hospital? Have you no shame?” I looked up from the floor at the two of them, a vision of pure evil. If looks could kill, they would have been hacked into a thousand pieces. “You’re too late, Damien,” I rasped, my voice thick with the taste of blood. “Leo’s dead. You killed him.” Damien’s brow furrowed for a second, then his expression soured into one of even deeper contempt. “Dead?” He let out a cold laugh and reached for the white sheet. “I think he’s gotten addicted to playing dead. What have you been teaching him? To participate in your little dramas at his age?” I scrambled forward and wrapped my arms around his leg, my nails digging into the fine wool of his trousers. “Don’t touch him! You don’t have the right!” He kicked me aside with such force that I slammed into the wall, the impact rattling my organs. Seraphina pointed at a corner of the sheet that had slipped down. “Oh, my,” she said with theatrical surprise. “Why is his face so pale? Is that a doll? Elara, you really went all out to try and trick Damien into coming back, didn’t you?” Her words fueled his anger. He ripped the sheet off and, to my horror, slapped Leo’s lifeless face. Twice. “Stop faking it! Get up!” Leo’s head lolled limply to the side. I flew at Damien like an animal, sinking my teeth into his wrist. “Let go, you psycho!” he roared in pain, backhanding me across the face. My ears rang, and blood trickled from the corner of my split lip, but I felt nothing. I threw myself back over Leo’s body, shielding him with my own. “Get out! Take your whore and get out! Don’t you dare defile my son’s path to the afterlife!” Damien stared at the deep, bloody bite mark on his wrist, his face a thunderous mask of rage. He rounded on the doctor. “How dare you!” he bellowed. “You’re all in on this together, trying to fool me!” The doctor flinched, shrinking back. “Mr. Vance, the young master… we received the consent form too late…” “Shut up!” Damien cut him off, his voice raw with fury. “A bunch of useless idiots!” He turned back to me, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust and disbelief. “Elara, I have to hand it to you, this is a very convincing performance. You’d even curse your own son just to make me feel guilty?” “Fine. This doll is creeping me out. Take it to the morgue and put it on ice! Let’s see what other tricks you have up your sleeve then, you crazy bitch!” He actually called his bodyguards and ordered them to take Leo’s body to the morgue. “No! Damien, you will pay for this!” I was pinned to the floor, forced to watch as they wheeled my son away. I struggled, my fingernails scraping bloody tracks into the linoleum. Seraphina walked over and crouched down in front of me. With her back to Damien, her face twisted into a hideously evil grin. “You see, Elara?” she whispered. “This is what happens when you cross me. Your son is dead, and Damien doesn’t even believe it. In his mind, Leo is worth less than this little red mark on my wrist.” I stared at her, a low, animalistic growl rumbling in my throat. “Seraphina… I’m going to kill you…” She immediately stood up, her expression morphing into one of pure terror as she ran back into Damien’s arms. “Damien, her eyes… she looks terrifying! Do you think she’s having a breakdown?” Damien held her close, stroking her back soothingly. When he looked at me, his eyes were like chips of ice. “I think she’s lost her mind,” he said. “Treating a doll like her own child.” “Since she’s insane, she can’t be allowed to run around making a scene. Lock her in the house. She’s not to step one foot outside without my permission.” The guards hauled me to my feet and began dragging me away. I went limp, my eyes fixed on the direction they had taken Leo, until the door to the morgue swung shut. And in that moment, my heart died with him. Back at the mansion, I was thrown into the master bedroom. The door was locked from the outside. I lay on the cold floor, thinking of the birthday cake Leo never got to finish, the picture for me he never got to draw. And the image of him falling from the sky… All of this was because of Damien. Because of his twisted affection for that bitch, Seraphina. I pushed myself up and took Leo’s photo album from the bookshelf. I traced his face in every picture, my tears long since run dry. I was locked in that room for two days. I didn’t eat or drink. I just sat on the floor, folding every piece of clothing Leo had ever worn and arranging them on the bed. Damien never came back. He was with Seraphina, tending to her bruised wrist. On the evening of the third day, the door opened. Damien stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, the house manager trailing nervously behind him. He glanced at the neat piles of children’s clothes on the bed and sneered. “Still keeping up the act? You’re very convincing.” I ignored him, mechanically placing Leo’s favorite little dinosaur stuffed animal on the pillow. My silence enraged him. He strode over and swept the clothes off the bed with a single, violent motion. “Did you hear me talking to you? Who are you playing deaf and dumb for?” The clothes scattered across the floor, and he ground them under the heel of his polished leather shoe. That finally got a reaction. I lunged forward, trying to push his leg away. “Get your foot off! Don’t you dare step on his clothes!” He didn’t move. Instead, he twisted his heel, grinding the fabric into the carpet. “It’s just a piece of clothing. You value it more than your life? I’m tired of your games, Elara.” He crouched down, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “Sera wants to come see Leo. Get that little bastard out here right now. Tell him to stop hiding.” I stared at the face so close to mine. I had once loved him more than life itself. Now, he just made me sick. “You forgot? Leo’s in the morgue.” “You’re the one who ordered him to be sent there.” Damien froze for a second, then his face contorted with rage. “Are you fucking done with this? Do you get some sick pleasure from cursing our son to death?” “Sera already told me! She went to check again! The body in the morgue is a fake!” He stood up and roared at the manager in the doorway. “Go find that little brat and drag him out here! I don’t believe he can hide from me forever!” The manager whispered, “Sir, the young master… he’s really not in the house.” Damien wasn’t listening. He tore the room apart, ripping open the closet doors, flipping the mattress. Finally, his eyes landed on a small box on the desk. It held a lock of Leo’s baby hair and his first tooth. Damien strode over and shook it. “What’s in here? More of your black magic to curse Sera?” I scrambled to get it back. “Give it to me! That’s Leo’s!” He opened the box. The sight of its contents only deepened his rage. “You’re disgusting. No wonder Sera’s been having nightmares.” He hurled the box against the wall. The baby teeth scattered across the floor, the lock of soft hair landing on the carpet. It wasn’t enough. He called for a maid. “Get the vacuum. Clean up this trash.” A desperate scream tore from my throat. I dropped to the floor, trying to shield the precious mementos with my hands. “Don’t! Damien, I hope you rot in hell!” The maid stood frozen, holding the vacuum, too scared to move. Damien snatched it from her, flipped the switch, and jammed the nozzle against the back of my hand. The powerful suction pulled at my skin, a searing, tearing pain. My heart felt like it was being squeezed to death. I coughed, and a spray of blood erupted from my lips. Damien recoiled in disgust. “Pathetic. Clean this place up.” He threw the vacuum down and turned to leave. At the door, he paused. “Since that brat loves to hide so much, he can hide for the rest of his life.” The door slammed shut, but this time, it wasn’t locked. I lay on the floor, my fingers combing through the carpet, desperately trying to find a single strand of hair. But there was nothing. It was all gone. Slowly, I pushed myself up and wiped the blood from my mouth. I looked at the ghost-like reflection in the mirror. Then I went to the garage and found the canister of gasoline. Night fell. The mansion was eerily silent. The staff knew Damien despised me, and they stayed in their quarters out back, not wanting to get in the way. I carried the gasoline can, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floor. I poured it over Damien’s favorite leather sofa, over the doorway to the nursery that was once filled with laughter but was now cold and empty. The acrid smell filled the house. I sat in the middle of the living room, a lighter in my hand. Click. A small flame flickered to life. I let it drop. It landed on the gasoline-soaked rug. WHOOSH. A wall of fire erupted, instantly devouring everything. The heat washed over me, singeing the ends of my hair. I pulled out my phone and dialed the familiar number. Damien answered instantly. In the background, I could hear the swell of an orchestra and the sound of laughter. “Elara, what now? I’m warning you…” “Damien,” I said softly, cutting him off. “You should come home.” “Come home to what?” he asked, annoyed. “To see our house. To see the fire. It’s such a big fire.” Two seconds of silence, then the sound of a glass shattering. “Elara! What are you doing?!” For the first time, there was panic in his voice. I smiled and began to sing Leo’s favorite nursery rhyme into the phone. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star…” “You’re insane! Put it out! I’m coming back right now!” Damien was screaming now, the background noise turning to chaos as he started to run. “How I wonder what you are…” My voice caught in my throat. “Leo is afraid of the dark. Daddy won’t go with him, so Mommy will. You just stay with your precious Seraphina, Damien. And live well, in this hell you’ve made on earth.” I threw the phone into the flames. The fire roared, and the support beams began to groan and splinter. I slipped out of the white dress Damien had once given me and tossed it into the heart of the inferno.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388265”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My husband’s sister, Maya, suffers from a rare condition we call emotional hemophilia. The slightest hint of sadness can cause her to bleed from her eyes, nose, and ears. To better care for her, my husband, Mike, moved her in with us. The moment Maya took up residence, Mike declared our home a “no-sadness zone.” Everything had to revolve around her. When she deleted my work files or broke a necklace that was precious to me, I had to force a smile and comfort her. When she complained that the guest room was too small and demanded our master bedroom, I gave it up without a fight. It all came to a head when she told Mike he should divorce me. “She’s my only sister, Eve, and she’s sick,” Mike coaxed, his voice a gentle murmur. “Living here, she can’t help but feel like an outsider. It’s just a piece of paper. Can we just get divorced for now, for her sake?” I paused for a moment, then offered him a small smile. “Alright.” A light sparked in Mike’s eyes. He pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Eve. Thank you. I’ll make this up to you, I promise.” “I know,” I said, the smile never leaving my lips. As soon as an elated Mike had left the room, I opened a message on my phone from my real estate agent. Ms. Thorne, the buyers are eager to move in. When can you be out? In three days. … After sending the reply, the smile finally faded from my face. I turned and began to pack the clothes from my closet, preparing to leave the home I had lived in for over a decade. Just then, Maya walked in with two workmen. Her face was glowing, her spirits high. She pointed to my bedroom window. “Take down those old curtains and toss them. And make sure you get the measurements right for the new ones.” The men began setting up a ladder, their boots tracking dirt all over my bedroom floor. I stared at Maya, then at the curtains, a deep frown creasing my brow. Those curtains were custom-made by my mother before she died. When Mike and I first got married, he had nothing. But he was a top graduate, hardworking and honest, with a future full of promise. My mother, worried I would struggle, signed her old two-bedroom apartment over to me. It became our marital home. Maya smiled sweetly at my confusion. “Well, Eve, since you’re moving out after the divorce, you won’t mind if I redecorate, will you?” I remained silent, the words caught in my throat. A moment later, Mike came in, pulling a suitcase. He saw the scene and his face fell, his eyes immediately flicking to mine. “Just put the ladder on the bed,” Maya commanded the workers. “It’ll be faster.” “Maya,” Mike said, his voice a low warning. He reached for my hand, a placating gesture. She turned, her smile unwavering. “Mike, I picked out new curtains. It’s a style you love. They’ll be delivered tomorrow.” Mike’s guilty gaze lingered on my face for a heartbeat longer. Then, he turned to Maya and smiled. “As long as you like them.” The discomfort vanished from his features, replaced by his usual gentle warmth. “Okay,” he said to the workmen. “Let’s get this done quickly so she has time to pack.” “Just step on the bed,” Maya instructed them. “Hurry up.” The workers complied, their dusty work boots leaving clear, damning footprints on the pristine silk sheets I had just changed. I opened my mouth to protest, but Mike’s grip on my wrist tightened. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his brow furrowed in a silent plea. He pulled me aside. “That’s just how Maya is,” he whispered. “She’s sick, Eve. Don’t stoop to her level. I’ll help you pack the old ones up later. We can hang them in your new apartment.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. I calmly pulled my hand from his grasp. “Don’t bother.” Mike let out a soft sigh, his patience wearing thin. “Are you angry?” He tried to soothe me, his voice dropping to a gentle hush. “I know this was your mother’s favorite pattern. But she’s gone now, and you won’t be living here anymore. When you move back in, we can pick out a new set together, okay?” My voice was flat. “What makes you so sure I’ll be moving back in?” He smiled then, his eyes soft and warm as he ruffled my hair. He bent down, meeting my gaze. “I’m here. You wouldn’t have the heart to stay away, would you?” He was right. In the past, whenever we fought, I’d leave for a night at most. Like me, Mike had lost his parents early. He knew I had nowhere else to go, and he would always come find me, coaxing me back home with a few sweet words. Then he would make my favorite dish: sweet and sour pork ribs. My stomach was sensitive; I couldn’t handle anything spicy. The ribs were my mother’s signature dish. Before every meal, I used to place a few pieces in front of her photograph. But since Maya moved in, the ribs had disappeared from our table. The reason? Remembering our parents would make Maya sad about her own. Even on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I had to pay my respects outside. When I came home that day, Maya had insisted I take down my mother’s picture. “That black and white photo in the living room is so morbid,” she’d complained. “It scares me.” I refused. She threw a tantrum, crying and screaming until she collapsed, bleeding from her face. At the hospital, she told Mike I had done it on purpose to upset her. Mike’s face had been a mask of cold fury. “Even if you see Maya as a burden, you have no right to provoke her like this,” he’d hissed at me. “She’s my only sister, my only family.” “Why can’t you just accept her?!” After that, my mother’s portrait was moved from the living room to our bedroom, then to the guest room. And today, it was leaving this house with me for good. “We’ll sign the papers tomorrow, and then I’ll help you move,” Mike said, his eyes filled with a tender affection that no longer reached me. I didn’t answer. The agent messaged me again. [Ms. Thorne, just to confirm, three days from now? I need to schedule the locksmith.] [Confirmed.] 2 The next day, Mike and I finalized our divorce. Before we even got home, he had already sent a picture of the divorce certificate to Maya, to put her mind at ease. On the drive back, he steered with one hand, his other resting on my wrist. He gave me a sly wink. “I’ll help you pack when we get home. In a little while, we’ll get remarried, keep it a secret from Maya. Once she’s fully accepted you, you can move back in.” He was so sure of himself. “After you’re gone for a bit, you can come back with some of her favorite snacks. She’ll come around. I know my sister.” I turned to look at him. “Why do I need her to accept me?” A frown creased his brow, his handsome face clouding with disappointment. “You’re still angry?” I turned away, staring out the window. He tried again, his voice laced with practiced patience. “She’s a patient, Eve. Be the bigger person. Why are you still holding a grudge?” “She’s sick, and she’s gotten used to living here. When we remarry, we’ll sell this place and buy a bigger one. I’ll even let you pick the master bedroom first, how about that?” I looked at him, my expression impassive. “I couldn’t even have the master bedroom in my own apartment. What makes you think a new one would be any different?” His face instantly hardened. A chill crept into his eyes. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, yanked his tie loose, and grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “I know you’re still upset about what happened. But I slept in the guest room with you, didn’t I?” “Maya is sick! She can’t handle stress! Are you trying to push her over the edge, Eve? Do you want me to end up all alone, like you?” His voice rose to a furious shout. “I never knew you were so selfish!” He threw the car door open and stormed off, leaving me alone in the passenger seat. I didn’t have a driver’s license. After my mother’s car accident, I never wanted to learn. The car she had bought for me had always been driven by Mike. And now he had just walked away. He didn’t care that I was still sitting there, as if I were a stranger who had never been part of his world. Fine, I thought. Once I’m gone, we’ll have no reason to contact each other anyway. Let him go. I sighed and called a car service to drive me home. It was dark by the time I arrived. Mike wasn’t back yet. Maya was curled up on the sofa, watching a comedy special and laughing her head off. She looked surprised to see me for a second, then her expression went blank and she turned back to the TV. “My brother said you’d be back,” she said, her voice flat. “Didn’t think it would be this soon. He made you sweet and sour pork ribs. They’re on the table.” I glanced at the dish, feeling nothing. “I’ve already eaten.” How ironic, to see that dish again on the eve of my departure. Was this Mike’s idea of an apology? He always believed that no matter how far I went, I would always come back. He didn’t know that this time, I was leaving for good. I pushed the thought aside and walked toward the guest room. The moment I flicked on the light, I saw the chaos. The soiled silk duvet was a crumpled, filthy heap in the corner. The bed frame was dismantled, parts scattered across the dirt-caked floor. And the suitcases I had packed were gone. I turned around. Maya was standing behind me, her arms crossed. “I packed your things for you,” she said slowly. “They’re on the balcony.” “My brother said this room is the most soundproof. He’s turning it into a treatment room for me.” 3 A chill settled deep in my bones. I hadn’t even left yet, and she was already throwing my life aside. They both seemed to have forgotten that this apartment was mine. But I was too tired to argue anymore. I walked toward the balcony, planning to leave that night. As I rounded the coffee table, I saw through the glass door that there was only a single, small suitcase out there—no bigger than a carry-on. My face went pale, my hands beginning to tremble. I had packed several large suitcases with my clothes, my toiletries, my mother’s portrait, and all her keepsakes. My heart hammered against my ribs as I rushed forward and opened the small case. Inside were a few tattered clothes and garbage bags, the rest of the space stuffed with trash. My mother’s portrait and her jewelry were nowhere to be found. Neither were my own bags and valuables. “Where is my mother’s picture?” I asked, my voice dangerously low as I fought to control my rage. Maya shot me a defiant look and lounged back on the sofa. “Oh, that old junk? I threw it out. This place is too small to store so much clutter.” She gestured toward the balcony with her chin. “But I left you a change of clothes.” Her tone was so casual, as if throwing away my most precious possessions was a minor inconvenience she had graciously handled. I sucked in a breath, my fists clenching. “Those were my things,” I said, my voice rising. “What gave you the right?” My tone seemed to startle her. She sat up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by a look of wounded innocence. I ignored her and stormed toward the master bedroom. She followed close behind, her voice sharp. “This is my bedroom now!” I paid her no mind, flicking on the light. There, neatly stacked in a corner, were my suitcases. My missing skincare products and jewelry were arranged on her vanity. I suppose I had been patient for too long. An uncontrollable fury surged through me. I didn’t care about the material things. All I wanted was my mother’s portrait. “My brother said everything in this house is mine,” Maya snapped. I began to tear the room apart, searching—the closet, the drawers, under the bed. Every possible hiding place. Nothing. Seeing my desperation, Maya seemed to relax. She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose with the back of her hand. “If you rush to the dumpster now,” she taunted, “you might still find it.” “You did this on purpose,” I said, grabbing her wrist. “Of course I did,” she sneered, her confidence returning. “I’m sick of seeing you mooning over a dead person’s picture all day.” Her contempt was a physical force, pressing down on me. My lips tightened. I finally understood the significance of the pork ribs on the table. It was Mike’s pathetic attempt at a peace offering, knowing she had thrown away the one thing that truly mattered to me. Just as I was about to confront her, the front door opened. Mike was home. 4 The moment Maya heard his voice, she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms in a flood of tears, as if she were the one who had been grievously wronged. Blood was trickling from her nose as she clutched at his shirt. Mike’s face immediately darkened. He looked down at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Eve, I know I shouldn’t have taken your jewelry,” Maya sobbed. “And the workmen are coming tomorrow, that’s the only reason I had them take the bed apart! I’ll let you have the master bedroom back, just please don’t be mad at me!” Tears of blood streamed down her face. I didn’t want to waste my breath on explanations. I walked straight toward them. “Where is it?” Without a word, Mike shoved me away, shielding Maya in his arms. The force sent me stumbling back, the small of my back slamming into the sharp corner of a table. “Even if you’re angry at me, Eve, you don’t take it out on Maya.” His voice was laced with ice. “Why are you so malicious?” A searing pain shot through my lower back. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My chest tightened, and I struggled to breathe. “You’ve disappointed me so much,” Mike said, his voice dripping with contempt. “I thought you would finally let it go, but you just keep targeting her, deliberately provoking her, trying to kill her.” I looked up, trying to speak, but Maya’s sobs grew louder. Mike grabbed my arm and, ignoring my injury, dragged me out of the room and threw me into the hallway. I collapsed onto the floor, my back throbbing and my elbow scraped raw. I looked up at him, at the eyes that once held such tenderness for me, now filled with a cold, final resolve. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in my head like a gunshot. “Open the door! Give me back my picture!” I pounded on the door, but there was no response. Faintly, I heard Mike’s voice from inside. “She only cares about this apartment. She’ll be back.” My heart finally shattered. I clutched my chest, my body shaking with a pain that was more than physical. Then I remembered the dumpsters downstairs. I forced myself up, hobbled into the elevator, and as soon as the doors opened, I ran, ignoring the agony in my back. People stared at me with disgust as I tore through the garbage, but I didn’t care. I let the grime cover me from head to toe. I searched all night. Finally, at the very bottom of a dumpster, I found it. My mother’s portrait, nestled amongst the filth, miraculously unharmed. I clutched it to my chest and wept until I had no strength left. The pain in my back flared, a constant, throbbing reminder. I looked up at the apartment building, my heart a hollow, empty cavern. The sun was rising. It was all over. Upstairs, Mike and Maya were probably still asleep. The new owners arrived and saw me immediately. “Ms. Thorne?” the man asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “Are you alright?” “I lost something,” I said, my lips cracked and dry. I pushed myself to my feet. “You’ve moved all your things out, then?” the wife asked, her face beaming with excitement. I handed them the keys. “Whatever’s left, you can do with as you please. The rooms, the furniture, it’s all yours now. But… the previous occupant might need some time to accept reality.” The husband, Mr. Davis, understood immediately. “We’ll handle it,” he said with a nod. He made a quick phone call, and I saw a few professional-looking security guards join them. They took the keys and headed upstairs, their faces bright with the joy of a new home. I carefully wiped the dirt from my mother’s portrait, got into the waiting car, and as I heard the faint sound of Maya’s shrill scream from the building, I said calmly to the driver: “To the airport.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “388264”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel