It was a completely ordinary day. After we’d both washed up, my husband, Isla, suddenly asked me a question. “Beth, why don’t you try growing your hair out?” “It’s always short. To be honest, I’m getting a little tired of it.” My hand, holding the hairdryer, paused mid-air. In that single instant, I understood everything. He had a point of comparison out there. Someone new, someone with long hair, someone who made him feel a spark of novelty. 1 I didn’t have any proof. And I was pregnant. So I didn’t say anything. After a brief pause, I just went back to drying my hair. Isla, lying on the bed, wouldn’t let it go. “I’m serious. You have a round face, and you’ve put on some weight. The short hair just doesn’t look good on you.” “I’ll go with you to the salon to get extensions. We can get some of those trendy waves put in. It would look amazing.” He was smiling, completely oblivious to how each word he spoke made my face grow colder. We’d been together since we were eighteen. I knew him too well. He couldn’t tell the difference between face shapes, let alone one type of curl from another. The only possible explanation was that someone else out there knew the difference. And she had taught him. I stayed silent for a moment, my left hand resting on my now-showing belly. I reminded him, “Isla, I’m pregnant. I can’t get my hair permed.” Just last week, he had been with me at my check-up. The doctor had specifically told him to make sure I avoided any harsh chemicals. Especially salons. He was told to keep me away from them. But Isla had forgotten. Worse, after I reminded him, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “You’re such a buzzkill. No wonder they say women turn into shrews when they get pregnant.” “I’m a man. How am I supposed to know little details like pregnant women can’t get their hair done? You always have to make a big deal out of nothing.” I unplugged the hairdryer, pulled back the covers, and got into bed. Isla was right. I did love to make a big deal out of nothing. For example, when we first got married, he’d said one little thing about wanting to “give me a better life,” and I had pestered my father until he invested the time and money to establish Apex Innovations, the tech company where Isla was now CEO. And tonight, because of a few little words like “long hair” and “tired of it,” I decided that after my check-up tomorrow, I would make some time to visit the office. I wanted to see for myself what this person who had sparked Isla’s “novelty” looked like. 2 The next day, I had our driver take me to the company. On the way, I reviewed the information our house manager had sent over. The girl’s name was Mia. The black Maybach pulled up in front of the office building. I held my back and walked in slowly. The first person to see me was the receptionist. She was a fresh graduate from last year. During her interview, she was so nervous and inexperienced she could barely speak, and I found her crying alone in the fire escape. I had wiped her tears, taken her hand, and walked her into Isla’s office, asking him to give her a chance. Ever since, every time I visited, she would greet me with a sweet, “Hi, Mrs. Evans!” But today, when she saw me, her hands and feet started to tremble. “Mrs. Evans, you—what are you doing here?” “Mr. Evans is in a meeting. Should I… should I give him a call?” “No need. I’m looking for Mia.” The moment I said the name “Mia,” the color drained from the young woman’s face. “Mia is… she’s busy right now. Maybe I should just call Mr. Evans.” She forced a smile and reached for the phone. I knew instantly. She knew. She knew about Isla and Mia betraying me. A sharp, needle-like pain pricked at my heart. I gave her a cold look and reminded her, “This company belongs to my family, not to him.” Isla came from a modest background; his parents were simple, working-class people. In a city this large, they were practically invisible. It was because of me that my father funded his education abroad, polished his resume, and then helped him start this company, turning him into the widely respected “Mr. Evans.” He had walked a smooth, easy path for so long that he had probably forgotten. My father held a 68% controlling stake in this company. As for Isla, he was nothing more than a well-paid executive manager that my family had hired. My words seemed to stun the receptionist. Her fingers froze over the keypad. I didn’t spare her another glance and walked straight toward the main office area. At the turn in the hallway, I ran into Kevin, the HR manager. He was carrying a stack of files. The moment he saw me, his hands went slack, and the folders clattered to the floor. “Mrs. Evans? What are you doing at the office?” “Does Mr. Evans know you’re here?” I had personally hired Kevin. Last month, his mother was diagnosed with kidney failure, and he couldn’t afford the medical bills. I had quietly approached him and given him twenty thousand dollars. And now, it seemed he had betrayed me too. I let out a small, bitter laugh and walked around him. Kevin scrambled to follow, trying to block my path while stammering excuses. “Mrs. Evans, Mr. Evans said that with the pregnancy, you shouldn’t come to the office. He’s worried someone might bump into you.” “Let me take you home. When Mr. Evans gets back, you can…” I stopped and stared directly into his eyes. My voice was flat, devoid of warmth. “Kevin, are your mother’s medical bills all paid up?” The man’s expression froze. He looked away, unable to meet my gaze. “But… but Mr. Evans said that tomorrow, the new subsidiary he’s starting is signing a contract with Sterling Corp. If it’s successful, we can all move to his new company and get a huge bonus. We can’t have a scandal right now.” “Mrs. Evans, please, can’t you just be understanding for our sake?” Understanding? I laughed, a humorless sound. I was supposed to tolerate my husband keeping a mistress in the office for the sake of these employees who took my family’s money and then stabbed me in the back? I remembered the chat logs I had secretly found last night. A girl with a pink kitten avatar, saved as “Mia,” had messaged Isla. “Honey, did she take my suggestion?” “Don’t worry, I asked the stylist. That little bit of chemical won’t hurt the baby. It’ll just make her a little uncomfortable.” “I’m so jealous of Beth. She gets to have you all to herself with that same old look she’s had forever.” “If I were her, I’d be changing up my style every month, just to make sure you never get bored.” The memory of last night washed over me, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. The temperature in my voice dropped to absolute zero. “Move,” I said coldly. Kevin flinched but still hesitated. I didn’t wait. I pushed open the door to the office. “Which one of you is Mia?” 3 The buzz of the office died instantly. After a long moment, a girl in a yellow dress stood up. She had long, light brown hair that fell in waves to her waist. She looked young and fashionable. “You—you’re looking for me?” The moment she saw me, her eyes darted around in a flicker of panic, like a startled deer. But she quickly composed herself, forcing a self-righteous smile. “Ma’am, this is an office. Everyone is busy. Please don’t disturb our work.” With that one sentence, she painted me as the troublemaker. The other employees started to stare at me with suspicion. If I were just an ordinary wife, perhaps her prim and proper words would have made me back down. But luckily for me, I wasn’t. I was the real owner of this company. I smiled, walked up to her, and fixed my gaze on her deceptively innocent face. I said, enunciating each word, “Mia, is it? You’re fired.” The girl’s composure shattered. She looked up, her voice rising in protest. “On what grounds? Mr. Evans hired me personally!” “Just yesterday, he praised my work ethic and said he was giving me the ‘Employee of the Month’ award. You can’t just—” “I can because I am his wife, and this company is my family’s property. And you…” I paused, my pregnant belly doing nothing to diminish my authority. “Do you really think Isla would divorce me for you?” The color drained from Mia’s face, inch by inch, until it was a translucent white. I felt a profound sense of boredom. I ripped the employee ID from her chest, turned, and walked away. The moment I got home, my phone rang. It was Isla. “Beth! Are you insane? Who gave you the right to come to my office and cause a scene?” “Mia is a good employee! Why would you fire her? You need to apologize to her, right now!” On cue, I could hear Mia’s sobs in the background. “Mr. Evans, I really don’t know what I did to offend Mrs. Evans… After what she did, I’m too embarrassed to even show my face at the office anymore, sob…” Watching their pathetic performance, I was debating whether to just throw the divorce papers in his face. But Isla beat me to it. “Beth, you have disappointed me more than I can say. I cannot have a shrew for a wife. Let’s get a divorce.” The words died in my throat. I looked at my reflection in the mirror, at the tired face pregnancy had given me, and my eyes suddenly burned with a fierce, terrible redness. It was sadness, but it was overshadowed by a bitter indignation. I never imagined that after discovering his affair, he would be the one to ask for the divorce. “Fine, we can get a divorce,” I said, wiping away a tear, trying to keep my voice steady. “But you walk away with nothing.” Isla didn’t hesitate for a second. “Done. No problem.” After he said it, he couldn’t wait. He rushed home and handed me the divorce agreement. After signing, I held my back and went to my room, unable to look at his disgusting face for another second. As I walked away, he looked at my heavy, cumbersome back and suddenly spoke. “You know, Beth, sometimes I almost feel sorry for you.” I froze, not understanding what he meant. He must have thought he had my attention, because his voice grew more excited. “You don’t know, do you? I’ve already secured the deal with Sterling Corp. Mr. Sterling is very impressed with me. Once this project is signed, the company I’m starting on my own will see its assets multiply thirtyfold in less than six months. So what if you make me leave with nothing now? The moment that contract is signed, I’ll be the youngest tech billionaire in the city.” “At the signing ceremony tomorrow, Mia will be there by my side as the new woman of the company. Try not to get too jealous.” It all clicked into place. No wonder he had agreed to the divorce so easily. He thought he was finally independent, about to ascend to a new social stratum. It seemed I had forgotten to tell him one small detail. The owner of Sterling Corp, Mr. Sterling, was my father’s best friend. He was investing as a favor to me. At the signing ceremony tomorrow, when my “Uncle Sterling” saw that the niece he had doted on since she was a child had been replaced… I wasn’t sure Isla would be able to handle the shock.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387818”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

By the time I, the long-lost daughter, was brought back to the Sterling estate, my place in the family—or lack thereof—was already carved in stone. My brother, Marcin, three years my senior, was the designated heir to the Sterling Corporation. And the impostor, the girl who had stolen my life, was already married to a man of equal stature, living her own fairytale. And me? I was the country girl who’d barely finished high school, a ghost from a past they’d rather forget, stumbling over my words in their polished world. My biological parents could only sigh at the sight of me before tucking me away in the old west wing of the mansion. They promised to support me for life, yet they were too stingy to even share a single meal at the same table. After three months in this gilded cage, I made a decision—I had to escape. 01 “Oh, my sweet grandson, come, come! Look what Grandma has for you!” “Mom, you’re spoiling him.” “He’s my precious boy. Isn’t spoiling him my job?” The mother and daughter laughed, their playful banter filling the grand living room as they led a little boy of about three inside. It was a scene of domestic bliss that had played out countless times over the past three months. But none of it had anything to do with me. I had returned to this house three months ago. My adoptive parents had just passed away when a man who shared a faint resemblance to me found me. He said he was my brother. He told me the family had been searching for me for years, that our parents were desperate to have me home. I’d always known I wasn’t my parents’ biological child. I was curious to see what my real parents were like, to understand why I was lost in the first place. But when I arrived, I learned that another daughter had long since taken my place, basking in the warmth of their affection: Annelise Sterling. It was Annelise’s biological mother who had stolen me from the hospital and abandoned me. By some miracle, someone found me and took me in. Now, Annelise was a graduate of a top university, the Director of Public Relations at the Sterling Corporation, and married to Julian Kensington, the heir to a family as powerful as our own. They had a son. And me? I was just a girl from a fishing town who hadn’t even finished high school. My parents took one look at me and sent me to live in the estate’s forgotten west wing. The constant flurry of activity and celebration at the main house was a world away. My only connection to them was the half-million dollars my brother deposited into my account—”pocket money,” he’d called it. I stood for a moment under the rose arbor, listening to my mother, Eleanor, ask when Mr. Kensington would be arriving for dinner. Just then, the housekeeper assigned to me came rushing over, grabbing my arm and pulling me back toward my solitary wing. “Honestly, Miss Stella, don’t you know your place? Why are you loitering in the main courtyard? You can’t possibly understand what the madam and Lady Annelise are discussing. Why embarrass yourself? Don’t tell me you still dream of replacing her and marrying Mr. Kensington? You should take a good, long look in the mirror and see if you even come close!” The Sterlings and the Kensingtons had an old family arrangement, a promise made before either child was born. If Annelise’s mother hadn’t thrown me away, the one marrying Julian Kensington should have been me. I’d actually met him once during these three months. I was looking for a stray kitten I’d been feeding when I accidentally stepped in front of his car. My so-called mother, Eleanor, had rushed out, yanking me aside with a look of pure mortification. “What are you doing making a scene out here? I told you, it was that woman’s fault you were taken! Annelise was just a newborn baby; you can’t blame her! She and Julian grew up together, they have years of history. You can’t just wedge yourself in with your high school education. Have some self-respect! The Sterling family won’t let you starve, so stop causing trouble!” Three months in, and Annelise was still the only Sterling daughter. I was just the girl in the west wing, so unfamiliar with their state-of-the-art kitchen that I had to rely on the housekeeper’s whims for every meal. As dusk painted the sky, I looked at her face, contorted with a vicious sort of glee, and a slow, genuine laugh escaped my lips. She dragged me back to my rooms and darted into the kitchen, tossing a final warning over her shoulder. “You wait right here! You’re not a child anymore. You should be trying to get on the good side of the young madam and Lady Annelise. Maybe they’ll set you up with a widower or something. If they kick you out, who will you go crying to then?” She sounded more entitled than the actual daughter of the house. I didn’t wait for her. I turned and walked out of the west wing. In truth, I only came here to see what my biological parents looked like. Just now, I was only thinking of saying a quiet goodbye. If this was how it was, then so be it. 02 I walked out with only three things: my ID, the bank card, and my phone. I followed the long, paved driveway until I was beyond the Sterling estate’s imposing gates. A taxi was already waiting. I had arrived on the Sterlings’ private jet. For my departure, I chose the cheapest ticket on a slow, rocking train. After buying a sleeper ticket, I picked up some takeout—a warm roast chicken, some fresh bread, and a box of pastries—and boarded. The train chugged along at its own leisurely pace. I ate, drank, and watched the world go by. A week later, I was back in the small seaside town where I’d grown up. I shared the supplies I’d shipped ahead with my neighbors, then went to the marina to look at boats. The people here have been fishermen for generations. Just over three months ago, my parents were lost at sea during a sudden squall while trying to rescue another boat. Their own vessel was badly damaged, no longer seaworthy. I never thought I’d own a boat of my own again, but fate had a strange sense of humor. Now I had half a million dollars. With two hundred thousand, I bought a boat that had only ever existed in my wildest dreams. I took her out on the water immediately. The salty wind whipped through my hair, and the feeling of being suffocated by that grand mansion finally began to fade. My parents had taught me everything: how to helm a boat, how to read the winds, how to find the fish. I didn’t need modern gadgets; I could find a school just by instinct, by the feel of the wind and the currents. As the drag on the nets grew heavier, a smile spread across my face. This was my life. As for the future… I hauled in the nets, sold the catch at the docks, and went back to town to pay off the rest of the boat. By the time I got home, the sky was dark. I lit three sticks of incense for my parents and cleaned the small house. Mrs. Gable from next door came over with a hot meal, her face etched with worry. My mom once told me it was Mrs. Gable who found me by the shore, nearly frozen to death, and brought me to them. “Were they cruel to you, dear? But I thought they were your real family.” I shook my head, a small smile on my face. “It seems blood isn’t thicker than water. Besides, she really is exceptional.” Annelise, I mean. Top university, sharp and capable. Mrs. Gable sighed. “But you’re a young woman all alone. How long can you manage out on the sea by yourself?” I walked her home, then went to see the town mayor. Most of the fishermen here sell their catch to a large processing plant, which then distributes it across the country. But the plant pays pennies on the dollar. In recent years, more and more young people had left for the cities, leaving only the elderly and children to struggle on. I pitched an idea to the mayor. I was willing to use some of the remaining money to buy equipment and set up our own direct-to-consumer livestreaming channel. We could increase our profits by at least thirty percent. The mayor was overjoyed. He immediately gathered a group of sharp, nimble-fingered women from the town to set up a temporary processing station at the docks, where they would sort, ice, and pack orders. For our hosts, we chose young people who had worked in the cities, the ones with clear voices and a knack for storytelling. I started my own channel too, but mine was different. I took my viewers out to sea, showing them how to find fish, identify seafood, read the tides, chase the wind, and even survive an emergency fall overboard. Life alone was a little lonely, but it was also freeing. I could go home when I wanted, or just drift on the waves if I didn’t. Being alone meant I could venture into more remote waters and catch more valuable seafood. 03 One afternoon, I fell asleep on the deck. I was drifting in that space between dream and reality when my other phone, the one the Sterlings had given me, suddenly rang. The moment I answered, my brother Marcin’s voice, cold and tight with fury, shot through the line. “Stella, are you done with this childish tantrum? How old are you, still playing these running-away games? You think this makes you interesting? Get your ass back here right now! Grandfather wants to see you!” It took me a groggy moment to remember the Sterling family had a patriarch, an old man who had been recuperating overseas. So, he was back and wanted to meet me. That’s the only reason they’d even noticed I was gone. “Give him my best. I’m busy with work. I’m not coming back.” “Work?” His voice jumped an octave. “You’re a high school dropout. What kind of work could you possibly have? Waiting tables? Working on an assembly line? Aren’t you ashamed?” “I’m giving you one day, Stella. Get back here immediately! Apologize to Mom and Dad, and then stay put in the west wing where you belong. We have enough money to feed you, so stop embarrassing me out in the world!” I lay back, feeling the breeze on my face, my sailor’s instincts already kicking in. I shouted an order to adjust the boat’s course, then realized Marcin had finally stopped his tirade. “Are you done?” “You…” “I wasn’t asking for your opinion. I was informing you. I’m not coming back. And you don’t have to worry about me embarrassing your family. After all, your name is Sterling. Mine is Morgan. Oh, and thanks for the half-million dollars and the three months of hospitality. From now on, you don’t need to concern yourselves with my life.” 04 After splashing some water on my face, I remembered my livestream was still on. The chat had exploded. The viewer count was soaring. Everyone was asking which Sterling family I was talking about, what my connection to them was. The Sterlings thought I was an uneducated embarrassment. I wanted nothing more to do with them, so I ignored the questions. After waterproofing my gear, I dove into the ocean, taking my audience on an underwater tour to see a world more beautiful than any starry sky. But it wasn’t long before my channel was shut down due to complaints. I started a new account. It got banned too. I had to head back to town to get a new SIM card, but as I approached the village, the atmosphere felt… off. A line of black sedans was parked at the pier. When he saw me, Marcin stepped out of the lead car, his face a thundercloud. A moment later, the rear door opened, and my mother, Eleanor, emerged, her expression pinched with distaste. “Stella, how long are you going to keep this up?” Her voice dripped with undisguised disappointment. “Are you doing this on purpose? Staying in this backwater town just to make us the laughingstock of our entire social circle?” Annelise appeared from behind her, a supportive hand on her arm. Her face mirrored Eleanor’s disgust, but her words were laced with a pained, sorrowful tone. “Stella, I know. What my birth mother and I did… we wronged you. But what good does this do you? Putting yourself on display like this… the sea is so dangerous, so difficult. You’re breaking Mom and Dad’s hearts. I know you’re angry, but… to me, they are my only parents. If… if you don’t like me, if you can’t stand the sight of me, I’ll stay away. I can meet them and Marcin somewhere else, would that be better?” Little Jack, Mrs. Gable’s grandson, ran up and hugged my leg, trying to pull me toward his house for dinner. I scooped him up and lifted him over my head, spinning him around until he squealed with laughter. “Stella!” Marcin roared, his patience gone. I sighed, then walked a few steps closer with Jack in my arms, and looked Marcin straight in the eye. “Do you remember what I told you before I agreed to go back with you?” Marcin frowned. Clearly, my words had never meant anything to him. “I said, I would go and see.” “I’ve seen it. Now I’ve left. What’s the problem?” “We don’t like each other. Why force it?” “You… Where do you get the nerve?” he sputtered. “Right here, isn’t it?” I retorted, pointing to my head. As if on cue, little Jack reached out and patted Marcin’s cheek. “It’s right here,” he said in his tiny voice. I turned my gaze to Eleanor. “The family won’t let me starve, right? When did I ever need you to feed me? If you truly missed me, if you felt guilty, if you loved me, wouldn’t you have thought of me all the time? I lived there for three months. When, in all that time, did you ever once think of me as anything other than an embarrassment? It’s true, I’m not educated, I’m not refined. But when I was dying, it was my adoptive parents who fed me, who taught me to read and to be a decent person! Don’t think that just because you contributed some DNA, you get to dictate my life.” As for Annelise, I shot her a glance and laughed. “Do you have any idea what I was like when I was found? A newborn baby, floating alone in the sea, with nothing. Do you know what could have happened? Drowning is the obvious one. Or hypothermia from the cold water, leading to heart failure and organ shutdown. Or maybe the shock of the temperature change could have caused a laryngeal spasm, suffocating me. Or I could have been torn apart by the currents, or eaten by marine life. You’re the one who benefited from all of this. Don’t play the victim with me. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to not tell a real apology from a fake one?” Marcin erupted. “Stella, you watch your mouth!” Eleanor was trembling with rage. “You… You’re being completely unreasonable!” She gestured to the black-suited bodyguards who had emerged from the cars. “Bring her back!” Two men lunged forward. They snatched Jack from my arms, tossing him onto the ground, and started forcing me toward the car. I was small and thin, completely powerless against them. “Hey! What are you doing?!” A young man from the village, Mike, came running over, holding a selfie stick with his phone attached. He grabbed me, trying to pull me back. His livestream was on. Eleanor was furious. “I’m taking my own daughter home! This is none of your business!” Mike shoved the camera right in her face. “Say that again!” She gritted her teeth and fell silent, her face a mask of hatred. I let out a dry laugh. “So disgusted with me? Then let’s just say that half-million dollars was the price to sever our ties for good.” I scooped up Jack, grabbed Mike’s arm, and walked away without looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387817”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend was obsessed with his car. Clinically, pathologically obsessed. He called his supercar his ‘baby.’ Me, his girlfriend? I was just the passenger. His social media feed was a shrine to his car, with not a single picture of me. When he upgraded the rearview mirrors, the caption read: Got my baby a new toy. I respected his hobby. I never said a word. Until the day I overheard him and his friends outside a private lounge, playing a game they called ‘trading trophies.’ And there, on the massive screen in front of them, was me. A private video of us, playing on a loop, from every angle, capturing every expression. One of his friends sneered, “Beckett, man, your girl’s whole shy-and-innocent act was hot at first, but it gets old fast.” Beckett just laughed, a careless, easy sound. “She’s just a girl. Not as thrilling as the engine, you know? Whatever.” But when that same guy suggested he film something similar with his best friend, Blair, Beckett’s fist flew. 1. The room was filled with the sound of my own soft cries, but outside the door, my face was as white as a ghost. One of Beckett’s friends picked his teeth with a toothpick, looking bored. “Seriously, Beck, she’s no fun. Same few moves over and over. Like a block of wood.” “All that prim and proper stuff is a total turn-off. I’m not even getting hard watching this. That’s a skill, I guess.” The room erupted in derisive laughter. Beckett didn’t defend me. He just laughed along with them, that same carefree sound. “Hey, at least you have something to watch. If it wasn’t for our game, I probably wouldn’t even touch her. She’s plain. My car has more personality.” His friend’s eyebrow shot up, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You’ve been in a dry spell, man. And you’ve got a bombshell like Blair around you all the time. You’re not tempted? C’mon, we’re all friends here. You and Blair should give it a shot. Keep it in the crew, you know? You could even make some new videos for us, spice things up a little.” The easy-going look on Beckett’s face vanished the second he heard Blair’s name. His expression turned thunderous, his face darkening like an ink spill. Without a second thought, he swung, his fist connecting with his friend’s jaw. A tooth went flying. “Don’t you ever talk about her like that,” Beckett snarled. “Blair is family. If I ever hear you thinking that kind of trash again, you’ll answer to me.” The other guys jumped in, trying to de-escalate. “Whoa, Beckett, take it easy. They’re both just girls, right? You didn’t get this bent out of shape sharing your girlfriend’s video. Dave just mentioned Blair, it’s not worth breaking up the crew over.” Beckett shook out his hand, his voice low and dangerous. “My best friend and my girlfriend are two different things. If you can’t even respect one of our own, what kind of friends are you? Let me make this clear for all of you: Blair comes before anyone else. And you will respect her like one of the guys.” That shut them up. They nodded, mumbling apologies. Just like that, Beckett’s roguish grin returned. “Alright, my girl’s coming to pick me up soon. Turn that crap off and keep your mouths shut. She’s sweet. A game like this would break her.” The air felt thick, impossible to breathe. My own hands were digging into my palms, drawing blood, but the pain was a distant echo to the chasm opening in my chest. I pressed a hand to my heart, which felt like it was seizing, and stumbled away from the door, leaning against the wall to stay upright. The veins in my neck pulsed, visible beneath the skin. The small, crimson mole just under the corner of my eye—my family’s sigil—seemed to burn a brighter red. Beckett didn’t know. I wasn’t just some ordinary girl. I come from the Thorne dynasty—a family famous for two things: breathtaking beauty and hearts of ice. We’re born predators, cold and brilliant. I was the anomaly, born with a gentle nature and a softer, quieter beauty. My family believed that only a severe emotional trauma could trigger my true awakening, the surfacing of my Thorne bloodline. They sent me out into the world to be “tempered.” I chose Beckett. He was the city’s resident bad boy, notorious for loving cars more than women. I basically chose him as my trial by fire. But after all this time, I had genuinely fallen in love with him. I’d even considered walking away from my family, from my birthright, to stay with him forever as the person I was now. But in the end, he broke my heart anyway. I found the number I hadn’t used in years and dialed. “Julian? It’s time. I’m coming home. Give me three days.” 2. As I turned, I saw Blair storming toward Beckett, and she kicked his car. Hard. “You asshole! You have these meetups all the time and never invite me! I’m gonna find out what you’re really up to!” Beckett’s expression tightened, and for a second, I thought he would explode. But he just sighed. “Come on, B. Don’t take it out on my car. You’re going to hurt your foot.” “It’s not that I don’t want you here. It’s just a bunch of guys. It stinks. It’s not for you.” “Whatever,” Blair scoffed. “I told you, stop treating me like a girl. I’m not like your little girlfriend. And for that, you little shit, you’re going to be punished.” She slung her purse over her shoulder, the chain dragging a long, ugly scratch across the perfect paint job. Then she climbed right onto the hood, leaving two dirty footprints. “What are you waiting for? Give your old man a hand. I’m making a whole collection of these for my Insta story.” Normally, Beckett would fly into a rage if someone even breathed too close to his car. But with Blair, he just shook his head with a helpless smile. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her fully onto the hood, letting her stomp her feet all over his prized possession. Then he took a picture of her with her “trophies” and posted it. The comments from their mutual friends flooded in immediately. “Blair is literally the only person on earth who can touch Beckett’s car!” “Damn right! Anyone else would have a broken wrist by now! Blair’s a legend!” Beckett laughed and flicked her forehead. “You’re such a child.” Then he commented on his own post: It’s just metal. My friends are what matter. The words were a stark, brutal contrast to what he’d said about me. She’s just a girl. Not as thrilling as the engine. Blair was loving it, though she pretended to pout. “Hey, son. Don’t you think my feet are too small? Not very tough. People might see these prints and think some little fling of yours did it.” Playing along, Beckett looked at her feet with mock seriousness. “They are a little dainty.” She smacked him on the back of the head. “Asshole! Don’t you talk down to your dad?” Then an idea struck her. She pulled out her phone and started recording him. “Repeat after me! My dad Blair’s size six feet are the cutest! My girlfriend Seraphina has size eight Sasquatch feet, and no one will ever marry a girl with big feet!” Beckett hesitated. Blair’s face fell. “What’s the problem? It’s just a little punishment. Or have you forgotten who your friends are now that you have a girlfriend? You ungrateful little shit!” That was all it took. He caved instantly. “Fine, fine, I’ll say it! I’d rather piss off my sweet, understanding girlfriend than deal with you when you’re mad.” I watched from the shadows, my heart turning to ice, and only stepped out when they were done. 3. When Beckett saw me, he told Blair to get in the car. She slid right into the passenger seat without a second thought. I didn’t say anything. I just reached for the handle of the back door. The second my fingertips brushed against the car, Beckett’s reflexes took over. He grabbed my arm and yanked it away, shoving me back. I stumbled, slamming into a metal pole. The sharp edge of a nail sticking out of it sliced my forehead open. I remembered the first time we met. I had accidentally touched his car then, too. He’d kicked me away. “Your hands are filthy! Haven’t you ever seen a car before, you hick? This isn’t something you can just touch!” Later, when he was trying to win me over, he’d sent a fleet of luxury cars to deliver flowers to me for a month straight. He promised he’d work on his “obsession,” that he would always put me first. A year had passed. He hadn’t changed at all. I thought he was like that with everyone. I never imagined Blair was the exception. And I was nothing. Still just a stranger who wasn’t allowed to get close to his car. I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead and bowed my head in apology. Beckett froze for a second, realizing he’d gone too far. He looked flustered. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. Sera, you know how I am about my car. I can’t help it. Don’t be mad at me.” “Let’s get you to a hospital. That was a rusty nail, you need a tetanus shot.” I nodded, assuming that out of guilt, he would finally let me ride in his car. But when I took a step forward, he stopped me. He led me to the trunk and opened it. Inside was a small, pink electric scooter. “Sera, you know my car is for racing, not for carrying passengers. So, I bought you this! See? I decorated it with all the things you like. I even put on the little bows myself.” “From now on, you can just ride this behind me. I’ll clear a path for you on your way to work.” His face was lit up with a happy, blissful smile as he imagined our future. My heart went completely cold. So, he still thought we had a future. I didn’t. I glanced at Blair in the passenger seat, a smirk playing on her lips, and the bitterness was so strong I could taste it. Noticing my expression, Beckett actually tried to explain. “Sera, don’t get the wrong idea. Blair’s different. She’s always been terrible with directions, gets lost so easily. I can’t let her go home alone. I have to drive her. It’s just this once.” Any other day, I would have swallowed the humiliation and quietly obeyed. But today, a fire I couldn’t control was roaring to life inside me. I fought the overwhelming urge to smash his car to pieces and spoke in a flat, mechanical voice. “No, thank you. My head hurts. I don’t have the strength to ride. You take her home. I’ll take the subway.” To my shock, he nodded, relieved. “Okay, the subway is safer anyway. It’s late for Blair to be out, so I’ll just drop her off.” I watched his car speed away, the engine roaring, and a familiar ache pulsed in my chest. He was worried about Blair getting home late, but he was perfectly fine with me taking the subway alone at night, injured. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I sank to the curb. Just then, a sleek, black luxury car pulled up beside me. A cold, familiar voice cut through the night. “Get in.” I slid into the passenger seat, feeling a little lost. “Julian? What are you doing here? I said three days.” My family was cold, but they were fiercely protective. As long as I was a Thorne, they would have my back, no questions asked. “Mother and Father are pleased you’re coming home. But they did mention that for someone about to have her awakening, you’re still crying over a boy on the side of the road.” I traced the crimson mole under my eye. “It’s coming. I can feel it… I’m having trouble controlling my temper. Next time, I might just smash his car. It’s not like we can’t afford it.” A rare, faint smile touched my brother’s lips. He half-closed his eyes, his voice a lazy drawl. “Good.” A beat. “Consider the budget for smashing his cars approved. As many as you like.” 4. The next day, a message from Blair popped up on my phone. Seraphina, you’re going to miss the race today. I heard Beckett is planning to announce you as his girlfriend to the whole world after he wins. But I might have swapped his announcement video for something a little more… fun. You should come see it. It’s going to be a show. A jolt of alarm went through me. “What are you planning?” She didn’t reply. Instead, she sent a video file. I opened it. It was the video from the lounge. The private, intimate video of me and Beckett. Blair was going to play it for everyone at the racetrack. How did she even get it? There was only one person who could have given it to her. Beckett. The pain was like a thousand needles stabbing my heart. How could he be so cruel? I jumped on the scooter and raced toward the track, praying I could stop her before it was too late. I pushed the little motor to its limit, weaving through traffic. I finally arrived just as the race was ending. What I didn’t see were the hundreds of thumbtacks scattered across the entrance. The moment my tires hit them, they popped, one after another, hissing as the air escaped. But I was going too fast to stop. I could only watch in horror as the scooter careened forward, completely out of my control. And then, Blair appeared out of nowhere. She just stood there, directly in my path. The crowd screamed. The racers on the track noticed the commotion. I saw Beckett, who had been fighting for first place, wrench his steering wheel in a 180-degree turn, throwing his car into a reckless, desperate drift. Panic seized me. I looked at him, my face a mask of terror, and screamed his name. “Beckett, I’m scared!” But the look he gave me wasn’t one of concern. It was disappointment. Accusation. Hatred. Then he closed his eyes for a split second, and gunned the engine, aiming his car directly at me. “Sera, you shouldn’t have done this to Blair,” his voice crackled through my memory. “To save her, I have to hit you first. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick. It won’t hurt too much.” The world dissolved into a ringing silence as my body was thrown through the air. I saw his car, its trajectory broken by the impact, slam into the track barrier. CRUNCH. The front end crumpled like paper. Beckett stumbled out of the wreck, clutching a face slick with blood, but his eyes were fixed on one person. He ran, staggering, straight to Blair. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was him cradling a stunned Blair in his arms, whispering words of comfort, without a single glance in my direction. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My brother, Julian, was sitting by my bed. From outside the door, I could hear Beckett’s frantic shouts. “Let me go! I need to see her!” But the person in that bed was no longer the girl he knew. An uncontrollable rage surged through me. I grabbed the fruit bowl from the bedside table and hurled it at the door with all my strength. “Shut up! You’re so loud! Get out! All of you, GET OUT!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387816”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 On my wedding day, I accidentally stumbled upon a video that seemed like it was designed to mock me. It showed a tearful eighteen-year-old girl saying, “What do I do? He rejected my confession. Will I ever see him again?” Cut to a twenty-five-year-old woman, beaming. “Don’t cry, silly! Not only will you see him again, but you just got your marriage license today! What’s meant to be will be!” I couldn’t help but smile as I watched. After all, my fiancé, Matthew Lloyd, and I had been childhood sweethearts for fifteen years, and we were celebrating our marriage today. As I went to type a congratulatory message, I hesitated. The video zoomed in on a collage of photos the woman had secretly taken of the same man, from eighteen to twenty-five. It ended with a shot of a marriage license. The man who had inspired such devotion, the guy the internet was rooting for, was my husband, Matthew Lloyd. … The video played on, the woman’s sweet voice filling my ears. “I’m sharing this video to tell girls who are crushing on someone: never give up! Eventually, he’ll love you back.” My hands shaking, I dragged the timeline back and stared at her eighteen-year-old face. Recognition slammed into me. This was Blair Lancaster. The girl who had been obsessed with Matthew for years, following him around like a lost puppy. She’d been invisible back then—plain, unremarkable. A far cry from who she was now. Love is like raising a flower. My love has nurtured me so well… I closed my eyes, forcing myself to stay calm. Then, I clicked into the comments. A comment posted just three minutes earlier, already at the top, caught my eye. You are the rose I cultivated with my own hands. The profile picture was the back of a man’s head. One I had taken. The truth crashed down on me. My mind went blank. Then, I heard the front door open. Matthew walked in carrying a cake, his handsome face as warm and familiar as always. “I knew you’d be waiting up for me. It’s our wedding night, after all.” “I got this for you on the way back from the office. Try it.” He moved to embrace me, like he always did. Instinctively, I took a step back, switching off my phone and hiding it behind me. My voice trembled. “You really went to the office?” Matthew froze, a flicker of something like frustration crossing his brow. “Where else would I have been?” “Everyone else gets pre-wedding jitters. How come you’re having them after we get married?” His casual tone made me doubt myself. Maybe I was overreacting. After all, Blair had tried to drive a wedge between us back then. As I stood there, lost in thought, Matthew pulled me down onto the sofa and spooned a bite of cake into my mouth. My head was spinning. Then, he laughed. “Oh, right. There’s some stuff I have to take care of at work tomorrow. Let’s wait on getting the marriage license, okay?” “We’ve been together for so long. A few more days won’t matter, will it?” Before the wedding, I’d suggested we get the license first, but he had brushed it off, saying he was too busy. Now, he was delaying it again. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. There was no hint of guilt, nothing to betray his words. My heart twisted. I nodded, unable to speak. While Matthew went to take a shower, I grabbed his phone. The password was still my birthday. The wallpaper was still a picture of me. So was his profile picture. I let out a small sigh of relief and clicked into his video apps. There was only one account. Not the one that had commented on Blair’s video. A hand reached around me, snatching the phone from my grasp. Matthew picked me up in his arms. “Stop checking my phone. Come see how good my stamina is instead.” I tried to tell myself that this was all just a coincidence, forcing a smile. “Okay…” Before I could finish the word, a ringtone shattered the moment. Matthew practically leaped out of my arms and answered the phone. Two seconds later, he was throwing on his clothes. “I have to go. There’s a problem at the office.” “Don’t wait up for me tonight. I’ll be back late. Be good.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead and hurried out. Not long after he left, I saw a new comment from Blair under her video. Someone pretended to get a call from work just to see me. Guess who finally got the undivided attention she deserves tonight? My blood ran cold. I called Matthew. He didn’t answer. I tried again, and again. Finally, after a dozen calls, he picked up, his voice edged with irritation. “I was in a meeting. It was urgent.” “An urgent meeting? In bed, maybe?” I couldn’t stop the sarcasm. Matthew was silent for a moment, and then, there was a flash of anger. “Seraphina, what is wrong with you tonight?” “First you’re grilling me about work, then you’re checking my phone, and now you’re accusing me of cheating?” I bit down hard on my lip, forcing the words out. “Fine.” I hung up and drove to his office. Ignoring the blare of horns as I ran red lights, I finally arrived, and saw Matthew was, in fact, in his office. When he saw me, he sighed and tugged at his tie. “You actually came here?” “What is going on with you? Why are you so suspicious?” The relief I had felt just moments before was instantly replaced by ice when I saw his tie. I clenched my fists, my voice shaking. “You weren’t wearing a tie when you left the house.” A flicker of panic crossed his face, but he quickly recovered. “Oh. I keep a spare at the office.” We’d been friends for years. I knew the subtle tells. He was lying. I didn’t want to play games. I held up Blair’s video. “Explain. What is this?” Matthew’s pupils contracted. He hadn’t expected me to see it. Then, he frowned. “Why is Blair so obsessed with me?” He rose and started pacing, feigning annoyance. “She spent her whole life trying to ruin what we had. You know I hate her. How could you think I would marry her?” “Okay, I admit it. I lied. I ran into her a while back. She applied for a secretarial position. I turned her down.” “But then, her brain snapped, and she made up this whole fantasy.” “Honey, we just had our wedding. Why would she post something like this now, unless she was trying to cause trouble?” Before he could finish, the door opened. Blair waltzed in, looking sweet and innocent, holding a man’s jacket. “Matthew, you forgot this.” The office went silent, with only the video’s soundtrack echoing through the air. Matthew was the first to react. He grabbed Blair, his voice dangerously low. “That’s not my jacket. Stop making things up.” “Tell my wife what’s going on. Tell her about the video.” I watched as Blair’s eyes turned red. She seemed to resist, but she lowered her head to me. “Seraphina, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have posted the video. I just wanted to fulfill an old fantasy.” “It’s not real. It was all faked. I’m so sorry…” Before she could finish, I raised my hand to strike. But Matthew seized my wrist, his face darkening. “That’s enough. Don’t get violent—” Smack! I swung with my other hand, the slap echoing through the office. Matthew’s cheek was red. He stared at me, stunned. “Seraphina! I explained everything! Why won’t you trust me?” “There’s a limit to how much nonsense I’m willing to take!” Pain tightened my chest. I took a shaky breath, trying to stay calm, and threw a document at him. It was a certificate of marriage, obtained by my lawyer. “Explain this. I dare you.” “Matthew Lloyd. Marital status: not single. Spouse: Blair Lancaster.” His face turned sheet white. Afraid of what I might do next, he pulled me out of the office. Back home, he dropped to his knees, his eyes red-rimmed. “I’m sorry, Sera. I lied.” “But I’m telling the truth. Blair and I ran into each other a while ago. She applied to be my secretary.” “I didn’t want anything to do with her. But then she begged me to give her a chance.” “You know what she’s like. She didn’t do well in school, she never got a degree, she can’t find a decent job. And she only has her grandmother, who needs expensive medical care. I felt sorry for her, so I gave her a chance.” “After a while, I started to… waver. When she begged me for the tenth time to marry her, to fulfill her grandmother’s dying wish, I gave in.” “I thought, what harm could it do? I could marry her for a little while, let her be happy, and then divorce her. And then, I would tell you everything. I never imagined she would post that video! She said she would block you from seeing it.” “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have lied to you. But Sera, you were raised by your grandmother. You understand, don’t you?” By the end of his speech, my heart had gone numb. I wanted to laugh. I looked at him, a flicker of desperate hope still alive in his eyes, and a cold laugh escaped my lips. “I understand you? Who understands me?” “You also know I was raised by my grandmother. When I dropped everything to go abroad with you, my grandmother died alone, and I never got to say goodbye. You said you would give me a family.” “And now? Matthew, you’re spinning an affair to make yourself look good. It’s disgusting.” His face hardened. After a long pause, he rose, his voice flat with disappointment. “I can’t believe you’re like this. Blair has been waiting for me for so long, and I just wanted to make her dream come true.” “She’s been waiting for you? What about me?” I couldn’t stop myself from screaming. “When you couldn’t pay your rent abroad, who worked day and night to send you money?” “When you came back and needed capital, who sold her grandmother’s house to fund your business?” “How many times did I negotiate deals for you until I was throwing up blood? How many times was I almost assaulted?” “I didn’t want anything in return! I just wanted you to be happy, and to build a life with me!” “Enough!” Matthew’s face was a mask of anger. “All you ever talk about is money.” “Fine. I’ll pay you.” He pulled out his phone and transferred three million dollars to my account. With interest, down to the penny. It was the money I had scrounged together, my entire savings. Now, it was pocket change to him. There were so many things I wanted to say, but suddenly, I didn’t have the strength. Looking at his cold, unfamiliar face, I knew it was over. Seeing my silence, a mocking smile touched his lips. “All you care about is money, Seraphina. You have no right to judge me for having an affair.” “I never mistreated you after I made my fortune. I paid you back. I’m still paying Blair back, so I had to marry her. You’ve waited for me for so long. A little longer won’t kill you. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He reached out, trying to soothe me, but I recoiled. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom, gagging, and heard his phone ring. “What? What happened to your grandmother? I’m coming now.” I heard the door slam. I flushed the toilet, sending all our happy memories spiraling into the drain. I washed my face and stood up. I opened my phone and messaged my lawyer, Julian Hayes: File for divorce. For a week, Matthew didn’t come home. Instead, I saw him flaunting his new romance on social media, posting picture after picture with Blair. Only, he never showed her face. Friends who had been at our wedding kept messaging, asking about the honeymoon. I didn’t reply. Instead, I posted a single line to my feed: Husband had an affair. Do not disturb. My phone exploded. Then, Matthew called, his voice rough. “Seraphina, are you out of your mind?” I laughed softly. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle the truth?” He hung up. Then, my old high school principal called, his voice excited. “The alumni gala is tomorrow! Distinguished alumni can bring their spouses. I told Matthew about it a week ago, right?” I paused. “No.” “Oh. Well, he probably forgot. Be sure to come. It’ll be broadcast live.” I squeezed my phone, hard. He hadn’t forgotten. He just hadn’t intended to bring me. I agreed to attend. All week, I barely slept. My tears had dried up, and my heart had gone numb. So, when Matthew finally came home that night and started yelling at me, I was strangely calm. “Seraphina, are you trying to ruin me?” “Was it you who told Blair’s grandmother about our situation? Did you cause her to have a heart attack? Blair nearly killed herself because of you!” “Now, you’re going to come to the hospital and apologize!” He reached for me. I dodged him, my voice quiet. “Who are you taking to the alumni gala tomorrow?” Matthew hesitated, rubbing his temples. “You thought you could ruin my reputation by posting on social media? So why would I want to take you?” “Blair’s reputation was destroyed by you. I’m going to help her fix it.” “That’s not important right now. We need to go to the hospital—” “Why should I apologize to the woman you had an affair with?” Smack! The slap sent me crashing to the floor, pain shooting through my abdomen. Matthew reached for me, then stopped. A flicker of something flashed in his eyes, his voice turning cold. “Seraphina, watch your mouth!” “Besides, you’re the other woman. Blair and I are married!” That sentence seared my heart. I stood up, shaking. “You’re right. I’m the other woman.” I turned and walked out. Behind me, Matthew’s footsteps came to a halt. “Seraphina, if you walk out that door, we’re done!” His rage was a distant echo as I left, never once looking back. That night, he posted a picture of his marriage certificate with Blair: No affair here. Just fake news. Married. I switched off my phone and stared at Julian, the lawyer, his gaze steady and sure. “Everything’s ready, right?” He nodded, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure about this?” I forced a smile. “Yes. I have to do it.” The emptiness in my stomach mirrored the hollowness in my heart. Even the last tie to Matthew was gone. What else was there to hold on to? As the alumni gala began, all the cameras focused on the stage. The principal excitedly invited Matthew Lloyd to deliver a speech. After all, he was the school’s most successful graduate. I watched as he spoke, crediting all the achievements to Blair. The ones that I had bled and sweat for. But I didn’t feel anything. In fact, I wanted to laugh. Ignoring the principal’s confused expression and the sympathetic glances from our friends, I slowly started to clap. Matthew froze when he saw me, then quickly looked away. After his speech, Julian was invited to speak. He scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on Matthew. “Before I start, I’d like to take care of a little business. I’m filing a lawsuit against Mr. Lloyd for fraud and misrepresentation.” The room went silent. Every eye turned to me. I rose, ignoring Matthew’s furious glare, and walked to the podium. I smiled faintly. “I’m Julian’s client, and the victim of Mr. Lloyd’s fraud. My name is Seraphina Hayes.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387815”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

She locked our five-year-old twins in the basement. All because they’d upset her childhood flame. I was on my knees, the cold floor biting into my skin as I begged her. “They’re just kids, Alice! It’s pitch black down there, they’ll be terrified. If you want to punish someone, punish me. Please, I’m their father…” But Alice just leaned back into Ethan’s arms, looking down at me with an icy disdain. “It’s because you coddle them that they’ve become so arrogant. I’m their mother. Don’t I have the right to discipline my own children?” Down in the dark, the twins grew desperate with hunger. They found a forgotten bag of dried shrimp somewhere in the clutter. That night, both of them were rushed to the hospital, their little bodies struggling to breathe, their airways swelling shut from a severe seafood allergy. Meanwhile, Ethan was posting on social media, celebrating the news that Alice was pregnant. When my brother-in-law, Mark, arrived at the hospital, he found me collapsed outside the emergency room. “Mark,” I choked out, my voice raw. “Please, just let me go. I don’t want anything. I just want my kids to be okay.” 1 The light above the ER doors burned like a cruel, unblinking eye. My heart felt like it was being devoured by a million tiny ants, the pain so sharp it stole my breath. Mark looked at me, his face etched with a pity I couldn’t bear. “Don’t say that, Liam. The kids are the only thing that matters right now. As soon as they’re out of danger, I swear I’ll deal with Alice…” His voice trailed off as I trembling, held up my phone. It was Ethan’s post, made just half an hour ago. “To the little one we’ve dreamed of, Mom and Dad already love you more than words can say.” The picture was an ultrasound scan. The name was clear: Alice Blackwood. Six weeks pregnant. Mark fell silent. A moment later, he stammered, “I’m calling her right now. Liam, don’t worry. You’re the only son-in-law the Blackwood family recognizes…” This time, I was the one who made the call. I hit the speakerphone button, and Alice’s impatient voice crackled through. “Are you going to feed me that same garbage about the kids being in the ER? I locked them up for a day, Liam, one day. How could they possibly need emergency care? If you’re going to make up excuses, at least make them believable. God, you disgust me.” She hung up before I could say a single word. The color drained from Mark’s face. He looked like a man who had run out of words, out of hope. Tears streamed down my face, splashing onto the sterile tile floor. “Mark, I have nothing left. They’re all I have. Please… let me go. Let them go…” He started to speak, but just then, the light above the ER doors went out. I scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the doctor, who met my desperate gaze with a slow, somber shake of his head. “Anaphylactic shock from the seafood allergy. Their airways swelled shut. They were without oxygen for too long… they were in cardiac arrest by the time they arrived.” He paused, his voice gentle. “We did everything we could. I’m so sorry.” Two small gurneys were wheeled out from the emergency room. Two tiny forms lay still beneath white sheets, all their laughter and life silenced forever. My legs gave out from under me. I crumpled to the floor, the world dissolving into a black, roaring void. Mark made the call to the funeral home. I followed him like a ghost, a hollow shell moving through a nightmare. It wasn’t until the attendants were loading the small bodies into the back of the hearse that something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, clawing at the vehicle’s doors, refusing to let them close. “My children aren’t dead! Where are you taking them? Give them back to me!” My voice shredded into a raw scream. “LET THEM GO! I want to take them home! I have to take them home!” Mark wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight as his own tears fell. “Liam, stop. Please, stop. I know it hurts, I know…” Other hands joined his, pulling me away. The moment my fingers lost their grip on the cold metal, the hearse pulled away, its taillights shrinking into the distance. Watching them disappear, a final wave of darkness crashed over me, and I knew no more. When I woke, I was in a bed at the Blackwood family estate. Mark was sitting beside me, his eyes red and swollen. He wiped at his own tears when he saw mine were open. “Liam. You’re awake. Do you need some water? Are you hungry?” I tried to smile, but the effort just made a fresh wave of tears spill down my temples. “Mark… please. Let me go. There’s nothing left for me here.” 2 Mark stiffened, then, after a long moment, he nodded as if coming to a heavy decision. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll go talk to Grandfather.” As I watched him leave, I pressed the back of my hand to my eyes and finally let the sobs wrack my body. I came to live with the Blackwoods when I was six. My grandfather and Mr. Blackwood were old army buddies, brothers-in-arms who had saved each other’s lives. My parents died in an accident when I was three, and my grandfather raised me until he passed away, leaving me utterly alone in the world. Mr. Blackwood took me in and raised me as his own grandson. For all these years, both he and Mark had treated me like family, like a son, a brother. That was why, for seven years, I had endured Alice’s cruelty. I stayed home, managed the household, and raised our children while she did as she pleased. It was my duty, my way of repaying their kindness. I thought that as long as I had my children, my life had meaning. But now, I had nothing. Sometime later, Mark returned. “Grandfather wants to see you.” When I entered the study, Mr. Blackwood was sitting in his old rocking chair. The look he gave me was full of a deep, aching sorrow. “My boy,” he said, his voice raspy with age. “I’ve heard everything. It was my stubbornness that ruined your life all these years.” He took a shaky breath. “The cremation is tomorrow. After the service… you’re free to go. That wretched girl has failed you. She was never worthy of you.” I said nothing. I simply bowed deeply before him, my body bent in a posture of final respect. I watched my tears fall, big, fat drops hitting the polished floorboards. I was eternally grateful for the twenty-plus years they had given me, for the home they had provided. But I could never forgive Alice. And I could no longer be her husband. There was nothing left to say. Mr. Blackwood sighed, a sound heavy with defeat. “Go on, then. Leave us.” I had just returned to my room when Alice stormed in, a familiar sneer on her face. “What, did you run straight to Grandfather to tattle on me again? Liam, do you really think that just because you’ve charmed him and my brother, I’ll bend to your will?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know what kind of spell you’ve cast on them, but it’s incredible how they always take your side.” The sight of her ignited a rage so pure it nearly consumed me. I wanted to kill her. I wanted her to pay for what she did to my children. But then, I heard their voices, soft echoes in the chambers of my heart. “Daddy, where’s Mommy? Is she busy with work again today? We haven’t seen her in so long.” “Even if Mommy doesn’t like us much, we still miss her.” “We love you so much, Daddy. And we love Mommy, too.” The last thing my son said to me, as I carried him from the basement, was a whispered plea. “Daddy, don’t be mad at Mommy. We made her upset. Please don’t fight with her because of us…” I took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away from her, sinking onto the edge of the bed. My silence only seemed to fuel her anger. She grabbed my wrist, yanked me onto the mattress, and climbed on top of me. “What’s this act? Weren’t you the one who begged Grandfather to make me come home? Now that I’m here, you’re not happy?” She leaned down to kiss me. I couldn’t push her off, so I did the only thing I could. I bit down on her lip, hard. She yelped in pain and shot upright. “Are you insane? What is this, some kind of pathetic purity protest?” She scoffed. “You’re full of tricks lately, Liam. First, you lie about the kids being in the ER to force me back. When that doesn’t work, you run to the estate and have Grandfather pressure me. And now you’re playing hard to get.” Her voice dripped with venom. “You’re so desperate to keep me, you’d even abandon your own children. Where are they, anyway? They’re five years old, Liam. Did you just leave them home alone? You really are a monster…” My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “They’re dead,” I said, my voice flat and cold, cutting through her tirade. 3 Alice froze for a second, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Wow, Liam. I really underestimated you. You’d say anything to win my affection, wouldn’t you?” Without another glance at me, she stood up and walked to the door. As she pulled it open, she tossed a final, cold remark over her shoulder. “You’re the one who pushed me away. So don’t go crying to Grandfather that I’m neglecting you. It only makes you more pathetic.” The door clicked shut, and the room was silent again. I scrubbed at my lips, trying to wipe away the phantom sensation of her touch, the lingering scent of her perfume. We had been in love once. On her eighteenth birthday, she had stood before me, twenty years old myself, her cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. “Liam… can I like you?” she’d asked, her voice barely a whisper. “I promise, I’ll be so good to you.” Looking into her shy, hopeful eyes, my heart had melted. As if in a trance, I had nodded. For the next two years, I treated her like she was the center of the universe, and she, in turn, acted as if she would pluck the stars from the sky for me. It was perfect. Until we were twenty-two. Her grandfather summoned us to his study. “Alice, Liam,” he’d said, his voice firm but kind. “You’re both of marrying age. I’ve taken the liberty of choosing an auspicious date for your wedding.” From that day forward, everything changed. Alice’s warmth vanished, replaced by a constant, simmering resentment. Her eyes, which once held adoration, now held only irritation and disgust. I never understood what I had done wrong, and she never offered an explanation. A year after we were married, she became pregnant. After the twins were born, she grew even more distant, spending her nights out, neglecting the children entirely. She flaunted her relationship with Ethan publicly, parading him around town without a single thought for my dignity. I tried to fight it. I argued, I pleaded. But Alice would just stare at me with a cold, dismissive smirk. “I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? The position as the Blackwood son-in-law, the children. What more do you want?” she’d sneer. “Do you know how pathetic you sound, Liam? Your whining just makes me sick.” After that, I stopped asking for reasons. I stopped asking about her nights with him. I simply focused on my children, building a life with them in the quiet corners of our cold house. In seven years of marriage, Alice never loved me, and she never loved our children. I thought we could continue like that, that I could find enough joy in my children to sustain me. I thought my life still had purpose. But now, even that had been taken from me. The next morning, Mr. Blackwood and Mark took me to the crematorium. As the two small caskets were pushed into the furnace, the tears I had been holding back finally broke free, streaming silently down my face. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, determined not to make a sound. Mark looked at me, his face a mask of worry. “Liam, if you need to cry, just let it out. It’s okay.” I just shook my head, unable to speak. Mr. Blackwood slammed his cane against the floor. “That monster!” he roared. “Where is she? On a day like this, how could a mother not be here?” A flicker of anger crossed Mark’s face, followed by a guilty glance in my direction. He lowered his voice. “I tried calling her. Her phone is off.” When the attendant returned with two small, ornate boxes, Mr. Blackwood reached out with a trembling hand. But I stepped forward first, taking the urns and clutching them to my chest. “I’ll take them,” I said, my voice hollow. “They’re my children.” Mr. Blackwood opened his mouth to protest, but I sank to my knees before him. “Grandfather, I owe you a debt I can never repay. But these are my children. I’m begging you…” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “They are my children. They will not be buried in the Blackwood family plot. They will not carry the Blackwood name in death.” Mr. Blackwood’s brow furrowed in pain. Mark quickly put a steadying hand on his arm, his eyes full of sympathy for me. “Okay, Liam,” Mark said. “You’re their father. It’s your decision.” I gave him a grateful look before rising to my feet. Cradling the two urns, I walked out of the crematorium and went straight home. I had to pack their things. I couldn’t leave a single trace of them behind in that cold, empty house. But as I pushed open the front door, a vulgar sound met my ears. “Oh, Ethan, stop it… I just got pregnant. The doctor said we need to be careful…” 4 The man’s voice was thick with lust. “I know, I know, I’ll be gentle. I promise I won’t hurt our precious little baby.” A moment later, the sounds of their lovemaking filled the living room. They were in the master bedroom. I couldn’t go in, couldn’t pack. All I could do was stand there, rooted to the spot, forcing myself to listen to every sordid sound. It was a form of self-torture, a punishment I felt I deserved. I don’t know how long I stood there before they finally emerged. Ethan had a smug, triumphant look on his face, though he feigned politeness. “Oh, Liam! When did you get back? It’s all Alice’s fault, she insisted the kids were at daycare and dragged me back here. So sorry about that, man.” Alice emerged from behind him, melting into his embrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Why are you even talking to him? He has no right to question what we do.” She turned her face up to Ethan. “Come on, let’s go. Weren’t you hungry?” Throughout the entire exchange, Alice never once let her gaze fall on me. I stepped aside, clearing a path for them to leave. As she passed, her eyes finally landed on the two boxes I was holding. “What are those?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “They look so dusty and grim. Disgusting.” With that, she took Ethan’s arm, and they walked out the door. I looked down at the urns in my arms and gently wiped their surfaces. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “Mommy wasn’t talking about you. Don’t listen.” I carefully placed the urns on the coffee table and began to pack. Their clothes, their toys, their easel. His last painting was still on it, unfinished. My hands trembled as I removed the canvas. At the top, in a child’s clumsy scrawl, were three words. OUR FAMILY. And below the drawing, a smaller line of text. MOMMY LOVES DADDY, followed by a tiny heart. Clutching the canvas to my chest, I finally broke down, my body shaking with silent, agonizing sobs. In the five years I raised them alone, no matter how bad things got between Alice and me, I never said a single bad word about her in front of our children. But they weren’t blind. They could see it for themselves. Mommy didn’t love Daddy. By the time night fell, I had packed several boxes with their belongings. I had already scheduled a long-distance moving company. I watched as the movers carried everything out to the truck, piece by piece. “Everything’s loaded, Mr. Hayes,” the foreman said. “We’re ready to go.” I nodded, then walked back inside one last time. On the coffee table, I placed the divorce papers I had already signed. As I left the house, clutching the urns tight, a strange sense of relief washed over me. I had just settled into the passenger seat of the truck when my phone buzzed. A message from Ethan. Hey Liam. Sorry, but Alice won’t be home for the next few days. She’s insisting on taking me to Hawaii for a vacation. Tough luck! Attached was a photo, but I didn’t bother opening it. The message stirred nothing in me. No anger, no pain. Just a hollow, echoing emptiness. I pulled out my SIM card, snapped it in two, and as the truck pulled away from the curb, I tossed the pieces out the window. Holding my children close, I watched in the side mirror as the house I had lived in for seven years grew smaller and smaller, until it was nothing but a memory. Meanwhile, at the airport, Mr. Blackwood and Mark intercepted Alice and Ethan as they were about to go through security. Alice’s face instantly darkened. “Is Liam insane? He acts all magnanimous to my face, then sends you two to chase me down at the airport? He’s absolutely pathetic…” Before she could finish, her grandfather’s hand cracked across her face, the sound sharp and final. “You monster! You murder your own children and you still have the gall to run off on a trip with this parasite? How did the Blackwood family ever produce a heartless beast like you?” Alice staggered back, stunned. “Grandfather… what… what are you saying?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387814”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband, David, had been overseas for six months on a research fellowship, leaving me to manage life and our daughter, Lily, on my own. The daily school run was my responsibility. Jenna, the mother of Lily’s best friend, asked if we could carpool. She said we could look out for each other, and I agreed. She was a warm, friendly woman, always ready with a bag of snacks for the girls when she climbed into the car. But there was one thing about her that grated on my nerves. She had a habit of prying, subtly digging for details about my job, my income, and even whether or not my husband and I were getting a divorce. I had to draw a line. I told her to respect my privacy, or she’d have to find another ride. She backed off for a couple of days, but then I stumbled upon a gossip thread on a local community forum. [DEEP DIVE] The Porsche-driving soccer mom in my neighborhood, living all alone. Rich, dumb, and waiting for a new man. Got all the inside info, DM for details, highest bidder wins. A few days later, a black sedan started tailing my car. And Jenna, sitting in my passenger seat, was secretly tapping out a message on her phone. 1 The post was trending. The replies were a cesspool of vulgar comments. The original poster’s username was “GoWithTheFlow,” and their IP address was local. The post laid out the “subject’s” details with unnerving accuracy: Drives a white Porsche Cayenne. Husband’s abroad, probably abandoned her. Lives in The Grandview Estates. Drops her kid off at Bright Horizons Academy every morning at 8 AM. It even described the little teddy bear charm hanging from my daughter’s backpack. But the detail that sent a chill down my spine was the photo. It was taken from the passenger’s seat. A candid shot of my profile and my phone resting on the center console. The screen was lit up, showing my chat window with David. Though it was slightly blurred, I recognized the trench coat I was wearing. I had worn it last Wednesday. And last Wednesday, the only person who had been in my passenger seat was Jenna. My fingers went cold as I held the phone, not from fear, but from a white-hot rage. I had been nothing but kind to her. Her house wasn’t far from mine, and with her husband working as a long-haul trucker, I knew it wasn’t easy for her to raise her daughter alone. When she’d complained about her electric scooter being too cold in the winter and asked for a ride, she’d offered to pay for gas. I refused the money, thinking it was no trouble to help a friend. I had treated her like a friend. She had treated me like a product for sale. The last line of the post was chillingly clear: Interested parties, DM for her detailed schedule and opportunities for an introduction. Success guaranteed. Price negotiable. Someone had replied: For real? Aren’t rich women like her hard to get? “GoWithTheFlow” had answered: Don’t worry, her husband’s gone. She’s lonely. With the right moves, she’s an easy catch. This one’s a whale. One score and you’ll be set for three years. I took a deep breath, screenshot everything, and turned off my phone. The next morning, I pulled up to the curb outside my building as usual. Jenna appeared, holding her daughter Daisy’s hand, a bright, sunny smile on her face. “Morning, Megan!” She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, a practiced move by now. She handed me an insulated bag. “I made some brown sugar muffins this morning. They’re still warm. For Lily’s breakfast.” If I hadn’t seen that post, I would have thought she was a thoughtful, caring mother. But now, looking at the crinkles around her smiling eyes, all I felt was disgust. “Thanks, but Lily already ate,” I said coolly, not taking the bag. Jenna paused for a fraction of a second, then smoothly retracted her hand and buckled her seatbelt. “Hey, Megan, shouldn’t you get your car serviced? I think that little light on the dashboard is on.” She pointed, leaning forward, but her eyes darted toward my phone. I picked up the phone and placed it face down in the armrest compartment. “It’s not on. You’re seeing things.” Jenna gave a weak laugh and pulled out her own phone, her thumbs immediately starting to fly. As we merged onto the main road, I watched her in the rearview mirror. Her fingers moved at lightning speed across the screen, her expression focused, a strange, knowing smirk occasionally touching her lips. At the same time, I noticed it. A black Hyundai sedan in the mirror, keeping a steady distance behind us. I changed lanes. It changed lanes. I sped up. It sped up. The light ahead turned red, and I eased onto the brake. Jenna suddenly looked up, her voice laced with an odd urgency. “You’re such a steady driver, Megan. But this intersection is a real accident hotspot. You should be careful.” The words were barely out of her mouth when a deafening crash jolted the car. The impact was violent. My seatbelt dug hard into my chest, and from the back seat, Lily screamed in terror. We’d been rear-ended. 2 My first instinct was to twist around and soothe my daughter. Once I was sure she wasn’t hurt, I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out. The car behind us was the black Hyundai. Its front end was crumpled, pressed tightly against my rear bumper. The driver’s door opened, and a man in a black leather jacket stepped out. He looked to be in his early thirties, his hair slicked back with too much gel, a tacky gold chain around his neck. His eyes darted around nervously. He didn’t look at the damage first. He looked at me. There was something in his gaze that made my skin crawl. It was invasive, predatory. “Whoa, hey, beautiful! My bad, my bad! Totally spaced out for a second!” he exclaimed, his voice overly loud. He moved closer, and a wave of cheap cologne and stale cigarette smoke washed over me. I took a step back and pulled out my phone to take pictures. “You want to go through insurance, or handle this privately?” I asked. Before the man could answer, Jenna burst out of the passenger side. “Oh my God, look at this mess!” She ran up to the man, pretending to inspect the damage before turning to me with a frantic look. “Megan, this is going to cost a fortune to fix! I don’t think this gentleman did it on purpose, and he seems really sorry. Maybe we can just talk it out?” I watched her performance with cold eyes. Not once had she asked if the child in the car was okay. The man in the leather jacket immediately jumped in. “Yeah, beautiful, look, I’m in a huge hurry. This is your fault… no, wait, my fault. It’s all my fault, I admit it.” He pulled out his phone and held a QR code up to me. “I don’t have any cash on me, and I… uh… I don’t have insurance. How about this? We can connect on social media. You send me the bill for the repairs, and I’ll transfer the money right over. Promise. I’m in construction, this is nothing to me.” No insurance? A businessman in construction with no car insurance? The lie was almost laughable. “I’m not adding you. We’ll go through the police.” I turned to dial 911. Jenna grabbed my hand. “Megan, don’t be so difficult! The man said he’ll pay. Calling the cops is such a hassle. We’ll have to get damage assessments, and we’re already late getting the kids to school.” As she spoke, she shot me a desperate look, as if to say, He’s cute, just play along. “He seems like a nice guy, and he’s not bad looking,” she hissed under her breath. “Just make a new friend. You never know when you’ll need one.” Her voice was sharp, grating. I shook her hand off. “If you’re such good friends, why don’t you pay for him?” Jenna’s face fell, her expression turning ugly. “What is wrong with you? I’m trying to help you out here!” Seeing his opening, the man swaggered a step closer, his tone becoming sleazy. “Hey, gorgeous, don’t be like that. Adding me online won’t hurt. I’ve always heard that women who drive Cayennes have class. Now I see it’s true.” As he spoke, he reached out to put a hand on my shoulder. I twisted away, pointing a sharp finger at the traffic camera on the corner. “Back off. This entire intersection is under surveillance. You touch me, and this stops being about a fender-bender.” His hand froze in mid-air. A flicker of malice crossed his face before he plastered on the same smarmy grin. “Alright, alright, no touching. So what’s the plan?” “I’m calling the police.” I dialed the number right in front of them. Jenna stomped her foot in frustration, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “Stubborn bitch. No wonder you don’t have a man.” The police arrived quickly and determined the other driver was 100% at fault. Since he was uninsured, it would be a complicated process to get the money for repairs, requiring official assessments and legal claims. By the time we were done, an hour had passed. After dropping the kids at school, Jenna didn’t leave as she usually did. Instead, she lingered in the car. “Megan, that guy, Rick? I was looking at his social media. It’s all pictures of luxury cars and fancy watches. I think he might actually be a big shot.” She was scrolling through her phone. She had already added him. I ignored her and started the car. She kept rambling. “He told me he really admires independent women like you. He even said he wants to take you out to dinner to apologize. Come on, Megan. David’s been gone for so long. Don’t you ever just want… someone to talk to?” I slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt at the side of the road. Jenna lurched forward, startled. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?” “Get out,” I said. “What?” “Don’t get in my car again. We’re not on the same route anymore.” Jenna’s eyes widened in disbelief. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. “Megan, what the hell is your problem? I’m trying to hook you up, and this is the thanks I get? You kick me out? You think you’re better than everyone just because you drive a stupid Porsche?” I turned and stared directly into her eyes. “You know I drive a Porsche, Jenna. Not a garbage truck.” Her face turned a mottled shade of purple. “Fine, Megan. You think you’re so tough. We’ll see.” She slammed the door and stormed off.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387813”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It was adoption day at the orphanage. I shoved Leo, the boy I’d grown up with, into the fountain and stepped forward to present myself to the couple instead. Just like that, I became the daughter of a wealthy family, and Leo Holt remained an orphan. Eight years later, I was thrown out of the Hawthorne household for my wild and unruly behavior. Leo, on the other hand, had clawed his way up to become the formidable CEO of Holt Industries. We met again at his adoptive father’s funeral. Only this time, my role was that of a posthumous bride, a symbolic wife for the deceased. Leo’s eyes locked onto me, his gaze lingering for a long, heavy moment. Then, he did something I never expected. He knelt beside me, grabbed the back of my neck, and forced my head to the ground. His voice, as cold and distant as it was all those years ago, cut through the silence. “Stella… have you ever regretted it?” What regrets could a dying woman have? All I wanted was a gravestone to call my own. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Pay me enough, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.” … In my dreams, I’d imagined our reunion a thousand times. But never, not once, did I picture this. The moment I stepped into the memorial hall, I saw him standing in the distance, his eyes fixed on me. Eight years. Leo had grown tall and lean, a man who carried himself with a quiet, solid confidence that clung to him like an expensive suit. Our gazes met across the crowded room for a fleeting second before I broke away, my own eyes darting elsewhere. I, who had always prided myself on my thick skin, could feel a hot blush creeping up my neck. Leo acted as if he didn’t even know me, turning his attention to the funeral director to discuss the arrangements. “Is that the woman they hired for old Mr. Holt? She’s so young.” “These days, there’s nothing a woman won’t do for money. Fifty grand to play bride to a corpse? Of course, she’d jump at the chance.” “She doesn’t even think it’s bad luck? She looks even younger than Mr. Holt himself.” Standing before the casket, I picked at my fingernails, their whispers buzzing around me like flies. Bad luck? My days among the living were already a nightmare. I didn’t have the energy to worry about the afterlife. Two weeks ago, my doctor told me I didn’t have much time left and urged me to check into a hospital. I glanced at my bank account balance and refused. A proper burial plot costs fifty thousand dollars. I’d been a stray for too long; I refused to be a wandering ghost after death. I had no choice. I had to take the odd job Mrs. Gable had found for me: becoming the symbolic bride for an old man who had never married. The number of guests who came to pay their respects told me Leo had done well for himself. After I stole his chance at adoption, I’d kept tabs on him. He’d aged out of the system on his eighteenth birthday and was thrown into the world to fend for himself. He fought hard. He had to, or he never would have met the man whose funeral this was. The late Mr. Holt, a multimillionaire, had remained a bachelor his entire life, heartbroken after the love of his life married another. He had no children of his own. Eventually, I stopped seeking news of Leo. All I knew was that Mr. Holt had adopted him as his son and heir, leaving him his entire fortune. The funeral director’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, instructing me to kneel by the coffin for the ceremony. I was just about to bow my head when Leo’s sharp voice cut in. “I’m not satisfied with this woman.” “My father loved one person his entire life. This woman is not worthy of him.” I knew he might try to sabotage this. But to wait until all the guests were assembled, until the ceremony was seconds from beginning… he was doing this purely to humiliate me. But I was out of time. I clutched at the hem of his tailored suit jacket. “You aren’t your father. How do you know he wouldn’t have liked someone like me? I’m already here. You have to pay me for today!” His eyes shot down to my hand on his clothes, and he flinched back as if burned, shoving me away. He seized my chin, his fingers digging into my skin. His lips trembled with rage. “You’re just as disgusting as you’ve always been. Is money really that important to you?” His voice was a low growl. “In all these eight years, was there ever a single moment you regretted leaving me?” The past might not matter to him, but the money mattered to me. Right now. “Pay me enough, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to hear.” A crack appeared in his stoic facade. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees in front of me, grabbed the back of my head, and slammed it toward the polished floor. He used all his strength. The heat that had been confined to my face now felt like it was engulfing my entire body. As my forehead hit the ground with a sickening thud, my vision swam with black spots, a high-pitched ringing screaming in my ears. The fever was back. I struggled instinctively, but he held me fast, pulling me up only to force my head down again, completing the three traditional bows. When it was over, he tossed me aside like a ragdoll. The illness washed over me in a dizzying wave, leaving me too weak to stand. The letter I had tucked inside my jacket slipped out and fell to the floor. He couldn’t see that. Not yet. But it was too late. Leo picked up the envelope. I didn’t have much of an education, so I’d simply copied the melodramatic TV shows I’d watched, scrawling “LAST WORDS” across the front in big, clumsy letters. “Stella, are you trying to tell me you have some terminal illness? Some noble reason for leaving me?” he sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. “What kind of fatal disease waits eight years before you finally get around to writing a will?” He tossed the letter, and it fluttered down, landing on my face. My eyes fixed on the words I had written, and a hysterical laugh bubbled in my chest. It was as pathetic as my entire life. Fighting through the pain, I forced myself to speak. “Yeah, that was the idea. Thought I could guilt you into feeling sorry for me. A bigger payout is always nice.” I took a shaky breath. “For old times’ sake, add another ten thousand.” Ten thousand. That should be enough to hire a professional mourning team. Someone to kneel at my vigil and cry for me. Someone to hold my portrait so I wouldn’t feel so alone in the end. Leo’s eyes widened, shocked by my brazenness. A vein throbbed in his temple. “Stella! Do you really think I could still be hung up on you after what you did?” I felt a sudden warmth on the back of my hand. A drop of blood from my nose, then another. The world tilted, and as I fell, the last thing I saw was the panic flooding Leo’s face. He hadn’t forgotten me after all. Of course he hadn’t. He never even changed his name. The first time I met him, I was eight. He was eight, too. That night, I heard him crying softly in a bathroom stall at the orphanage. As the self-proclaimed leader of the orphan kids, I felt it was my duty to comfort him. That was when I learned his parents had died in a car crash on the way to celebrate his birthday. He was the only survivor. I wiped his tears away. “They’ve turned into stars,” I told him. “They’re watching you, so don’t be scared.” “Did your mommy and daddy turn into stars too?” he asked, his small hand gripping mine, his face still streaked with tears. But my mother was a sex worker who didn’t even know who my father was. When I was five, she couldn’t afford me anymore. She pressed a lollipop into my hand and left me on the steps of the orphanage. No one loved me. I wanted so badly for one of the stars in the sky to love me, but I knew it was an empty wish. That’s why I named myself Stella. Leo didn’t fully understand, but he squeezed my hand tighter. “Then I’ll be Leo,” he whispered. “That way, you won’t be a lonely star anymore.” From that day on, he was my shadow. We were older, and the chances of anyone wanting to adopt us were slim to none. When we were fifteen, a family finally came looking for a boy. They were taken with Leo’s handsome features. But in front of the prospective parents, he took my hand. “If you adopt me, please take Stella with me. We promised we’d never be separated.” The result was predictable. Neither of us went. He spent a whole week apologizing and trying to cheer me up. When we were seventeen, the Hawthornes came to the orphanage. We stood in the courtyard, lined up like merchandise on a shelf. I swallowed nervously, my palms slick with cold sweat. Leo secretly squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We made a promise. Whichever one of us gets picked, we won’t forget the other.” Mr. Hawthorne pointed at Leo. Just as he was about to speak, I shoved him with all my might. He stumbled backward, falling into the decorative stone fountain. His head hit the edge, and blood started to trickle from a cut on his forehead. The Hawthornes had one non-negotiable condition: the child had to be perfectly healthy, without a single scratch. In that instant, I became their only choice. As I was driven away in their sleek black car, I saw Leo staring after me, his eyes filled with a pain and confusion that stabbed at my heart. I wanted to look back, to give him one last glance, but I couldn’t. “Stella, I know you’re awake. Stop playing dead.” I slowly opened my eyes. I was in the back of his car. “Just low blood sugar,” I mumbled. “After all these jobs, you’d think I’d learn to expect that some clients don’t serve food.” His grip on my wrist tightened, his eyes blazing with a fury that seemed ready to spill over. “So this is just routine for you, isn’t it! You were a Hawthorne, for God’s sake. Have you no shame, no decency left?” I met his fiery gaze with a cool, steady one of my own. “If you pay me,” I said calmly, “I’ll even spend the night with you. I don’t care.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him. He yanked me closer by the chin, his hand shaking with rage. “Is that right? You’ll do anything for money?” His face was inches from mine. I closed my eyes, bracing myself. I expected a kiss. Instead, he shoved me away violently. “A woman like you… God knows how many men that mouth has been on. You make me sick.” He turned and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. I watched his retreating back, a profound sadness settling in my chest. That mouth had only ever kissed him. It was the last New Year’s Eve we spent together. Leo and I bought a small bundle of sparklers, pooling together the twenty dollars we’d managed to scrounge up. He knew how much I loved the cheesy scenes from romance movies. In the snow-covered yard, he arranged the lit sparklers in a circle around us. We sat on the frozen ground, watching our breath fog in the air as we looked up at the stars. “I turn eighteen next year,” he said softly. “Let’s leave this place together. Let’s never be apart. Okay?” He was never good with words, not like the leading men in the dramas I watched. But his simple promise brought tears to my eyes. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. My nose started bleeding again. I fumbled frantically for the bottle of pills in my pocket, shaking a few into my palm and swallowing them dry. I rushed to the restroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the crimson stains. “Need a tissue? Here.” I turned. A woman in a long black dress was holding one out to me. “Thanks.” She smiled, but before she could say anything, Leo’s voice called from outside. “Chloe, are you ready? I brought you something to eat.” She linked her arm through his. “Just helping a lady with a nosebleed,” she said sweetly. My eyes fell to their entwined arms, and my fingers tightened around the flimsy tissue in my hand. Leo followed her gaze to me, and his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What is wrong with you? That’s the second time in a few hours. The procession is starting soon. You’d better not cause any trouble.” Chloe studied me for a moment. “She’s the one they hired for your father? Why is she so young?” “For money,” Leo said, his voice flat. “She’d do anything.” Hearing that, the kindness in Chloe’s eyes vanished, replaced by a cool disdain. “As long as your money comes through, there won’t be any trouble from me,” I said, smoothing down my dress before walking out. The rest of the ceremony was a blur. I stood beside Leo as he held the memorial tablet, bowing three times in unison. I somehow managed to hold myself together until it was over. Just as I was about to slip away, he grabbed my wrist. “Stay for the farewell dinner.” I almost laughed. Did he really think I was that desperate for a free meal? But when I looked up and saw the raw red in his eyes, I heard myself agreeing. Just a little longer. Let me be greedy and stay with him just a little longer. At the dinner, I sat in a corner, watching Leo as he was swarmed by guests and colleagues. It was for the best. He didn’t need me anymore. I tried to leave quietly, but my limbs felt heavy, my legs weak. A strange, unnatural heat flushed my face. This wasn’t my illness. I’d been drugged. A man’s arms wrapped around me from behind, his greasy voice slithering into my ear like a snake. “I hear you’re for hire. Spend the night with me. I’ll pay you well.” Thankfully, I was used to this. I grabbed a nearby wine glass and smashed it over his head, then stumbled into the hallway, running. My vision was blurring, the walls seeming to melt around me. I shoved open the first door I could find and locked myself inside. Through the haze, I saw a figure appear in the doorway. A bitter smile touched my lips. So he found me after all. The figure swept me into a fierce embrace, holding me so tightly I felt like my bones would fuse with his. “Get off… you can’t…” “You’ll do it for anyone, so why not for me!” Leo’s mouth crashed down on mine. His kiss wasn’t the tender caress of our youth. It was the savage bite of a wild animal, intent on tearing me apart and devouring me whole. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t because of his kiss. It was the blood, thick and hot, surging up my windpipe. I shoved Leo away with all my strength, my hand striking his cheek with a sharp crack. I scrambled out of the room, hailed a cab, and gasped the name of the hospital. Blood was now pouring from my mouth and nose. I collapsed the moment I stumbled through the hospital entrance. Dr. Evans saw me and immediately scooped me into his arms, rushing me toward the emergency room. The bright white lights overhead seared my eyes. I’m dying, aren’t I? My life flashed before my eyes. The day before the Hawthornes came to the orphanage, I overheard the director on the phone with them. “There are only two older children with the right blood type.” “I understand your sister needs a long-term blood supply. I’d recommend the boy, Leo. He’s healthier.” Perhaps that was the moment I made my decision. I would go in his place. The director was already tired of us, two older kids no one wanted. He was determined to make this adoption happen. My only option was to push Leo into the fountain, to make myself the sole candidate. The look of betrayal in Leo’s eyes had cut me deeper than any knife. It’s okay, I had told myself. In the movies, the heroine always leaves with a misunderstanding, but when she returns, she and the hero clear things up and live happily ever after. Leo was smart; he would make something of himself. He’d become a CEO, just like in the stories, and then he would understand, and we would finally have our happy ending. And he did become a CEO. But I forgot one crucial detail. I wasn’t the heroine. From the day I stepped into the Hawthorne house, my life was a living hell. Clara, the true Hawthorne daughter, was critically ill. And I, her secret donor, slowly transitioned from a living blood bank to a spare parts depot. A kidney. Half my liver. To the world, I was the pampered, adopted daughter. In private, I was a permanent resident of the hospital’s surgical wing. Until there was nothing left of me to take. Then, the Hawthornes manufactured a reason and threw me out. They weren’t worried I’d expose them. They knew I wouldn’t live long enough. But I wouldn’t go down that easily. I would show them that even a trampled ant could bite back. The blockage in my throat grew worse until I coughed up a great gush of blood. “Dr. Evans,” I choked out, “I’m out of time… My funeral… someone will handle it… I’ve already paid…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387812”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 For the third time, Scott Cole, Celine’s junior from college, called asking for money to cover his gambling debts. I tried to reason with her. “An addict will only fall deeper if you keep enabling him. We should get Scott into rehab.” “Besides,” I added, “we don’t have the money. The last time, you had to borrow thirty thousand dollars from your friends to help him. This time he’s asking for over a hundred thousand.” Celine just shot me a glare, her beautiful eyes flashing with anger. “Can’t you have a little compassion? Scott is my friend! Is it a crime to want to help?” “And anyway,” she scoffed, “we’re already in deep. What’s a little more debt?” Watching her grab her coat and hurry out into the cold night, a wave of disappointment washed over me. I shook my head. “Celine,” I said, my voice low. “It’s not compassion. You’ve just had a change of heart.” … Celine didn’t return until dawn, and she wasn’t alone. Scott. He gave me a sheepish grin. “Hey, Noah. Mind if I crash here for a few days?” There was a faint note of mockery in his voice that didn’t escape me. “Why would I mind? You’re practically family,” Celine said, brushing past me. She turned and snapped, “What are you standing there for? Go make some soup to warm Scott up. Can’t you see his hands are frozen?” “Oh, and don’t use any shrimp,” she added quickly. “Scott’s been having skin allergies.” Listening to her fuss over him, her voice filled with a tenderness she no longer showed me, I felt the cold wind from the open door seep deep into my bones. I must have been staring, because she frowned and shoved me toward the kitchen. “Scott is my friend from college,” she warned, her voice low and tight. “Don’t you dare start anything. Push me, and I’ll file for divorce.” She spun around and left me there. Any time an argument involved Scott, the word “divorce” was her weapon of choice. Like the time I’d objected to her borrowing money to pay off his debts. Or when they were acting out a scene during a murder mystery game night with her friends, and I had to step in when the others goaded them into a near-kiss. She was always the one being irrational, yet somehow, I was always the one to blame. I reheated last night’s leftovers and brought them out. Celine was busy fussing with Scott’s clothes. “I can’t believe this sweater fits you perfectly,” she said, her voice bright. “It looks great on you!” It was the sweater she’d given me for my birthday. I hadn’t even had a chance to wear it yet. They laughed and chatted for a full five minutes before they even noticed me standing there, watching them. A flicker of embarrassment crossed Celine’s face before she saw the leftovers on the table. Her expression soured instantly. “Noah Beck!” she snapped, her eyebrows knitting together. “What is this supposed to mean?” Scott immediately jumped in, playing the peacemaker. “Celine, don’t fight. It’s all my fault.” “Of course it’s your fault,” I said with a cold smile. “When are you planning on paying us back? Didn’t you say you were done with gambling last time? How did you manage to rack up another hundred thousand in debt?” Scott froze, then lowered his head and squeezed out a few tears. “I was trying to win the money back to pay you,” he mumbled, his voice thick with fake emotion. “I was winning, but then they set me up.” “I’ll go sell my blood to pay you back,” he choked out. I didn’t believe a word of it. The first time, he’d cried and claimed his friends had tricked him into it. The second time, he’d sworn his boss had cheated him in a high-stakes game. But Celine’s heart broke for him. “Noah, you are absolutely heartless!” she screamed at me. “Can’t you see what he’s going through? And you’re still pressuring him for money! I never realized how cruel you were. I regret ever marrying you.” If I were truly heartless, would I have given in twice and let her help him? But all I got in return was her blind defense of him. This “caring for a friend” had long since crossed a line, a line that should be sacred in a marriage. “Scott, don’t you worry,” she cooed, turning back to him. “I call the shots in this house. I’ll get the money for you.” She grabbed his arm. “Come on. We’re going out to eat.” As they headed for the door, she shoved me out of the way. “Get out of my sight,” she hissed. “This past year of marriage has been the darkest time of my life. Push me any further, and I’ll get that agreement we signed. We can go our separate ways.” With that, she linked her arm through Scott’s and walked away without a backward glance. 2 Her departure was a sharp, decisive cut, like a knife slicing deeper into the already frayed thread of our relationship. It was hard to believe that the two people who had once cherished each other could now be so at odds. Was I being too suspicious? Thinking back, I knew I wasn’t. I’d had a crush on Celine in college. She was the untouchable ice queen, so I never confessed, and we barely spoke. Then, two years ago, we ran into each other at a singles’ event. That old spark flared to life. I worked up the courage to talk to her, and to my surprise, she was warm and engaging. We talked for the entire afternoon and were officially a couple within a week. The year we dated was a dream. She was gentle and kind, always at my place helping cook and chatting with my mom. She’d drag me out for walks in the park, our hands clasped as we watched the sunset. Under the moonlight, we were blissfully happy. Right before the wedding, she’d said to me, “If you ever fall out of love with me, let’s just part peacefully. That’s why I’ve prepared a divorce agreement. I’ll respect your decision.” She signed her name right there. I thought it was a joke, a document we’d never need. I thought we’d be happy forever. But everything changed so fast. Just six months into our marriage, Scott Cole, the heartthrob from her college days, reappeared. Celine found him an apartment and brought him meals. She helped him find a job. They were on the phone constantly. She grew impatient with me, telling me I couldn’t compare to Scott. She called me a failure, stuck in a dead-end job with a fixed salary. She praised Scott, calling him a dragon in shallow waters, destined for greatness. We fought about it constantly. When I’d try to tell her to be more mindful of boundaries, she’d accuse me of being jealous and paranoid. As a fairly traditional guy, I found the idea of divorce humiliating, especially after only a year of marriage. But my head was telling me to cut my losses before things got any worse. Buzz. Buzz. My phone vibrated, pulling me from my thoughts. It was my mother. “Son,” she said, “the bank just called. They said large personal transfers are now subject to a 24-hour delay.” I froze. “Mom, what are you talking about? Why are you transferring money?” “Celine called,” she explained. “She said you two had a failed investment and were deeply in debt. She asked me to transfer all my retirement savings to her. I haven’t been able to reach her since, so I thought I’d check with you.” My blood ran cold. My fists clenched so tightly my knuckles cracked. I never thought… I never thought Celine would stoop so low as to target my own mother to pay off her college crush’s gambling debts. How could she? The audacity was insane. “Don’t worry, son,” my mother said, her voice filled with concern. “I’ll ask some friends to borrow money.” “No!” I said, my voice sharp. “Don’t borrow anything. And you hold onto your retirement money. Don’t give it to anyone, especially not Celine. You’ll never see it again.” When Celine and I got married, her family demanded a new house and a huge sum for the wedding, draining every penny my mother and I had saved. And now she was after my mother’s life savings? Not a chance. My mom was silent for a few seconds. “Son, did you and Celine have a fight?” “It’s okay, Mom. I can handle it. I’ll explain everything in a few days.” I reassured her and hung up. Moments later, my phone rang again. It was Celine. “Noah Beck!” she yelled, her voice shrill. “What did you tell your family? I already told you, what’s a little more debt? What are you so afraid of? We can just default if we have to!” “I’m at the karaoke bar, the one from that party we went to,” she continued, not letting me get a word in. “You have ten minutes to get over here and explain yourself! Or you’ll lose me for good!” She hung up before I could reply. I pulled on my down jacket and headed out. Not to explain. But to end this. 3 The moment I stepped into the private karaoke room, I saw Celine and Scott surrounded by a cheering crowd. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” “Just think of it as making up for your missed chance back in college!” In that instant, it all clicked. All my doubts, all my questions, were answered. No wonder she went to such great lengths to help him. No wonder she was always comparing me to him. No wonder his arrival had shattered our once peaceful life. They had been in love all along. “Celine, you have to forgive me,” Scott said, feigning reluctance as he leaned in, puckering his lips. “It’s a dare. I have to do it.” A blush crept up Celine’s cheeks. Then, she spotted me standing in the doorway. She shot to her feet, calling my name. Everyone turned. “Ugh, buzzkill!” “Worst timing ever.” “He just appears out of nowhere like a ghost. Trying to give us a heart attack?” The complaints came one after another. And my wife, Celine, said nothing in my defense. She just listened. I guess she agreed. I had ruined her moment with Scott. “Ahem.” Scott cleared his throat and forced a smile. “Noah, man, don’t get the wrong idea. We were just playing a game.” All eyes were on me again, expecting an explosion. But I just nodded calmly. Celine blinked in surprise, then a slow, smug smile spread across her face. She sat back down, crossing her arms. “Well? Explain.” She thought I was backing down, surrendering. She put on her queenly airs, ready to receive my apology. The air in the room was thick with mockery. Scott, in particular, looked triumphant. I met Celine’s gaze, my voice even. “There’s nothing to explain.” “My father died young. My mother raised me by herself. It wasn’t easy. You will not touch a single cent of her retirement savings.” The room fell silent. Everyone stared, shocked. The smile vanished from Celine’s face. She jumped to her feet, pointing a finger at me. “Noah Beck! Your mother had it tough? What about Scott? He’s had it tough too! And it’s not like we wouldn’t pay her back.” I shook my head and glanced at Scott. “Can he?” “I promise I’ll pay it back!” Scott declared, puffing out his chest. His words were empty. A gambler’s promise is worth nothing. But Celine still believed him. “You hear that? Scott promised. What more do you want?” Her friends chimed in. “Scott was the campus heartthrob, top of his class. He could get a high-paying job anywhere. What are you worried about?” “It’s just a loan. You’re so cheap you won’t even do it for your own wife.” “We’re all friends here. We’re supposed to help each other out! Besides, what’s a little more debt? People online owe millions and still live it up.” “Yeah! Can’t you be a man and take a risk for once?” “Celine really has to put up with a lot, being with you…” “Do you really want to lose her?” Listening to them, I finally understood what it meant to fan the flames. I couldn’t be bothered to argue. “Noah Beck!” Celine shouted, seeing my silence. She played her trump card again. “Don’t think I won’t divorce you!” “Then let’s get a divorce,” I said quietly.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387811”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 Every tabloid in New York City knew the dirty truth: Julian Vance would rather sleep with a cheap escort than touch me, his lawful wife. The headlines were relentless: When will Mrs. Vance finally cash in her V-card? Facing the flashing cameras, Julian looked straight at me, his arrogance palpable. “If you don’t like it, Sarah, go find someone else. We can have an open marriage.” With that, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving me standing there. That same night, photos of him and his latest fling hit the trending topics on Twitter. Everyone expected me to sit in our penthouse and cry until dawn. Instead, I called a paparazzo and booked my own headline. I tore my lace nightgown, messed up the silk sheets, and snapped a selfie from a “lover’s” perspective—just a hint of shoulder, a mess of hair, and a man’s arm (which was actually a prop, but who needed to know?). I sent an anonymous text to Julian: 【 Hey bro, your wife smells amazing. Let me know when you sign the divorce papers. 】 … Watching my bought headline rocket to #1, I turned off the lights, ready for a good night’s sleep. Less than thirty minutes later, heavy, frantic footsteps thundered down the hallway. “Sarah Lane! Is this how you get back at me? Who the hell is he?!” Julian stormed in and threw a stack of printed photos in my face. Half were my staged “affair” photos. The other half were high-definition shots of Julian pinning Chloe against a floor-to-ceiling window. Those were the ones I had tipped the paparazzi to take. BREAKING: The Vances’ New Arrangement—Open Marriage, No Strings Attached. I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my robe tighter. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” “You shouldn’t have done this. You don’t get to step on my pride just to play games with my father’s illegitimate daughter!” Julian’s breath hitched. He didn’t deny the affair. instead, he gritted his teeth. “Who is the guy?” “You don’t need to know. That’s what makes it fair.” Once upon a time, I would have dug through hell to find out who he was sleeping with. I was young then. I couldn’t tolerate a speck of dust in my eye. But I learned quickly. Every time I cleared one mistress out, he’d just replace her with another. So, I stopped asking. Julian let out a sudden, dark laugh. “You’ve got some nerve, Sarah.” His gaze dropped to a red mark on my collarbone—makeup I’d applied earlier. His eyes went black. He lunged, pinning me to the mattress. I struggled, screaming. “Get off me!” A sharp pain shot through my shoulder. He was holding a letter opener he’d grabbed from the nightstand, pressing the tip into my skin until blood welled up, covering the fake hickey. “You’re crazy! Let me go!” Julian loomed over me, eyes bloodshot, veins popping on his forehead. “First time, and the last time.” “I’m taking the trending topic down. You better go back to being normal before I lose control completely.” By “normal,” he meant the version of me that stayed silent while his sex tapes leaked. The version of me that politely accepted packages from his mistresses containing used condoms and stained panties. Julian stared into my eyes for a long time. Only when he saw the physiological tears streaming down my face did he let go. He opened the drawer and tossed me some gauze. I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.” Julian stood up, his face hardening into a mask of cold indifference. “You put on this show just to piss me off, didn’t you? What are you pretending for now?” “You’d debase yourself just to get my attention. You really have no shame left.” The blade in his hand had accidentally grazed my arm when he stood up. Blood soaked into the expensive silk sheets. I was sweating from the pain. But my heart? My heart felt like it was being ground into dust. Julian didn’t blink. His look was merciless. “My mother was right. A woman like you, crawling up from the gutter, will never have class.” “Stop the acting. If you had any guts, you’d actually divorce me. Your sister is worth ten of you.” With that, he stormed out. Moments later, a digital divorce agreement hit my inbox. The terms were humiliating. A 70-30 split of assets, in my favor. He was so confident I wouldn’t leave. He thought money was the tether. I signed it immediately. Then I dialed a number I had memorized long ago and confirmed my departure time. Julian Vance, what makes you so sure that the “other man” doesn’t exist? Chapter 2 The moment I hung up the phone, the tears I’d been holding back finally fell. When Julian insisted on marrying me years ago, the whole world opposed it. His parents looked down on my background. The New York Chamber of Commerce nearly blacklisted him. But he weathered the storm and gave me the wedding of the century. Everyone said I was the luckiest woman in Manhattan. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who wanted this god-like man. On our wedding night, he took a phone call and left. I sat in my wedding dress until sunrise. He came back drunk at 4 AM, patted my head calmly, and said: “You know what I like most about you, Sarah? You’re sensible. You don’t cause trouble. The Vance family needs a decoration like you.” In that instant, the fire in my heart was doused with ice water. I learned to be good. Quiet. A trophy wife. But now, he was sleeping with the one person I hated most in this world: Chloe Lane. Years ago, my father brought Chloe home and forced my mother to accept her as a “daughter.” My mother, a proud woman, didn’t say a word. She gave my father two choices: Send Chloe away, or she would take me and leave the Lane family. Father didn’t speak. He stood on the balcony all night in the wind. When I went back to my parents’ room, I found the window open. My mother had jumped. That night, the rain washed away her blood on the pavement. Julian had rushed over, holding me while I punched his chest, sobbing, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” And now, he chose Chloe as his new favorite. What dignity did I have left as Mrs. Vance? Julian didn’t come home that night. He buried the hashtag I started. It vanished from the internet. Instead, he took Chloe to a charity gala, letting her parade around as if she were the lady of the house. He announced a massive party for Chloe’s birthday tomorrow. He knew perfectly well that her birthday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. He was forcing me to face reality: A person like me could never fight him. Julian sent a private doctor to stitch up the wound on my collarbone where the bone had been exposed. “Mr. Vance still cares about you,” the doctor said. “He remembered you have a condition where your blood doesn’t clot easily.” I smiled bitterly and said nothing. A second later, I received an anonymous video file on my phone. It was footage from years ago. Chloe, losing control: “That night, I went to convince her to accept me. But she hit me! She said I wasn’t worthy!” “We fought, and I… I accidentally pushed her. It was self-defense! Dad, Julian… what do I do?” In the video, Chloe was slapping her own face, crying about how sorry she was. My ears rang. The world spun. My father slapped her hard, clutching his chest. “How did I raise a monster like you? That was my wife!” Chloe, red handprint on her face, looked at Julian’s back. “You’ll help me, right? You love me, don’t you?” Silence stretched for a century. My heart was in my throat. On the screen, Julian’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady and cold. “Go hide for a while. I’ll handle the police.” Chapter 3 Every word Julian spoke was a dagger. The truth about my mother’s death… everyone had kept it from me. Including Julian, the man I trusted with my life. That rainy night years ago, when I ran to the police station, Julian got into a car accident chasing me. He had crawled out of the wreckage, grabbing my ankle with a bloody hand. “Sarah, go back. I’ll handle this.” I naively thought he was going to get justice for me and Mom. I never believed she would abandon me. I never imagined my father and my husband were accomplices in her murder. The next day, I showed up at Chloe’s birthday gala looking like a ghost. Unwashed hair, no makeup. Chloe was clinging to Julian’s arm, flashing the family heirloom jade ring he had given her. As if she were already Mrs. Vance. When I entered, the room went silent. Looks of disdain and mockery followed me. Only Julian looked relaxed. He thought I was there to beg for forgiveness, like always. He slightly opened his arms. He was about to be disappointed. “Julian. Chloe killed my mother, didn’t she? And you helped cover it up, didn’t you?” His breath hitched, a flicker of guilt passing through his eyes before vanishing. “Today is Chloe’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.” Even my father rushed up from the crowd and slapped me across the face. Seeing the warning glares from both men, I finally accepted reality. The video was real. Suddenly, Chloe threw herself at me, weeping. “Sister, I know your mother hated me, she wanted to kill me! But sister, we only have each other now. Please stop trying to hurt me…” “I won’t even press charges for how you abused me growing up. I’ll be good, I promise.” She subtly revealed a scar on her arm. A victim. Julian frowned, his heart clearly aching for her. He looked at me with utter disappointment. “Sarah Lane, she is your sister. How could you be so cruel?” The crowd gasped. “So Sarah’s mother tried to kill the mistress’s daughter and fell? Karma.” “I can’t believe Sarah is so shameless. Playing the victim to fight for favor. Frigid women are always the craziest.” “Like mother, like daughter. Trash from the gutter.” The insults washed over me. The image of my mother falling played on a loop in my mind. I snapped. Before I knew it, my hands were around Chloe’s throat. “I want you to pay with your life!” She struggled. A second later, a massive force shoved me away. Julian raised a trembling hand and slapped me. Hard. “Sarah! What the hell are you doing?!” “I order you to apologize to everyone right now. Admit you framed Chloe. Admit you bullied her. Or else…” His voice dropped to a whisper. Gentle, yet demonic. “Or else I level your mother’s grave. Isn’t today her anniversary?” Chapter 4 I looked up in shock. Meeting his cruel gaze, I saw he wasn’t bluffing. His face was still handsome, but it no longer matched the man who once swore to protect me. I stared at him, my eyes bloodshot. “No.” Before the word fully left my lips, he pulled a remote control from his pocket. “There are explosives buried under the cemetery plot, Sarah. Be a good girl. Don’t force my hand.” He used his pet name for me, but it sounded like a curse. He had prepared for this. To protect Chloe, he held my dead mother hostage. That grave was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world. I couldn’t let my mother’s resting place be disturbed. I swallowed the blood in my throat, pushed myself up, and crawled to Chloe’s feet. “Chloe… Mom and I… we wronged you.” “I. Am. Sorry.” I looked at Chloe’s smug face, then at Julian. “Is that enough?” Julian’s chest heaved. He cleared his throat. “As long as you know your place. Go. Go pay your respects to your mother.” He threw out the dismissal, wrapped his arm around Chloe’s waist, and turned back to the party. Guests whispered as the music started up again. “No wonder Mr. Vance won’t touch her. Her heart is rotten.” “She bullied her sister and stole her fiancé. She’s the real homewrecker.” “Married five years and still a virgin? Who would want her? Probably has a disease.” I knelt on the floor, listening numbly. The promises of forever, the vows… I didn’t care to save them anymore. As I struggled to stand and leave, I heard a sharp beep. Out of the corner of my eye, unseen by everyone else, Chloe waved a duplicate remote control at me. The countdown timer was ticking. My blood ran cold. I scrambled up and ran. I stumbled out of the banquet hall, desperate. Julian watched me go. He almost took a step to follow, but Chloe grabbed his arm. “Come make a toast with me, Julian.” He forced a smile, turning his attention back to her. At the cemetery. I was digging at the tombstone with my bare hands, fingers bleeding, nails broken. Boom. A deafening explosion erupted next to me. Debris flew. My mother’s headstone shattered into four pieces. The urn buried beneath was blasted apart. Watching the ashes drift into the night air, my heart finally died. Then, a wave of heat hit me, and my world went black. … Julian didn’t stay for Chloe’s cake. He grabbed a bouquet of white lilies and drove to the cemetery. But the moment he stepped through the gates, his pupils dilated in horror.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387810”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Chapter 1 I saw my college roommate, Jessica, post a wedding photo on Instagram, so I double-tapped to like it. A second later, a DM popped up. “Who is this? Why are you hacking this account? I’m calling the police if you don’t answer!” I was confused, so I tried to FaceTime her. The moment the call connected and she saw my face, she screamed and slammed the phone down. I called back. She declined and sent a text. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” … The question was so absurd I laughed out loud. I called her again. It took a long time for her to answer. “Prove it,” she demanded, her voice shaking. “Touch your nose. Now wave. Now pinch your cheek.” I did a series of ridiculous facial gymnastics until she finally exhaled, looking like she’d seen a ghost. “You’re really Clara? You’re… alive?” Jessica told me she had cried for days when she heard the news. She’d even posted a long, sentimental tribute. I scrolled back through our chat history. She had sent a few messages a year ago. Back then, I had just given birth to my daughter, Lily. I was drowning in diapers and sleepless nights. I barely touched my phone for months. Later, I became a full-time stay-at-home mom. My social life evaporated. I just assumed people were busy. But claiming I was dead? That wasn’t a joke. That was insanity. I demanded an apology. Jessica felt wronged. “I only repeated what I saw!” She dug through her archives and sent me a screenshot. It was a Facebook post from over a year ago. A black-and-white photo of me. A date of death. A cause: “Complications from Postpartum Depression.” No wonder no one called. No wonder the invites stopped coming. Everyone thought I was in the ground. My blood boiled. I immediately tried to mass-message my old college group chat to tell them I was alive. But when I hit send, a red exclamation mark appeared. You are not a member of this group. I had been kicked out. I messaged Jessica: “Who started this? Who posted that obituary?” A minute later, a voice memo came through. “Clara… I heard it from Chloe. Do you remember her?” Chloe? She was in our major, different sorority. I remembered her because she was close with my husband, Mark, back in college. One of “the guys,” a “female bro.” After Mark and I started dating, she faded into the background. I hadn’t heard her name in years. “Why would she say I’m dead?” I typed furiously. “I don’t know the details,” Jessica replied. “Last year, Chloe posted that screenshot. She said you passed away. Everyone was comforting her in the comments because she was organizing your ‘online memorial.’” My hand started to tremble. “Send me the post.” “She deleted it a long time ago. Said it was too painful to look at. Clara, did you really not know?” Know what? My entire world for the last year had been Lily. Formula, burping, nap schedules, purees. I was exhausted daily. I didn’t have time to doom-scroll. And I wasn’t friends with Chloe on social media. I asked Jessica for Chloe’s contact info and sent a friend request. Thirty minutes. No response. I tried again. Request Declined. The fire in my chest was raging. I called Jessica. “She won’t add me. Give me her number.” “Clara, this feels weird. Maybe you should calm down first.” “I’ve been ‘dead’ for a year, Jess. How do I calm down?” She sighed and texted me the digits. I typed the number into my keypad. My finger hovered over the call button. Then I stopped. Something was wrong. Chloe started a rumor that I was dead. She and Mark were close in college. Did Mark know about this? Chapter 2 I stared at the number, but didn’t dial. Instead, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Sarah Jenkins. Sarah was a lawyer my old company used. Sharp, aggressive, and expensive. I took a deep breath and called. “Sarah, it’s Clara. I have a bizarre situation.” I explained everything. Sarah listened without interrupting. When she spoke, her tone was clinical. “First, you need to post a public clarification. Prove you exist. That’s damage control.” “Second, we need to find out the source and the motive.” She paused. “But Clara, I need to manage your expectations. Defamation lawsuits are expensive and hard to win unless you can prove actual financial damages. Best case scenario? You get an apology and a small settlement.” “So I just let her tell people I’m dead?” “No. We gather evidence. Screenshots, timestamps, witness statements. Then we find out why.” I hung up, feeling slightly steadier. Evidence first. Confrontation second. I decided to call Mark. “Hey,” he answered, sounding distracted. “Is Lily crying again?” “Mark, something crazy happened.” I told him the story. I expected him to be furious. Instead, he laughed. “Babe, it’s probably just a prank. Or someone hacked her account. I’m swamped at work, I gotta go.” “A prank?” I raised my voice. “It was posted last June. Right after I had Lily. It was Chloe. Do you remember her?” Mark paused. “Chloe? That must be a mistake. Don’t overthink it. It’s just social media drama.” “I’m literally being told I’m dead, Mark. You don’t think that matters?” “I didn’t say that. I said ignore the trolls. Look, I have a meeting.” “I’m going to post a clarification. Right now.” “Don’t do that,” he said quickly. “It’s morbid. People will think you’re crazy. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.” Click. He hung up. I was shaking with rage. I called him back, we screamed at each other, and he stopped answering. Fine. If he wouldn’t help, I’d do it myself. I typed out a post on Facebook: “I am very much alive. rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated…” I hit ‘Post’. Suddenly, a pop-up appeared on my screen. [Session Expired. Your account has been logged in on another device.] I froze. My phone was in my hand. Who just logged into my account? Chapter 3 My first thought was a hacker. But to log in on a new device, you need a two-factor authentication code. I opened my text messages and scrolled. Buried under promo codes and delivery notifications, I found it. A verification code from Facebook. Date: June 12th. Last year. I remembered that week. Mark had borrowed my phone constantly. He said he was playing some mobile game or checking sports scores while his phone charged. Was it Mark? I checked my cloud backups. There were gaps in the sync history. Someone had been deleting messages. I dialed Mark again. He answered on the fifth ring. “What now?” “Did you log into my Facebook?” “What? No. Why would I do that?” “Someone kicked me off. Who else has my password?” “You’re paranoid,” he snapped. “I’m working my ass off to pay the mortgage, and you’re sitting at home inventing conspiracies. Is this postpartum psychosis?” “Mark, I—” “Post whatever you want. Stop blaming me.” Before he hung up, I heard something in the background. A faint, female giggle. “Wait, who is that—” The line went dead. I sat on the couch in the dark, shivering. Mark came home at 1:00 AM. “You’re up?” He kicked off his shoes. “Why were you so late?” “Project deadline.” He walked past me to the shower. “Mark,” I said to his back. “Remember Chloe? Why is she the one who said I died?” He turned, his face a mask of exhaustion. “I haven’t spoken to her in years. Stop digging for problems that don’t exist.” “Then why was my account accessed from your IP address?” I lied, bluffing. “I said it wasn’t me!” He shouted. “God, you’re impossible lately.” He slammed the bathroom door. I listened to the water running. His phone was on the coffee table. Face down. I knew the passcode. Our anniversary. I had never checked his phone before. I believed in privacy. But privacy is a luxury for people who aren’t being gaslit. I unlocked it. Text messages were clean. Boring, even. I searched contacts for “Chloe.” Nothing. Then I opened his banking apps. My heart stopped. Venmo. Zelle. CashApp. Starting last year, there was a steady stream of transfers to a user named “CC_Design.” $520. $888. $1,314. Numbers that meant “I love you” in internet slang. Three days ago: $2,000. Note: For the stroller. Bank of America transfer: $20,000. Last month. Note: Reno costs. In total, he had moved over $150,000 out of our accounts. I knew exactly where that money came from. It was supposed to be our savings. He told me his bonus was cut this year. He was lying. He was funding another life. Chapter 4 I took photos of every transaction with my own phone. Then I saw it. A calculator app that looked slightly off. It was a vault app. I tried our anniversary. Incorrect Passcode. I tried his birthday. Incorrect. My hands were sweating. The shower water turned off. I had seconds. I tried Chloe’s birthday. I remembered it because we threw her a party junior year. Access Granted. The folder opened. My blood turned to ice. Hundreds of photos. Mark and Chloe. Kissing. Traveling. And then, the timeline shifted to last year. Chloe, sitting on a bay window, visibly pregnant. Mark’s caption: “Can’t wait to meet you, little one.” While I was bleeding, recovering from a C-section, struggling to breastfeed our daughter… he was playing house with her. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Stay calm, Clara. Sarah said evidence first. I air-dropped everything to my phone’s hidden folder. Then I found a document in his “Files” app. Medical Report: Mercy Hospital. Patient: Mark Miller. Diagnosis: Hepatocellular Carcinoma (Liver Cancer). Stage III. Date: Three months ago. He was dying. And he hadn’t told me. The pieces slammed together. He wasn’t just cheating. He was liquidating our assets. He faked my death socially so that when he died, Chloe could step in without anyone asking questions. He was transferring the money so I couldn’t claim it in probate. He was setting up his mistress and his secret child with my money, before leaving me a widow with nothing but debt. I put the phone back exactly as I found it. Mark walked out, toweling off his hair. “You look pale,” he said. “You okay?” “Just tired,” I whispered. “Get some sleep.” He picked up his phone, checked it casually, and went to the balcony to smoke. I watched him. A stranger. A monster. I didn’t sleep that night. I formulated a plan.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387809”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel