The day I found out I was pregnant, the woman Ronan Blackwood still worshiped—his Myth—came back to New York. I didn’t need a formal dismissal. I made an appointment at the clinic myself, scheduling the earliest slot for a termination. I was about to swallow the first pill when a tiny, panicked voice echoed in my head. [Mom, new plan! Don’t do it!] I froze, the pill suspended between my thumb and forefinger. [My dad is the pathetic Runner-Up! The heroine never ends up with him, plus he has low motility—I’m his one and only shot at a legacy! You have to keep me. Push me out, and I’ll put you on the yacht to the billionaire’s life!] I stood there for a long moment, the sheer audacity of the internal dialogue battling the reality of my predicament. Then, I turned and tossed the tablets straight into the waste bin. 1 I’ve read a truckload of spicy romance novels, so my ability to suspend disbelief is incredibly high. I didn’t question The Nugget’s pronouncements; I believed him. I ducked into my car, the excitement bubbling up. “Okay, Nugget,” I whispered, “So, should I tell… your dad I’m pregnant now?” [No! He doesn’t know he’s the Runner-Up. Right now, he’s focused on chasing The Myth. If he knows I exist, he’ll do anything to prevent my birth!] I chewed on that. “Then what about your grandmother?” Ronan Blackwood was clearly blinded by love, but Mrs. Eleanor Blackwood, the family matriarch, wouldn’t be so foolish. She would surely cherish an heir, no matter the vessel. [Not yet, Mom! Don’t tell Grandma either!] [Grandma hates gold diggers and social climbers. If she sees you as nothing more than a desperate mistress, she might hate-the-whole-situation and not even care about an unborn baby!] “So, what’s my play?” [You need to get out of Manhattan ASAP. Raise me somewhere safe, and then—when I’m big—we let them know I exist. Dad is destined to be a lifelong bachelor if The Myth won’t have him. Grandma will have no choice but to accept her only grandchild!] “But… wouldn’t that make you a bastard?” [Mom, you’re overthinking it. My dad’s such a hopeless romantic—he’ll never marry anyone but Gen Laurent. I’ll just be a non-marital child. You give him the only heir he can ever have. The Blackwood dynasty will owe you for eighteen generations!] I got it. The whole situation was suddenly, gloriously, transactional. “Understood. I’m going back to the penthouse to give your dad my two weeks’ notice.” 2 According to The Nugget, we were trapped in a plot from a best-selling novel. The heroine was Genevieve Laurent—old money, effortless charm. The hero was Leo Maxwell—Manhattan’s golden boy. Ronan Blackwood was the tragic, groveling Runner-Up. Gen had adored Ronan since childhood, following him around like a shadow. Ronan, in his youthful arrogance, couldn’t see her love, treating her only like a little sister before rejecting her clumsy declaration. Heartbroken, Gen had fled the country, only to return seven years later. In the span of their separation, Ronan had realized the terrifying truth: he loved her, desperately. So began his relentless pursuit. But Gen’s heart was too bruised, and Leo Maxwell’s puppy-dog charm and unrelenting attention proved irresistible. She chose the hero. Ronan, heartbroken but devoted, became her silent, lifelong guardian. It was the ultimate Runner-Up tragedy. If he wasn’t the father of my child, I’d probably be hitting the ‘Like’ button on his misery. I returned to the penthouse, and Ronan was already home. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a plume of smoke curling around him as he contemplated the Manhattan skyline. He looked heavy—a man burdened. My usual reflex was to go hug him, but the Runner-Up label stopped me cold. I suppressed the impulse and addressed him formally. “Mr. Blackwood.” Ronan snapped out of his reverie. He walked over, stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal tray, and turned to me. His voice was as flat and cold as his gaze. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.” My heart stuttered. Here we go. The dismissal. The severance package talk. [Mom, don’t panic. Totally expected.] I took a deep breath and gave him the practiced, empty smile. “What is it?” Ronan sat down, looking up at me. “How long have we been doing this?” My stomach plummeted. He was easing into the goodbye. Though I’d always known my status—his companion, his keeper—after five years beside a man this extraordinary, it was impossible not to develop a flicker of genuine attachment. I managed a strained laugh. “Almost five years. Another month and we would have hit the anniversary.” Ronan nodded thoughtfully. “It’s been that long, then.” Too long, I thought bitterly. By the standards of men in his circle, he was practically a saint. Five years with one mistress? Most men traded us out every time the seasons changed. I should feel grateful. After a moment of charged silence, he leaned forward, his voice meaningful. “I’ve been thinking. We can’t maintain this kind of relationship forever. So, I was planning to…” The sharp trill of his phone interrupted him. Ronan looked down at the screen, and his expression softened instantly. The caller ID read: Gen Laurent. He stood and walked onto the terrace to take the call. My throat tightened. A wave of familiar, miserable sadness crashed over me. But then I thought of The Nugget and his billion-dollar legacy. My mood instantly stabilized. 3 Ronan kept his voice low, but his profile—which I’d always found devastatingly attractive—was etched with an unfamiliar, profound tenderness. Three minutes later, he came back inside. “Something’s come up. I have an emergency. We’ll pick this up when I get back.” I nodded, my face a mask of composure. “Of course.” He grabbed his bespoke coat and was gone, the elevator doors sliding shut on his hasty exit. I had braced myself for this ending, yet the speed of his departure, his urgency to rush to The Myth’s side, still hurt. The Nugget’s voice cut through my emo moment: [Mom, stop brooding. You need to get out of here before Dad realizes you’re pregnant!] [He may not be a criminal, but if he decides he doesn’t want me, he’s rich enough to have you forcibly terminated. Get out!] A jolt of pure fear shot through me. The Nugget was right. Ronan didn’t know he was a secondary character. He was too consumed by Gen Laurent. If I jeopardized that chase, I was finished. I immediately started packing my essentials, throwing expensive jewelry and documents into a duffel bag, and driving out that very night. I was heading south. Before I hit the turnpike, I sent Ronan a pre-written “breakup” text. “Mr. Blackwood, I’ve left for Charlotte. Thank you for your support over the last five years. I wish you all the best.” He didn’t reply. He probably saw no reason to. I felt a small, familiar twinge of disappointment. Not because he hadn’t begged me to stay, but because he hadn’t even had the courtesy to send a severance deposit. Though he gives me more than enough, who ever complains about extra cash? 4 I got involved with Ronan for two very simple reasons: I was terrified of being poor, and he was breathtakingly handsome. I was—in a word—greedy and shallow. I was also pragmatic. I’d always been preparing for this exit, so I hadn’t wasted his money. Three years ago, I’d bought a beautifully furnished condo in downtown Charlotte, NC. Two years ago, I had it completely set up. After calling a cleaning crew, I moved in. To sever all ties, I bought a new phone and a new number. I knew Ronan Blackwood could track me down easily if he wanted to. But he was busy fighting the hero for the heroine. He probably wouldn’t spare a second thought for his former mistress. Even though The Nugget assured me he would be healthy, I kept up with all my prenatal appointments. The day I went in for the anatomy scan, I was preparing to hand my forms to the receptionist when I saw Ronan Blackwood stride purposefully toward the Ultrasound Center. I froze, instantly spinning around, my back pressed against the wall. [Mom, what’s wrong?] The Nugget always picked up on my emotional spikes. I whispered, “I just saw your dad.” [Don’t panic! You have a mask on, and you’re wearing that awful North Carolina tourist jacket. He won’t recognize you. Just walk away, normally.] He was right. I was wearing an oversize jacket and a baseball cap, none of which Ronan had ever seen me wear. I collected myself and started to move slowly toward the escalator. I was almost there when a massive hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back with startling force. I stumbled, bracing myself against the cool marble of the wall, my body rigid with sudden terror. Ronan’s tall frame leaned in, enveloping me in his shadow. The sheer proximity was suffocating. “What’s the rush?” “Did you really think a cheap mask would stop me from recognizing you?” His tone was mocking, and my stomach dropped. I wanted to cry. [Mom, stay calm! Do not break character!] I forced a sickly laugh. “I wasn’t rushing. I finished my check-up and was heading home.” Ronan looked me up and down, his eyes finally landing on the requisition slip clutched in my hand. His voice was impossible to read. “Sick?” I quickly hid the paper behind my back. “Minor issues. Just a little hormonal imbalance.” “Is that right? Let me see.” He reached for the paper. Before I could figure out my next move, his assistant rushed up, face grim. “Mr. Blackwood, it’s Genevieve. Acute appendicitis. The doctor says they need to operate immediately.” Ronan’s focus fractured. He bit out, “Add my contact back,” to me, then turned and followed his assistant away, disappearing into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, I fled the hospital like a bat out of hell. On the drive home, I asked The Nugget, “What did he mean, ‘Add his contact back’? Is he coming for me?” [I don’t know, Mom. But it sounds likely.] “So, do I add him or not?” [You have to! If you don’t, he’ll start a proper investigation. Then my existence will be exposed immediately!] “Ugh. Fine.” 5 I had deleted Ronan’s number, but after five years, it was ingrained in my memory. Once home, I added his number on a secure messaging app. About an hour later, he accepted the request. Ronan Blackwood: Send me your address. I stared at the screen. “Nugget, what does this mean? He’s definitely coming here, right?” [Seems so.] “What if he discovers the pregnancy? What if he already knows? Is it too late to run again?” [Mom, don’t panic. Running won’t help. He’ll find you eventually.] “So, I’m just waiting for the guillotine?” The despair was overwhelming. “Nugget, don’t worry. I won’t let you leave this world alone.” [Mom! I told you, the waiting list for a good re-birth is a hundred years, and even then, I might not make it! We need to fight this!] “You’re right. We’ll fight.” [And look, my dad hasn’t acted on anything yet. He probably hasn’t figured out I exist. Maybe he’s just coming for a quick hookup.] “He’s shadowing his first love, the Myth. What could I possibly offer him now?” [I don’t know either! Just deal with it. When he shows up, we play it by ear.] “Fine.” Reluctantly, I typed out the address. [Mom! Quick! Hide anything suspicious. Pregnancy tests, vitamins, the giant maternity pillow!] “Right!” I scrambled, shoving anything that could give away my secret into a storage closet. Just as I sank onto the sofa to catch my breath, the doorbell rang. I jumped up, forcing a bright, awkward smile as I opened the door. “Mr. Blackwood. Long time, no see.” Ronan’s expression was unreadable, impassive. He gave a curt nod. “I have business in Charlotte for a few days. I hate the hotels here. I’m borrowing a room.” I hesitated. It was true; Ronan despised anything less than a Presidential Suite, and he was notoriously picky. But I absolutely couldn’t have him under my roof. Ronan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze intense. “Is that a problem?” [Don’t refuse! The more you push back, the more he’ll suspect something. Just say yes!] I burst into a strained laugh. “A problem? Not at all! Please, Mr. Blackwood, come in!” I stepped aside. Then I remembered: I had no men’s slippers. “I didn’t expect the honor of your visit, Mr. Blackwood. I’m missing a few necessities. Please, have a seat, and I’ll run out and grab some toiletries and slippers. I’ll be quick.” He didn’t object. “Go.” 6 When I returned with a bag of travel-size essentials, Ronan wasn’t in the living room. A wave of relief washed over me. Did he leave? Then, he emerged from the direction of my storage closet. My heart stopped dead. I was mentally calculating whether I should just drop to my knees and beg for mercy when Ronan calmly assessed the room. “The place is clean.” I managed a tight smile. “When you’re unemployed, you clean every day.” He said nothing else, simply extending his hand toward me. “Give me the bag.” “Oh, right.” I handed him the plastic bag with the slippers and toothbrush. He put on the slippers and walked into the guest bathroom, all with the unhurried ease of a man who owned the place. Seeing his intention to stay, I went to make the bed in the guest room. Truthfully, I was disgusted. He was actively chasing the heroine, yet he thought it was acceptable to crash at his former mistress’s place? That lack of boundaries was probably why he’d been relegated to the Runner-Up role. Serves him right. Ronan’s showers were always efficient. I had just smoothed the duvet when he emerged, a towel wrapped low around his waist. He leaned against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised. “I’m sleeping in the guest room?” My brain, already slow due to the pregnancy, lagged even further. I nodded instinctively. “Yes, of course!” Where else would you sleep? Ronan’s gaze darkened. His expression hadn’t changed much, but I felt the shift in the air—he was annoyed. I realized why: he still assumed he could sleep with me. The entitlement of it made me even more certain Gen was smart to pick Leo. While I scrambled for a diplomatic way to refuse him, he asked, his voice low and pointed, “Are you hiding something from me?” I unconsciously clutched my belly, then quickly released it, forcing an awkward giggle. “No, why would I?” Ronan’s face turned stormy. His sharp, intense eyes locked onto mine as he began to close the distance between us. “You know you’re a terrible liar, don’t you?” I backed away until the bed frame stopped me. He braced his hands on the wall, caging me between his arms. The powerful oppression made it hard to breathe. “Did you find a new patron already?” I looked up, stunned by the sheer gall of the accusation. 7 A man who has possessed a woman inevitably develops a ridiculous, irrational sense of ownership over her, even after the relationship has ended. Ronan was clearly being ruled by that toxic possessiveness. I was genuinely offended. I may be a materialist, but I wasn’t that easy. No unattractive men. No old men. Definitely no diseased men. The truth was, while everyone else saw me as his “kept woman,” deep down, I’d always viewed him as a spectacularly good-looking gigolo I was paying for with my time. After sleeping with a specimen like Ronan Blackwood, the average man simply couldn’t compete. I shot him a withering look. “Do you honestly think I’m that reckless?” The coldness in Ronan’s posture immediately evaporated. He pulled me into his arms, squeezing me tightly. His breathing grew heavy. “Anya, baby, I want to—” I clamped my hand over his mouth before he could finish that thought. “No!” The Nugget was asleep, but what if he woke up? If he heard his dad say anything raunchy, I’d never live it down. Ronan pulled my hand away, his cold gaze returning. “You are hiding something.” I was already low on wit, and the pregnancy hormones had made me slower. I couldn’t think of a plausible excuse. Panic made me flounder. “I’m not!” I blurted out the first idiotic thing that came to mind. “It’s… Aunt Flo is visiting!” Ronan sneered. “Is that so? Let me check.” His hand moved to the waistband of my sweatpants. I saw red. My fight-or-flight response kicked in, pure, primal terror. I reacted without thinking, swinging my arm and connecting a sharp slap across his face. The second I did it, I regretted it instantly. “I—I’m sorry.” Ronan stared at me, his face an ominous storm cloud. My fear intensified. I was about to try a pathetic attempt at flirting my way out of it when he simply turned, went into the bathroom, retrieved his clothes, and walked out of the condo, slamming the front door behind him. The heavy thud of the solid security door closing was the sound of my near-exhausted body slumping onto the sofa in relief. The crisis was averted, but a familiar emptiness settled in my chest. 8 Ronan was truly furious, and he didn’t try to contact me again. I was relieved, but the peace didn’t last long. Three days later, I received an anonymous text. Anonymous: I’ll give you five million dollars to get rid of the child. I fought down a wave of nausea and replied, pretending ignorance. Anya: What child? Anonymous: Your cheap tricks might fool Ronan, but they don’t fool me. Mrs. Blackwood despises gold-digging opportunists like you. I suggest you handle the situation immediately, or she will make you regret it. The message sent a shiver of dread down my spine. The Nugget woke up, his little voice filled with concern. [Mom, what’s going on?] Distraught, I read him the anonymous threat. The Nugget was indignant. [Mom, don’t listen to that liar! Grandma loves me! She would never hurt me!] My sluggish, pregnancy-addled brain finally connected the dots. “Nugget,” I said slowly, “Didn’t you tell me your grandmother wouldn’t allow you to exist right now?” The question silenced him. He fell into a long, terrifying silence that made the hairs on my arms stand up. I had trusted him completely, and he had been lying. Anger, disappointment, and a profound sense of cold betrayal washed over me. “Why did you lie to me?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387474”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In that group home, only two kids never got placed: Sasha and me. She was too volatile. I was too timid. When a bully tried to take my lunch, it was Sasha who called me a spineless wimp while she fought to get the food back onto my tray. When I was cornered and harassed in the bathroom, it was Sasha who broke the kid’s nose with a single punch, officially branding her with a ‘violent tendency’ and ensuring no family would ever take her. She’d stake her claim with the air of a true boss: “Dean, she’s my territory, got it?” Under her fierce, protective wing, I finally made it to school. That’s where I met Dean. He didn’t mock my shaky English or the way I struggled to fit in. He shielded me from the stares and stayed after school every day to help me catch up. He wrote me over two hundred love letters and confessed his feelings beneath a burst of fireworks, which made me cry until my face was blotchy. I always thought I must have saved the world in a past life to be blessed with both of them. Then came my twenty-fifth birthday. I got the cancer diagnosis. And then, I stumbled upon Dean pinning Sasha against the back of his car, kissing her until her lips were swollen. Sasha, trembling and teary, whispered, demanding, “How are we supposed to face Liv after this?” “Of course, I don’t want to hurt Liv,” he answered, his voice rough with need. “But I just can’t stop loving you, and you feel it, too, don’t you? What am I supposed to do?” I managed a strained, tight smile and shoved the diagnostic report deep into my coat pocket. What are you supposed to do? That’s an easy one. That night, I booked my appointment for euthanasia. 1 The sleet was cutting, stinging my face. This was the first snow of the season, and it was brutal. I stood behind the corner wall, watching them embrace. The hand Dean used to cup the back of Sasha’s neck still wore the couple’s watch we’d picked out together. And Sasha? She was bundled in the scarf I had personally knitted for her. She treated that scarf like sacred armor. Not long ago, Dean had accidentally snagged it on a doorframe, and she’d screamed at him like a harpy. “I swear, I can’t deal with him! Liv, don’t you dare stop me—I’m going to make him understand who the queen of the house is today!” I was the one who had to mediate and soothe both of them until the peace was restored. They were the two people I loved most in the world. How could they have turned into this? My hands and feet were frozen stiff, but I waited half an hour. Only after they had both straightened their clothes and wiped their faces did I step out from the most visible spot, forcing a look of mild surprise. “Hey, you guys are early?” “And the birthday girl is late! You’re buying the first round,” Sasha said, pulling the scarf away and looping it around my own neck. Her eyes were full of staged concern. “You’re an ice cube. Why didn’t you call me to pick you up?” I realized my eyelashes were crusted with ice chips. In the past, when it snowed, Dean would immediately wrap me inside his massive coat, terrified I’d catch a chill. Now, he hesitated for two full seconds before stepping forward to lightly brush the flakes off my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Liv. I should have been more thoughtful.” When his hand landed on me, Sasha’s face tightened almost imperceptibly, and she lowered her gaze. Dean instantly pulled back two steps, putting half a yard of space between us. I shook my head, pretending not to notice a thing, and flashed them a wide, goofy grin. “Oh, please, I’m not that delicate. Come on, let’s get upstairs. You two have to make this the best birthday ever.” After all, this was my last one. Sasha puffed out her chest and declared, “You know it! Just wait till you see my present!” Dean scoffed. “Don’t get cocky. Mine might be the one she actually loves.” They started their usual banter, a back-and-forth that immediately lightened the air. When Dean and I first started dating, Sasha was openly hostile toward him. Now, it sounded like playful flirting. I stretched my lips into a fake smile and took the lead. “You two better hurry up, I’m starving!” I wanted to pretend I didn’t see, to keep my back turned so I wouldn’t cry. But the streetlights had a cruel way of elongating shadows. In my periphery, I watched Dean’s hand subtly reach for Sasha’s shadow. Sasha’s step faltered. Her fingers trembled, curling slightly, but she didn’t pull away. The two shadows finally overlapped. A perfect pair. 2 “Get inside, it’s freezing out here.” I quickly pulled the door open, eager to break the tension. “Hold on, hold on, I’m coming!” Sasha laughed, quickening her pace in her heels, but she was clearly distracted. She stumbled as she crossed the threshold. The birthday cake she was holding crashed to the floor. I rushed forward to steady her. “Watch out!” Dean beat me to it, catching her around the waist and pulling her upright. He immediately crouched down, checking her ankle with frantic urgency. “Are you okay? Can you walk?” My hand was left hanging in the air. Sasha’s smile had frozen on her face. The silence that descended was thick and unnerving. Dean flinched, instinctively opening his mouth, but no explanation came out. When his eyes met mine, he shifted his body, standing like a shield in front of Sasha. His voice was husky when he spoke. “Liv, please don’t be mad. Sasha is just clumsy, she didn’t drop the cake on purpose. I’ll order a new one right now.” I stared at him, watching him protect Sasha. It was the same way Sasha had always stood in front of me, protecting me, since we were children. Somewhere along the line, I had become that small-minded person in his eyes—the one who would throw a fit over a ruined cake. Cream was splattered everywhere. The customized figurines of two girls holding hands had cracked and lay in ruined pieces. I didn’t want to spend the end of my life in conflict with the people I loved most. It was just a shame my last birthday wouldn’t be a graceful one. Two anxious gazes were fixed on me. I awkwardly tucked my suspended hand back into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the crumpled hospital note, and turned away, forcing a lighthearted laugh. “I’m not a three-year-old, guys. Why would I be mad about that? We can celebrate any day we want.” “Dean, why don’t you clean up the mess? I’ll go find the first-aid kit—we should have some cream for bruises and sprains.” My nonchalant attitude seemed to only deepen his guilt. Dean lowered his head in apology. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll re-order the cake.” I waved a dismissive hand. It’s fine. I just want both of you to be happy. I helped Sasha to the sofa and gently applied the ointment. There were tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She reached for my hand, then pulled hers back. “Liv, don’t be so naive. You can’t keep telling people not to worry. This is how you get taken advantage of.” I shook my head stubbornly. “I’m not being taken advantage of. I’m lucky.” “Sasha, if it’s for you, I’m willing to accept anything.” Sasha bowed her head and didn’t speak again. By the time the cream had dried, Dean had finished cleaning and was calling us over to the new cake. It was rushed, but still beautiful. Yet, it felt like something essential was missing. Dean lit the candles. In the flickering light, my eyes landed on a framed photo on the corner table. It was Dean and me in our school uniforms, holding hands tightly. Sasha, in a red spaghetti-strap dress, was clutching my other arm, glaring at him with mock hostility. That day, they genuinely couldn’t stand each other. “Hey! My scaredy-cat finally likes someone, and if you dare hurt her, you’re dead!” “No way! Look at you, dressed like a trashy club girl—you’re definitely not a decent friend.” Sasha’s eyes had darkened for a second. I had immediately scolded Dean. When the group home closed down at age fifteen, Sasha dropped out of high school to work and keep me in school. She took a job as a streaming model, dressing provocatively. Every time I tried to argue or offer to split the burden, she’d send me back to class with a furious yell. “How old am I and how old are you? I blew my shot, but you’re still young. Go get yourself a real future.” “Do you want people pointing at you and calling you a tramp? Get your ass back to class! You don’t need to worry about the money!” She was only three years older than me. The memories flashed like a film reel. I closed my eyes and made my sincere wish. I hoped my best friend and the man I loved most would be eternally happy. Even after I was gone. Once I blew out the candles, Sasha eagerly cut the cake and then playfully smeared a dollop of frosting on my nose. “Congrats, Liv, another year wiser.” I forced my mouth to curve, but then I saw Dean’s intense gaze—it was glued to Sasha. Tender and lingering. The familiar bitterness surged up again. Sasha was oblivious, cheerily pulling out a small gift box. “Check it out, do you love it?” Dean snapped back to reality, jostling her aside. He held his own gift tight in his palm and leaned in mysteriously. “Guess what I got you?” “Oh, you brat, don’t try to steal my thunder! Don’t you dare compete with me!” Sasha pouted, cheeks puffed out. “You two old enemies, stop fighting and give me a break,” I said, rubbing my temples. Since neither of them would concede, I had to open both gifts at once. The moment I did, all three of us froze. 3 They had chosen rings from the same designer collection. The styles were incredibly similar: Dean’s choice had a mountain range engraved into the band, while Sasha’s featured a swirling ocean wave. Unintentionally, perfectly, they formed a matched set. A complementary “Sea and Mountain Vow.” Sasha looked completely thrown. I laughed boisterously, snatching both rings and quickly sliding one onto my left hand and one onto my right. “No wonder we get along so well! Look how in sync you are! I was stressing about which style to buy, and now I don’t have to choose, hee-hee.” “Only a child makes choices. I’m an adult, and I’m taking both! One on each hand, perfect.” I pulled out my phone and took a dozen flashing pictures. My cheerful performance didn’t alleviate the awkwardness in the air; in fact, Dean’s tightly pressed lips seemed to make it worse. Only Sasha offered a strained smile. “He definitely copied my idea. But since Liv loves them, I’ll let it go.” Dean’s face relaxed slightly, a silent confirmation that he would accept that lie. My mind was a chaotic mess, so I quickly poured us drinks, trying to drown my thoughts in alcohol. The irony was that Sasha, usually the one who could drink anyone under the table, was the first to dissolve into a sloppy mess. She was mumbling into her wine glass. “Liv… don’t leave us…” I wanted to say something comforting, but my throat felt rusted shut. I couldn’t utter a single word. Dean stood up, grabbed her jacket with practiced ease, and draped her over his shoulder. “Liv, I’m taking this lush home first. Don’t wait up for me; just go to bed if you’re tired.” I nodded quietly. I watched from the balcony as they walked away, leaning on each other. I knew, logically, that Dean wouldn’t take advantage of a drunken Sasha. I was certain they hadn’t physically crossed the line. But how do you stop a heart from drifting? I took a deep, shuddering breath and scooped a bite of cake. The cream was sickly sweet and tasted bitter. I dropped the fork and retreated to the bedroom, planning to start packing up my belongings. I accidentally knocked over a box and found the love letters Dean had written me when he was eighteen. Two hundred-plus letters, packed tightly with memories. Liv, I noticed you a long time ago, but you always looked down, and I was so curious about what you were thinking when you were quiet. You are timid, yet you had the courage to feed the stray cat behind the school that even the security guard was afraid of. You are incredible. Silly girl, I didn’t save you—you gave me the chance to express my love. What I say at eighteen will be true at eighty. Liv, we will grow old together. Every word was earnest, heartfelt, and deep. Reading them again, my nose began to sting, and my lips curled into a gentle, mournful smile. But then, I flipped the page and my breath caught. The back of the letters had new handwriting. It’s strange. I always thought of Sasha as a trouble-maker, and I only tolerated her for Liv’s sake. But I’m starting to realize she’s… different. I saw Sasha finishing her stream today. It’s freezing, and her face was bright red. I felt a pang of concern. I have to control myself… I accidentally brushed her hand while we were walking. She pulled away like she’d been shocked, but her earlobes turned bright red when she snapped at me. Could she feel it, too…? Liv finally acted playfully jealous with me today, but Sasha looked distinctly disappointed. I don’t want to run from my feelings anymore. I need to be honest with her. The writing was sporadic, turning my two hundred love letters into a two-sided confession. The new script was just as sincere and passionate as the old. I estimated it began about a year ago. The back pages were now nearly as long as the front. His heart had started to drift a long time ago. The most recent date was just yesterday: I’m so sorry, Liv. But it’s time to end it. I’ve already failed you; I can’t fail Sasha, too. A wave of tears finally broke, rushing down my face. I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest was tight, a sharp, needling pain, and I coughed heavily, a splatter of warm, thick blood hitting my palm. I scrambled for a tissue. That’s when Dean came back. He pulled the door open instinctively and peered in. “Liv, are you awake?” 4 The door gap widened. I stumbled toward it, slamming my back against the wood to keep it shut. “I have a bit of a headache. I’m already trying to rest.” My shirt was stained with blood. The letters were scattered on the floor, a brutal mockery of my composure and self-deception. Dean paused, then tapped twice, asking if I needed medicine. I brushed him off with a quick, shallow response. I couldn’t face him. I was terrified he would rip the raw truth open. I didn’t know if the man outside the door was more worried about me being sick, or if he was hoping to cut ties quickly so he could openly pursue the girl he truly loved. I didn’t know what face I would wear when the inevitable moment came. After a long time, the house finally fell quiet. Dean must have gone to bed. I restored the room to its original state, packed a small bag, and drove myself to the city hospital. The doctor frowned, trying to persuade me. “Are you sure you don’t want chemotherapy? It’s late-stage lung cancer, but aggressive treatment can still give you more time.” “You are still… very young.” I smiled and shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m only staying a few days before I leave.” My original plan was to leave all my savings: enough for Sasha to upgrade her streaming studio, and seed money for Dean’s start-up. But I was too afraid of pain, so I selfishly took a portion for myself and booked the foreign clinic for my procedure. Seven more days, and I would be free. When it came down to it, I was still the same coward. No progress at all. The next day, Dean called. I gave him a flimsy excuse and hung up. For seven days straight, he called countless times. Each time, I found a different reason to reject him. Eventually, I couldn’t bear to hear his voice at all. I remembered the fierce, eighteen-year-old love I saw under the fireworks. I couldn’t bear his change of heart. I wanted to beg him not to be so cruel—just a few more days, and I would be gone. I wouldn’t bother them anymore. It felt like if I didn’t acknowledge the truth, I could still die feeling loved. But on the night before my procedure, as I was sorting my documents, Dean called again, his voice cracking with urgency. “Liv! Sasha’s stream just went dark, and her phone is off! Something’s wrong, I’m driving over there right now, but the conference center is too far! You need to go—drive over and check on her!” My eyes widened. I didn’t stop to question why he was monitoring her stream. I just shouted, “Don’t panic! I’m on my way!” I ripped out the IV, threw on a thin undershirt, and was out the door, speeding toward Sasha’s apartment. I lost count of the red lights I blew through. I didn’t hear the angry honks of the other drivers. I could only pray Sasha was safe, my foot pressed hard against the accelerator. I only slowed down when a cop flagged me down at an intersection. “Ma’am, the road ahead is closed due to a cave-in. You’ll have to take a detour.” Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, but I knew arguing would only delay the police, so I took the longer route. By the time I arrived. Sasha’s clothes were ripped, and a stunned-looking punk was unconscious nearby. Dean was already there. He was bruised and bloody, clearly having fought the attacker off, and he was holding the trembling Sasha, soothing her over and over. My knees gave out. I stumbled, kneeling on the cold ground, reaching out to her. “I’m late, I’m so sorry…” “Get away! Why are you putting on this show?” Dean’s eyes were bloodshot. He aggressively slapped my hand away, standing over Sasha defensively. “You were so close! Why didn’t you get here in time to save her? If you had been faster, Sasha wouldn’t have—” “You’ve always happily taken everything she’s given you. Why couldn’t you sacrifice just once for her? Why are you always so damn selfish!” “Stop it!” Sasha silenced him, forcing a shaky smile for me. “The animal didn’t get to me. I’m fine.” My throat constricted, and my nose felt tight and itchy with despair. But Dean couldn’t stop his frantic outpouring. “Sasha! I was terrified for you. Don’t push me away!” Sasha’s body shook at his words. She lowered her head. She didn’t refuse the coat Dean wrapped around her. Dean took a deep breath. “How could you be fine? This is going to haunt you forever. Liv, what the hell have you been doing these past few days?” The only answer was the silence of the heavy snow. I stared at the fresh needle marks on the back of my hand, shivering in my thin shirt. Guilt and deep hurt churned inside me. I couldn’t say anything but I’m sorry. “Liv, without Sasha, you wouldn’t be alive today. She was in danger, and you were nowhere to be found. You’re a stranger to me now, and I’m deeply disappointed.” Dean pulled her close, his face cold as he looked back at me, his eyes sharp, as if I were the enemy. “Let’s take some space. We need to separate for a while. You need to reflect on what’s happened.” I gasped, ready to explain everything, but a fierce cough brought up a mouthful of blood that splattered on the snow, turning it a vivid, painful red. As I tried to conceal it, Dean had already lifted Sasha into the passenger seat and floored the accelerator. He never looked back. I dropped my gaze to the blood on the ground. I truly was a failure. I ruined everything I touched. Wiping the bitter taste from my mouth, I moved my stiff legs and continued, zombie-like, to the airport, just making my flight. The landscape outside the cabin window began to blur. Two familiar faces came into focus in my mind. Sasha was smiling brightly, flashing a peace sign. Dean was playfully flicking my nose, complaining he might get jealous. I remembered my fifteenth birthday wish. I hope my best friend is always by my side, and the person I love is right across from me, forever and ever. What a pity. It never came true. I sent a final text message. I wish you both a happy ending.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387473”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I used a brand-new iPhone to reel in the legendary heir of the NYC elite. The day I bought the latest iPhone, a man so gorgeous it felt excessive walked straight up to me in the Apple Store and asked if he could borrow my phone to shoot a video. He took my phone, looked into the camera, and said with an embarrassingly self-conscious smirk, “OMG, thank you, babe, for the brand-new iPhone 15 Pro Max!” His voice was so over-the-top affected—so much vocal fry—I felt like I could excavate a castle with the cringe on the soles of my feet. The entire store went silent for a beat. Then, he cleared his throat and continued his performance for the front-facing camera. “It’s three PM, time for my totally low-key, humble brag.” “The new natural titanium finish? It’s whatever. A phone that costs a couple thousand? Totally average for me.” “That’s it for today. In a few days, I’ll show you the new car my darling bought me.” “Try not to be too jealous. Some of you trying to bag a sugar mama need to check your reflection before you try to play this game.” 1 The moment he finished, the silence in the store lasted exactly half a second. Then, the place erupted in laughter and chatter. “Seriously? That’s the bar for flexing now? Borrowing someone else’s phone?” “‘A couple thousand.’ That’s like, a week’s worth of his groceries, not a car.” “A sugar mama? Does he even know that girl he just borrowed the phone from?” My best friend, Willow, covered her face, mortified. “Sasha, I told you! He was clearly a weirdo. I said not to lend it to him, but you just had to be stubborn.” The ridiculously handsome guy finished the video, handed my phone back, and looked slightly sheepish. “Thank you. You really saved me.” The mocking laughter around us was sharp. I watched him try to maintain a façade of cool confidence, and I felt a strange mix of pity and amusement. On an impulse, the words just tumbled out. “How about I buy you a phone? That way, you won’t have to beg for a loan everywhere you go.” I added, “It looks like you really need it.” He froze, then a wide, bright smile spread across his face. “I don’t need one now. But can I get your number? Or, better yet, let’s exchange Instagram handles. I’ll treat you to dinner next time to thank you for lending it to me.” I was about to nod, but Willow tugged on my arm again, lowering her voice. “Don’t! Guys like that—thick-skinned, too good-looking—they’re the worst kind of players. Be careful he doesn’t latch onto you!” I just smiled and accepted his follow request. Willow didn’t know. That man was Rhys Beckett—the one and only heir to the Beckett Group, the legendary “Prince” of the NYC elite, the one who was never seen. And I had been watching him for a long time. In a private lounge at an exclusive Soho club, Rhys Beckett tossed his phone onto the table with a groan of disgust. “Whose idea was that dare? Making me go to the Apple Store to flex? And that script—I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life!” His pack of privileged friends doubled over with laughter. “Hey, you lost the bet, man! Preston had to hug an elevator pole in the mall and scream ‘Mommy’ for five minutes. You’re even.” “Come on, let us see the video!” They immediately swarmed around him. “Hahaha, Rhys, your face! It’s the perfect blend of arrogance and deep-seated shame! I want to punch you and hug you at the same time!” “Wait… who’s the girl who lent you the phone? She’s genuinely gorgeous. Great style.” Rhys’s ears quietly flushed red. He unconsciously rubbed his thumb over the rim of his glass. “Just some kind stranger passing by. There were so many people there, and she was the only one who actually helped.” “Ohhh—” The group immediately scented gossip. “Our man Rhys is… finally coming out of hibernation?” Rhys shot them a glare, pulling up the empty chat screen with me. He grumbled good-naturedly, “Get lost, all of you. Stop talking nonsense.” A week ago, I was Sasha Miller, the most prized protégé of Marcus Shaw, the East Coast’s foremost architectural and design master, and the internal successor to his prestigious studio. Now, I was a disgraced traitor, publicly cast out by my mentor, with my name blacklisted across the entire industry. All because he found his “true muse”—Delaney. Today was the final deadline for me to move out of the studio apartment. I silently packed my sketchbooks and tools, dragging my suitcase toward the door. Delaney blocked my way, arms crossed, a picture of haughty entitlement. “Stop right there. You are not taking anything that belongs to Master Shaw.” As she spoke, she brutally yanked open my suitcase, scattering years of accumulated design sketches, my framed award certificates, even the professional books I had bought myself, and my savings statements—everything I had. All that was left inside were a few changes of clothes. “The money in those accounts, I saved myself, penny by penny. Why can’t I take my own savings?” I demanded. “You only rose to prominence on the strength of Master Shaw’s name. You have no real talent on your own. You have no right to take anything associated with this place.” I looked toward the far sofa. My former mentor, Marcus Shaw, was sitting there, watching the scene with cold indifference, completely silent. Grant, the senior apprentice who had always looked out for me, was now solicitously handing Delaney a bottle of water, acting as if I were invisible. The humiliation was a suffocating tide. I knelt down, quietly repacking the clothes, tossing the savings statements aside, and then stood up, giving them one last look. Let them have the statements for now. It’s not like they could actually withdraw the funds. I moved into Willow’s guest room. Willow helped me make the bed, trying to reassure me. “It’s fine, Sash. Staying here is great. That crappy studio? Good riddance!” I knew this was only temporary. Willow always called me naïve, but she didn’t understand. Someone who has been violently dragged from the clouds into the mud can’t afford to be naïve anymore. I had a low, burning knot of fury in my stomach. I would make Marcus Shaw and Delaney pay. Running into Rhys Beckett at the Apple Store might be my only way forward. He had just returned from abroad and hadn’t been completely tainted by the muck of this circle yet. I had my looks and my years of social networking experience. That was all the capital I had left. Two days later, Rhys finally texted me. [I still owe you that dinner. Are you free tonight?] Watching the notification pop up, the corner of my mouth slowly curled into a wider smile. [The new Italian place on Madison Avenue. Seven PM. Don’t be late.] When I walked into the restaurant, I immediately sensed the strange atmosphere. Some people were pretending to study their menus, but their eyes kept flicking over to me. Others held up their phones, pretending to take selfies, but their cameras were clearly aimed in my direction. Rhys was already waiting at a window table. He saw me enter and gave an awkward little cough. His friends immediately snapped back to attention, pretending nothing had happened. And Rhys’s ears, once again, were crimson. I instantly realized that these were probably his gawking, gossipy friends. I calmly sat down across from him. Tonight, I had deliberately worn a simple black cocktail dress I designed myself. The cut was minimalist, but the details—a subtle drape here, a sharp angle there—showcased my skill, perfectly outlining my figure without being ostentatious. “I never got your name,” I started, breaking the silence. Rhys seemed a little nervous, clearing his throat. “It’s R. J. Beckett. R for Rhys, J for… well, just J.” I extended my hand, smiling warmly. “I’m Sasha Miller.” His fingertips were warm. The moment they touched mine, he pulled back as if he’d been shocked by an electric current. Rhys tried to maintain his ‘cool playboy’ posture, but his earlobes, red enough to bleed, completely betrayed him. Muffled snickers occasionally drifted from the surrounding tables. I watched his face deepen in color, the blush spreading down his neck. It looked like I had chosen the right person for dinner. He was far more innocent than I had anticipated. After dinner, we said goodbye. I stood outside the restaurant, waiting for a ride, and faintly heard Rhys’s low, furious roar from inside: “Who told you guys to follow me? Huh? All of you acting like spotlights, get out!” I waited a long time for a ride on the curb. Before, I always had a private car arranged by the studio. The jarring drop in my lifestyle was never more obvious than right now. I wondered if Delaney was enjoying the perks that should have been mine. Suddenly, the sky opened up, and the rain came down in sheets. I was quickly soaked to the bone. When I got back to Willow’s place, she rushed over with a dry towel. “What happened to you? It’s pouring, why didn’t you find shelter?” “Are you okay?” she asked, concern etched on her face. My nose stung, and I nearly burst into tears, but I held it in. I’d lived a privileged life for two decades, and in the end, the only things that truly belonged to me were my best friend, a bank account with a dwindling balance, and the resolve of a twenty-something on the brink. After that night, Rhys started texting me constantly. He shared all the mundane details of his life. [I got dragged to some boring gala. I’d rather be at a gallery with you. Can I see you again soon?] In the photo he sent, I saw Delaney. She was wearing a gown based on one of my archived sketches, beaming as Marcus Shaw introduced her to various industry bigwigs. She looked triumphant. The gala was excessively lavish. Rhys hadn’t intentionally focused the camera, just zoomed out a little. [My feet are killing me standing around here.] I understood his subtext and replied gently: [I thought you were really tall at the Apple Store. Over six-one, right?] [Six-three. I’m an actual six-three.] I could almost picture him, bored, legs casually crossed in a corner, pulling a smug smile when he saw my reply. Some people could have everything without lifting a finger. Like Delaney. She had little innate talent, excelling only at plagiarism and mimicry, yet her quick wit and flattery had won Marcus Shaw’s total devotion. I was different. Marcus Shaw had been notoriously strict with me. He used to say I was the most gifted designer he had ever seen. I pushed myself harder for that praise, striving for reputation, money, and every accolade that could benefit the studio. Just as he was about to formally announce me as his successor, Delaney arrived. She replaced me effortlessly. I only recently discovered that Marcus Shaw had known for a while that Delaney was stealing and mimicking my work, but he had chosen to ignore it. No wonder he hadn’t seemed that excited when I won the international grand prize. My once-devoted mentor and my supportive senior apprentice were now orbiting Delaney. I was the one who had been discarded. Except for Willow, who was still in my corner. So, what was mine, I had to reclaim myself. Rhys’s message popped up again. [I’m so glad you’re keeping me company. This kind of event genuinely drives me insane.] I pretended to be curious. [What gala is it? Sounds important. Can’t you just skip it?] [The Shaw Studio celebration. Celebrating their new designer, Delaney, for winning some big award. My grandfather and Marcus Shaw have history, so I have to be here.] Delaney won an award? A celebration gala? My hand shook, and my phone clattered to the floor. A decade of my life, countless all-nighters spent sketching and perfecting, had ultimately become a ladder for her ascent. Rhys: [What was that? Sounds like a big thump.] Me: [Just dropped my phone. Clumsy. Say, why do you guys have to attend? Seems like only the very top people would get an invite to something like that.] Rhys replied quickly, with a hint of playful bragging. [Heh, actually, I snuck out without telling my grandfather. Is there anything you want to eat? I could bring you something.] Me: [Wow, you’re an escape artist! Could you bring me a piece of Tiramisu? I’m suddenly craving it.] [No problem.] We agreed on a meeting spot. I looked at my phone’s cracked screen and felt a fresh stab of financial pain. I wouldn’t be able to upgrade to the latest model on a whim anymore. This life had to end, and fast. I decided I would make Rhys completely fall for me at this meeting. I stopped by a convenience store to pick up a few things for our impromptu “date.” But I never made it. Parked outside the convenience store was a Ferrari I knew all too well. My former senior apprentice, Grant, got out, opened the passenger door, and helped a princess-like Delaney out of the seat. “Grant, this place is so rundown. I don’t want to stay here for another second.” Delaney wrinkled her nose in distaste. Grant gently brushed the hair from her forehead, his voice dripping with affection. “We just need to warn Willow to stay out of your business with Sasha. Just a little longer, Delaney.” Willow was my best friend. My eyes instantly welled up. Warn her? Because she had taken me in? Grant, my former friend, how could you be so utterly ruthless? All for Delaney. The fate of a genius whose value had been squeezed dry was truly pathetic. I waited in the corner for a long time until the glaring red Ferrari finally sped away. Willow’s family was well-off, but her father’s company was dependent on the larger conglomerate associated with Marcus Shaw’s studio. When I got back, Willow’s father was sitting on the sofa, his face cold. Her mother looked at me with open distaste. Willow was stuck between us, her face a mask of distress. “Sasha, I…” I forced out a smile that was more like a grimace and picked up my suitcase. Before leaving, I bowed deeply to them. “Uncle, Auntie, I am so sorry for the trouble I caused. Thank you for taking me in. I won’t bother you anymore.” Now, I truly had nothing left. I crouched on the sidewalk, my suitcase at my feet. Tears splashed onto the clean pavement, making small, spreading circles. I picked up my phone. The screen showed 99+ unread messages. I braced myself, expecting insults from Grant or mockery from Delaney. To my surprise, they were all from Rhys Beckett. I had completely forgotten about him. [Sasha, I’m here. Got here thirty minutes early so you wouldn’t have to wait.] [OMG, I just saw a stray cat trying to get into a trash can. It’s seriously agile. Sending you a pic.] Two hours later. [Are you here yet?] [Girls take a little longer to get ready. I get it.] [I dressed up a bit, too. I look pretty handsome. Heh.] [Bought your Tiramisu. Waiting for you to come and eat it.] Another hour later. [Where are you?] [Did you… decide you didn’t want to talk to me?] [The Tiramisu is going to melt. I’m going to eat it for you.] [Sasha, next time, can I pick the restaurant?] There were also several missed calls. [Where are you? Did something happen? I’m still here waiting. Text me back when you see this. Just a ‘1’ will do.] I quickly wiped the rain and tears from my face. [Sorry, Rhys. An emergency came up at home. Can’t make it.] [Eat the cake for me.] [I’m sorry for making you wait so long.] I dragged my suitcase down the deserted street, walking aimlessly. If I opened my mouth right now and asked to crash at his place for the night, he probably wouldn’t refuse. But I couldn’t. A person who throws themselves at you always seems cheap. Being abandoned by my mentor and ruthlessly cut off by my senior had been humiliating enough. Willow’s call came through. I composed myself, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Hello? I’m fine. I just checked into a hotel. King bed, super comfy. We’ll figure out tomorrow later. There’s always a way out.” There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Sasha, stop pretending. I’m across the street from you.” “My parents are awful, but I’m not. Let me help you.” I turned around. Willow stood opposite me, holding an umbrella. She hurried over and thrust a key into my hand. “My dad’s compensation for being a spineless jerk. Sasha, stand up.” At twenty-four, I should have been full of life, but I felt like a piece of garbage tossed out by the world. And Willow stood before me, a knight charging through the thorns. “Thank you,” my voice caught in my throat. She snatched my suitcase. “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t do ‘thank you.’” On the way to the apartment, I glanced out the car window and saw someone sitting on a roadside bench. A half-melted pastry box was resting on his long legs. He was looking down, motionless, staring at his phone screen. It was Rhys. Willow’s father’s backup apartment hadn’t been lived in for a long time and was covered in dust. I wanted to call a cleaning service, but after checking my meager bank balance, I silently gave up the idea. Rhys hadn’t texted again, but my phone hadn’t stopped vibrating from all the notifications. Once we finished cleaning, Willow had to leave. “I have to go. Can’t stay out all night. Call me immediately if you need anything.” “I will.” I sat on the bed, hugging a pillow.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387472”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’d finally trained my arrogant society husband into a docile partner. Then a car crash stole six years of his memory. He woke up as the rebellious heir who was still obsessed with his childhood crush and utterly hated me. Watching him thrash and snarl, demanding I leave the hospital room, a profound weariness washed over me. I was too exhausted to start the training all over again. I simply nodded. “Fine. As you wish.” 1 By the time I rushed into the hospital, Brooks had already finished surgery and was awake. The moment he saw me, he sent the glass he was holding crashing to the floor, his handsome face flushing a furious red. “Who the hell called her? Didn’t I almost die, and you want to finish the job by bringing this plague into my room?” I stopped dead in my tracks, the polite smile I’d worn for the nurses dissolving slowly. Something was terribly wrong. Brooks would never speak to me like that. For the last year, I’d completely tamed him; he hadn’t raised his voice at me once. Yet, this state felt hauntingly familiar. It was like… Aside from the furious Brooks in the bed, his childhood crush, Amelia, and his assistant, Mark, were also in the room. Amelia’s expression was strangely guarded as she asked Brooks a question that made my mind seize up. “Brooks, you don’t remember Riley?” Brooks scoffed. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t forget that woman even if she turned to ash!” He turned to look at me, his striking eyes, usually alight with affection, now filled with nothing but ice. “She is the one person I have always despised.” Mark’s face went white. He looked desperate enough to physically clamp his CEO’s mouth shut. He quickly rushed to explain to me first. “Please, Ms. Riley, don’t be angry! Mr. Brooks suffered a head injury and lost the last six years of his memory. He doesn’t mean any of it!” Then, tearfully, he pleaded with Brooks. “Sir, you absolutely cannot say that! Ms. Riley is your wife! Before the crash, you couldn’t bear to even speak loudly to her! Don’t be impulsive!” “Bullshit!” Brooks bit out, completely unconvinced. “If I was going to marry anyone, it would be Amelia. Who the hell is Riley? Why would I ever be with such bad luck?” Amelia hid a flicker of victory in her eyes, moving quickly to loop her arm through Brooks’s, stroking his hair to calm him, shooting a smug, challenging glance my way. I watched the entire scene without expression, the warmth in my chest dropping degree by degree until it reached freezing point. After a long silence, I spoke just one sentence. “Brooks, if you shut up right now and come home with me, I will pretend none of this happened.” Brooks laughed. Then, he swept the bouquet of fresh-cut roses I’d brought him onto the floor. The vibrant red petals and broken stems scattered everywhere. He stared into my eyes, speaking each word with cold precision. “I won’t tell you to get out twice.” The hospital room went silent. The last flicker of hope in my heart was extinguished, replaced by a cold reality. A car crash had turned Brooks back into the rebellious heir who was obsessed with his first love and despised me above all others. I had spent six years teaching him manners, teaching him the right way to love, teaching him how to manage a marriage. Now, all of it was back to square one. I knew I could train the mad dog again. But looking into his eyes, flat and cold with absolute aversion, I suddenly felt an overwhelming weariness. One session of obedience school was enough for any lifetime. I nodded. “Fine. As you wish.” Then I turned and walked toward the door. Brooks hadn’t expected to get rid of me so easily. In his memory, I was the loud, obnoxious rival who never backed down from a fight. My sudden, quiet acceptance of defeat left him strangely off-balance, like a punch thrown that lands in cotton. He chased my retreating back with a taunt, trying to salvage his pride. “Hmph. What a performance. Good riddance. Did you think I’d chase you and apologize? Funny.” Mark, the assistant, who knew his boss would regret these words until the day he died, nearly fainted, muttering, We’re ruined, we’re ruined. After the hospital room door clicked shut, Brooks frowned and rubbed his chest. He didn’t know if it was the accident, but his heart felt terribly uneasy. “Brooks! What’s wrong?” Amelia, who’d been beaming once I left, was startled to see two lines of tears streaming down Brooks’s face. “Why are you crying? Are you in pain?” Brooks froze, wiped his face, and felt the wetness on his hand. Strange… He wasn’t sad at all. But why wouldn’t the tears stop? The weather outside was overcast and gray. It mirrored my mood perfectly. Brooks and I had been classmates through high school and college. We fought for first place, for class president, for contest spots. We were legendary rivals—every day, we’d spend as much time scheming against each other as we did studying. I once had him sit on gum; he once got soaked by a bucket of water over his door. He terrified me with his pet hamster, and I sicced a huge, gentle mutt on him that chased him eight times around the track. The pure hatred finally morphed into pure love during a sudden power outage in the library while we were working on our college dissertations. Brooks was the only son of the extremely wealthy Sterling family. He was smart and privileged. I was a scholarship kid from a small town, a small-time grinder. I spent six years pouring all my energy into transforming him from an arrogant wild dog into a docile sheep. Any investment requires input. I didn’t regret the time I spent on Brooks. I just never expected a simple car accident—one that wasn’t even life-threatening—could erase all my effort overnight. Perhaps this was the universe handing me a chance to cut off the love, harden my heart, and focus entirely on my own career. My phone rang. It was Graham, Brooks’s best friend. “Riley, I heard about Brooks. Are… are you okay?” Graham, Brooks, and I went to the same school. During the early days of our campus romance, the three of us hung out constantly. He knew exactly how much Brooks had changed. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Focus on your art exhibition.” Graham had chosen not to inherit his family business, instead becoming a celebrated painter. He was currently preparing for a major show. The line was quiet for a moment. Then, he asked a strange question. “Are you two… going to get a divorce?” I blinked, staring at the overcast sky for a long time before I answered. “It’s the one thing he’s ever truly wanted from me.” After hanging up, I returned to the house Brooks and I had shared. Unwashed dishes were on the table, and half-finished puzzle pieces lay on the floor. Every corner of the house held the trace of our life together. After just one trip outside, everything had changed. What was most heartbreaking was that Brooks was still Brooks. He remembered everyone else, everything else. He had just forgotten the single fact that he loved me. When Graham asked if we would divorce, I already knew the answer. Six years ago, Brooks hated me so much he could barely look at me without feeling sick. He couldn’t stand breathing the same air. How could that version of him tolerate living with me now? The heater was set high, but my hands and feet were ice-cold. The door suddenly opened behind me. I turned to see Brooks, his head wrapped in bandages, Mark right behind him. Amelia was also there, clinging to Brooks’s arm like a proud little fiancée. On the wall not far from them hung Brooks’s and my wedding photo. Pre-amnesia Brooks would never have allowed this. He knew how jealous and possessive I was; to avoid being thrown out, he wouldn’t even let a female mosquito near him. But the current Brooks was clearly enjoying Amelia’s closeness. Of course—six years ago, he was madly in love with Amelia, willing to be led on like a puppy. He was infamous on campus for being her pathetic admirer. Back then, Amelia took his love for granted. It was only after he married me that she had a change of heart, texting him on our wedding night to say she would wait for him forever. It seemed she had gotten her wish. Brooks scowled the moment he saw me. He snorted, sweeping his gaze around the living room, his expression turning sour. “Seriously? This little box is where we live? It’s barely bigger than my parents’ linen closet. Did the Sterling fortune collapse or something? Why am I living in this dump?” Mark quickly explained. “Ms. Riley preferred a cozy, unpretentious house. You chose it together, Sir! You were ecstatic the day you moved in, saying you loved it.” Brooks choked on his words. He glared at Mark, threatening him darkly. “Next time, stick to explaining the situation. No unnecessary commentary.” Amelia giggled. “It’s understandable that people from less refined backgrounds have limited taste. Brooks only tolerated it out of the kindness of his heart. She’s too coarse and low-class to think about anyone else. Brooks, you must have suffered for six years. How can anyone breathe in a place this small? You can barely stretch your legs!” She shook his arm. “Brooks, go pack your things. We’re moving you out today. I’ve had my maid prepare the largest guest suite at my villa. You can stay with me.” Brooks was about to agree, but Mark frantically shook his head like a bobblehead, desperately signaling caution. “Mr. Brooks, absolutely not! You are a married man! You can’t impose on Ms. Amelia! It’s completely inappropriate, Sir. If you find this house too small, why not stay at your family’s estate for a few days?” “That works, too—” I cut Brooks off. “Mark, you don’t need to say another word. I don’t care. He can live wherever he wants. This house is in my name, and I have the right to remove people I despise.” I then pointed Brooks toward the front door, my gaze fixed on his widened eyes. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get out. This is my house, and you are not welcome here.” Brooks genuinely wanted to leave. Just looking at me irritated him. But hearing that? That made him want to stay. Leaving now would be admitting defeat. He wasn’t going to let me win. She doesn’t want to see me? Fine, I’ll stay and make her miserable! “Ha! We aren’t divorced yet. What right do you have to kick me out? So what if the house bought during the marriage is in your name? It’s communal property!” He shook off Amelia’s arm. “Amelia, be a good girl and go home. I’ll deal with this mess and come find you later.” Amelia bit her lip, trying to argue, but Mark was relentless, repeating, “Ms. Amelia, let me drive you home,” which finally drove her mad. She left, looking back at the house every three steps. After the sequence of opening and closing doors, only Brooks and I remained in the living room. He looked at the dinner table piled with leftovers, grimaced in disgust, and then slumped onto the sofa like a feudal lord. “I’m hungry. Clean this up first, and then go cook for me.” I rolled my eyes. Pretending I hadn’t heard him, I sat down on the rug and resumed working on the jigsaw puzzle. This was the last memory I shared with the real Brooks. Finishing it would be the final punctuation mark on this story of unrequited love. The man on the sofa erupted. “Hey! I’m talking to you! Are you deaf?” I didn’t even look up. “If you’re hungry, clean it up and cook it yourself. Stop bossing me around.” “Aren’t you my wife? Why won’t you cook for me? You must do it every day, but suddenly you can’t today? Are you doing this on purpose? Is your hand broken?” My puzzle-assembling paused. I looked up to meet his gaze. A messy palette of negative emotions—disgust, impatience, pure frustration. How familiar. This was exactly the attitude of the six-years-ago Brooks Sterling—spoiled, clueless, and convinced everyone was put on Earth to serve him. I guess after the bitter, you don’t always get the sweet. Sometimes you get something rancid and sour. If this were the past, I would have lectured him, set a new rule, or slapped him across the face. But now, it all felt pointless. “Fine. I’ll cook.” I put the puzzle down and walked into the kitchen. In my peripheral vision, Brooks looked smug and triumphant, thinking he’d won another round and pushed me back down where he thought I belonged. He couldn’t see the placid indifference on my face. He couldn’t feel the death of my love. Brooks didn’t need to try so hard to drive me away. Once the puzzle was finished, I would have left on my own. It had been a while since I’d cooked, and my skills were rusty. When I brought the plates to Brooks, he complained about every single one. “Too much oil on that. That’s cut too small. All the scallions are burnt. Don’t you know you’re supposed to sauté the meat before you season?” He stopped short, looking confused. He didn’t understand how he knew any of that. I knew, of course. For the last few years, he was the one who did the cooking. He went from nearly blowing up the kitchen to cooking like a professional chef, all within six years. He’d study new recipes with excitement, swearing that he’d cook every delicious meal in the world for me, even if he burned himself or cut his fingers. I didn’t say any of this. Brooks wouldn’t believe it anyway. It would be harder than dying to convince him that he ever loved me. “I know!” Brooks suddenly threw his chopsticks down. “Amelia loves gourmet food. I must have learned how to cook so I could make things for her! That makes sense. My skills must be amazing now!” He looked down at the unappetizing dishes I’d made, his forehead wrinkling in disgust. “How did you even make this garbage? It’s repulsive. Honestly, trash belongs in the trash.” With that, Brooks grabbed the wastebasket and scraped all three dishes—the food I’d spent an hour making—into the garbage. He hadn’t even taken a single bite. “Riley, you are truly wicked. You deliberately hid the fact that I’m a great cook now, then made this pig slop just to disgust me, didn’t you? You just wait. You mess with me, and you’ll find out the consequences!” He gave me a menacing look and went into the kitchen to cook for himself. I looked at the food in the trash. I remembered how the pre-amnesia Brooks had pleaded with me for months to cook him just one meal. The thing he once begged for was now tossed out like slop. I suddenly found the scene ridiculous. Brooks, if you ever get your memory back. Will you feel even a sliver of regret for throwing away the last meal I ever cooked for you? For an entire week, Brooks tried every trick to make me lose my temper. Amelia dropped by every few days, and together they treated our house like a revenge mission, turning it into a complete wreck. They shredded the leather sofa, poured paint into the fish tank, drew graffiti all over the walls, and used our wedding photo as a giant doodle pad. In Brooks’s mind, he truly was retaliating against an enemy. He even took the ceramic gift I’d made for him and personally smashed it, letting Amelia pour red paint over the fragments. Graham happened to drop by that day to check on Brooks and was horrified. Standing in the ruined house, he was silent for a long time before sending me a text. [Riley, you should come stay with me for a bit. Brooks… he’s not just lost his memory, he’s lost his mind.] Even an outsider like Graham knew how much Brooks treasured that gift, keeping it spotlessly clean and refusing to let anyone touch it. I thanked him but declined. I genuinely didn’t care anymore. Once I left, nothing in this house would matter to me. The only thing I protected was the half-finished puzzle on the floor. Whenever Brooks and Amelia were going insane around the house, I would quietly sit there and work on the puzzle. Only one corner remained blank. Brooks found my behavior hilarious. He and Amelia mocked me, saying I was crazy to use this childish thing to pine over the pathetic man who married me. Brooks, they laughed, hated puzzles, and had only pretended to work on it with me because I forced him. He would only ever change himself for the person he truly loved. And Brooks Sterling could never love Riley. What Brooks didn’t notice was that every time he made that cruel joke, Amelia would nervously avert her gaze, falling silent as a mute. I thought Brooks’s vengeance would stop there. I underestimated the depth of his six-years-ago hatred. I finally understood what he meant when he said, You just wait. The next day, I arrived at the office to news that our most important long-term partner was terminating the contract. For two years, our relationship had been stable and problem-free. I went pale and immediately ordered an investigation. It was only when I saw Brooks’s signature on the termination contract that a loud ringing started in my ears, and my entire body went cold. This company was one that Brooks and I had built from the ground up. It was meant to prove to the Sterling family that we could succeed without their support. Now, because of Brooks’s childish act of revenge—forcing the termination with our biggest partner, which incurred massive breach of contract fees—the company would be blacklisted within the industry and suffer unprecedented damage. Years of effort, blood, sweat, and tears—all poured down the drain. All because of Brooks Sterling’s signature. The heir had the powerful Sterling family backing him. The small-town grinder had no one. I don’t remember how I got home. I only remember seeing Amelia sitting on the slashed sofa, her foot resting on my wedding photo, her hand sporting the diamond wedding ring I’d bought, waving it at me triumphantly. My blood rushed to my head, and I charged forward, slapping her across the face. “CRACK!” The loud sound echoed throughout the living room. Brooks saw Amelia’s instantly swollen face and exploded in rage. “Riley! You’re out of your mind! You dare hit Amelia? You’re asking for it!” He lunged forward, kicking the jigsaw puzzle I was protecting. The force of his action even stunned Amelia. As if in slow motion, the puzzle exploded in the air. The pieces scattered across the floor like confetti, settling in the ruined house as if mourning its death. At the exact same moment, Brooks’s heart felt as though it had been crushed. The agony stole his breath, leaving him nauseous. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He bent over, gasping for air. The doctor had explicitly said the post-accident syndrome would not cause cardiac pain. So what was happening to him? He should have felt overjoyed at avenging himself against his enemy. Why did his heart feel like it was breaking? As he bent over, Brooks suddenly saw the jade bangle on my wrist. He remembered it. It was his grandmother’s, and he was supposed to give it to the woman he loved. And then. I spoke. “Brooks, let’s get a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387471”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The woman I’d been secretly crushing on for a decade suddenly texted me. “Dean, I’m drunk. Can you take me home?” I rushed out of my condo and drove across Bayport, following the pinpoint location she’d sent. But the man who opened the door to the private room wasn’t the one I was supposed to see. It was Brock Harrington. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Sullivan. Captain Perfect,” Brock sneered, leaning against the door frame of the exclusive club lounge. “After all these years, are you still hung up on Anya?” Anya Reid, my high school goddess, was draped over his shoulder, her eyes unfocused and heavy. “Too bad, man. You’re too late,” Brock purred, his voice thick with entitled arrogance. “I’m about to close the deal on your little high school fantasy right now.” I stood there, feeling like a punchline, as laughter and snickers erupted from the dimly lit room behind him. “Oh, that’s right,” Brock said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “Tonight is the official engagement party for the future CEO of Harrington Group, yours truly, and the beautiful former Northwood High Prom Queen. Sullivan, aren’t you going to come in and have a celebratory drink?” I glanced past him to where Anya was practically folding into his expensive suit. I gave a slight, dismissive shake of my head. “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to show up the groom.” 1 For three long years of high school, I was practically a punching bag. As soon as class ended, Brock would order me to run out and buy him cigarettes. If I didn’t, I’d be paying for it later. He was the son of the Chairman, which in a place like Bayport meant his word was law, and he had a whole entourage of sycophants who lived to see me tormented. I can still taste the bitterness of my senior year, right after spring break, when Brock planted something on me, lied, and got me expelled. It cost me the last semester and, crucially, my SATs. I missed my chance at a normal life, all because of his petty spite. Ten years later, and here he was, still not finished. “Sullivan, are you completely insane? Anya Reid was the school’s golden girl. What makes you think she’d ever look at a loser like you?” This was Toby Jenkins, our former gym-class captain, now, inexplicably, the VP of Development at Harrington Corp. He must have spent the last decade polishing Brock’s shoes. “Besides, the future Mrs. Harrington is marrying into real power. Brock is practically Bayport royalty. What are you, a guy who couldn’t even get a high school diploma? Where does that confidence come from?” I’ve never liked pointless arguments. I turned to walk away, but a circle of my former classmates immediately blocked my path. “Hey, being expelled isn’t a crime, Dean,” one of them chirped. “Don’t rush off. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Stay and celebrate with us, have a drink.” Toby quickly chimed in, “Yeah, what’s the rush? Don’t you want to catch up with old friends?” I fought to keep my fury contained, my eyes locked on Toby. “No, I don’t. I came because Anya texted me. From now on, don’t include me in your irrelevant gatherings.” “Hold it right there!” Brock, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sofa, suddenly straightened up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sullivan?” he demanded. “You think you’re too good to drink with us?” That was all the cue the peanut gallery needed. “Ooh, the expelled high school dropout looks down on us?” “Yeah, your straight-A grades didn’t do you any good, did they? Still couldn’t get a diploma!” My attempt to leave quietly had turned into a public spectacle, all because of one line from Brock. The old adage felt painfully true: birds of a feather. “Yes, fine. I admit you all have better lives than me. Happy?” I tried to turn once more, but a familiar silhouette was suddenly in front of me. “Dean. Long time. Are you… doing okay now?” Seeing my former crush again hit me with a complicated wave of emotions. Back in high school, ninety percent of the guys at Northwood had loved Anya Reid. I was the other ten who just wanted to watch her be happy. “Captain Sullivan, why aren’t you talking? Don’t you remember me?” She reached out a hand to wave it in front of my face. That’s when I saw the heavy, glittering engagement ring on her ring finger. I took a deep breath, forcing a slight smile. “I’m doing great,” I said. “You, on the other hand… why didn’t you send an invite before deciding to get married?” Anya’s gaze immediately clouded over. “My grandmother needs a major surgery. It’s a massive expense, and Brock… he said he’d handle it.” Her voice broke at the end. “I see,” I murmured. The heavy weight in my chest, the one that feared she might have actually chosen him, finally eased. “If you’d just sent me a text before tonight, Anya, maybe I could have helped.” The second the words left my mouth, a loud, sharp sound split the silence. CRACK! Five vivid, red finger marks appeared instantly on Anya’s pale cheek. “You bitch! Who the hell gave you permission to talk to this loser?” Brock’s bellow silenced the room completely. He swaggered over, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth as he held a champagne flute. “I’m in a foul mood now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You know what you need to do to fix it.” He grabbed the fabric of her silk dress, and with a sickening tear, began to rip it away. “Brock, please! Not here, there are too many people!” Anya struggled to pull away from his grip, but the arrogant Young Harrington wasn’t about to be denied. “Still playing the innocent goddess, huh? Take the damn clothes off, right now!” he hissed. “If you don’t service me properly tonight, your grandmother, waiting for surgery in that hospital, might just find her case… dropped.” Anya buried her face in her hands, silent tears streaming out. As she began to sink to her knees, I pushed myself forward. “Stop it!” 2 A collective gasp went around the room. No one, not a single person, expected the high school punching bag, the quiet kid they’d bullied for three years, to publicly challenge the privileged son of the Chairman. “A hero, are we, Sullivan?” Brock clapped his hands mockingly, and the private room door burst open again. A dozen enormous, black-suited security guards instantly flooded the space. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think there was anyone left in Bayport who had the audacity to lecture me.” My hands curled into fists, but my voice was cold and level. “Brock, for the sake of old times, I’m warning you. Don’t push this too far.” Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. “What? Did I hear that right? Captain Sullivan, are you… threatening me?” Anya, sensing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere, quickly stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Harrington, he absolutely didn’t mean that. Dean’s just… making a bad joke.” She turned to me, blinking frantically, trying to signal me to back down. “Dean, you know better than to talk to Mr. Harrington like that.” I knew she was trying to save me, but I was done taking cues from anyone in this room. “I’m not joking,” I stated, my gaze fixed on Brock. “I am warning him.” BANG! Brock smashed his champagne flute on the floor. “You son of a bitch, I called you ‘Captain’ out of courtesy, and now you think you’re actually important, is that it?” I was about to retort when Anya frantically pulled me aside. “Dean, I know you want to help, but his father is a massive figure here! The founder of the Harrington Group! If you cross him, you won’t even find a job in Bayport, let alone the city!” A mere billionaire can cost me my job? If I hadn’t been stone-cold sober, I’d have thought I was dreaming. Given my position, only a direct order from the highest levels of the Federal government could override my appointment. The Harrington fortune couldn’t even touch the lowest rung of my organization. I gently squeezed Anya’s hand, a silent signal not to worry, and turned back to Brock. “If you’re reacting this way because Ms. Reid spoke to me, then let me make something clear.” I paused, letting the silence expand. “I don’t approve of this engagement.” The room erupted. “Oh my God, has he lost his mind? He’s trying to steal Brock Harrington’s fiancée?” “It’s been ten years, and this guy is still acting like some kind of naïve jock with zero self-preservation.” “The Harringtons get whatever they want in this town! This idiot has no idea who he’s dealing with.” As the insults grew louder, Brock’s expression became smugly superior. “Drunk on cheap whiskey, are we, kid? Trying to be tough?” he challenged. “You’re a high school dropout. What exactly do you think you have to compete with me for anything, least of all a woman?” I ignored him, my attention fixed on Anya, who was still frozen in disbelief. “Tell me, Anya. Do you love him?” She instinctively shook her head, then immediately tried to correct herself. “Dean, I appreciate the thought, but I have to marry him. Otherwise, my grandmother’s surgery…” I gently wiped a tear from her cheek, my eyes unwavering. “Forget all that. You only need to answer one question.” “Are you coming with me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Dean, I want to go with you, but…” I cut her off. “Ms. Reid, the world doesn’t deal in ‘buts.’ You told me once, back in AP History, to stop overthinking and act. Did you forget?” Anya bit her lip hard. Then, in one decisive movement, she ripped the engagement ring from her finger and dropped it onto the carpet. At that moment, a furious roar came from behind me. “You bitch! Are you sure about this?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387470”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day after the divorce was finalized, Seraphina Wynn married the junior mentee who’d just graduated college. I didn’t chase them. Not this time. Everyone in Boston’s finance circles was privately speculating on what my angle was. They couldn’t believe I—the man who had, until recently, been driven to madness over her—would simply walk away. Five years ago, when I first discovered Sera’s affair, I had spiraled, desperate to hold on to her. I’d ended up arrested, sacrificing my stellar career as one of the Street’s youngest rising stars. She had remained unmoved. Cold. Now, I was running a gourmet sliders stand near the main campus, a fixture on the college-town nightlife strip. A customer stood by the stand for a long time, silent as a statue. I took off my gloves, exposing the network of faint burn scars on the back of my hand, and nodded a small greeting. Long time, no see, Ms. Wynn. “Care for some artisan grilled cheese sliders?” 1 Sera finally spoke, her voice low and carrying a hint of barely suppressed gravel. “I thought you would pretend you hadn’t seen me.” I pulled my lips into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “No need for pretense.” “Why are you selling street food here?” “To live.” I answered with blunt clarity. “A man has to find a way to survive.” I’d done everything to survive these past five years. Even after she used her influence to blacklist me from nearly every firm in the financial district, I managed to scrape by on odd jobs and freelance consulting. I’d made it through. She drew a quiet breath, her gaze lingering on my working hands. “You used to burn water trying to boil pasta. Now you’re running a food stand…” Just then, evening classes let out, and a wave of students poured into the street. A young man in a hoodie ran up, calling out a familiar greeting. “Cole! The usual, extra caramelized onions and that spicy aioli, please!” I acknowledged him, skillfully layering the ingredients. The hot sauce sizzled, and the aroma, rich with sharp cheese and beef, filled the air. Sera watched my practiced, fluid movements, a look of unfamiliar confusion in her eyes. The students were chattering amongst themselves, close and comfortable around the stand. “Cole, helping out Mrs. Rodriguez again tonight?” I nodded. I met Mrs. Rodriguez during a community service project; her husband passed away years ago, and she relied on this little stand to put her daughter through college. I’ve helped many people like her over the years. I hadn’t made much money, but I had definitely learned the harsh edges of real life. The customers began to queue up. In the surge of people, Sera was nudged toward the periphery. When it was time to pack up, I assumed she was long gone. I walked, as I usually did, into the familiar, old-school diner around the corner and ordered my go-to: the classic patty melt with a side of clam chowder. A low, familiar male voice, tight with suppressed emotion, sounded behind me. “Boss, I’ll have the same.” Sera sat down across from me. Out of habit, she took my silverware, ran it under the hot water from the thermos, and poured me a glass of hot tea. Only then did she hesitate before speaking. “How have you… been, these five years?” “Fine. Still breathing.” My tone was flat, revealing nothing. The diner was mostly filled with local students and residents. Many recognized Sera. “Ms. Wynn!” “Seraphina!” The greetings were constant. It was clear she was still riding high—powerful, successful, intimidating. In comparison, my apron-clad appearance certainly looked down-on-my-luck. “When did you get back to Boston?” “Last month.” She paused. “The day you took the photo for us.” I didn’t deny it. I hadn’t realized the world was so small. I’d only just returned when I ran into her, her new husband, and their daughter outside a kid’s park. I certainly hadn’t expected that the casual snapshot I took for them would be shared by her husband in their family group chat. That one picture was enough to send my former friends and associates into a frenzy, with some even taking bets on how long it would take for me to ‘break’ again. “Rhys didn’t mean to post that picture.” She said, “The gossip in the group—don’t let it get to you.” I shook my head. “I don’t have time for it.” She was silent for a moment, then lowered her voice. “If you’re having trouble, I can—” I cut her off. “Don’t bother. I’m fine.” It was the truth. Yet, Sera seemed convinced I was faking strength. Her brow furrowed, and her voice involuntarily rose. “Five years, Adrian! Why are you still so stubborn?” “Are you doing this to punish yourself, just to make me feel guilty?” Through the diner’s steamy air, I looked at the face before me—still beautiful, but now etched with the maturity of hard-won success. I could barely recall the cold, ruthless expression she wore five years ago when she slapped the divorce papers on the table. I shifted my gaze to the flashing neon outside the window. “I let go a long time ago.” “You…” The food arrived, interrupting Sera’s unfinished sentence. The owner, a kind man, chuckled as he looked at us. “Well, look at you two! Haven’t seen you in here together in ages, have I?” Sera’s body stiffened slightly. My expression was calm. “You must have the wrong people, sir.” “No way! You two were so sweet back then, I remember it—sickeningly sweet, every time you came in…” The owner scratched his head and muttered as he walked away. Sera pressed me. “Why deny it? This is exactly where we used to come.” I looked down, stirring the clam chowder. “Was it? It’s been too long. I don’t recall.” She abruptly stood up and walked to a display wall covered in old Polaroids and sticky notes. After searching for a moment, she cautiously pulled out a faded photo. “See? It’s still…” Her voice cut off, and she desperately tried to hide the picture. But I’d already seen it. In the photo, Sera was sitting on my left, affectionately draped over my shoulder. On my right, holding my arm tightly, smiling sweetly and leaning into me, was a clean-cut young man. Rhys Bennett. Her now-husband. A corner of the photo—slightly blurred, but the date was clear: six years ago today. 2 I was five years older than Sera. The year we met, I returned to my alma mater to speak at a finance forum as an honored alumnus. She was the student who asked the most incisive, challenging question from the audience. I remember her eyes—full of ambition and sharp brilliance. Even in her basic student clothing, her exceptional presence was undeniable. After the event, she boldly intercepted me. She said she’d studied every deal I’d ever managed; she called me her benchmark, the trajectory she was fighting for. Surrounded by admirers as I was, and jaded by the insincerity of the corporate world, her open worship and fiery gaze did cause a ripple in my long-dormant heart. But I kept my distance. Sera was too young; her passion felt like a temporary impulse. I underestimated her resolve. What followed was her almost reckless, all-in pursuit. Sera came from a modest background, yet she’d save her part-time earnings to buy me expensive concert tickets. She’d wait outside my office building until midnight just to drop off a late-night meal she’d made herself. No matter how many times I rejected her, she returned with more force. Until the day I was targeted by a project rival. Sera stepped in front of me, and her arm was badly cut—an injury that threatened to derail her crucial final internship. Furious and worried, I yelled at her, using the harshest words I had to chastise her recklessness. She just held my hand tighter, her eyes shining with frightening intensity. “The path I’ve chosen, Adrian Cole, I will finish, even if I have to crawl across the finish line.” “I love you. Even if you reject me a thousand times, I will never give up.” I eventually broke. I crumbled. I staked everything I had on that reckless, honest devotion. My parents vehemently disapproved. Friends warned me—the gap between us was too vast, our future too unstable. I had my own anxieties. But Sera used action to prove her determination. On her graduation day, she stood on the stage and announced to the entire faculty and student body that she would marry me. “Adrian,” she said. “I will spend my whole life proving to you that your choice was the right one.” After we married, I poured all my connections and resources into building her career, introducing her to the major players in the investment world. She proved to be a prodigy. In just a few years, she became a recognizable force, launching her own fund. Outwardly, she was the decisive Ms. Wynn, but at home, she was clingy and fiercely possessive. At Sera’s strong insistence, I gradually withdrew from the core, high-stakes finance work. I shifted my focus to running a charitable foundation and managing our family’s private assets, seeking to achieve a different kind of social value. It was during that time that I met Rhys Bennett. He was interning at a non-profit organization, liaising on a project. He came from a disadvantaged background but was relentlessly ambitious and had a disarmingly innocent smile. I admired his tenacity, providing him with guidance and opportunities. He was overwhelmingly grateful, calling me “Cole” and treating me like a revered older brother. Sera was initially cool toward him, even jealous that I was dedicating too much time to anyone outside of her orbit. That changed when I had Sera help place Rhys in an internship at her company, hoping to give him a better platform. After working closely with him, her opinion softened; she admitted he was a hard-working, thoughtful young man. For a time, the three of us often had dinner together. On weekends, we even took short trips. I never suspected that beneath this seemingly perfect harmony, a dangerous current was already moving. The truth broke on my thirty-second birthday. I ended an overseas trip early and came home. On the floor of the foyer, scattered among Sera’s silk scarf, was the designer tie I had given Rhys—now left behind. From the slightly ajar master bedroom door, I heard the sounds—low, ragged, and unrestrained. The world shattered the moment I pushed the door open. I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy glass vase from the console table—and hurled it. “Seraphina! Rhys is only twenty-two! How could you!” Rhys lifted his tear-streaked face from her shoulder. “Cole, I’m so sorry… We truly fell in love, I couldn’t help myself…” The pain choked the air from my lungs. “And me? What was I to you?” Sera tightly wrapped a blanket around Rhys. After the initial flash of panic, her face settled into a chilling calm, laced with a hint of… impatience. She deliberately slipped on her silk robe and walked up to me, lifting my chin with a cool finger. “You know Rhys is only twenty-two. The peak of youth. But look at you.” Her eyes critically scanned my face and body. She gave a small, cold laugh. “Haven’t you noticed you haven’t been able to satisfy me for a long time?” “When I go to events with you, people are always whispering, wondering if I’m just a trophy wife who rode your coattails.” I was shaking with rage, my nails digging deep crescents into my palms. “Seraphina, did the age gap appear just today?” “If you cared, why did you pursue me in the first place!” Sera’s smile vanished, replaced by an empty gaze. “Yes, you’re right. I’m the one who changed. Adrian, you’re too controlling. You have to dominate everything.” “Rhys is pure, soft, and he looks up to me. He needs me.” “Just like you were drawn to the young, conquest-driven woman I was back then.” Listening to her preposterous justification, I started to laugh, even as the tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. “Fine, fine… We’re getting a divorce!” She frowned, as if I’d said something ridiculous. “Divorce? I won’t agree to a divorce. Not right now.” “Consider it…” She paused, her tone laced with patronizing charity. “Consider it my way of repaying you for the opportunities you gave me back then.” 3 I couldn’t endure the humiliation. The day after I discovered their affair, I screenshotted some dubious financial correspondence and sent them to our core client group. It was quickly dismissed, but it caused a momentary panic. The next day, I dumped all of Rhys’s belongings out of the villa while Sera watched. “Get out.” Rhys clung to Sera’s sleeve, tears in his eyes. Sera merely gave me a cold look and made a phone call. Less than thirty minutes later, every card in my name was frozen. On the third day, I approached her company’s most important investor, hinting that her turbulent private life might compromise her fund’s reputation. That evening, Sera returned home smelling of expensive scotch. She dragged me into the study and forced me to sit in front of the computer. On the screen was the signed confirmation that the investor had increased their investment. “Adrian Cole, is that all you’ve got?” Sera was right. When it came to manipulating capital and people, her student had surpassed the master long ago. In a fit of rage, I gathered materials on some of her ethically questionable project maneuvers and filed an anonymous but detailed complaint with the relevant regulatory bodies. While I was at it, I went to the non-profit where Rhys was due to be promoted and gave his supervisor an ‘objective’ account of his character. The result? The private family foundation I managed was hit with an immediate audit, and I was given a travel ban. When I stormed into her office to confront her, she was feeding Rhys a piece of cake. “Stop this, Adrian.” She wiped a smear of frosting from Rhys’s mouth. “If you touch Rhys again, I can’t guarantee you’ll walk away from the trouble I’m about to drop on you.” In that moment, I felt a deep, crushing helplessness. I finally understood that in the high-stakes game of capital and power, the current Seraphina was leagues beyond me. “Cole?” A voice of feigned surprise yanked me back to the present. Rhys Bennett was standing beside the table. He was wearing an expensive, on-trend designer suit—polished, handsome, and clearly protected by an armor of money. “It really is you, Cole! I almost didn’t recognize you. I thought you were someone’s hired housekeeper.” I watched his performance in silence. “What are you doing these days? I heard you’re running a food stand?” He wore a mask of pity, but his eyes held clear schadenfreude. “You were the god of our finance world, Cole. How could you fall this far…” Sera frowned. “Rhys!” “Oh, I was just expressing concern,” he said, shaking her arm with a little-boy whine. “We’re old friends, aren’t we? What’s wrong with catching up?” I offered a chilling, mirthless smile. “The old friend who nearly had you indicted?” The temperature in the diner instantly plummeted. Five years ago, while Sera and I were locked in this exhaustive cycle of mutual torment, another devastating blow landed. My father, always healthy and active, had a sudden, fatal heart attack after being implicated in a failed investment project, leaving behind massive debt. I rushed back, grief-stricken, to find Sera tightly holding a trembling Rhys. She was comforting him. “Don’t be scared. It’s okay. Investments are risky; this isn’t your fault…” I learned that the project that had dragged my father into ruin—the one he’d poured his life savings into—was based on information Rhys had ‘casually’ passed along to him. Rhys had used my trust to gain my father’s ear, persuading him to take the plunge. My father was dead, crushed by debt, while Rhys stood there, playing the role of the innocent bystander. I collapsed, weeping, grabbing Rhys’s shoulders and shaking him. “Why! My father trusted you!” Sera forcefully pried my hands away, pulling Rhys behind her. “Adrian! Calm down! Rhys is a victim too! He just shared information out of good faith—your father made the final decision!” The tragedy was officially ruled as my father’s death by suicide due to financial distress. Rhys came to the funeral and wept with convincing sincerity. “I’m sorry, Cole. I truly had no idea…” I slapped him hard across the face, then lunged to grab him again. “My father was so good to you! Why did you ruin him!” Sera violently shoved me back. I stumbled, knocking over my father’s framed picture. The glass shattered across the floor. “Have you lost it, Adrian! Can’t you tell right from wrong anymore? Rhys was cheated too!” I felt cold, my heart turned to ash. “And my father? Did he deserve to die like that?” “Why does real sincerity always get trampled?” Sera, to prevent me from hurting Rhys, called the police. I was detained on charges of disturbing the peace and assault. The next time I saw her was in the holding cell. She brought the divorce agreement. “Adrian, sign this, and everything ends here.” My heart was dead wood. I scanned the agreement. “…You want me to assume all of my father’s debt? And forfeit all our joint assets?” Sera showed me photos of loan sharks vandalizing our villa, splashing paint on the walls, and sending death threats. “Your father’s failed investment—Rhys nearly had a breakdown from the guilt.” “This money will serve as compensation for his emotional distress, and… atonement for your father.” “When you get out…” She sighed, her voice laced with near-pity. “Find somewhere quiet, and live peacefully.” My tears were long exhausted. I simply stared at her, numb. In that instant, every memory of love, every vow, every act of support—it all twisted into the sharpest, most cynical betrayal, tearing my heart to shreds. I signed as she wished, inheriting a mountain of debt and leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back. 4 “We never imagined you’d end up… struggling this much.” Sera took a deep breath, pulled a checkbook from her wallet, and quickly wrote a number. “Take this. Consider it a little compensation from me. The pin hasn’t changed.” Rhys’s face momentarily flickered with displeasure, but he quickly forced a look of sympathy. “You truly don’t need to treat us like enemies, Cole.” “And you don’t have a Seraphina looking after you, like I do. A man your age, carrying debt, with no one to rely on—it must be so hard…” “I’m not alone.” I cut him off. I reached out and pushed the offered check away. As I adjusted my jacket sleeve, the subtle sparkle of a diamond ring on my left hand—my other ring finger—was momentarily visible. “I’m married. And I’m doing very well.” Both of them froze. Rhys reacted first, his smile turning subtly conspiratorial. “Oh, really? Congratulations, Cole.” His eyes darted up and down. “So, your current wife…” My phone conveniently buzzed with a string of texts from someone urging me to hurry home. I looked down, quickly replying, and answered with deliberate casualness. “A few years older than me, actually.” Rhys drew out the syllable. “Oooooh. I thought your type was always fixed, Cole. You know, young and bursting with life.” “Enough!” Sera’s face darkened. She looked at me with a mix of disappointment and anger. “Adrian Cole, do you really have to resort to this kind of self-sabotage?” “Marrying an older woman just to run a street stand and pay off debt for her?” “Is this the life you want? Have you forgotten you were the Adrian Cole who commanded the room on Wall Street?” I hit the send button on my text, then looked up, meeting her gaze. “Seraphina. You’re crossing a line.” She flinched. “I just… I don’t want you to live like this.” “Don’t bother.” I was unequivocal. “Because I have never wished either of you well.” Looking directly at them, I spoke slowly, distinctly. “I have never forgiven you.” “I just refuse to waste any more of my precious time and life tangling with two rotting people.” “I’ve paid my check. I’m leaving.” With that, I grabbed my bag and turned without hesitation. A muffled argument erupted behind me. “Seraphina, what was that? Are you going soft on him now that you see his pathetic life?” “Rhys, stop this! Don’t forget your place!” “My place? I’m your husband! Don’t forget you were the one who climbed into my bed first!” “Shut up! We’re going home!” I didn’t slow down, walking straight to the door. Time is the fairest judge. No one can permanently occupy the moral high ground. And when the velvet curtain is lifted, the sight of the decay beneath is the most repulsive of all. I had barely stepped out of the diner when hurried footsteps sounded behind me. Sera caught up and grabbed my wrist once more. “Adrian, listen to me…” Her breath was ragged. Her eyes, in the gathering dusk, were complex and unreadable. “Actually, after you left, I…” Before she could finish, a clear, high-pitched child’s voice chirped from behind her. “Dad!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387469”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My father had a custom pool built in our backyard, supposedly to help me conquer my fear of the water. But I was terrified of even dipping my toes in, so he never pushed it, letting me stay on the deck with a super-soaker while he swam laps. Then my little brother, Leo, was born, and he became the sun this entire household orbited around. The day everything changed, Leo was standing by the edge, his feet slipping on the wet tile. I instinctively reached out to grab him, but I was small and clumsy, and we both tumbled into the deep end. I fought to keep his head above the water. By the time Dad rushed over, all he saw was me shoving my brother’s head under. His eyes were blazing with a terrifying, primal fury. He grabbed the heavy-duty skimmer pole and brought it down on my hand with a sickening crack. “Killer! You tried to drown your brother!” He hauled Leo out, but he left me, the child who couldn’t swim, thrashing in the deep end. Then, he yanked the ladder out. “Stay in there and think about what you did! Maybe this will beat some sense into you!” They were too busy performing CPR on Leo, too frantic to look back at me, bobbing and struggling just a few feet away. Water burned my nostrils and lungs, but even in that crushing agony, the last thing I wondered was if they would still love me, once I was saved. 1 My body felt impossibly light. I was floating. I looked down and saw the small form—the one always dressed in ill-fitting, hand-me-down t-shirts—curled up at the bottom of the deep end. My hair fanned out like dark seaweed, obscuring the pale, tiny face. The motion-sensor lights in the backyard flickered, illuminating the scene. Outside, the siren’s red and blue strobed across the front of our suburban mansion. Medics rushed in with a stretcher. My mother, Vicky, her face tear-streaked and hysterical, clung to Leo’s hand. “Baby, don’t you dare scare Mommy! Please, don’t you dare!” My father, Richard, hovered over them, his face a mask of panicked concern. They rushed the stretcher out to the ambulance, their footsteps ragged and urgent. From start to finish, not one person glanced back at the backyard. The ambulance wailed into the night, carrying away all their hope and worry. The house sank back into a deathly silence. I floated above the pool, watching the water smooth out. When the last ripples vanished, the dark-blue water was like a massive, polished sapphire, perfectly concealing the horror beneath it. From the deck, the surface was flat as glass; there was no hint of the dead child at the bottom. After the ambulance left, my father strode back to the patio. He still had the broken skimmer pole clenched in his hand, his expression so dark it felt like the air itself was condensing around him. “You little sociopath! Get out here!” He stopped at the glass doors, his gaze sweeping the empty yard like a predator’s. I floated right in front of him, close enough for my spectral presence to brush his nose. I tried to whisper, “Dad,” but no sound came out. He couldn’t see me. His eyes passed over the pool’s tranquil surface, pausing for barely half a second before moving on. No waves, no splash. To him, that meant I had climbed out, and now I was running, hiding out of guilt. “Oh, you think you’re tough, now, do you?” He sneered, slamming the skimmer pole onto the cobblestone patio. The metal scraped against the stone, sending up a shower of sparks. “Tried to murder your brother, and now you want to play hide-and-seek? Grow up!” He stomped toward the utility shed, kicking the door panel hard. “Come out! Don’t think for a second I’ll let you off just because you’re hiding! You have a toxic heart! That’s your brother, and you attacked him!” “You always seemed so meek, but you’re just a poisonous, ungrateful brat!” Every word was a shard of glass, embedding itself into my dead body at the bottom of the pool. He had convicted me long ago. No trial, no evidence needed. If Leo cried, I was the sole culprit. The shed was empty, save for a few terrified cockroaches scurrying away. Not finding me only fueled his rage. He turned around, hands on his hips, his chest heaving violently. His eyes fell back on the pool. This time, he stared at the dark-blue water, and a flicker of pure disgust crossed his face. “Hiding? Fine. Let’s see how long you can hide.” He must have been convinced I was watching him from a corner, waiting for him to cool down. He stalked toward the pool’s control panel. There was a red button there. The switch for the automatic pool cover. It was usually only used to prevent leaves from falling in or when closing the pool for the winter. The cover was made of thick, heavy, canvas-like material. Once sealed, it could hold the weight of several grown men. I didn’t understand what he was doing. Not until his finger slammed down on that red button. “RUMBLE—” The roar of the motor starting up was jarring in the dead quiet of the night. The spool at the end of the pool began to turn, and the thick, opaque, dark-blue fabric began to roll out, like a massive mouth slowly swallowing the water’s surface. No! I shrieked soundlessly, trying desperately to pull his hand away. Dad, I’m right here, under the water! If you cover it, truly no one will ever find me! The canvas scraped along the rails, a nerve-jangling, grinding sound. Three feet, six feet, nine feet… The water, which had been gently glimmering, was slowly smothered by darkness. Richard stood by the switch, a look of vindictive satisfaction on his face. “Since you like hiding so much, don’t come out.” “That’ll stop you from running off and hurting someone else! Let’s see how long this little menace can stay hidden!” He thought that sealing the pool would prevent me from ever pushing Leo in again. He didn’t know he was sealing his own daughter inside her tomb. The motor whirred to a stop. Click. The lock engaged. Air-tight. The entire pool was now a flat expanse of dark-blue canvas, a colossal coffin lid. Richard turned toward the glass doors. Before going inside, he made a point of sliding the old-fashioned deadbolt home. The sound of the bolt locking was sharp and final. Through the glass, he glared at the empty patio, at the sealed pool. He yelled, his voice laced with venom: “You can feed the damn mosquitos out here! Think about your black heart!” “And no one is opening this door for you until morning!” With a sudden, violent movement, he yanked the heavy blackout curtains closed. The warm indoor light was completely cut off. The world outside dissolved into a perfect, impenetrable blackness.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387468”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The fifth time I received an intimate video sent to me by Owen’s executive assistant—his little bit on the side—a profound weariness just washed over me. I forwarded it to Owen. My text: This posture looks physically uncomfortable for the woman. Owen sent a flurry of voice notes and a wire transfer of ten thousand dollars almost instantly. “Willow, she’s just a kid who doesn’t know any better. I’ll make sure she’s more careful next time.” Next time? There wouldn’t be a next time. After all, I was going to die very soon. I accepted the transfer and booked an extreme travel package to the Arctic Circle. Counting the accumulated payments Owen had sent over the years to apologize for his secretary’s “mistakes,” I had just enough to spend the rest of my dwindling life in the Far North. 1 Owen didn’t get home until the third day. When he walked in, I was sitting on the hardwood floor, surrounded by the debris of ripped-open cardboard boxes. He raised an eyebrow at the collection of gear piled around me—tents, high-altitude oxygen tanks, and mountaineering boots. “Going on a hike?” I didn’t look up, replying casually. “Mmhmm. Thought I’d take a trip.” Owen looked genuinely surprised. In his mind, I was the woman with no life of her own. I never went out, never socialized. The thing I loved doing most was staring at my phone, compulsively checking his location and monitoring his social media footprint. “Good,” he said, nodding as he walked further into the house, eyes still glued to his phone. “Good for you. Get out there and clear your head.” The framed, brightly lit cancer diagnosis report was sitting on the hall table, but he walked right past it without a glance. Then again, why would he look? Two weeks ago, when my nosebleeds started, he told me to drink more water. A week and a half ago, when my hair began falling out in clumps and my complexion had turned the color of parchment, he asked if I was catching a cold and suggested I call an Uber to the clinic. A week ago, I passed out in the hallway. In the last fragmented moment of consciousness, I managed to dial his number—my emergency contact. His voice, tired and exasperated, came through the phone. “Willow, do you have nothing better to do than fake an illness? I’m busy. Stop bothering me.” The call disconnected, but not before I heard Reese’s syrupy, playful whisper: “Tell me, Owen, am I better than she is? Say it…” Just as I finished packing up the shipping material, Owen walked back out of the bedroom, a look of sudden remorse on his face. “Willow, listen. I’ve got a massive deal that just came up this month. I won’t be able to come with you on your trip…” His voice trailed off when he finally noticed the one-person nature of the entire expedition kit. Owen froze, his voice cracking with shock. “You’re… going alone?” “Of course,” I said, giving him a sincere nod. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I should find something to do with myself.” He looked like I’d just punched him in the throat. The shock quickly morphed into a furious annoyance. “What is with the attitude? Why are you being so deliberately cryptic? I already apologized, didn’t I?” The apology he referred to was the ten thousand dollars. He used to buy me designer bags or diamond necklaces whenever his assistant caused a scene. Eventually, he couldn’t even be bothered with the shopping; he just wired the money for me to buy my own silence. If I really thought about it, this was a profitable exchange. Getting to escape him in the last days of my life, doing what I wanted, and having enough money to fund it all. It was a steal. I smiled, a genuine, easy smile I hadn’t worn in years. “Don’t worry,” I said honestly. “I won’t bring it up again.” 2 Owen’s expression didn’t soften; it grew darker, more ominous. He gritted out a terse, “Whatever,” and stormed into the master bedroom. The slam of the door vibrated through the entire house. A second later, I was on my knees. Blood poured from my nose, hitting the hardwood floor and blooming into a dark, vivid flower. I felt a strange, detached annoyance. Will I be too pasty and bruised to be photogenic by the time I get to the Arctic? Carrying that absurd thought, I gathered my gear and went to the guest room. The chemotherapy had left a searing, relentless pain across my body. I slept poorly. I dreamed of Reese sending me photos of her and Owen, and in the dream, I watched the videos over and over again like a form of self-inflicted torture. I watched the man I loved on top of another woman. I listened to them exchange sickeningly sweet nothings and vulgar private jokes. I watched the mole on Owen’s shoulder—the one I used to trace—tremble slightly in the dim light. I cried and laughed like a hysteric, then smashed everything in the house like a madwoman. I grabbed Owen’s collar, weeping. “Why?” He didn’t answer. He just pulled my hands away and asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted his love. Owen’s face was etched with weary frustration. “I do love you, Willow.” I shook my head, tears streaming. “I want you to love only me.” He sighed, a painful, bitter sound. “Don’t be greedy, Willow.” He was right. I was terribly greedy. I married the wealthy Owen with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I dared to demand all his love, his focus, his soul. Maybe that’s why fate was punishing me, leaving me less than a month to live. A sharp jolt of pain woke me up. My body was covered in a thousand pinpricks of fire. A chilling gaze fixed on me. Owen was leaning against the guest room doorframe, looking down. Half-awake, I had a brief, comforting flash of memory: years ago, when I was sick, he’d stood guard at my door all night long. He’d helped me put on a jacket later, sighing, “Your health is terrible. You need to eat more. I’m looking up some of those nutrition plans they talk about online…” Owen’s cold voice cut through the memory, dragging me back to the present. “Do you know what time it is?” A sudden chill made me shiver, clearing my mind completely. “Mr. Song, breakfast is ready.” A bright, chirpy voice followed. I looked up and saw Reese step out from behind Owen. She was resting her hand casually on his shoulder, giving me a soft, pitying smile. “Mrs. Song, I made yours too. I just hope it’s to your liking.” I shook my head, politely declining. It didn’t matter if it was to my liking. I hadn’t been able to keep anything down for two weeks. As I got ready to leave for the pharmacy, I saw Reese put a perfect, sunny-side-up egg onto Owen’s plate. The familiar sting of the gesture—an action that once would have sent me into a full-blown hysterical breakdown—still made my heart clench with a dull ache. But thankfully, none of this will concern me soon. 3 After my tests and picking up my medication, I stopped at a law firm. I consulted with a lawyer and had him draft a settlement agreement. As I left the office, a friend request popped up on my phone from someone named Delilah—a member of my Arctic travel group. She’d seen my IP address was local and asked if we could meet up beforehand. I agreed and sent her my location. Delilah was a burst of sunshine, a young, intensely lively girl. She talked my ear off, sharing funny stories and showing me photos of the magnificent places she’d visited. I felt a sudden, sharp envy. Envy of her youth, of her solitude, and of the vast, open future she had, filled with yet-to-be-seen landscapes. My own future was a narrow sliver of time. My past, save for the consuming love I had for Owen, was utterly empty. I let out a long, quiet breath. We talked until late into the night, sitting in a park, enjoying the warm summer breeze. She looked at me earnestly. “Willow, why did you suddenly decide on the Arctic?” I smiled. “Because I’m sick. I’m going to die soon.” Delilah’s smile dissolved instantly. She looked stricken. “I’m so sorry…” I waved it off. She was silent for a long moment, then cautiously gestured to my ring finger. “Will your family be okay with you going somewhere so remote alone?” “I don’t have a family.” “My parents died a long time ago.” She stared at the diamond on my left hand, then back at me, clearly unsure what to say. I smiled, pulled the wedding band from my finger, and tossed it into the nearest public trash can. “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.” Delilah didn’t know what to do, so after a moment of silence, she just wrapped me in a tight hug. “You have to be happy, Willow.” I nodded. I would be happy. I was walking away from a toxic relationship and a corrupted home. For the few days left to me, I had nothing to worry about. My only task was to figure out how to please myself. I was already happy. We talked until three in the morning before she insisted, citing my fragile health, that she take me home. I was surprised when I pushed the door open. The living room lights were on. Owen, who always went to bed at twelve on the dot, was sitting on the sofa. He saw me and shot to his feet, his face thunderous. He immediately cornered me. “Why weren’t you answering my texts?!” I was momentarily stunned. I took out my phone. He hadn’t just texted; he had called multiple times. I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Delilah that I hadn’t even noticed. He stood up and strode toward me. “Where have you been? Why are you just getting home now?” The intense, high-energy conversation had exhausted me, and I was suddenly hit by overwhelming fatigue. I ignored him and started walking toward the guest room. He yanked my wrist. Owen’s voice went up an octave. “Willow, I’m talking to you!” I turned to face him, looking up at the man whose face was etched with raw, sudden anxiety. I calmly peeled his fingers off my wrist. “Since you made it clear you don’t want me asking about your life, you don’t get to ask about mine.” Without giving him a chance to respond to his rapidly changing expression, I went into the guest room and collapsed into sleep. 4 Thanks to the drugs, I slept until late the next afternoon. When I woke up, Owen was standing by the bed. He was watching me. “You look thinner,” he said abruptly. Chemotherapy, medication, and a body that was rapidly failing—I hadn’t managed a decent meal in weeks. I pushed myself up to sit against the headboard. Owen suddenly held out a thick jacket. I looked at him, confused. He frowned. “You didn’t forget what day it is, did you?” I truly couldn’t remember. He looked annoyed. “Even I remembered it’s our anniversary. You slept until now. When did you start sleeping in so late?” I frowned back. Why was Owen so easily agitated these last two days? He took my hand and pulled me toward the door, heading for the most exclusive, Michelin-starred spot downtown. I had to stop him mid-drive to detour to the law firm to pick up the final divorce papers. When we arrived at the restaurant, the maître d’ immediately recognized Owen. “Mr. Song, your usual private table is ready.” The man’s eyes flickered to me, a flash of surprise in them. After all, the woman who usually joined Owen for late-night trysts in that very place was his executive assistant. Owen awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. I didn’t say anything. I simply took the divorce papers and a pen out of my bag and handed them across the table. He started to flip the pages, then paused, a strange look of realization crossing his face as he looked at my bare ring finger. Something was missing. He was distracted. He flipped to the signature page of the agreement, signing it without even glancing at the financial terms. “I’ve thought about it,” he said, sliding the papers back to me. “The Arctic is too dangerous. I’ll come with you…” Boom. Boom. Boom. Fireworks exploded in the sky above the city. I looked up suddenly. A continuous, brilliant chain of fireworks bloomed, gradually forming two names spelled out in light, connected and intertwined: OWEN and WILLOW. Owen watched me carefully, his eyes searching mine. “Do you like it?” I couldn’t help the slow smile that curved my lips. I loved fireworks. I loved the vibrant colors, the celebratory sound, the simple, dramatic romance of it all. It would be better, of course, if Owen’s name could just be removed. My smile seemed to mesmerize him for a moment. He smiled back, taking out a small, exquisite gift box. “Happy Anniversary, Willow. From now on, I’ll be here for every single one.” “Open the gift.” “No need,” I said, holding up the signed divorce papers. I was still smiling. “I’ve already received the best gift I could ask for.” “After all, I really don’t want to be called Mrs. Owen after I’m dead.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387467”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

This was supposed to be our wedding condo, yet here we were, finalizing the designs based on the preferences of my fiancé’s dead brother’s widow. On the walk-through, Dean frowned at the freshly applied slate-blue accent wall. “Have this wall repainted,” he instructed the foreman. “Switch it to a warm apricot. Willa always said warm colors make a place feel like home.” It was our home, a space meant for me, yet his entire aesthetic barometer was calibrated to another woman’s taste. But this time, I didn’t argue, I didn’t push back, and I didn’t offer a single, petulant complaint. I calmly folded the architectural drawings. My voice was level, devoid of any discernible emotion. “Fine. Whatever you want. After all, the woman who hosts the home in your heart has always been Willa.” His fingers, mid-buttoning his cuff, froze. He looked over, a flicker of genuine shock in his eyes. The condo was a catch—perfect location, lavish finishes. Too bad the woman moving in wouldn’t be me. 1 The drive back to the Walker estate was silent. Dean glanced at me several times in the rearview mirror, clearly wanting to speak, but ultimately saying nothing. I leaned my head against the window, watching the blur of sycamore trees rush by. My heart felt like a desolate, quiet field. Five years. That’s how long it took me to finally face one brutal truth: Dean had never truly loved me. I was just a stand-in, a shadow filling the space while Willa wasn’t there. When we pulled up to the house, Mrs. Walker was waiting, welcoming me with a wide smile. “Avery, dear, you’re here! Come wash up, I made your favorite—braised short ribs.” Mrs. Walker took my hand, her smile beaming. I offered a polite, detached, “Thank you, Mrs. Walker,” and followed her into the dining room. My gaze immediately landed on Willa, seated next to Dean’s chair at the head of the table. She was wearing a soft lavender slip dress, her hair loosely pinned up, and an ankle wrapped in a bandage. She was painstakingly attempting to shift her chair. “Willa,” I greeted her flatly, taking the seat opposite Dean. She looked up at me. A flash of something—was it triumph?—crossed her eyes before melting into a look of fragile vulnerability. “Avery, I hear you and Dean checked out the condo today? I’m so jealous,” she sighed, her voice soft. “When Rhys and I got married, we barely had a proper studio apartment…” At the mention of her deceased husband, her eyes immediately welled up. Dean set his fork down. His voice was gentle, laced with concern. “Willa, don’t think about those painful things. Your brother-in-law is here to take care of you now.” I looked down and sipped my water, a perfect outsider. A year ago, I would have slammed my hand on the table and demanded to know whose fiancé he actually was. Now, the desire to even fight was gone. Mrs. Walker quickly intervened. “Eat, everyone, the food is getting cold.” Dean carefully placed a piece of de-boned fish into Willa’s bowl. “You’re hurt, Willa. Fish is good for healing.” She offered a breathy thank you, her gaze flickering subtly toward my face. I took a bite of my short rib, chewing slowly. It tasted overwhelmingly bitter. Finished with the fish, Dean wiped his fingers on a napkin and, without looking up, scooped a chunk of kiwi from Willa’s salad bowl and dropped it onto my plate. The piece was still glistening with fish broth residue. “Avery, you should have some fruit. Vitamins.” I stared at the chunk of kiwi. I am severely allergic to kiwi. Even a trace of it can swell my throat shut. He knew this. He had sat with me in the ER while I was on an IV drip, but he had clearly never cared enough to remember. Before, I would have pushed the plate away, my eyes burning with tears as I launched into a tearful accusation of his neglect. Now, I simply pushed the dangerous piece of fruit to the far edge of my bread plate. “I’m finished.” I put down my napkin and stood up. “Mrs. Walker, I have a headache. I’ll go rest in the guest room.” Mrs. Walker looked surprised, but nodded quickly. “Of course, dear, the linens are all fresh.” As I walked up the stairs, I heard Willa’s soft voice drift up from below. “Dean, this soup is so hot, I can’t hold the bowl steady…” “Don’t move. I’ll feed you.” My foot paused momentarily on the step, but I didn’t turn back. The intimate, bantering tones from downstairs pricked like fine needles on a heart already gone numb. After dinner, I came downstairs, my handbag in hand, ready to leave. Dean was on the sofa with Willa, watching a reality show. He looked up, a slight frown marking his face. “You’re leaving this late?” “I have an early closing at the firm tomorrow,” I said, my tone flat. “I’ll drive you.” He started to reach for his keys. “Don’t bother. I called a ride-share.” “Avery,” he stood up abruptly, his voice tinged with irritation. “What is your problem? You’ve been impossible since the condo viewing.” I met his eyes. My mind was finally crystal clear. “Nothing is wrong. I just saw things clearly.” “What things?” “That you don’t have me in your heart.” He stiffened, his gaze darting away. “Stop being dramatic.” “You know whether I’m dramatic or not.” I gave a shallow, detached smile. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want you, either.” I pushed the front door open and stepped out. I heard his quick footsteps behind me, but I didn’t pause. Just as I reached the edge of the circular drive, I heard Willa’s panicked, choked voice ring out. “Dean, please don’t leave! My ankle is throbbing! I think the bone shifted…” The sound of his footsteps instantly stopped. The crisp autumn air was sharp, and it quickly dried the sudden wetness at the corners of my eyes. I settled into the ride-share. The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Little fight with the boyfriend?” I shook my head, gazing out at the blur of city lights. “No. Just refusing to play the supporting role anymore.” Back at my apartment, I pulled out my old phone and scrolled through five-year-old text messages. Back then, Dean was an idealistic intern doctor, barely scraping by, and his eyes were only on me. I scrolled through the silent slide show of old photos. The year of the flash flood. I was stranded outside my office building, soaking wet. He gave me his only raincoat, got completely drenched himself, but laughed with a warmth that could melt anything. He was the top of his class; I was a fresh-faced attorney. We were solid. He would get up at three in the morning to make me soup when I was pulling all-nighters on a brief. I said I wanted to see the Aurora Borealis, and he saved his stipend for a year to fly me to the Arctic. He even made a solemn vow: “No matter what happens, you will always be my first choice.” I was naive enough to believe that was my forever. Then, two years ago, his brother Rhys died in a car accident, leaving Willa a widow. I knew Willa was their childhood friend, the quiet benchmark of perfection they both looked up to. Dean said he had to be “like a father” to Willa, fulfilling his duty to his brother. But somewhere along the line, his phone wallpaper changed to a family photo with Willa dead center. He forgot my birthday, but remembered the exact date of Willa’s cat’s neutering surgery. When I was rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, his reply was a one-word text: Busy. I found out later that night, Willa’s house had lost power, and he had stayed up all night with her because she was afraid of the dark. I finally understood: his devotion had only existed because Willa was married to someone else. I was the comfortable compromise. I was nothing more than a placeholder during his emotional vacancy. The sudden ring of my phone sliced through the quiet. Dean’s name flashed on the screen. I hesitated, then answered. “Be ready tomorrow. We’re going to look at furniture.” His tone was completely authoritative, as if today’s drama had never happened. “Okay.” I hung up, staring blankly at the ceiling. This, I decided, would be my last time playing my part. The next morning, Dean arrived precisely on time. His favorite jazz station was playing softly in the car, and I leaned back, resting my eyes. “How did you sleep?” he asked casually. “Fine.” He noticed my coldness, and his jaw tightened. He started to speak, but stopped himself. Mid-route, his phone rang. The ringtone was exclusive—it was Willa. The moment he answered, his expression turned instantly anxious. “Willa? What’s wrong?” A panicked scream, mixed with the sound of thunder, came through the speaker. I couldn’t make out the words, but Dean’s face went white. “Don’t panic. Lock the doors. I’m on my way!” He slammed the brakes, screeching to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, miles from any exit or town. “Avery, you need to get out and call a cab.” He didn’t even look at me. His hand was already on the door handle. I asked calmly, “A reason?” “Willa’s power went out in the storm, she has extreme nyctophobia! I have to go!” He slapped the steering wheel in his agitation. “Don’t be difficult, Avery. This is an emergency!” Watching his frantic desperation, I remembered his vow: “You will always be my first choice.” It was a worthless promise. It evaporated the moment Willa needed him. I unclipped my seatbelt, pushed the door open, and stepped out. The car sped away, disappearing into the torrential downpour. The sudden storm instantly soaked my trench coat. We were on an isolated access road; getting a cab was impossible. I pulled out my phone and sent my best friend my location. “Come get me. I’m moving out.” Forty minutes later, my friend Sloan’s SUV screeched to a halt in front of me. “Dean is an absolute bastard!” Sloan fumed, handing me a towel. “Dumping you here?!” I was toweling my soaked hair, my expression serene. “Are you really doing this?” Sloan asked anxiously through the rearview mirror. “Five years is a long time…” “Exactly. Five years is long enough. I won’t waste a sixth,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Cutting your losses is required learning for an adult.” Back at my apartment, I started packing. The lace dresses I bought to mimic Willa’s style, the expensive skincare she recommended—all of it went into black garbage bags. I looked at my reflection—no makeup, no pretense. I looked both strange and familiar. For five years, I’d tried to live as another woman’s imitation. Clearing every trace of him was liberating. At eleven that night, my phone buzzed with a text from Dean: Did you make it home? I looked at the three words, thought of his retreating taillights in the rain, and my finger hovered over the screen for a moment before I tapped the button: Block Contact. The world finally went quiet. On Monday morning, I was at my firm to finalize my resignation. I had given notice two weeks earlier; today was my last day. Dean’s hospital was only two blocks from my office. As I walked out of the building, hugging a box of personal effects, I ran straight into him. He looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, his face etched with exhaustion. Clearly, he hadn’t slept. Dean grabbed my wrist, his grip like steel. “Why did you block me?” “Let go.” “Answer me!” His voice was a dangerous, suppressed whisper of anger. “What kind of game are you playing?” “Dean, we’re finished.” He froze, as if he didn’t understand the language. “What did you say?” “I’m breaking up with you.” I repeated, pulling my hand free. “Excuse me.” “You think this is how you make me compromise?” He scoffed. “This tactic is boring, Avery. You’ll be back when you cool off.” I ignored him, stepping toward the curb. “Stop!” He lunged, blocking my path, his voice low and threatening. “Don’t push your luck.” I looked up at him, feeling nothing but profound exhaustion. “I used to care if you were angry. Now, you’re just noise.” His expression solidified, as if he were seeing me for the first time. “Move. I’m in a hurry.” I hailed a passing taxi. He roared behind me, “Avery, you will regret this!” I got in the car without looking back. The window rolled up, sealing his shocked face outside. Regret? My only regret was not walking away sooner. In the afternoon, I drove to Dean’s hospital. Not for a reunion, but to return his apartment key and parking pass. The nurses at the front desk all recognized me, and I walked directly to his Chief of Staff office. I pushed the door open, and there was Willa, sitting in Dean’s executive chair, idly fiddling with his fountain pen. The cream cashmere sweater she wore made her look elegant and demure. When she saw me, a hint of a victorious smile touched her lips. “Avery? Looking for Dean? He’s on rounds. Do you want to wait?” “No. Just here to drop something off.” I placed the key and pass on the desk. She rose and walked toward me, her voice soft and conspiratorial. “I heard you two booked The Celeste Ballroom at The Observatory for the wedding? The ceiling is stunning.” She paused, a calculating glint in her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to hold a charity memorial for Rhys there, but their schedule is impossible…” “And?” “Well,” she bit her lower lip delicately. “Do you think if I asked Dean, he would give me the date?” I smiled, a cold, empty gesture. “You can try.” She was visibly thrown by my calmness. The door burst open, and Dean strode in. He frowned when he saw us. “What are you doing here?” “Returning the key. Now we’re even.” “Wait,” he stopped me, then turned to Willa. “Willa, can you step out for a minute? I need to talk to her.” Willa nodded sweetly. As she passed, she gently tugged his sleeve. “Dean, the venue I mentioned…” “I heard you. We’ll talk about it later.” His tone was slightly impatient, but he didn’t refuse her. After she left, the air felt thick and heavy. Dean walked up to me, his voice softening. “Avery, stop throwing a tantrum. Let’s talk this out.” “There’s nothing to discuss.” I turned to leave. “Stay right there!” He blocked the doorway. “We are going to finish this conversation now.” I looked up at him, utterly drained. “Dean, I’m tired.” “You’re tired? Go home and rest, don’t cause a scene here.” “Not physically tired,” I pointed to my chest. “Here.” He was momentarily stunned. “For five years, I tried to be the woman you wanted. I wore the clothes you liked, ate the food you preferred—all just to get a single genuine look from you.” “Avery…” “But I understand now,” I cut him off. “You don’t love me. I was just the substitute you settled for while she wasn’t available.” “That is absolute nonsense!” He was genuinely angered now. “Haven’t I treated you well? You have my bank cards, the condo is in your name, what more do you want?” I laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. My eyes stung. “Yes, you gave me a lot. Everything but your love.” “Avery, don’t do this!” He softened his tone, reaching for me. “Avery, please believe me, I do love you. But Rhys is only two years gone, and Willa is suffering. I’m just trying to take care of her for my brother.” He stopped, then continued, his focus instantly shifting. “By the way, Willa said she really needs that Celeste Ballroom date for the memorial. It’s vital for her healing. Could we maybe postpone our wedding for a few months? Or switch venues?” I stared at him, suddenly feeling a chilling sense of disbelief and deep irony. “What did you say?” “The wedding is just a ceremony. Our relationship doesn’t need a spectacle to prove itself. Besides, we’re family. Willa’s needs are our family’s needs. Be reasonable.” I looked at him for a long time, until he dropped his gaze, unable to meet mine. “Fine,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Give it all to her.” Dean let out a relieved breath and smiled. “I knew you would understand. After the memorial is over, we can—” “The venue, the wedding cancellation, and you. I’m giving all of it to her.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387466”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mom: “Someone’s going to add you on WeChat later. Reject them.” Me: “?” My mom: “He’s a 6’1″ cutie.” Me: “What? Why? Do you think he’s too hot for me?” My mom: “I was chatting with his mom, and I thought she was bragging about her son, so I bragged back that you had a 4.0 GPA, cooked like a chef, did all the housework, were naturally gorgeous, and hated spending money. Who knew she’d actually want you for her son! So remember to reject him.” Me: “…” 1 I added him on WeChat, only to discover it was my ex-boyfriend. Julian sent a message: “When we were together, how come I didn’t know you had a 4.0 GPA, cooked like a chef, did all the housework, were naturally gorgeous, and hated spending money?” I typed, deleted, typed again. “Let me explain… no, let me clarify.” Julian wouldn’t let it go. “Go on, elaborate.” I stammered, “That was just my mom talking nonsense… actually I…” Julian: “Oh.” Early the next morning, my mom dragged me out of bed, muttering, “Hannah, someone’s coming over later. Dress nice, don’t embarrass me.” I rolled over, grumpy. “Who’s coming over this early?” My mom yanked my blanket. “The lady who liked you last time and wanted you as her daughter-in-law.” “She got my number somehow and said she’s bringing her son over for New Year’s greetings.” I woke up instantly. “What… Mom! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “We need to be prepared for battle!” Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I jumped out of bed and fled into my bathroom. “Mom, remember to tidy up my room!” Looking in the mirror, I saw myself in dinosaur pajamas with a bird’s nest on my head. Good thing I ran fast… Being an 8 AM class girlie paid off. I did a “no-makeup” makeup look in fifteen minutes. Clothes make the man. I put on a Chanel-style suit with fur trim on the cuffs and collar. I even spritzed some of my expensive perfume. Julian had never seen me dressed like this. This should stun him. Knock, knock, knock on my door. “It’s open, come in.” Julian pushed the door open and locked it behind him. I stood up and flashed him a sweet smile. For a second, I saw a flash of amazement in his eyes. Admit it, Julian, you’re obsessed with me. His gaze fixed on me. “Why didn’t you dress like this when we were together?” He stepped closer. Damn, looking at his face, I understood why they say physical attraction doesn’t lie. I pretended to be calm. “Ex-boyfriend, you’re crossing the line.” “This is too ambiguous.” Suddenly, he took a step forward, trapping me between his arms and the vanity table. Eye to eye, Julian chuckled. “But I think you look best without makeup.” I glared at him, about to break free. “Hannah, come help with the dishes!” My mom yelled from the kitchen, startling me. I pushed him away with my freshly manicured hands. “Julian, get away from me.” He acted as if nothing happened and went to the kitchen with me. 2 It was obvious my mom was very satisfied with Julian. At the dinner table, she kept piling food into his bowl until it formed a small mountain. I was so jealous. But Julian’s mom seemed to like me too. During the meal, she kept putting food in my bowl as well. “Hannah, which university do you attend?” Julian’s mom asked. Me: “Auntie, Tsinghua University.” Julian’s mom put down her chopsticks. “What a coincidence! Julian went there too!” “Did you two ever meet at school?” Not only met, we kissed. I answered before Julian could: “Auntie, Julian’s major is near the southeast gate, and mine is near the north gate. We were worlds apart.” Yep, we were familiar strangers. “Besides, he graduated a year ago. It’s hard for us to bump into each other.” My mom was confused. “When did you know what major Xiao Jiang was in? And when he graduated?” I answered seriously: “Uh, he told me just before dinner. Ask him if you don’t believe me.” I looked at Julian for help. Julian raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Hannah and I chatted briefly before dinner.” Seeing our interaction, Julian’s mom started shipping us. “In-law, I think Hannah is not only beautiful but has a great personality.” “And the kids get along well. How about let them get married after Hannah graduates next year?” I almost spat my rice onto Julian’s face. Fast-food marriage? The two moms sat on the sofa holding hands, discussing our “wedding” as if no one else was there. “Young people like living on their own. I’ll buy them a wedding house so they can do whatever they want.” “That way, there won’t be any mother-in-law drama.” “And while we’re still healthy, we can help take care of the grandkids.” No wonder the internet says Gen Z is polarized. Some are getting married and having kids, while others are still sneaking spicy strips in the kitchen at twenty-something. In the kitchen, only Julian and I were left. He didn’t let me wash dishes but wanted me to chat with him. So I rested my chin on my hands, watching his back as he washed dishes. A man doing housework is indeed hot. The next second, I looked up and met his gaze. His eyes flickered, lips curling. “Hannah, are you free this Saturday?” He never plays by the rules. Calling me by my full name means trouble. I looked at him warily. “What do you want?” His smile remained. “Taking you to a banquet on Saturday.” “Mm, you going?” “Yes, of course!” Hesitating for a second is disrespectful to a banquet. Saturday morning, Julian came to pick me up. “Auntie, Hannah and I are heading out.” “Okay, have fun!” Now, both parents assumed we were dating. Maybe that’s the only perk of dating Julian… No need to report where I’m going. But Julian didn’t tell me the banquet was at his house. It was his grandfather’s 90th birthday. I didn’t bring a gift. At the door of the Jiang residence, I felt embarrassed going in empty-handed and tried to sneak away. But Julian caught me. The next second, he grabbed my collar. “Hannah, where are you going?” He narrowed his eyes, voice low. I felt guilty and stammered, “Julian, it’s all your fault. I didn’t even prepare a gift. My mom says never visit someone empty-handed. So, I’m going back.” “No need. I prepared it for you.” Just like that, Julian dragged me inside. I almost dug out a three-bedroom apartment with my toes. “Hey, where’s the gift you mentioned?” “Right in front of you.” The next second, Julian pulled me down to kneel with him. “Grandpa, this is your granddaughter-in-law!” “Good! When is the wedding?” “Next year.” I was dumbfounded. Went to a banquet, got married off? Is Julian getting revenge on me? 3 Actually, my first meeting with Julian was during freshman registration. Among many seniors, I fell for him at first sight and designated him as my orientation volunteer. Back then, the post about the Computer Science God gallantly carrying luggage for a freshman girl went viral on the campus forum. Yes, I had my eyes on Julian. I declared, “This man is mine!” My roommate looked over and shook her head. “Hannah, wake up. That’s Julian Jiang.” “So what?” “Senior girls say he’s ignored every confession so far. He has a famous quote: ‘If you don’t like someone, there’s no need for a story.’ “More importantly, there’s a campus beauty, Lynn, always around him.” That just fired me up. I asked around. Confirmed they weren’t dating. And Julian was in the top major at Tsinghua, known as the “Computer Science God.” Top GPA every year, national scholarships. Excellent genes. Freshman me was ambitious. They say it’s easy for a girl to chase a guy, right? So I pursued him aggressively. Until winter, I followed him everywhere. That winter was exceptionally cold. Julian caught a cold right before a competition and was in bad shape. It was obvious he cared about this competition. I ran up to him mysteriously. “Julian, you look troubled. I heard of a secret remedy for colds. Want to know?” He perked up. “What is it? Does it work?” I kept him in suspense. “Mm, they say it works every time.” “Tell me.” I looked troubled. “Do you… really want to try?” Julian nodded heavily. “Okay!” I looked like I was sacrificing myself. I pulled Julian to a flower bed. “Close your eyes first.” He obediently closed his eyes. I climbed onto the flower bed. Nervous and scared. I just gently pecked Julian’s lips. It was my first kiss. The next second. Unexpectedly, Julian cupped my face and deepened the awkward kiss. Julian won the award, but I got sick. That night, he took me out for spicy chicken pot. I teased him, “Brother, your cold seems completely gone!” “I told you it was a secret remedy. Super effective.” Julian’s ear tips turned red silently. He put a big piece of meat in my bowl. “Shut up.” “After we eat, I’ll buy you medicine.” Back at school, he uncharacteristically dragged me to the track field for a walk. Suddenly, he had a bouquet of roses in his hand. “Hannah, will you be my girlfriend?” “Yes!” And so, we were together. 4 Just as I got up from the floor, Julian’s mom handed me a red envelope. I tried to refuse. “Auntie, I can’t take this.” “It’s fine, take it.” She stuffed a thick envelope into my arms. Julian smiled. “Take it. It’s Mom’s gesture.” “Okay, thanks Mom.” Huh? What did I say? “No, I mean, thanks Auntie.” I ignored the man muttering beside me, “You’ll call her Mom sooner or later anyway.” Soon, all the relatives arrived. The living room was bustling. Julian and I sat in the corner of the sofa, trying to be invisible. But his aunt walked towards us. “Julian, is this your girlfriend?” Auntie was basically the captain of our ship. Before I could say no, Auntie rushed over. “Forgot to introduce her, this is my daughter-in-law.” I pinched Julian’s arm, wishing the floor would swallow me. Julian glanced at me, smirking. “Auntie, this is my fiancée.” My face flushed red. When did I become a fiancée? Afraid I’d be bored, Julian’s mom patted his shoulder. “Julian, go play with Hannah. I’ll entertain the guests.” “Okay, Mom.” Julian led me to his room. The room was minimalist, black, white, and gray, very clean. Cleaner than mine, at least. I leaned against his bookshelf and coughed. “Um, long time no see. How’s work?” “Good. Successful career, just that my partner ran away halfway!” “Oh.” I looked calm but was panicking inside. “Why didn’t you chase her back? Means you didn’t love her enough.” “Because I loved her, I respected her decision.” I looked up and saw the ceramic doll I gave him still there. I pointed at it. “You still have this?” He pinned me against the wall, looking down at me. Julian is 6’1″, I’m barely 5’4″. Under the light, his sharp profile cast a shadow over my face, enveloping me. We were so close. I was nervous, swallowing unconsciously. I shrank back, gathering courage. “Julian, do you still like me?” “Hannah, why are you so dumb? This time, I won’t let you run.” “Why did you break up with me?” I didn’t know how to answer. Guilty, I slipped under his arm and ran home. 5 I thought he wouldn’t come find me anytime soon. Unexpectedly, the next day Julian was downstairs. “What? Harbin? THE Harbin?” On the phone, Julian said he was taking me on a trip and gave me thirty minutes to pack. My mom didn’t object and even helped me pack. “You’re 21, don’t stay home all day. Young people should go out and meet friends.” “Mom, that’s not what you said when I wanted to go to Yunnan with my roommates freshman year! You refused!” “Different situation. With Xiao Jiang, I’m 100% relieved.” “Aren’t you afraid your precious daughter will get taken advantage of?” “If Xiao Jiang likes you, I’m happy for him to take advantage.” “…” Before leaving, Julian emphasized, “Southern potato, you can’t handle the cold. Bring thick clothes.” What’s wrong with being 5’4″? I got angry. Fine, you messed with the wrong fluffy cotton ball. Harbin was popular lately, hotels were hard to book. Julian booked a twin room near Saint Sophia Cathedral. First time sharing a room with a man. Dropped bags, went out. Harbin was a real-life Frozen. Free frozen pears on the street, sliced and plated. Walking near the cathedral, I suddenly wanted to tease Julian. “Brother, take a picture of me~” In the past, Julian was terrified when I called him “Brother” in front of classmates. He’d blush every time. Julian hesitated, then doted, “Okay.” “Brother will take it for you.” Why isn’t he playing by the rules? Julian took me to see the winged horses and the artificial moon. When the hot air balloon rose, we saw the fire reflected in each other’s eyes. “Hannah, let’s get back together!” I nodded. “So why did you break up with me back then?” So he was waiting for this. Beauty is indeed a trap.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “387465”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel