1 A sudden windfall, and I was a lottery-rich, nouveau-riche caricature overnight. Three days later, my wife was kidnapped. The kidnappers demanded a ransom of three million dollars. I refused to pay. My wife’s parents, in a fury, clawed and scratched at me, screaming that I was a heartless monster. To save a little money, I was willing to sacrifice my own wife’s life. My own parents pleaded with me to pay the ransom, to buy my wife’s safety. I refused again. A few days later, having received no money, the kidnappers released her anyway. She was covered in bruises, bleeding from between her legs, and had completely lost her mind. The moment she saw me, she launched herself at me like a rabid animal, trying to bite me. The feral look in her eyes was one of pure hatred, as if I were the man who had murdered her entire family. Looking down at my torn and bloodied shoulder, I stated with cold indifference, “This marriage is over. I’m divorcing you.” CRACK! My father-in-law’s hand cracked across my face. His eyes were bloodshot as he roared, “You bastard! Are you even human?” … In the living room, a crowd of relatives from both sides of the family stared at me in disbelief. Sarah had been tortured into this state. Not only did I show no sign of sympathy, but I was also demanding a divorce. In their eyes, I wasn’t just inhuman. I was worse than an animal. Ignoring the furious glares from the Hall family, I continued to speak to Sarah in that same cold tone. “My lawyer will handle all the details of the divorce.” “Aaargh!” A shrill, piercing scream ripped from Sarah’s throat. She swept everything off the coffee table in a frenzy, then stormed into our bedroom. Our wedding photos, the makeup I’d bought her—all of it was smashed to pieces. I watched her rampage with unnerving calm. “My poor, sweet daughter,” her mother, Mrs. Hall, cried, rushing to wrap her arms around Sarah. Tears streamed down her face, a torrent of grief. “Agh… ahhh…” Sarah struggled violently, her features twisting into a grotesque mask of madness. Mrs. Hall tried to restrain her, but Sarah’s strength was manic. She shoved her mother to the floor and then, unbelievably, grabbed a heavy wooden chair to bring down on her. The room erupted in shocked cries as people scrambled to intervene. Mr. Hall bellowed, “Sarah, that’s your mother!” For a split second, her movement paused. The next moment— THUD! The chair crashed down onto Mrs. Hall, who writhed on the floor, howling in agony. But Sarah, seemingly lost to all reason, began kicking her mother’s writhing body. She only stopped when Mr. Hall finally managed to tackle her, pinning her arms. “Mom!” Sarah’s younger brother, Leo, rushed to help his mother up. “Sarah, are you insane? Why would you attack Mom?” Sarah didn’t answer, just thrashed wildly in her father’s grip, too weak to break free. The onlookers could only shake their heads in dismay. She was perfectly fine before the kidnapping, and now she was a raving lunatic. Inevitably, all eyes turned to me. They had found their monster. “Do you see this, Alex?” one of them spat. “Because you wouldn’t pay the ransom, the kidnappers tortured her until she broke! She’s your wife, and you cared more about money than her life. You’re not a man.” “Even an animal isn’t as cold-blooded as you!” “Marrying you was the biggest mistake of her life.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend myself. My own mother begged me to take back my words. She believed I was in the wrong for not paying the ransom. And now, with Sarah in this state, to demand a divorce? It was like pushing her off a cliff. I just shook my head. “The divorce is final.” “You monster!” Mrs. Hall’s grief and rage exploded. She lunged at me, nails bared like claws. I sidestepped her, and she stumbled, falling flat on her face and knocking out a front tooth. “My tooth…” “Mom!” “Alex, this is all your fault! I’m going to kill you!” Leo charged at me, his face contorted with rage. I simply lifted my leg and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling. That was the spark that ignited the powder keg. In an instant, a dozen of Sarah’s relatives swarmed me. I was hopelessly outnumbered. Within seconds, I was on the floor, curled up, trying to protect my head as fists and feet rained down on me. A few moments later, I staggered to my feet, blood streaming from a cut on my forehead. I pulled out my phone to call the police, but my father snatched it from my hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Calling the cops.” The Halls froze. They had all taken a piece of me. If I called the police, none of them would walk away clean. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Suddenly, Sarah collapsed, unconscious. Mr. Hall frantically called for an ambulance. At the hospital, after a series of tests, the doctor delivered another shock: Sarah was pregnant. “Doctor, terminate the pregnancy,” I said immediately. “What did you just say?” my father stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. The Hall family was equally stunned. They thought they had seen the depths of my cruelty. Now, my decision had shattered their understanding of how heartless a person could be. Refuse to save his wife, and now refuse to save his child. “Alex, have you lost your mind?” Leo screamed, grabbing my collar. “That’s your baby in my sister’s womb, and you’re telling the doctor to get rid of it?” He looked like he wanted to tear me limb from limb. “Sarah is insane,” I explained calmly. “What right does she have to be a mother? It’s better to end it now than to bring a child into a world of suffering.” “You son of a bitch!” Leo’s fist connected with my jaw. “You animal!” Mr. Hall lunged as well, his reason gone. Doctors and nurses rushed in to separate us. “This is a hospital! Please control yourselves! Who is the child’s father?” “I am,” I said. “Sir, could you please come with me?” “Alex, don’t you dare make a decision you’ll regret for the rest of your life,” my mother pleaded, terrified I was serious. “You’re a man,” my father said, his voice low and dangerous. “You have a responsibility as a husband and a father. Sarah might not be like this forever. What if she gets better? You’d better think very carefully about what you do next.” A few minutes later, I returned. They all stared at me, their faces tense. My mother asked me what I had decided. I told them I had signed the papers, authorizing the doctor to terminate the pregnancy. The words hit them like a lightning strike. For a few seconds, they were frozen. Then, Mr. and Mrs. Hall charged at me like wild animals. This time, I didn’t let them touch me. I took two steps back. “If any of you lay a hand on me,” I warned, my voice like ice, “I will call the police immediately. If you’re not afraid of going to jail, go ahead.” “You bastard!” my father snarled, then turned and stormed out. “Alex… you… you foolish boy,” my mother sobbed, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t believe her own son could become so depraved over money. “I hope you don’t regret this.” Then she, too, was gone. The Halls were seething but didn’t dare touch me. “You murderer!” Mrs. Hall shrieked. “You killed her baby without her consent! We’ll sue you for murder!” “Be my guest,” I said with a careless shrug, and walked out of the hospital. On the way home, I called an old friend, Marco, a former MMA champion who now owned a gym. “Hey, kid,” he said. “My guys looked into it for you. The kidnappers are all local crew. And they’re tight with your brother-in-law, Leo. Same gang.” “They got spooked after they messed with your wife, so they went to ground. My boys are looking for them. I’ll call you when they’re found.” “Thanks, Marco.” I hung up, my eyes narrowing. Leo was a hothead and an idiot. All brawn, no brains. He wasn’t smart enough to orchestrate this kidnapping on his own. He was probably just the contact. The real mastermind was someone else. Could it be… Sarah herself? To find out, I needed to talk to those kidnappers. Next, a childhood friend in the… collections business called me. He told me he’d checked with a few other loan sharks. Leo was keeping two live-streamers as mistresses. To maintain his big-spender image, he’d borrowed half a million dollars. “Leo’s unemployed. Who would lend him that kind of money?” “He put up his family’s house as collateral.” “No wonder he’s been dripping in gold lately. Do me a favor, check if anyone else in his family is in deep with loan sharks.” “On it.” At first, I thought Leo was just a pawn in this scheme. But now… maybe I had underestimated him. The next morning, Mr. Hall called, his voice a furious roar. He told me to get to the hospital. Sarah had woken up, found out the baby was gone, and was now on the roof, threatening to jump. “Okay, got it,” I said, and hung up. I closed my eyes and dozed for another few minutes until my father kicked my door open and hauled me out of bed. “Your wife is about to jump off a roof, and you’re sleeping?” “She’s not going to jump. It’s an act.” “You monster,” my father hissed through gritted teeth. When I got to the hospital, it was just as I’d expected. Sarah was standing near the edge of the roof. But she wasn’t jumping. “Sarah, honey, Alex is here! Whatever you have to say, say it to him! Just don’t do anything stupid!” Mrs. Hall was a mess, her eyes swollen from crying. “Don’t you dare provoke her,” Mr. Hall whispered menacingly in my ear. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.” I walked over. Sarah seemed to have regained some of her sanity. She stared at me with pure despair. “Alex, why did you let the doctor kill our baby?” she wailed. “Everyone saw you. You’re insane. You’re not fit to be a mother.” “I’m not insane! It was because you wouldn’t pay the ransom! They kept torturing me! I can forgive you for what you did to me, but how could you be so cruel as to murder your own child?” “The kidnappers wanted too much. If I paid, I’d be broke.” My words enraged her family, but they kept their distance. “You’re not human! You’re worse than a monster! You’re a cold, heartless demon!” “Are you going to jump, or what?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386863”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve always been the type to get straight to the point. So when I found a photo of a strange girl sleeping in my sniper husband’s private album, I didn’t hesitate. I slid a set of divorce papers across the table to him. Either sign them, or cut ties with her for good. Aiden Pierce rubbed his temples, cutting me off, his voice laced with irritation. “She was just a hostage I rescued on my last mission. The kid’s got PTSD, I can’t just abandon her. Do you have to make a federal case out of this?” He leaned back, his tone hardening. “Besides, without me, where would you even go? You’d have nowhere to land.” His words struck me dumb. I just stood there, frozen. He must have seen the look on my face because he immediately realized he’d crossed a line and started to backpedal. But before he could spin some half-hearted apology, I asked softly, “Does ‘taking care of a hostage’ include holding her while she sleeps?” … My voice was barely a whisper, but it hit Aiden like a sniper’s bullet. His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. The casual arrogance vanished, replaced by a cold, guarded alertness. He took a half-step back. “How do you know that?” How did I know? Because his dear Miss Sierra couldn’t wait to come and tell me herself. Before I could answer, Aiden’s posture softened completely. “Clara, Sierra’s not like the others.” “You don’t need to go after her,” he said, his voice almost pleading. I guessed he was afraid I’d do what I’d done before—hunt down any woman who got too close, just as soon as I caught a whiff of rumor. Afraid I’d leave Sierra a social pariah, just like all the others. But not this time. This time, I was done. I genuinely wanted a divorce. The way he was protecting her was proof enough that this girl was different. After all, he’d always let me deal with the other women from his past scandals however I saw fit. He called her “well-behaved”? If she were so innocent, why would she have sought me out? But I wasn’t going to be the one to expose her. Aiden would find out the truth on his own soon enough. “If she’s so perfect, wouldn’t it be better for you to just divorce me and marry her?” I suggested, my voice even. Aiden shook his head, his answer swift and absolute. “Clara, you will always be my wife. I will never divorce you.” A flare of anger ignited in my chest, but it was quickly extinguished by his cold, matter-of-fact tone. “So, you don’t have to bother Sierra. She’s no threat to your position.” The calculated way he said it, the way he reduced our marriage to a “position,” made my stomach turn. When had he started measuring love in terms of profit and loss? He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten that when we first married, he was just a junior officer living in a cramped little house on the base. “Aiden,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “If all I ever wanted was your power and status, why would I have married you back then?” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Clara, before you say something like that, take a look at what you’re wearing.” His eyes raked over me. “Without me, could you afford those five-figure outfits? That six-figure jewelry?” He closed the distance between us, pulling me into a rough embrace. His warm breath ghosted against my ear. “My paychecks go to your account, and my heart is with you.” The faint, metallic scent of gunpowder still clung to him from the training grounds. “As for where my body is… don’t be too demanding, alright?” I struggled against his grip, but he held me fast, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my futile efforts. Finally, he let me go with a low chuckle. He leaned in close, his dark eyes boring into mine. “People who get too greedy, Clara… they end up with nothing.” Just then, his phone buzzed. Sierra. The call shattered the tense standoff and, in a way, saved me from further humiliation. He was right. On my own, I could never afford this life. Without him, I really had nowhere to go. Ever since my mother died and my father remarried, I hadn’t had a home to call my own. I twisted the diamond ring off my finger. He’d had it custom-made after his last commendation ceremony. I remembered the price tag clearly: seventy thousand dollars. The necklace I was wearing was part of the set, another two hundred twenty thousand. The dress I had on was nearly six thousand. Money I could never earn in a lifetime. But so what? I didn’t need jewelry. I could wear simple clothes. Instead of making me reconsider, Aiden’s words only strengthened my resolve. Over the next few days, I made the rounds of every law firm in the area. Each one turned me down. When I tried to file for a contested divorce directly, the clerks at the courthouse were tight-lipped and unhelpful. I dragged my exhausted body back to our house on the base one evening to find Aiden sitting in the living room, calmly reading the newspaper. “Find a lawyer willing to take your case, Clara?” he asked without looking up. His single question confirmed it. He was the one pulling the strings, making sure my efforts were fruitless. “I told you,” he said, folding the paper. “This divorce isn’t happening.” He held out a handkerchief. “Wipe your face.” I slapped it out of his hand. He just chuckled, unfazed. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. You’ve forgotten that the world isn’t black and white.” I said nothing, just turned away with a cold smirk. He wasn’t wrong. The past few days had certainly been an education. “Sierra had a moment of weakness, that’s why she bothered you,” he said, his tone turning conciliatory. “I promise she will never appear before you again.” “And you?” I challenged, meeting his eyes. “Can you promise to cut ties with her completely?” He sighed. “Clara, don’t be so naive. If it’s not Sierra, it’ll be someone else…” I let my gaze drop, tuning him out. My eyes fell on the plush, custom-ordered rug, but my mind was already elsewhere, mentally packing a suitcase for a volunteer trip. That morning, I’d seen a recruitment notice for the Spring Blossom Foundation’s “Classroom Project.” On my way to another failed lawyer’s appointment, I’d submitted my application. I’d just received the email—I was accepted. If I couldn’t get a divorce here, maybe leaving was the next best thing. When the volunteer term was over, I could find a lawyer in another state. Seeing that I was no longer arguing, Aiden stopped his lecture. After a moment of silence, he tried again. “I can’t cut her off completely, but I promise she will stay out of the public eye. She will never threaten your position,” he said. “All my money is yours. Why get worked up over something as meaningless as feelings?” He reached for me, but I stepped aside. A frustrated hiss escaped his lips. “What more do you want? Look at the guys in my unit. Which one of them isn’t living like this?” I knew. Of course, I knew. The men he worked with were far worse. One of his buddies who got promoted at the same time now had a string of women on the side. But just because everyone else did it, did that mean we had to? Seeing the irritation etched on his face, I swallowed the words. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m going to bed.” The constant running around and hitting brick walls had left me emotionally and physically drained. I was asleep within fifteen minutes. When I woke again, the setting sun was bleeding across the horizon. My phone was lit up on the nightstand—a friend request from the Spring Blossom Foundation. I accepted, and a message came through almost immediately. [Ms. Evans, we’ll be meeting at the airport in one week to fly out as a group.] After confirming, they sent over a packet of documents and a list of things to prepare. It had been a long time since I’d dealt with this kind of paperwork, and it was a struggle, but for the first time in months, a feeling of lightness settled in my chest. It wasn’t until I saw Aiden at the base hospital a few days later that I understood why he’d been so scarce. He was with Sierra. They were walking into the OB/GYN clinic together. I glanced at my own appointment number on the screen. It would be a while. I found a seat a discreet distance away and watched. After some time, Sierra emerged from the exam room, her face glowing with a joy she couldn’t hide. A cold premonition washed over me. Sierra was pregnant. But Aiden… Aiden had a low sperm count. We’d been married for years without a child. If she was really pregnant, would Aiden finally agree to the divorce for the sake of his child? I stood up and walked toward them, no longer trying to hide. The thought of a potential divorce brought an involuntary smile to my face. But that smile froze on my lips. “Get rid of it.” I was only a few feet away when I heard Aiden’s voice, as cold and sharp as ice. Sierra clearly hadn’t expected it. The joy drained from her face, leaving it a ghostly white. She swayed on her feet. She looked at him with pleading eyes, but he remained unmoved, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features at her silent disobedience. “I will not acknowledge this child. And you will not have it,” he stated flatly. “I, Aiden Pierce, will not have an illegitimate child.” But Sierra seemed to misinterpret his meaning entirely. Her eyes landed on me. Without a second thought, she rushed over and dropped to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Pierce, I know I’m shameless, I know I’m filth,” she cried, her hands clutching at my legs. “But please, I’m begging you, let me have this baby.” I couldn’t shake her off. I stood stiffly, afraid to move in case I fell, my eyes shooting daggers at Aiden. This is what you call not bothering me? “Mrs. Pierce, please, it’s a life,” she sobbed. “Please, I’m begging you.” A crowd was starting to form, their whispers filling the sterile hallway as they pieced together the drama unfolding before them. With every pointing finger and hushed comment, the blood drained from Aiden’s face, his expression growing darker by the second. And Sierra? Her shamelessness was breathtaking. Of the three of us, I was the only one drowning in humiliation. “Sierra.” Aiden’s voice was a blade of ice from behind me. The kneeling woman flinched. She turned her tear-streaked face to him, a desperate hope for pity in her eyes. Impossible, I thought. This was Aiden Pierce, the man who had clawed his way up from a grunt to a commander in the Special Forces. His heart was harder than anyone’s. But I was wrong. Aiden looked at Sierra, and for a fleeting moment, I saw something shift in his eyes. He let out an almost inaudible sigh before stepping forward and helping her to her feet. “Stop crying,” he said, his voice softer now. “We’ll talk about this back home.” He gently wiped her tears, his arm circling her shoulders to support her. Was this really Aiden? I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. By the time I snapped out of my stupor, they were gone. I was left standing alone in the hospital corridor like a fool, the murmurs of strangers ringing in my ears. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears back. What a waste. The whole spectacle had made me miss my appointment. I’d have to get back in line. It was nearly dark by the time I finished my own medical check-up and got home. I stepped inside but didn’t turn on the lights, standing in the entryway and letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Every corner of this house was decorated to my taste, but now, it all just made me feel sick. Every surface was tainted with the memory of him. “You’re back?” Aiden’s voice came from the bedroom. He emerged a moment later, a glass of water in his hand. He offered it to me, a gesture that felt sickeningly familiar—the prelude to him asking for something. “Sierra won’t terminate the pregnancy,” he began, placing the glass on the table in front of me. He watched me, testing the waters. “I was thinking… we could let her have the baby, and you could raise it as our own.” I turned to look at him, and he flinched, his gaze darting away. As if realizing his own cowardice, he forced himself to meet my eyes again, his expression hardening into one of righteous justification. “The Fletchers did the same thing, didn’t they? The son who runs their company now was the one they brought home from the outside.” My heart sank into a black abyss. The Fletchers. They were the laughingstock of our entire circle. The illegitimate son was brought home, and he ended up driving the legitimate heir out of the family. Now, the wife and the mistress live under the same roof. I remembered the first time Aiden had told me about them, the disdain thick in his voice. And now, he had become the very thing he once despised. Perhaps my stare was too intense because he suddenly changed the subject. “What were you at the hospital for today? Are you feeling sick? Your physical last month came back completely normal.” … I lowered my eyes, ignoring his hollow concern. “Fine,” I said softly. The fake pleasantries stopped instantly. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Aiden, if Sierra wants to have that baby, let her.” His face broke into a wide, relieved grin. He’d completely forgotten to ask about my health. He’d completely forgotten that I had never said I would raise the child. He was the one who couldn’t have children, not me. With my “permission,” Aiden’s visits to Sierra’s apartment became more frequent and less discreet. Soon, the day to leave for the volunteer trip arrived. Aiden came home unexpectedly early that morning. When I got out of bed, he was already sitting in the living room, looking like he’d been there for hours. As I made breakfast in the kitchen, I heard him speak from behind me. “Clara.” “I just… have a bad feeling about something.” My hand, holding the knife, paused for a fraction of a second. I was silently grateful I’d moved my packed suitcase into the bedroom the night before. I hadn’t intentionally hidden the trip from him, but I didn’t want him to know either, fearing he’d create some new obstacle. I continued preparing the food, ignoring the unease in his voice. His soliloquy eventually died in the face of my silence. After breakfast, just as he was about to leave for the base, I called out to him. “Aiden, come back here after work today.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob, turning back in surprise. I forced a small, unfamiliar smile. “There’s something I need to give you.” He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of pleasure in his eyes at my sudden initiative. But all I wanted was for him to be here to see the divorce papers I’d be leaving for him. By the time our plane landed at the Westbrook regional airport, my phone was long dead. The teaching site was in the most remote mountain area of the county. Most of the young adults had left for work in the cities, leaving only the elderly and children behind. After an afternoon of being jostled around on winding roads, the bus finally rumbled onto a smoother path. Chloe, the young woman who had first contacted me and was now our team’s logistics coordinator, was sitting next to me. “Clara, are you okay?” I managed a weak smile and a small shake of my head. I hadn’t realized how bad my motion sickness was. “We’re almost there. Just hang on.” As the road smoothed out, my nausea began to subside. I peeked through the curtain at the scenery outside, and a strange sense of familiarity washed over me. When we finally arrived at our destination, I knew why. We were only a few miles from Aiden’s hometown. The very next town over. I couldn’t believe the coincidence. Still, I wasn’t worried about running into anyone I knew. I had only stayed here for a month when we first got married. Aiden’s grandfather had insisted we hold the wedding on home turf. Our base housing in Riverton hadn’t been assigned yet, so we’d stayed in his old family home. “Clara, would you mind sharing a dorm room with me?” Chloe asked after she finished assigning the rooms. I nodded. “Of course.” After unpacking, with the unique chorus of country insects as a lullaby, I fell into the deepest sleep I’d had in months. The next day, I was up at dawn. Chloe was still asleep, so I tiptoed out to wash up. After a simple breakfast, I walked with the other teachers to the school. The four large characters above the school building made me stop in my tracks: The Pierce-Evans Project. It was from a lifetime ago. Back when Aiden had just been promoted to commander, he received his first significant bonus. His comrades used theirs to buy things for their families. Aiden used his to start this project. He said he wanted every child from his hometown to have the chance to get an education. But somewhere along the way, between our endless fights and growing distance, the project had been forgotten. Maybe that’s why I felt an instant connection to this place. I was filled with energy all day. When school let out, the gate was crowded with parents picking up their children. I stood to the side, observing. The area was poor, but the parents clearly valued education. Almost every child in the lower grades had someone waiting for them. The kids were bright and cheerful, waving goodbye enthusiastically even to us, the new teachers. As the crowd thinned, I prepared to head back. Suddenly, a booming voice called out from behind me. “You’re old man Pierce’s granddaughter-in-law, aren’t you?” “Old man Pierce’s granddaughter-in-law.” I hadn’t heard that title in a decade. I never thought I’d actually run into someone from his past here. I turned to see an elderly woman with white hair and neat clothes, likely one of Aiden’s grandfather’s old friends. I was about to deny it—who would know the difference out here?—but before I could speak, she let out a triumphant cry. “It is you! It really is old Pierce’s granddaughter-in-law!” Her shout drew the attention of everyone nearby. “City life must be good for you. It’s been over ten years, and you’re still as young and beautiful as ever,” she said, bustling over and grabbing my hand. “We have you and your husband to thank for this wonderful school.” …

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386862”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I slid the signed divorce papers across the table. He picked them up, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Don’t be upset,” he said, his voice smooth and condescending. “It’s just a formality. As soon as Seraphina’s depression is under control, we’ll remarry immediately.” I kept my head down, refusing to meet his eyes. “What about the compensation you promised me?” He slid a credit card toward me. “You’ve been a good girl. I’m even doubling the reward.” He leaned back, the picture of magnanimity. “Don’t worry. Even after the divorce, you can still live in the house. Nothing will change. I would never abandon you.” A cold, bitter laugh echoed in my mind. I knew exactly what this “fake divorce” was. It was a sham designed to keep me tethered to him, a glorified nanny for our child, while he and Seraphina could finally be together, officially. He wanted a new wife, and he was using this lie to keep me placid and cooperative. But what he would never, ever know… was that I had been dreaming of this divorce for a long time. … I took the card without another word, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door. My mother was stunned when I arrived at my parents’ house. “What are you doing here at this hour? Did you two have a fight?” she asked, bustling to help me with my luggage. “Every couple argues. His circumstances are so good, can’t you just learn to put up with it?” I was silent for a moment. “Gaten and I are divorced.” The color drained from her face. “What?! How could you make such a huge decision without even talking to us?” My father chimed in from the living room. “She’s right. Divorce isn’t a game. Do you know how rich he is? Where are you ever going to find another man like that?” I set my suitcase down and turned to face them. They were both frowning, their expressions a perfect mirror of disappointment, as if I were a foolish, disobedient child. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Only tears. “What are you crying for?” My mother’s voice was sharp with impatience. “Just tell us what happened!” I snapped my head up, and the words tore from my throat in a raw scream. “My daughter is dead! My daughter is gone!” The force of the cry buckled my knees. I crumpled to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself as a storm of sobs ripped through me. “What… what did you say?” My mother’s voice was a choked whisper. Seeing their instantly ashen faces felt like another knife twisting in my heart. “We were on vacation,” I gasped between sobs, “on a private island.” “Lily suddenly clutched her chest, said it hurt, that she couldn’t breathe. I knew right away—it was her congenital heart condition.” “But there was only one doctor on the entire island!” “I looked everywhere for Gaten, I called him over and over, begging him to get the doctor. But him?” The memory of that day flooded back, as sharp and cruel as it was in the moment. “He didn’t answer my calls. Seraphina’s son, his dog had fallen into the pool and swallowed some water.” “She made one call to Gaten, and he immediately sent the island’s only doctor away… to perform CPR on a dog.” My father shot to his feet, his eyes bloodshot with rage. “How could he just abandon his own daughter?” “I begged him, but it was useless!” My voice rose to a hysterical shriek. “I couldn’t reach him, the doctor never came, and I just held her… I held my daughter and watched the life leave her body right there in my arms…” I couldn’t go on. I curled into a ball on the floor, my body trembling uncontrollably. My mind was a roaring storm of memories, images from the past bubbling up, chaotic and cruel. I was seventeen, a top student from a desperately poor family. I was the pride of my school, but I spent my lunches eating dry bread in a classroom with no heat, my hands often too cold to even hold a pen. Then one day, my principal called me into his office. A wealthy entrepreneur wanted to sponsor a student in need. He had chosen me. The first time I saw Gaten Thorne, he was standing in the principal’s office. He wore a black overcoat, tall and imposing, his eyes slightly downcast when he looked at me. “Nancy Heaton?” His voice was deep and smooth. “I’ve decided to sponsor you through the completion of all your studies. From now on, I will cover all your expenses.” “All you need to do is focus on your education. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” Just like that. A monthly deposit started appearing in my bank account, enough for food, books, and even medicine for my grandmother. The year I was preparing for my college entrance exams, his assistant came to my school with imported snacks and nutritional supplements. “Mr. Thorne asked me to bring these. He said to take care of your health.” The night before the exams, I was too nervous to sleep. My phone lit up. It was a text from him, wishing me luck. I clutched the phone to my chest and cried. He was the only light in my gray, colorless life. I knew he had someone else, the one that got away. Her name was Seraphina. She was from a family that was his equal, and they had grown up together. I’d seen pictures of them in magazines—the perfect, beautiful couple. I buried my own hopeless crush so deep it could never see the light of day. In my second year of college, I heard Seraphina had married a foreign tycoon. On a whim, I sent him a text. Mr. Thorne, are you okay? It took him a long time to reply. Why wouldn’t I be? Focus on your studies. His tone was unreadable. Two months later, he was in my city on business and asked me to dinner. Afterward, he drove me back to my dorm. He didn’t immediately tell me to get out. The night air was cool. “Nancy,” he said, turning to look at me. “Marry me.” My mind went completely blank. I never, ever imagined he would propose to me. “I… I’m not worthy of you.” “It’s not a question of being worthy.” His voice was calm, leaving no room for refusal. “I’ve always liked you. You’re quiet, you know your place. Marry me. I’ll be good to you.” My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to break free. The light I had worshipped from afar for so many years was now offering to shine on me. I nodded, my voice trembling. “Okay.” Our wedding was a grand affair. I wore a dress worth a fortune, but I felt like a wooden doll, completely out of place. His family was polite but distant. The first time my parents met his mother was just before the wedding. My parents wore their best, most respectable clothes, but they were so nervous they didn’t know what to do with their hands. His mother smiled, her eyes flicking over their frayed, faded collars. She didn’t say anything. But that night, I passed by the study and heard her talking to Gaten. “From such a common family. They’ll never have any class. If it weren’t for Seraphina… you never would have had to stoop to this level.” Gaten didn’t respond. I pretended I hadn’t heard a thing. After we were married, he was incredibly generous. He gave me a black card with no limit, a mansion to live in, a driver and maids to see to my every need. It was a life I could never have imagined. But I always felt like a guest. I couldn’t contribute to the conversations in their social circle. They talked about equestrian sports, art auctions, and financial terms I didn’t understand. I could only stand by and smile. Once, at a gala, someone asked me, “Mrs. Thorne, what are your hobbies?” I opened my mouth, but my mind was a void. Was I supposed to say I loved reading, or helping my grandmother on the farm? Gaten wrapped an arm around my shoulder and smiled faintly. “She’s rather introverted. She prefers to stay home.” The person gave a knowing, slightly pitying “Oh.” After that, I made a point of shrinking into the corners at those events, trying to be invisible. It wasn’t for lack of trying. I took classes in flower arranging and tea ceremonies, desperate to fit into his world. But his mother could shatter my confidence with a single sentence. “A pale imitation,” she’d sniff. Gaten would just frown and say, “Mom, that’s enough.” That was all. I kept telling myself it was okay, that he loved me. He remembered my birthday and sent extravagant gifts, though he never stayed to watch me blow out the candles. He’d send the driver to pick me up when it rained, though he never came himself. I was guarding a beautiful, empty box, telling myself it was full of treasure. The day our daughter was born, he did come to the hospital. He held the baby, a flicker of novelty on his face at being a new father. His mother glanced at the baby and sniffed. “Just a girl.” Our daughter, Lily, grew up to be a sweet child. Almost too sweet. In that grand, cold house, she learned to read the moods of everyone around her. The day Seraphina came back, divorced and with her son in tow, I was in the garden with Lily, playing with blocks. Gaten’s mother was ecstatic, rushing out to greet them, cooing over Seraphina’s son, Leo, as if he were a prince. She took Seraphina’s hand, her eyes full of adoration. “Oh, just look at you. This is what a Thorne daughter-in-law should look like! If only you had…” She trailed off, but everyone knew what she meant. Leo was a few months older than Lily and spoiled rotten. He snatched Lily’s doll and pushed her to the ground. Lily picked herself up, dusted off her dress, and offered him her other doll. “You can have this one too, big brother. Please don’t push me, okay?” It felt like a needle in my heart. That night, I said to Gaten, “Could you talk to Leo? He’s always bullying Lily.” He was leaning against the headboard, reading a report. He didn’t even look up. “It’s normal for kids to squabble. You’re too sensitive.” “But Lily, she…” “Enough,” he cut me off. “Seraphina just got back, she’s in a fragile state. My mother asked me to take extra care of them. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” I looked at his cold, indifferent profile and swallowed the rest of my words. It only got worse. Lily fell and scraped her knee, crying her eyes out. Leo stood beside her, clapping and laughing. Gaten came home from work at that moment, and Lily held out her arms, wanting her daddy to pick her up. Instead, he ruffled Leo’s hair first. “What are you doing, little man, teasing your sister?” he asked, his tone playful. Only then did he look at Lily. “It’s just a little fall. Don’t be so dramatic.” Lily’s outstretched arms slowly fell to her sides. She looked down, wiped her own tears, and whispered, “It doesn’t hurt, Daddy.” She never asked him to hold her again. That is how my heart slowly turned to stone. Until the vacation. Until my daughter clutched her tiny chest, her face turning blue, and died in my arms.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386861”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband was broken. And at his own birthday party, he didn’t even bother to hide it. “You’re a therapist,” he sneered. “Why don’t you psychoanalyze yourself before you make a scene?” He was right. I am a therapist. And I know exactly how to make a faithless man repent. 1 The sight of Charlie, my husband, his arms wrapped tightly around another woman, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, made my world shrink to a single, sharp point. I strode forward, my voice tight. “Charlie, what the hell are you doing?” The woman flinched, burrowing deeper into his arms like a frightened animal. Charlie’s face hardened, his tone dripping with annoyance. “Isn’t it obvious? Do I really need to spell it out for you?” He then softened his voice, cooing at the woman in his embrace. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared.” My eyes burned. “This is how you treat me?” I choked out, the words thick with unshed tears. “You swore to me. You said it would only ever be me.” Charlie’s hand, which had been stroking the woman’s back, paused. He looked up at me, his eyes cold with scorn. “Those were just words. I’m bored of you now. I wanted to try something new. Is that a crime?” He added, as if tossing me a scrap of charity, “You can keep the title of Mrs. Tinkcom. But only if you don’t make a scene.” The words were like daggers to my heart. He once whispered, “My Dahlia, you should always shine this brightly. I swear, I’ll never let you down.” “You’re a treasure,” he’d said. “You’ll always be my Mrs. Tinkcom.” A tear finally escaped, tracing a cold path down my cheek. Charlie’s face twisted in disgust. “You never used to be so melodramatic. All you do now is cry. It’s my birthday, for God’s sake. You’re ruining it.” I lunged forward, grabbing the front of his shirt. “You forgot your promise! You said you would love me for the rest of your life!” That seemed to be the final straw. He seized my wrist, his grip like iron, and flung me away from him. “What promise?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “Are you done yet? Don’t force me to humiliate you in front of everyone.” “Besides,” he added with a cruel smirk, “so what if I found someone else? You’re a therapist, aren’t you, Clara? Can’t even fix your own broken heart?” I collapsed to the floor, the world blurring around me. I watched their backs as they walked away, my mouth open but no words coming out. It was Charlie’s birthday. I couldn’t let him lose face in front of his guests. 2 I staggered to my feet, my soul feeling as battered as my body, and brushed the dust from my dress. A sharp sting made me look down at my palm. I’d scraped it open, and tiny beads of blood were welling to the surface. My gorgeous evening gown was now streaked with dirt, its elegance ruined. Just like my marriage. Once beautiful, now utterly stained. A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I fought back a fresh wave of tears. “I’m a therapist,” I whispered to myself. “Does that mean I’m supposed to calmly accept my husband’s betrayal?” Before I could sink further into my despair, the house manager found me. His eyes were filled with pity as he took in my disheveled state. “Ma’am, you should go change. You’re expected back at the party soon. Don’t let them have the satisfaction of gossiping about you.” Dressed in a fresh gown, I made my way to the backyard patio where the party was in full swing. The chatter and laughter died down as I appeared, a wave of silence rippling through the crowd. A sweet, cloying voice broke the tension. “Oh, Mrs. Tinkcom, you’re here! Perfect timing! Charlie was just about to cut the cake. He almost asked me to do it with him, he thought you weren’t coming back.” She pouted playfully at Charlie, a gesture that was less of a complaint and more of a flirtation. “It’s all your fault, Charlie. I almost overstepped. People might have thought I have no manners.” I recognized her. It was the woman from before, the one in Charlie’s arms. Scarlett Vance, a rising starlet his company was promoting. I stared at her, my face a mask of indifference, and mimicked her saccharine tone. “Oh, I think your manners are perfectly clear. In fact, anyone would be forgiven for thinking you were Mrs. Tinkcom.” Scarlett’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Before she could let out a single sob, Charlie leaped to her defense. He stepped in front of her, his gaze burning with fury. “Clara, have you not caused enough trouble for one night? Was that sarcasm really necessary? When did you become so vicious?” “Maybe you need a little shock to clear your head.” With that, he grabbed my arm and started dragging me towards the swimming pool, ignoring the cumbersome weight of my gown. I struggled, I screamed, but not a single person moved to stop him. “Charlie, I’m afraid of the water! Let me go!” I thought that would make him stop. I was wrong. A cruel smile touched his lips as he released his grip. “How else am I supposed to know if you’re telling the truth, Mrs. Tinkcom?” My heart turned to ash. I closed my eyes, bracing for the icy plunge. But instead of cold water, I fell into a pair of strong, warm arms. My eyes flew open to see a handsome face looming over mine. He looked familiar, but my mind was too scrambled to place him. He gently set me down in a nearby lounge chair before turning to Charlie with a mocking eyebrow raise. “My dear nephew,” he drawled, the words dripping with sarcasm. “The first thing I see upon my return is you manhandling your own wife. Does your grandfather know about this?” Charlie’s face darkened. “Uncle Ethan,” he bit out, his jaw tight. “It’s good to see you. But this is a private family matter. If you’re here for the party, you’re welcome. Otherwise, stay out of it.” Ethan let out a sharp laugh, as if Charlie had just told the funniest joke in the world. “You know what they used to call men like you? Weak. Unfit to lead. Choosing your mistress over your wife.” I watched as Charlie’s face turned a blotchy red, as if Ethan had struck a nerve. He finally exploded. “All you ever do is use Grandpa to put me down! You call me unfit? What about you? You’re a damn psycho! If it weren’t for—” He cut himself off, his voice fading as if he remembered who he was talking to. The party ended abruptly. The cake was never cut. Charlie sent everyone home, including his uncle, Ethan. I knew Charlie despised his younger uncle. He’d once told me, hissing the words, that Ethan was a genuine, certifiable lunatic. As the last guest departed, a profound sadness washed over me. A near-stranger had defended me more fiercely than the man who had sworn to protect me—the very man who was the source of all my pain. I didn’t offer Charlie my usual comfort. I simply turned to leave. I’d only taken two steps when his voice, low and laced with anger, stopped me. “The way that psycho Ethan was staring at you… his eyes were practically glued to you. Are you planning on cheating?” I summoned the last of my patience. “I have never once thought about cheating. You’re the one parading your starlet around. And for the record, I wasn’t even looking at him.” Charlie’s brow relaxed slightly. “Parading her around? Don’t be so dramatic. I already told you, you’ll always be Mrs. Tinkcom. What more do you want?” I couldn’t talk to him anymore. It was like speaking to a brick wall. “Happy birthday,” I said, and walked away. Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, still offering him that small kindness after everything. 3 The next morning, I escaped to my sanctuary: the therapy studio I had built from the ground up. Only here, immersed in my work, could I forget the wounds Charlie had inflicted. Here, I felt valued. Here, I felt needed. But today, my sanctuary was invaded by two unwelcome visitors. My husband, and his employee. Or more accurately, the woman who had shattered our marriage, Scarlett Vance. They walked in holding hands, Charlie playing the part of the doting partner. He shooed away my scheduled client and stood over my desk, looking down at me with an air of command. “Clara. Scarlett needs a session. She’s been dealing with a lot of online harassment.” Even at my lowest, I had my limits. I would not treat my husband’s mistress as a patient. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice cold. “This clinic is too small for a ‘goddess’ like her. You should try a major hospital.” Charlie’s face turned to thunder. “What did you just say? You’ll see her, right now. Or I’ll make sure this place loses its license.” Scarlett immediately clutched his arm, her voice a tremulous plea. “Charlie, don’t be angry. I’m sure Mrs. Tinkcom is just afraid she won’t be able to help me. That’s why she’s refusing.” “It’s all my fault,” she whimpered, tears already glistening in her eyes. “I never should have suggested coming here. Please, don’t fight because of me.” As a tear rolled down her perfectly sculpted cheek, Charlie melted. He pulled her into his arms right in front of me, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances. “Shh, don’t cry, don’t cry. My Scarlett is the most beautiful. Don’t let someone like her upset you. The company needs you.” His voice was so gentle it felt like a physical blow. I drifted for a moment, remembering all the times I had cried to him. “Clara, you’re Charlie Tinkcom’s wife,” he would say, his tone impatient. “You need to be strong. Crying doesn’t solve anything.” I used to think he was just emotionally distant. But now I knew the truth. I just wasn’t the right person. I wasn’t worthy of his comfort. It had all been in my head. Because of his words, I had stopped crying in front of him long ago. I learned to soothe my own wounds, to be my own counselor. My silence seemed to infuriate Charlie further. He snatched a potted plant from my desk and smashed it on the floor. “See her now!” he roared. “Or I’ll tear this place apart. I paid for it, after all.” I looked up at him, my own tears threatening to spill. “You promised,” I whispered. “You promised you would never interfere with my work. That you would always support me.” “I…” For a split second, a flicker of unease crossed his face. He looked almost… panicked. But before he could process it, Scarlett’s voice cut through the tension. “Charlie, I don’t feel well. If Mrs. Tinkcom doesn’t want to, we shouldn’t force her. Let’s just go.” “No. You’re getting your session today.” He knelt beside her, all his attention focused on her distress. “It’s okay, Scarlett. I’ll make sure you get the help you need.” He stood up, his mouth opening to threaten me again. But I beat him to it, turning my gaze to Scarlett. “I’ll see you.” 4 I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced myself to see Scarlett as just another patient. After running a series of diagnostic tests, I stared at the results, a deep frown creasing my forehead. Charlie burst into the room without knocking. “Clara, how is she? What’s the verdict?” I didn’t answer. The data on the report was too clean, too perfect. The scores were so extreme they looked deliberately fabricated. Charlie snatched the papers from my hand. His eyes scanned the page and landed on the conclusion: Preliminary diagnosis: Severe Major Depressive Disorder, compounded by severe affection deprivation. “Charlie, these results are questionable,” I said, trying to remain professional. “We need to run more tests. And Miss Vance,” I added, turning a skeptical eye on her, “were you completely honest in your responses?” She flinched as if I’d struck her, letting out a series of soft whimpers. She swayed, looking as if she might faint at any moment. Charlie’s hand cracked across my face. The sting was sharp, shocking. “What kind of therapist are you?” he raged. “You screw up the diagnosis, and then you have the nerve to accuse Scarlett of lying!” I stood there, stunned. He had never, ever laid a hand on me before. But for this woman, he would cross any line, humiliate me in any way. From the safety of Charlie’s arms, Scarlett peeked at me. A triumphant, vicious smile played on her lips as she mouthed two silent words: You lose. Something inside me snapped. With a guttural scream, I shoved them both out of my office, out of my sanctuary. Charlie, startled by my feral rage, simply stared for a moment, his eyes wide with shock, before scooping Scarlett into his arms and leaving. I looked at the wreckage of my office—the shattered pot, the scattered soil. And then, a laugh escaped my lips. A wild, unhinged sound. “Hah… haha… hahaha…” It was the kind of laughter that comes when sorrow becomes so immense, it can only curdle into madness. 5 When I got home, Charlie was sitting on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. I tried to ignore his intense gaze and head upstairs. In a flash, he was on his feet, pulling me into his arms. He nuzzled my neck, his voice a placating murmur. “Clara, baby, I’m sorry. I was just so worried about Scarlett today, that’s why I hit you. It was a mistake.” “Her situation could really hurt the company,” he continued, as if that explained everything. “I wasn’t trying to give you a hard time, I promise. Forgive me? Look, I even made you dinner.” The casual way he tried to erase the day’s events made me want to laugh and scream at the same time. I was about to speak when his phone rang. He answered, and a woman’s frantic voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Tinkcom, you have to come quick! Scarlett’s having an episode! She’s locked herself in her room, she’s hurting herself, and we can’t get the door open!” Charlie’s hand, which had been holding mine, dropped away. He grabbed his car keys and was gone in a blur. I looked at the cold bowl of noodles on the table. Of course. I should have known. Charlie had drained me of so much energy, so much love. I didn’t know how much longer I could sustain this marriage. One last chance. I would give him one last chance. If he failed again, I was done. I knew I had a tendency to love too much, to let my heart rule my head. Falling for him had been my own foolish mistake, but who can control matters of the heart? Later that night, as I lay in our empty bed, my phone buzzed. It was a picture. A naked picture of Scarlett and Charlie, tangled together in bed. A text followed immediately. Mrs. Tinkcom, Charlie won’t be coming home tonight. We just finished, and we’re both a little tired. He’s so gentle, you know? Wouldn’t want me to feel a second of pain. He even cleaned me up afterwards. He says it’s a shame you could never give him a child. Do you think I’ll get pregnant with his baby? My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, then shattered into a million pieces. Charlie was never gentle with me. After sex, he would simply roll over and fall asleep, leaving me to deal with the aftermath alone. He never once showed me such tenderness. When I asked him to be softer, he’d just say he wasn’t good at it and tell me to bear with it. The irony was so cruel it was physically painful. As a professional, I knew the name for this feeling: broken heart syndrome, a real condition where intense emotional stress causes the heart to malfunction. This time, Charlie had extinguished the very last spark of love I had for him. The healer cannot heal herself. What a pathetic joke. This title, Mrs. Tinkcom… I didn’t want it anymore. To hell with it. I typed out a reply. Then I wish you two a long and happy life together. Try not to ruin anyone else’s. My training, my very instinct for self-preservation, was screaming at me. I had to get out of this marriage, or I would become one of my own patients. My mind made up, I drafted the divorce papers, ready to send them as soon as I had all my documents in order. But before I could make my move, a tidal wave of filth came crashing down on me. 6 The internet exploded with the news: beloved starlet Scarlett Vance’s depression had worsened significantly. The cause? A botched diagnosis from a “black-hearted” therapist. And that therapist, of course, was me. I wasn’t surprised. Overnight, I became the villain of a national witch hunt. Scarlett’s fans descended like a pack of rabid dogs, tearing me to shreds online. “What kind of quack clinic worsens a patient’s condition?” “BOYCOTT THIS PLACE! I’m posting this therapist’s info everywhere, go see for yourselves!” “And she’s the CEO’s wife? So she just bullies a regular person like our Scarlett? Despicable.” The comments were endless, each one more venomous than the last. Even for a seasoned therapist like me, the sheer volume of hatred was overwhelming. I told myself to hold on, to wait for the right moment to strike back. The online firestorm brought Charlie home. But there was no concern in his eyes, no questions about my side of the story. Only pure, unadulterated rage. “Clara, do you think having red eyes is going to fix this? Do you have any idea how much money you’ve lost the company?” he yelled. “We’re holding a press conference tomorrow. You will be there, and you will apologize to Scarlett.” “She said if you apologize, she’ll let the whole thing go.” By now, my heart was numb. I no longer felt pain, only a cold, clear calm. “How generous of her,” I said, my voice flat. “But I have news for you, Charlie. Scarlett is faking it. And I am not apologizing for something I didn’t do.” Charlie, who was pacing in front of the sofa, went rigid with fury. He swept a glass off the coffee table, and it shattered against the floor. “The evidence is overwhelming, and you’re still lying! Don’t push your luck, Clara. The Tinkcom family will not tolerate a wife who brings shame to our name. One more stunt like this, and we’re done. Divorce.” A shard of porcelain flew through the air, slicing into my calf. He froze, his eyes fixed on the trickle of blood. For a moment, he looked like he was about to rush over to me. I clutched my leg and instinctively recoiled. I didn’t want his touch. Divorce. He had the gall to threaten me with divorce. This was it. This was my chance. “I’ll apologize,” I said, my voice steady. “But on one condition.” The anger on his face was replaced by a flicker of triumphant relief. “Name it.” “Give me a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386860”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Five thirty PM. I was just packing up to leave when a message from my colleague, Karen, popped up on my screen. It was a document, followed by a pleading emoji. Then, the text: “Kathy, I have to run and pick up my son from school. Could you just finish this little bit for me?” I glanced at the progress bar on the document she’d sent. My brow furrowed. “Karen, this is a lot more than a ‘little bit.’ I have plans tonight.” I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. She appeared at my desk, her voice sharp and laced with a grating, matter-of-fact entitlement. “Kathy Kim, are your plans more important than me picking up my child? Besides, it’s not like you have kids. You’re just going home to an empty house. Just stay and do a little overtime for me.” 1. Karen’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was pitched to carry across the entire open-plan office. The room fell silent. A few pairs of eyes, glinting with schadenfreude, landed on me. My fingers tightened on the mouse until my knuckles were white. “Karen, this is your work.” Her volume shot up instantly, her face a mask of disbelief as if I had committed an unforgivable sin. “Why are you being so selfish? This is for my child! For the next generation! What’s the big deal with helping out? Have you no compassion?” Another mother from a nearby desk immediately chimed in, her words dripping with passive aggression. “Yeah, Kathy. Karen’s son, Cody, is so adorable. It’s not easy being a mom.” A third colleague covered her mouth, whispering in a stagey, sympathetic tone, “People without children probably can’t understand that feeling. They can be so cold-hearted.” Every word was a needle, pricking at me from all sides. I took a deep breath and shut down my computer. “I told you. I have plans.” I grabbed my bag and, under Karen’s stunned gaze, clocked out right on time. As I stepped out of the building, the evening breeze on my face did little to clear the knot of frustration in my chest. A black sedan was parked by the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Liam Carter’s face. “Get in.” I slid into the passenger seat, and he handed me a warm corn juice. “Getting guilt-tripped again?” I didn’t answer, just wrapped my hands around the warm cup. The car pulled smoothly into the evening traffic. “She’s dumped the quarterly data on you three times now,” Liam said, his voice flat. He was my father’s most trusted executive assistant, the man who had practically watched me grow up. “Her son’s birthday is this month,” I recited, leaning back and watching the city lights blur past the window. “Next week is a parent-teacher conference, and the week after that is a field trip.” “So she’ll always have another excuse,” Liam finished for me, glancing over. “What are you going to do?” “What can I do? When I can’t take it anymore, I’ll fight back.” I managed a tired smile. Liam didn’t press further. When I got home, I had just slipped off my shoes when my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. It was the department group chat. Karen had posted a long, tear-jerking monologue. “It’s so sad how cold young people are these days. As a mother, all I did was ask for a little help with some finishing touches so I could pick up my son, and she just stormed off. When we were new, we did everything for our seniors—got them coffee, made copies, you name it. Now? There’s just no sense of team spirit.” A few replies popped up immediately. “Don’t be angry, Karen. Some people just have no sense of responsibility.” “She’s not a mom. She can’t understand your struggles.” “I’ll mention it to the manager for you tomorrow.” I stared at the screen, my face a blank mask. Liam walked over and gently took the phone from my hand. “Stop looking at that. She’s a buffoon.” “She’s not. She’s a mirror.” I looked up at him. “One that reflects a lot of people.” 2. The moment I stepped into the office the next morning, I knew something was wrong. My desk was buried under a mountain of files, far more than a day’s worth of work. Karen sauntered over, a smug smirk on her face and a coffee in her hand. “Kathy, darling. The manager noticed you left early yesterday, so you must have plenty of energy. He said you can handle all of this today.” The manager poked his head out of his office. “That’s right, Kathy. It’s a blessing for young people to work hard.” I ignored them, sat down, and turned on my computer. Then, I stood up. I gathered the tallest stack of files from my desk and walked, step by deliberate step, over to the large office trash can. With a thunderous crash, I dumped the entire stack inside. Paper scattered like snowflakes, a few sheets drifting to rest at the manager’s feet. The office fell dead silent. Karen’s coffee cup slipped, splashing hot liquid on her hand. She let out a sharp cry. “Kathy Kim! Are you insane? Those are important documents!” “Important documents?” I turned, my gaze pinning her in place. “If they were so important, why were they piled on my desk instead of being properly filed in the archives?” I advanced on her, the click of my heels on the linoleum floor sounding like a death knell. “In this pile, there were three sets of old data that should have been archived last month, five procedural forms from other departments, and two of your own personal expense reports. Am I wrong?” Karen’s face cycled through shades of red, white, and a sickly green. “You… You’re lying!” “Am I? We can just dig through the trash and find out.” My eyes swept over her, then landed on the terrified manager. “Or, we could call down someone from the Chairman’s office to help us assess the value of these ‘important documents’.” The manager’s face turned the color of liver. He shot Karen a venomous glare before forcing a smile that was uglier than a grimace. “A misunderstanding! It’s all a misunderstanding. Kathy, don’t get worked up. Karen was just joking with you.” He scurried over to the trash can, pathetically trying to salvage the papers. I didn’t stop him. “A joke?” I looked at him, the contempt in my eyes palpable. “Joking with company work? Is that your management style?” His hands froze mid-air. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. “I… of course that’s not what I meant.” “Then what did you mean?” I pressed, my voice low but every word a dagger. The other colleagues didn’t dare breathe, desperately trying to merge with their computer screens. The ones who had cheered Karen on in the group chat last night looked like they wanted to crawl inside their monitors and disappear. Karen stood frozen, her lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. Finally, the manager broke. “It’s my fault. My management was lacking. Kathy, please, calm down. I promise I will give you a proper resolution to this.” He yanked Karen into his office, and the door slammed shut with a resounding boom. I returned to my desk. The world was finally quiet. During my lunch break, a message from Liam came through. Heard you went on a rampage this morning. I replied: Just taking out the trash. A few minutes later, another message. Well done. But now they’ll just move their attacks from the open to the shadows. I stared at the screen and typed back. I’m waiting. 3. After being reprimanded, Karen kept a low profile for a few days. She stopped openly pushing her work onto me, but the whispers and gossip about me in the office multiplied. “She thinks she can challenge her seniors and the manager just because she’s young and pretty.” “I heard she has connections. How else could she be so arrogant?” “It’s always the ones who look innocent. They’re the most calculating.” I ignored it all. That afternoon, our department was given an urgent, high-stakes assignment: design the invitation for a major charity gala. The deadline was tight, and the manager put Karen in charge. The first thing she did was come to me. This time, her posture was different. She was humble, almost pleading. “Kathy, I know you’re the strongest designer we have. This invitation is incredibly important; it’s our whole department’s reputation on the line. Can you please help me?” She paused, then added the clincher. “I’m begging you. You know I have Cody to take care of. I just don’t have the energy for something this big.” I saw the glint in her eye and asked calmly, “Help you? Does that mean I lead, or you do?” “You lead, of course!” she said quickly. “I’ll be your assistant! And the credit will all be yours in the end!” I nodded. “Fine.” I took the project and dove in headfirst. This wasn’t just an invitation; it was a representation of the entire corporation’s image. I researched extensively, and inspired by the gala’s theme, “A River of Stars,” I developed a concept that blended a celestial night sky with silhouettes of ancient architecture. To achieve the perfect effect, I even asked Liam to connect me with a master artisan, a specialist in the traditional craft of silhouette cutting. He handcrafted the silhouette portion, which I then scanned for digital post-processing. For three straight days, I practically lived at the office. Karen, my supposed “assistant,” did nothing but leave on the dot every day to pick up her son. She’d occasionally pop by my desk to ask, “How’s it coming along?” before snapping a few pictures of me hard at work. She’d then post them in the department group chat with captions like, “Kathy is working so hard! Let’s all cheer her on!” On Friday, the final proof was ready. The exquisite, hollowed-out star map, paired with the elegant, classic silhouette, was breathtaking. The manager was effusive with his praise. “This is brilliant! Karen, you’ve really hit a home run this time!” Karen beamed. “Oh, it was nothing. I just had a good initial concept, and Kathy helped out a lot, of course.” I stood to the side, silent. Karen clutched the design proofs as if they were her newborn child. “Sir, I’ll take this over to the project lead at corporate headquarters myself. It’ll be a good chance to explain my design philosophy in person.” The manager nodded eagerly. “Excellent idea, excellent.” I watched her stride triumphantly out of the office, a cold smile playing on my lips. Liam was right. They had just moved their methods into the shadows. And I had already built the stage for their performance. I opened my laptop and sent an encrypted file to Liam. It contained every draft of my design from the past three days, my inspiration notes, the communication records with the silhouette artist, and, hidden in the bottom right corner of the final design, my initials—CV—encoded in Morse code. I sent him a message. Fish is on the hook. He replied instantly. The net is ready.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386859”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The moment we were reborn on the set of that godforsaken reality show, I scheduled a hysterectomy. My fiancé, the heir to the Croft empire, booked a vasectomy. In our past life, it all started at our engagement party. Melody, the underprivileged student we were sponsoring, burst in and pointed a trembling finger at me. “How can you marry him when you’re carrying my brother’s baby?” Then she turned, weeping, to my fiancé, Julian. “And I’m carrying your child! How could you just abandon me?” We thought it was a sick joke. We’d never done what she claimed. We’d met her family when the show had us stay at their rural home, and moved by their poverty, we offered our support. But then, in front of a ravenous press corps, she produced two positive pregnancy tests. Hers, and mine. She tried to force me to marry her brother. She demanded Julian marry her. When the story broke, my acting career imploded overnight. Julian’s family business was dragged through the mud, the stock price plummeting, pushing them to the brink of bankruptcy. To clear our names, we had no choice but to see the pregnancies through. We waited for the births, for the DNA tests that would finally prove our innocence. We never imagined the results would only seal our public execution. Unwilling to drag our families down with us, we walked into a blizzard on a remote mountain and let the cold take us. And then, I opened my eyes. We were back. Back on the very first day we stayed in Melody Song’s home. … I gasped, my lungs burning as if I’d been starved of air. A cold sweat soaked through my clothes, the phantom chill of the blizzard still clinging to my bones. I looked down at my hands—pale and slender, not the swollen, frostbitten claws I remembered. A knock came at the door. “Sera? I need to talk to you…” That voice. Cool, familiar, beloved. Tears streamed down my face. I threw the door open and launched myself into his arms like a moth drawn to a flame. Julian Croft. The crown prince of New York’s high society. We’d grown up together, and the moment he heard I was joining a dating reality show, he’d signed up too. He held me back with the same desperate force, like a man reclaiming a lost treasure. When we finally calmed down, we sat on the edge of the flimsy bed. The room smelled of damp earth and mildew, the walls stained with black mold. Neither of us spoke. Julian pulled out his phone, and I saw the date. September 20th. Day one of filming. The day we were assigned to stay with the Song family, the day our naive compassion set our doom in motion. I saw the complex emotions warring in his eyes. He remembered, too. We were both reborn, back at the start of the nightmare. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, his voice thick with a fear that mirrored my own. “We’re both back.” Neither could I. In our last life, our story on the show had been a fairytale. We became the nation’s sweethearts, and the proposal was the perfect, logical next step. That day, the one we’d anticipated our whole lives, became the first day of our damnation. Julian was on one knee, the ring box open, my hand trembling as I reached for it. That’s when Melody burst in. She claimed we had toyed with her and her brother’s affections during our stay. She screamed that the baby in my belly wasn’t Julian’s—and that the one in hers was the true Croft heir. We thought she was insane. We’d never even been alone with either of them. Then she produced the pregnancy reports. The media, always hungry for a scandal, devoured the story. Copies of the reports were everywhere. Our careers, our lives, were put on hold. But Julian and I, we never doubted each other. To prove our innocence, we agreed to wait for the births, for the DNA tests. The moment the babies were born, we thought we were saved. Instead, we were dragged into an even deeper abyss. When the results came back, we stared at the two reports in disbelief. My child was a genetic match for her intellectually disabled brother, Peter. And her child was a 99.9% match for Julian. The hospital was a circus of flashing cameras. Live streams of our public humiliation hit millions of viewers in minutes. The world’s judgment was swift and merciless. Sluts and scumbags. No wonder they found each other. The rich are all the same. They see a poor family and just use them for sport. Disgusting. Who would ever support them again? God knows what diseases they’re carrying. Our families were dragged into it, accused of using their philanthropic work as a front for depraved activities. The shock sent Julian’s grandfather to the ICU. We couldn’t let them suffer anymore. We posted one final, cryptic message online, and walked into the snow. Now, sitting in that wretched room, we tried to piece it together, to understand how it had all gone so wrong. One thing was certain: once this show wrapped, our families would push for that engagement party again. The thought of that day, once a dream, now a terror, made Julian’s hand tighten on mine. “This time,” we said in unison, our voices a low, fierce promise, “we find the truth. And we never repeat the past.” The next morning, the rooster’s crow woke us. As Julian and I stepped out of the room, we found Melody standing right outside the door, her eyes blazing. “Why are you two coming out of the same room?” she demanded. Julian’s gaze was hard as flint. He draped an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “We grew up together. We’re in love. Get over it.” Melody’s expression flickered. She seemed to realize she’d come on too strong. Her voice softened. “I was just worried. You’re on camera. I didn’t want it to affect your image.” She bustled off to make breakfast as the film crew began to arrive. A few minutes later, she returned with just two boiled eggs, her head bowed in practiced humility. The camera zoomed in on her, and she shuffled her feet, drawing attention to her worn-out shoes. Her brother, Peter, wandered out, his pants stained with something unidentifiable. Last time, we had immediately offered to sponsor them, to find the best doctors for Peter. This time, we just wanted the truth. We wanted to get as far away from these two as possible. Melody offered us the eggs. Her stomach rumbled audibly, and Peter drooled, his eyes fixed on the food. I smiled sweetly and pushed the eggs back towards her. “We’re not hungry. You two eat.” We said nothing about sponsorship. Melody froze, insisting we take them. A crew member chimed in. “Just take it. It’s a kind gesture. It’s the last two eggs they have.” Julian was a Croft. He’d only reined in his imperious nature for my sake. That comment was the last straw. He snatched the eggs and thrust them at the crew member. “Here. You eat it. Don’t let her kindness go to waste.” The man, remembering exactly who Julian was, paled and accepted the eggs. I turned and met Melody’s eyes. They were filled with a burning hatred. Even Peter’s vacant stare held a flash of malice. Something was deeply wrong here. Peter had a government-issued disability certificate; that couldn’t be faked. And yet, in our past life, after my child was born, he had miraculously recovered his health. He and Melody had come to us, demanding I take my child and marry him. We still had several days of filming left. Julian and I knew we couldn’t eat or drink anything the Songs offered us. Seeing our refusal, Melody’s eyes welled up with tears. She cast a wounded look at the director. He whispered something to her, and she immediately calmed down, turning to me with a faint, chilling smile. A sense of dread washed over me. Sure enough, the next day, without any warning, the show was switched to a live broadcast. As the cast sat together, Melody appeared, representing the village. She carried a platter of local fruit, her eyes wide and pleading. “I hope you won’t look down on our humble offering.” The other cast members, unconcerned, each took a piece of fruit. Remembering our last life, Julian and I didn’t move. Suddenly, Melody dropped to her knees. She looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears, a portrait of defiant sorrow. I followed her gaze and saw eight cameras pointed directly at us. I understood. I almost had to laugh at the sheer audacity of it. The network knew their audience. They loved watching entitled celebrities and rich kids bully a simple, poor girl from the countryside. They’d seen our hostility towards the Songs and cooked up this little piece of theater on the fly. Just as they’d hoped, the live chat exploded. So much for the ‘philanthropist’ actress. Her true colors are showing. They’re two of a kind. She’s just as fake as he is. That poor girl’s hands are shaking and they won’t even take the fruit. Melody’s voice broke into a sob. “I know our village is poor… and you probably look down on us… but this is the best we have to offer, Miss Pitt…” I saw the fury building in Julian’s eyes and put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Melody’s acting was superb. It was a shame she wasn’t in Hollywood. But she forgot one thing. I was an actress, too. An award-winning one. I bit my lip and sighed, bowing my head. When I looked up again, my own eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Julian, it’s okay,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. “So what if I have a skin allergy right now? I can eat it. If something happens, I’m sure the network will get me to a hospital.” Julian, my partner in all things since childhood, caught on instantly. His tone shifted to one of grudging concern. “You’re right. It’s a kind gesture. Worst case, I’ll just stay with you at the hospital. We can watch the rest of the show from there.” We were the show’s main draw. The director knew he couldn’t afford to lose us. He cleared his throat, ordered the live broadcast cut, and waved for the crew to help Melody up and escort her away. But she suddenly wrenched free. She ran to Julian, her face a mask of innocent concern, but her words were a cold blade of terror. “Brother, why are you so angry? It’s okay. You’ll belong to Melody soon anyway.” She then turned to me, her smile serene. “And you, Miss Pitt, will be part of our family, too.” With that, she calmly allowed the crew to lead her away. In our past life, her words would have been nonsense. This time, Julian and I felt a chilling dread seep into our very bones. The show ended, and as expected, our on-screen romance captivated the nation. A month later, despite my caution, a paparazzo caught me looking nauseous. The tabloids ran with it. Our parents saw the news and called immediately, urging us to get married as soon as possible. They even bought a ridiculously large diamond at auction and had it couriered to Julian. The news spread like wildfire: The Croft heir and the A-list actress, a shotgun wedding. The proposal was imminent, and the world expected a spectacle. I leaned against Julian’s shoulder, the memory of our icy deaths making my voice catch. “Julian, maybe we shouldn’t do the proposal. Maybe we should just… elope.” He took my cold hands in his. “I can’t let you marry me without a proper proposal. We’ve been so careful this time. I still want to give you the wedding of your dreams.” Our parents were insistent. There was no getting out of it. A dark premonition settled in my gut, but with Julian by my side, I felt a flicker of security. On the day of the engagement party, I was in a couture gown, Julian’s hand holding mine as we entered the grand ballroom. And just like before, Melody was there, with Peter in tow. She was clutching a stack of papers, dressed in thin, ragged clothes, her stomach slightly rounded. “You’re getting married? What about us? Did you think you could just play with our hearts and walk away without any consequences?” The room erupted. Reporters swarmed, their cameras flashing. With tears and snot running down her face, Melody spun her tragic tale of coming all the way from her poor village only to find the father of her child marrying another woman—a woman who was carrying her own brother’s baby. Gasps filled the hall. Melody began handing out copies of the pregnancy reports. She pointed at me. “To create some saintly image for yourself, you seduced my disabled brother! You got pregnant with his child! And after the show, you just tossed him aside! But he’s in love with you now! He can’t live without you!” Then, turning to Julian, she wept. “And you! You told me you were tired of this woman, that you only loved me! You gave me this baby! Why are you still with this slut? Why?” Just like last time, the crowd was swayed by her performance. They turned on us. “Tsk, tsk. They took advantage of those poor villagers, and now it’s come back to bite them.” “A pair of disgusting cheats. They make me sick.” Julian and I met each other’s gaze and shared a cold, humorless smile. She was here. Right on cue. As Melody reached for me, trying to drag me away with her brother, I pulled free. I slapped a piece of paper against her face. My words were clear, ringing through the silent hall. “Then explain this. How does a woman with no uterus get pregnant with your brother’s child?” Julian, with a look of utter disgust, threw his own report at her feet. The one confirming his vasectomy.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386858”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my wedding day, I knew the sweet soup my half-sister brought me was drugged. I smiled and drank it all. I watched as she eagerly changed into my wedding gown and stepped into the limousine of Steve Clarke, the kingpin of the island’s criminal underworld. In my last life, I woke up and hysterically tore her deception to shreds, ruining her reputation and getting her exiled from the city. I then married Steve, using my father’s position as a high-ranking military commander to help him legitimize his empire and rise to the apex of power. It all came crashing down when I was on the delivery table, my life hanging by a thread. Steve dismissed the doctors. He stood there, holding my sister and their one-month-old son, his eyes cold. “Seraphina,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt, “if it wasn’t for your family’s power, I would have gotten rid of you long ago for the humiliation you put Sylvia through. Now that your father’s own position is precarious, it’s time for you to step aside.” My sister, Sylvia, ground the tip of her stiletto into my fingers, a vicious smile on her face. “Dear sister, everything you fought to protect? My son and I will enjoy it thoroughly. The title and prestige of being Mrs. Clarke are finally returning to their rightful owner.” I died in a storm of agonizing pain and heart-wrenching betrayal. When I opened my eyes, I was reborn. It was my wedding day. … Outside the window, the faint, elegant notes of the wedding march drifted in. I sat up and waited for a quarter of an hour before pressing my temples and walking out of the room. My mother was just turning to go back inside, the corners of her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. When she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway, she gasped. My father heard her and turned. “Seraphina? Didn’t you just get in the car?” He pointed toward the main gate, his face a mask of confusion. “Then who was that in the wedding dress who just left?” I clutched my chest, my expression one of feigned horror. “It can’t be… Last night, Sylvia said she couldn’t bear for me to leave and made me a bowl of sweet soup. After I drank it, I felt so drowsy… I’ve been asleep this whole time…” The festive atmosphere in the room instantly turned to ice. Guests exchanged uneasy glances. My mother’s chest heaved, and she nearly stumbled. “Bring Linda to me now!” she commanded, her voice sharp as glass. Linda, Sylvia’s mother, was dragged from the crowd by security. She was clutching a suitcase, clearly having planned to flee. “No wonder you were crying harder than I was,” my mother seethed. “I thought you were genuinely sad to see Seraphina go. Instead, you were sending your own daughter off in the Clarke limousine!” Linda’s eyes darted around, but she tried to remain calm. “Madam, what are you talking about? The young miss overslept and missed her own car. You can’t blame Sylvia for that.” Before she could finish, the butler rushed over and whispered, “Sir, Madam, the Thorne family’s car is here to pick up the second young miss.” My mother’s face was a frozen mask of fury. “Which car did Sylvia get into? Find her and bring her back!” A cold sneer touched my lips. It had been almost half an hour. Sylvia was probably already in Steve Clarke’s penthouse. And Steve, I knew, would have been just as impatient. I glanced at the triumphant smirk Linda couldn’t quite hide and understood everything. This mother-daughter duo had played their hand perfectly. Years ago, Linda had been sent by my father’s rivals to drug him and conceive Sylvia. To protect his reputation, he had no choice but to let them into our home. Now, Sylvia had repeated the trick, drugging me to steal my place. By the time I woke up, the deed would be done. I had two choices: swallow this monumental humiliation, or marry the man intended for her, Captain Marcus Thorne. The Thorne family wasn’t the most powerful on the island, but Marcus, despite his youth, was one of my father’s most capable and decorated officers, his future limitless. My father admired his steady, resolute character and had arranged the match for Sylvia. But Sylvia had swapped her discarded engagement for my glamorous one. If I accepted, the news would spread like wildfire: the eldest daughter of the Shen family, jilted by the Clarkes, had been forced into a lesser marriage. I would become the laughingstock of the island’s elite. In my previous life, this was how Sylvia, with Steve’s backing, had stolen my marriage. Back then, with my parents’ support, I stormed the Clarke wedding. Steve, wary of my father’s military power, denied any knowledge of the switch and allowed my father’s men to drag Sylvia away. I married him, and he treated me with adoration. I naively believed he had been truly deceived that day, never knowing he and Sylvia were already lovers, just waiting for the right moment to use my family’s influence before casting us into the abyss. The butler reported breathlessly, “The second young miss is not in her room. The wedding dress from the Thorne family is on the bed, but all her personal belongings and documents are gone!” He handed my father a sealed envelope. “This was found in a hidden compartment in her vanity.” My father’s face was grim as he tore it open. Inside were several passionate letters in Steve’s handwriting and a few pieces of expensive jewelry. The veins on his temples bulged. He slammed the envelope into Linda’s face. “This is your precious daughter! Seducing her own sister’s fiancé! You have brought nothing but shame to this family!” I had found those carefully hidden keepsakes the moment I woke up, ensuring they would be made public. I needed everyone to see that this was a long-planned conspiracy. As expected, a wave of murmuring and disdain swept through the crowd. “She’s the daughter of a mistress. The Shens were charitable enough to take her in, and she repays them by drugging her sister to steal a marriage? The audacity!” “And that Clarke boy is no better. Engaged to one sister while carrying on with the other. It shows his character!” Linda, calculating that the situation was now irreversible, straightened her back. “Sir, Sylvia is still a daughter of this family! Why not just let them be? It makes things easier for the Clarke family as well…” My mother, trembling with rage, slapped her across the face. “Let them be? Your daughter used disgusting methods to steal my child’s future, and you dare ask for our blessing?” “Guards! Detain this woman! She’ll be handed over to the police!” Linda collapsed to the floor, shrieking, “You can’t touch me! I’m Steve Clarke’s mother-in-law! When he finds out, he won’t let you get away with this!” “I only have one daughter,” my father said, his voice like ice. “Taking you in was an act of mercy. Since you dared to plot against my most precious child, you have no one to blame but yourselves.” He waved his hand, and two guards mercilessly dragged Linda away. The butler approached, his expression troubled. “Sir, the Thorne family is still waiting at the gate. They’re asking when they can begin the procession.” My father’s face was ashen. “Gather my men! We’re going to the Clarkes! I’ll drag that wretched girl back here myself and force her to marry into the Thorne family!” “Father, there’s no need.” I stepped forward and calmly took his arm. “If Steve’s heart is with Sylvia, then I, Seraphina Shen, have no interest in fighting for a disloyal, dishonorable man.” My gaze was steady. “Marcus Thorne is a man you personally promoted. He is capable, loyal, and trustworthy. If we call off the wedding today, what would that do to his and his family’s honor? I am willing to marry him.” My mother grabbed my hand in shock. “Seraphina, don’t say things you’ll regret. This is…” “Mother, I’m not being emotional.” I squeezed her hand. “Marcus is a rising star who has earned his position through merit alone. I trust your judgment, Father, and I trust in his future.” The surrounding guests looked at me with open admiration. “Miss Shen’s grace and perspective are truly remarkable!” “Compared to her, that illegitimate sister is nothing but dirt.” My mother pulled me into a hug, her voice choked with emotion. “But this is so unfair to you, my darling…” My father took a deep breath. “That Clarke boy has humiliated my daughter. He will never get another ounce of support from me again! And as for his shady businesses on the island, he can forget about them running smoothly anymore!” His tone was resolute. “But right now, I’m going to the Clarkes to demand an explanation. Otherwise, that bastard will think the Shen family can be pushed around!” When we arrived at the lavish Clarke estate atop the island’s highest peak, the wedding reception was in full swing. Our sudden intrusion caused a stir among the guests. “Isn’t that Seraphina Shen? She’s the bride, isn’t she? What is she doing here?” “Then who was that woman who exchanged vows with Steve Clarke and was taken upstairs?” A family elder who had accompanied us snorted. “That was just the mistress’s daughter. She used a vulgar trick to steal her sister’s wedding!” The chatter swelled into a roar.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386857”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Everyone in this city knows that Sebastian Thorne, the heir to the Thorne gambling empire, despises me to his very core. He makes a sport of humiliating me at every party we’re forced to attend. “My family built its empire on these tables,” he’d sneer to the crowd. “And Eleanor Larkin? She’s a pretty face who can’t even tell a spade from a club.” “Marrying her? I’d get more of a reaction out of a goddamn inflatable doll!” But thanks to an ironclad marriage contract between our families, and the unfortunate fact that his precious little imposter is barren, he found a different way to use me. He dragged me to the poker table. “If you lose,” he declared, his voice cold as ice, “I’m taking your womb. You will carry my heir.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “And it will be a C-section. No anesthesia.” I had taken enough of his torment. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Fine,” I said, my voice dangerously sweet. “And if I win, I’m taking your goddamn manhood.” The crowd roared with laughter. They thought I was a fool, completely out of my league. After all, everyone in Vegas knew the name Sebastian Thorne. They called him the Phantom. I just lowered my eyes, silent. The Phantom, indeed. Because five years ago, on a rain-lashed night in this very city, I was the one who took that Phantom’s hands in mine and taught him how to cheat just to stay alive. 1 The roar of laughter in the grand ballroom was a familiar soundtrack to my humiliation. I took my seat at the poker table, my expression a carefully constructed mask of calm. My composure seemed to pique Sebastian Thorne’s interest. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, well. I’ll give you this, you’ve got guts.” His voice dripped with condescension. “Then again, guts are all you have left when you’re this stupid. Miss Larkin, I hear you can’t even tell a spade from a club. Shall I walk you through the rules of Five-Card Stud?” My eyes scanned the green felt, and a jolt of nostalgia, sharp and fierce, shot through me. I shook my head, raising a hand to cut him off. “Thank you, Mr. Thorne, but I know the basics. Five cards, one face down, four face up. Best hand wins. I can manage.” “Good. Since Miss Larkin is so confident, let’s begin!” Sebastian’s smirk widened. He gestured for the dealer to approach. “Wait!” A sweet, cloying voice cut through the crowd. “Big brother Seb, poker is so much more fun with more players.” Lila, the family’s darling “adopted” daughter, emerged from the sea of onlookers. Dressed in something scandalously flimsy, she sashayed over and draped herself across Sebastian’s lap. Coiling her arms around his neck, she shot me a venomous, triumphant look. “You don’t mind, do you, sister?” In front of me, his actual fiancée, this display was a slap in the face. Sebastian, far from being annoyed, simply stroked her cheek. “Lila, darling, don’t be a brat,” he chided playfully. “Your sister is a novice. Are you trying to bully her on her first time at the table?” Lila pouted, about to launch into a practiced whimper. I narrowed my eyes. From the side, I had to admit, the little imposter really did look a bit like me. Before she could speak, I cut in, my voice cool and even. “It’s fine. Whatever makes my little sister happy. It’s just one more player.” I turned to the dealer. “You may deal the cards.” Sebastian flinched, my unnatural calm clearly unsettling him. Still, he couldn’t imagine I was anything but a fool bluffing. He suppressed his flicker of doubt and patted Lila’s hip. “Alright, stop messing around. If you’re going to play, go sit properly.” Lila pouted but slid off his lap, taking the seat beside him. A waiter moved silently to our table, stacking thirty million dollars’ worth of chips in front of each of us. Lila’s eyes went wide, gleaming with greed. The dealer unwrapped a fresh deck of cards. He fanned them, separated the twenty-eight needed for the game, and began to shuffle with a mesmerizing, fluid motion. The soft shuffling sound stopped. The game had begun. The dealer’s fingers danced, sliding the first face-down card to each of us. Then came the first face-up card: Sebastian received a Six of Hearts, Lila a Jack of Diamonds, and I, an Ace of Spades. The dealer glanced at the table. “By the rules of Stud, the Ace of Spades is the highest card showing. Miss Larkin, you may bet or fold.” “Of course,” I said, my fingers tracing the edge of an ivory chip. I didn’t push it forward. Instead, I let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Mr. Thorne, you went to all this trouble to get me to play one hand. It seems a shame to just play for money. It’s so… boring.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Why don’t we raise the stakes?” 2 Sebastian stared at me, then let out a short, sharp laugh. He looked at me like I was an idiot who’d gotten one lucky card and thought she owned the world. “By all means. Since Miss Larkin is so eager, tell us. What do you have in mind?” I met his mocking gaze, my finger tapping the Ace of Spades in front of me. “The New Port development project. Thorne Industries holds a five percent stake, and Larkin Holdings has three percent.” “I’ll wager my family’s three percent against your five.” I smiled sweetly. “What do you say, Sebastian?” The ballroom erupted. “Is Eleanor Larkin insane? That’s the New Port! The Thornes, the Larkins, and half a dozen other families have bled themselves dry fighting over that project for years. And she’s just throwing it on a poker table?” “No wonder Sebastian can’t stand her! How could the Larkin family produce such a moron?” “Tsk, tsk. Her grandfather nearly died to build that company, and she’s gambling it away like it’s pocket change. If I were him, I’d crawl out of my grave to strangle the little beast!” … Sebastian clapped his hands, the sharp sounds cutting through the noise. “Excellent! Truly excellent! With Miss Larkin showing such… ‘courage,’ how could I possibly refuse?” “I’m in!” I nodded, satisfied, then slowly turned my gaze to Lila. “Sister dear, Sebastian has matched the bet.” My voice was silk and poison. “Now… what about you?” Lila bit her lip. She was a fraud, with no claim to the Larkin fortune. Her father was a weak man who had married into my mother’s money. What could she possibly wager? The thirty million in chips before her was more cash than she’d ever seen in her life. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. She looked desperately at Sebastian. He, of course, couldn’t bear to see his little pet suffer. “Lila, say whatever you want,” he declared. “Whatever stake you name, I’ll—” “I wouldn’t finish that sentence, Mr. Thorne!” My voice rose, sharp as cracking ice, cutting him off. “This is a wager between the two of us women. I suggest you stay out of it.” I looked down, slowly twisting the ornate ring on my middle finger—the symbol of my engagement to the Thorne heir. “Don’t you worry, little sister,” I continued, my voice softening deceptively. “I know you don’t have the resources to match such a bet.” I paused, then slid the ring off my finger. It landed in the center of the table with a sharp click. “How about this? I’ll add my position as the future Mrs. Thorne to the pot.” “And I’ll bet it against you publicly admitting the truth. That you’re not some ‘adopted daughter’ my father took in. You’re the illegitimate child he had with the maid while my mother was pregnant with me.” The room gasped. Lila’s face went sheet-white. She slammed her hands on the table and shot to her feet, screaming, “You’re lying!” “I am my father’s adopted daughter! You’re just jealous that he loves me more, so you’re making up these disgusting lies!” She turned to Sebastian, tears already welling in her eyes. “Seb, don’t believe her! She’s just trying to slander me!” Everyone present knew Sebastian’s deepest wound: his loathing for illegitimate children. Years ago, a bastard half-brother had appeared out of nowhere, forcing him into a five-year exile to prove his worth. He’d nearly died overseas, saved only by a mysterious mentor who taught him everything before he could return and reclaim his birthright. Sebastian’s face was unreadable. He simply barked at the hysterical Lila, “Sit down.” Then, his eyes, cold and sharp with warning, fixed on me. “I will get to the bottom of this.” I met his gaze without flinching, as if his threat was nothing more than a summer breeze. I tilted my head. “It’s just a bet, sister. No need to get so worked up. If you’re scared, you can always fold. Why lose your composure so spectacularly?” My casual tone enraged her. “Bet? Of course I’ll bet!” she shrieked. “I’m in!” 3 With all three of us in, the dealer dealt the third card. The cards were turned. Lila got a Jack of Spades, giving her a pair of Jacks face-up—the strongest hand on the table. Sebastian received an Eight of Hearts, which, combined with his Ten of Hearts, gave him a strong potential for a flush. I, however, received a worthless Three of Diamonds. Paired with my Ace of Spades, my hand was a mess. Despite the high Ace, my hand’s potential looked pitiful compared to theirs. The tables had turned in an instant. The dealer gestured to Lila. “The pair of Jacks is the high hand. Miss Hayes, the bet is to you.” The color rushed back into Lila’s face. She glanced at the pathetic Three on my side of the table and nearly laughed out loud. “An idiot is an idiot,” she sneered. “You get one Ace and think you’ve already won? No wonder Father can’t stand you.” She leaned forward, her eyes glittering with malice. “Eleanor, since you love raising the stakes, let’s play for something more… direct.” “I’ll bet all the clothes on my body against all the clothes on yours. Whoever loses strips naked. Right here. And then crawls around the entire ballroom. Let’s let everyone see what the great Eleanor Larkin looks like with nothing left to hide!” “Do you dare?” Under the intense gaze of the entire room, I lowered my head, remaining silent. My shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly, as if I were too humiliated to speak, too terrified to move. My face was pale. Sebastian had been watching my impending breakdown with cold detachment. But as the light from the chandelier above caught my downcast eyes, a flicker of something—familiarity?—stirred in his mind. He spoke, his voice a low warning. “Eleanor, if you fold now, I will honor your grandfather’s memory and forget about the three percent stake in the New Port.” “However, this engagement is over. And you will kneel before me and Lila, right here, and beg for our forgiveness. Then, and only then, will this be settled.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone magnanimous, as if offering a scrap to a beggar. “Think carefully before you answer, Eleanor.” The ballroom fell silent. Everyone expected me to take the lifeline he’d thrown. But they were wrong. My shoulders weren’t trembling from fear or shame. They were trembling with excitement. It had been years since I’d encountered a fool as perfect as Lila, one who would so willingly hand me the knife to slit her own throat. I slowly lifted my head. I had already run through every possible outcome of this hand in my mind, confirming the one inevitable result. Everything was perfectly in place. “I’m in.” The words hung in the air, solid and unyielding. Not just the crowd, but even Sebastian and Lila stared at me in stunned disbelief. Sebastian was the first to recover, his shock morphing into pure scorn. “You’re asking for it.” I ignored him, my eyes locked on his darkening expression. “The bet is made, Sebastian,” I said, my voice dangerously playful. “And since you want me to kneel and beg, let’s add that to the pot. If I win, you will stop this pathetic charade of looking for your long-lost ‘mentor’ and parading around trash like Lila as her stand-in. It’s insulting.” “You’re not honoring a memory. You’re desecrating it.” The moment I questioned his devotion to his “mentor,” Sebastian’s composure shattered. His eyes blazed with fury. “Shut your mouth! What do you know?” he snarled, his chest heaving. “You have no idea what she means to me. You have no right to speak her name!” He was beyond reason now, his face a mask of rage. He glared at me, his voice a low, menacing hiss. “Fine. Just fine. You want to play rough, Eleanor? Then don’t blame me for what comes next.” He whipped his head toward the dealer, his words bitten out through clenched teeth. “I’m in!” “Deal the fourth card!” 4 The dealer, startled by his outburst, dealt the fourth card with trembling hands. The cards were revealed. Sebastian got an Ace of Hearts. Not a flush, but with his Ten and Eight of Hearts, it created a formidable four-card flush draw. Combined with his hidden card, his hand was incredibly strong. I received an Ace of Diamonds. Suddenly, my face-up cards were a pair of Aces. “No… impossible! How could it be a Four of Spades!” Before the dealer could even announce the new high hand, Lila shrieked. Her body went limp, and she slid from her chair, collapsing onto the carpet in a heap, all pretense of elegance gone. In her fall, her hand accidentally flipped over her face-down card. A Queen of Hearts. Her four revealed cards were a pair of Jacks, a Queen, and a Four. Her hand was dead. No matter what the final card was, she could never beat my pair of Aces. Lila… was guaranteed to lose. The silence in the ballroom shattered, replaced by a storm of gasps and whispers. Lila was frantic. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she crawled to Sebastian, clutching at his legs, her face a mess of tears and snot. “Seb, you have to save me! Please!” she wailed. “I can’t crawl around naked… I’ll be ruined! I’ll have to kill myself!” Sebastian’s face was thunderous, but as he looked down at Lila’s face—a face that bore a four- or five-tenths resemblance to his mentor’s—his resolve softened. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his fury. “Get up. Stop crying. The game isn’t over yet.” He promised, “I’ll handle this.” He turned to me. “Eleanor, I’m warning you. Stop this now. Fold your hand. You can take the thirty million in chips, and I’ll even give Larkin Holdings another one percent of the New Port shares. Your bet with Lila will be wiped clean. If this goes to the last card, neither of us will walk away clean.” He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “You’ve heard the stories about me. They call me the Phantom. You cannot win.” I shook my head, a slow, deep laugh bubbling up from my chest. My gaze swept over the pathetic, sniveling creature on the floor. “Tsk, tsk. Sebastian, you really do have a soft spot for my dear little sister, don’t you?” “In that case, I’ll just have to—” My laughter stopped abruptly. I slammed my hands forward, shoving my entire mountain of chips into the pot. “All in.” The clatter of the chips echoed through the silent hall. “I’m raising you, Sebastian. All in!” My eyes burned into his. “Since you’re so determined to protect her, then you can take her place. All of her bets are now on you. You lose, you pay her debts. If you win, everything is wiped clean. But if I win…” I let the words hang in the air, each one a drop of ice. “Don’t forget what we agreed on at the beginning.” “I want your goddamn manhood.” Sebastian stared at my audacity, his rage twisting into a bitter, incredulous smile. “Ha! Hahaha! Well, Eleanor. I truly underestimated you. You’ve got venom.” “You’re willing to bet your womb. Why shouldn’t I bet my balls? Let me tell you something. Unless my mentor herself walked through that door right now, there is no one in this room who can beat me!” He turned away from me, his voice a roar. “Dealer! Lila folds. Deal the final card!” The last card flew across the table. Sebastian received a King of Hearts. I got a Three of Spades. He rose to his feet, his eyes sweeping over my cards with cruel triumph before he slowly, dramatically, turned over his final, face-down card. A Seven of Hearts. His full hand was revealed: 8, 10, A, K, 7 of Hearts. A flush. He looked at me, his eyes cold and empty of any pity. “A pair of Threes and an Ace. Your down card must be garbage. Two pair? You think that can beat my flush?” “Don’t blame me, Eleanor.” “You did this to yourself.” Lila, her terror replaced by vicious, ecstatic glee, scrambled to her feet. “That’s right, you bitch! Let’s see you act so high and mighty now!” she shrieked. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure every media outlet in the country gets a copy of the video of you crawling on the floor like the naked animal you are!” The ballroom exploded with noise—jeers, laughter, the thrill of bloodsport. Everyone knew it was over. I was finished. But my expression remained placid, almost bored. I didn’t even spare Lila a glance. My eyes cut through the chaos and landed squarely on Sebastian’s smug, victorious face. I slowly rose from my chair, and my voice, though quiet, carried across the entire room. “Sebastian, is this what I taught you in that back alley in Vegas all those years ago?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386856”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I dropped twenty-five hundred dollars on a dress for a review, and I couldn’t even get it on. I checked the sizing chart on the product page again and again. I hadn’t made a mistake. Defeated, I initiated a return. I never expected the seller’s response to send a hot rush of blood to my head. [To process your return, you must upload a video detailing twenty flaws in your own body. Then, strip completely naked and get on your knees and bow to the camera in apology.] [Each bow must be audible. As you bow, you must repeat, “I’m sorry, Mr. Designer. The problem is my body.”] I was furious. This was a flagrant violation of my dignity. I told them I was filing a formal complaint. The customer service rep couldn’t have cared less. “Go ahead. I’ve seen plenty of women with crappy bodies like yours. It’s just a few bucks in fines. We can afford it.” Unfortunately for him, he’d picked the wrong target. As a fashion influencer with over ten million followers, I was after a lot more than just a few bucks. 1 The zipper was stuck fast, halfway up my back. No amount of straining would budge it. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and the fabric around my waist and hips was so tight I could barely breathe. Finally, I gave up. With my last ounce of strength, I wrestled the dress off my body. It took a few moments to catch my breath before I picked up my phone, opened the shopping app, and navigated to the customer service page to request a return and refund. Before I could even carefully fold the dress, my request was rejected. [Your return/refund request has been denied by the seller.] I paused, realizing I probably should have messaged them first. That was likely the reason for the instant denial. I quickly opened the chat window. [Hi, the dress I ordered doesn’t fit. I’d like to process a return.] The message was marked as read almost immediately. But the same customer service that had denied my request in seconds now met me with a wall of silence. I tried initiating the return again. Again, it was instantly rejected. [Your return/refund request has been denied by the seller.] Frustrated, I sent another message. After another long wait, a reply finally came through. [We do not offer a seven-day no-questions-asked return policy.] The bluntness of the message stunned me. I was used to customer service reps starting every message with a nauseatingly sweet “Hi, sweetie!” This was a first. But that wasn’t the important part. I quickly pulled up the product page again. Sure enough, tucked away in the fine print, there was no mention of the standard seven-day return policy. Fine. My mistake for not noticing. But refusing a return on a product that was clearly defective was another matter entirely. As an influencer who had reviewed thousands of garments, I knew I couldn’t back down now. This was a twenty-five-hundred-dollar dress. I wasn’t about to let it become a very expensive decoration. Nobody’s money grows on trees. I opened my browser, screenshotted the relevant consumer protection laws regarding online sales, and sent them over. [Hi there. By law, most goods sold online are subject to a seven-day return policy, and women’s apparel is included within that category.] [Even if it’s not a quality issue, I have a valid reason for the return. I didn’t order the wrong size, nor did I misjudge my own measurements.] [The fact that it doesn’t fit is a problem with the dress itself. Do you require any proof from my end?] I kept my tone professional and polite, simply stating the facts without aggression. This time, the reply was swift. [Send pictures.] [Make them clear.] The clipped, impersonal tone was grating, but a request for proof was standard procedure. It was a breakthrough. A return was possible. 2 I sighed, looking at the dress lying in a heap beside me. Reluctantly, I picked it up. The last thing I wanted was to squeeze myself back into that torture device, but if it meant getting my money back, I had to do it. Besides, it would make for great video content later. The unforgiving fabric and impossibly tight waistline made the process an ordeal. Finally, I had it on again, the zipper still hopelessly stuck. I grabbed my phone and started taking pictures. The zipper that wouldn’t budge. The red marks the seams left on my arms. The way the waistline cut into my skin, creating rolls that weren’t normally there. I documented everything and sent the photos over. [As you can see, the zipper is completely stuck. The waist is far too tight, and there’s no room in the sleeves.] [I checked the size chart carefully before ordering. I’m a standard small, but according to your chart, I needed a large. I ordered the large, and it still doesn’t fit.] I typed out the message, breathless from the effort, hoping to convey my frustration. A few minutes after the pictures and message were marked as read, the reply came. [I can’t tell anything from these pictures.] I stared at my phone, bewildered. [How is that not clear enough? What more do you need to see?] The rep was unperturbed. [Send a video. A video of you putting it on and taking it off. I need to see how the entire dress performs on your body.] I rubbed my face in exasperation. He was deliberately making this difficult. Just getting the dress on and off was a workout. To film it without flashing the camera, I’d have to wear a tank top underneath, which would make it even tighter. But had I come this far just to let twenty-five hundred dollars go down the drain? I took the dress off again, put on a tank top, set up my phone, and hit record. I narrated the whole process, pointing out every spot where the dress caught or constricted. Once it was on, I showed the camera all the areas that were clearly too small, explaining each issue. To top it off, as I struggled to take it off, I ended up in a ridiculous, contorted pose that perfectly demonstrated just how ill-fitting the garment was. I sent the video and collapsed onto the floor, exhausted and overheated. I never wanted to go through that again. Photos taken. Video recorded. Surely, that was enough to get my refund. A few minutes later, his reply made my blood boil. [This isn’t a problem with the dress.] [It’s a problem with your body. It doesn’t fit because your figure is bad, and you’re blaming the dress. I’m not giving you a refund.] The words on the screen felt like a slap. I nearly threw my phone. Did he think I sent him a video so he could critique my body? Whether my body was “good” or not was irrelevant. This was a size large dress that a person who wears a size small couldn’t even get into. How was that my fault? I was seeing red, my chest tight with fury. Just then, a message from my friend Mimi popped up. I tapped on it, ready to vent. But the link she sent left me numb with shock. It was a link to a forum post titled: “She Blames My Dress for Her Lousy Body. My $2500 Dresses Aren’t Made for Trash Like This.” The cover image was one of the unedited photos I had just sent to customer service. Forgetting to even reply to Mimi, I clicked the link, my whole body trembling. “Can you believe someone had the audacity to return a $2500 dress? Do you know how much of my soul I pour into my work?!” “Her body is so pathetic she can’t even fit into a size large. Instead of reflecting on how disgusting her figure is, she blames the dress?” “I made her send a video, and she actually did it. Flat-chested, no ass, waist like a tree trunk.” “And she’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. What’s she trying to hide? Women like her shouldn’t even be allowed to wear dresses. Looking at her is an assault on the eyes!” The comment section was a cesspool of agreement. “She’s obviously just a cheapskate who wanted to wear a nice dress for some Instagram photos and then return it.” “OP, post the video! I want to see just how bad her body is!” I was about to explode. My fingers flew across the keyboard. “It’s a consumer’s right to return a faulty product! How dare you violate her privacy by posting her photos online? And what business is it of yours what her body looks like?” The original poster replied almost instantly, his tone dripping with venom. “Looks like I hit a nerve. You must have a hideous body too, right? Why don’t you post a picture? We can all see who’s worse.” A few people sided with me. “Dude, who are you to judge her body? Your design is clearly flawed, and you won’t even let her return it. From what I can see, your size large is smaller than a child’s medium. How can you sit here and talk trash?” The poster was relentless. “Another fatty triggered, huh? If you can’t fit into my clothes, it means you need to lose weight. Go get some lipo or something. Otherwise, your boyfriend won’t even be able to look at you!” One of his cronies chimed in: “Yeah! Keep messing with her! Make her send more vids! The kind we like!” The poster immediately replied: “Good idea. How about a naked one?” A moment later, a new message from customer service appeared on my phone. [If you want your refund, upload a video detailing twenty flaws of your own body. Be comprehensive. For example: breasts too small, thighs too fat, etc.] [Then, strip completely naked and get on your knees and bow in apology.] [Each bow must be audible. As you bow, you must say you’re sorry to the designer, that the problem is your body. If I see you are sincere, I will process your refund.] 3 I understood every word on the screen, but the combination of them made my blood feel like it was boiling over. He had already violated my privacy and posted my photos online for public ridicule. Now he wanted to subject me to this humiliating ritual. This was no longer about a simple return. This was a deliberate, malicious attack designed to break my spirit. I was shaking with rage. I had complied with all of his ridiculous demands, hoping to resolve this peacefully and exercise my basic rights as a consumer. But that was not a sign of weakness. He wanted me to insult myself, to prostrate myself naked and beg for forgiveness? Only a complete psychopath would demand something so twisted. There was a time when I, too, had tortured my body, chasing the impossible standards of a “size zero,” “thigh gap,” and “90-degree shoulders” that were trending online. It wasn’t until I broke free from that mindset that I realized the concept of a “good” or “bad” body is an arbitrary standard set by others. Health is all that matters. And now, this stranger, this customer service rep, felt he had the right to pass judgment on my body, to force me into his perverse mold of self-loathing. He had another thing coming. The last thread of my composure snapped. All the frustration and anger I had suppressed came roaring to the surface. I wanted to tear him apart. But as a seasoned reviewer who had dealt with hundreds of brands, I knew that lashing out would get me nowhere. A simple complaint or an angry tirade wouldn’t be enough to truly punish him. I needed irrefutable proof. I needed to make him say it himself. I took a few deep breaths, forcing the inferno in my chest down to a simmer. I typed calmly. [I’m sorry, the platform seems to have flagged some keywords. I can’t see your message clearly. Could you send it as a voice memo so I know what I need to do?] A gruff, male voice came through the speaker. “I want you to list your own flaws, so you have a clearer understanding of your disgusting body. Then, you’re going to get naked and bow down to me, to apologize for having such a trashy figure.” I recorded the entire voice memo, then took screenshots of our entire chat history, making sure the timeline of his harassment was crystal clear. I switched back to my chat with Mimi, who had been sending a stream of concerned messages. [Do you know a good lawyer?] She replied instantly, surprised. [You’re going to sue him?] I looked at the forum post, where the number of views and comments was still climbing. I clenched my jaw. [Damn right I am. A slap on the wrist won’t teach him anything. It’s time to go for the jugular.] But this evidence alone wasn’t enough. Not for what I had in mind. I didn’t reply further. Instead, I went to the shopping app’s main help center and found the “File a Complaint” button. I uploaded all the evidence. The platform’s response was slow. Finally, after an agonizing wait, a notification popped up. [We sincerely apologize for your negative experience. The platform will mediate this issue, and we will update you here with the resolution.] The next second, my phone rang. I answered. A familiar, gruff voice yelled through the speaker. “You dared to file a complaint?!” Here we go. This is what I was waiting for. I turned on my phone’s screen recorder, took a deep breath, and replied calmly. “Is this the customer service representative? You told me to strip naked and bow to you. Who else was I supposed to complain about?” A sneer came from the other end of the line. “Ha! You think a complaint is going to do anything? Big deal, they’ll fine me a few bucks. You think I can’t afford it? I’ve seen plenty of women with disgusting bodies like yours. And let me tell you something, I’m not some customer service drone. I’m the designer of this brand. If you don’t do what I say, you have no idea what I’m going to do to you.” 4 So that was it. He wasn’t some low-level employee. He was the designer. That explained his arrogance. He felt untouchable. “So you’re the designer? A man designing women’s clothing?” He spat a curse. “You women can’t do anything right. It takes a man to design clothes that actually look good. And let me tell you, it’s too late now. Even if you got naked and bowed, I wouldn’t take the dress back!” I let out a cold, internal laugh, but my voice was filled with feigned humiliation. “Then what do I have to do to get my money back?” His voice was thick with triumph. “Your body is trash, but your face isn’t half bad. So, on top of the bowing, you’re going to strip and do a little slutty dance for me.” “You’re one of those girls who buys expensive clothes just for a photo op, right? Your wallet is probably as empty as your head. If you don’t get this twenty-five hundred back, you’ll be eating dirt for a month.” “But if you dance well, if you make me happy… maybe I’ll even throw you a few bucks. Hahaha!” I waited for his obnoxious laughter to die down before asking coldly, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll post this online?” He laughed even harder. “A woman with a body like yours? You’d dare show your face online after this? Just do as I say and stop embarrassing yourself.” Perfect. I had all the explosive, damning statements I needed. I hung up, not giving him another second to spew his poison. Then, I immediately called my friend. “Mimi, have you found a lawyer? And have you reached out to the other influencers?” Mimi’s reply was swift and decisive. “All contacted. Everyone is fired up. They’re ready to clean house in the fashion industry.” “Good,” I said, organizing the files on my computer. “This time, we’re not letting them get away with it. This time, everyone is going to see just how toxic the women’s fashion world has become.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386855”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My mother always said my whole life was built on sheer luck. When I got first place on an exam, she’d say, “You’re a good guesser.” When I won a gold medal, it was, “The judges must have been blind.” When I was accepted into Kingston University, she told everyone we knew, “The girl has no real talent. She’s just lucky!” So, on my first day of school, she handed me a book of scratch-off tickets. “Since you’re so lucky,” she said with a thin smile, “you can rely on luck for your living expenses.” “You get one book per semester. Whatever you scratch is what you get. That’s fate.” “And just to make sure you don’t come crying to me when you’re broke, I’m blocking you. I’ll add you back next semester.” And with that, ignoring my desperate pleas on the other end of the line, she blocked all of my numbers. Left with no other choice, I started scratching two tickets a day. On a good day, I’d win twenty, maybe fifty dollars. Most days, I won nothing. I survived by secretly fishing my roommate’s expired cookies out of the trash can. During the last week of the semester, I was severely anemic. As I used the last of my strength to scratch the final ticket, I had to laugh. My mother was right. I really was lucky. … My vision swam with black spots; everything had a double image. The book of five-dollar scratch-offs my mother had given me was like a countdown to my own demise, and only one ticket remained. The thirty dollars I’d won before had been stretched to its absolute limit, even living on nothing but steamed buns and pickled vegetables. Two weeks was all it could last. My stomach felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, cramping with a dull, persistent ache. I called my mother, clinging to one last sliver of hope, but reality slapped me with a bucket of ice water. Still blocked. She hadn’t unblocked me. Desperate, I borrowed a phone from a student I didn’t know and dialed her number again. “Mom…” Before I could say another word, her sharp, cruel voice cut through the line. “If I remember correctly, you still have one ticket left, don’t you? Don’t come crying to me about being broke. I’m not falling for it! If you’re so capable, then use that same ‘luck’ you used to get into college and win scholarships!” The line went dead. I tried calling back, but the phone was turned off. The last scratch-off ticket felt heavy in my hand. I was terrified to scratch it, terrified that it would be another loser. When I started the semester, I was a healthy weight. Now, I was severely malnourished. At five-foot-five, I weighed only eighty pounds. The veins showed blue through my translucent skin. I got back to my dorm room. It was empty. My steps were unsteady as I shuffled toward the trash can. It had become a habit, checking to see if my roommates had thrown out any leftovers or expired food. It was how I had survived most of the semester. Just as I started digging through the trash, the door swung open. “Ugh, Zoe, are you digging through the trash again? That’s disgusting.” My roommate Dana’s voice made my face burn with shame. I snatched my hand back as if the bin were red-hot. Her eyes fell on the scratch-off tickets on my desk, and understanding dawned, followed by undisguised contempt. “I seriously don’t get you. How can you have such a bad gambling addiction? You’d rather dig through trash for food than stop buying those things!” “Even if you love scratching tickets, couldn’t you at least get a part-time job to feed yourself?” “Whatever. I guess it’s just my bad luck to be stuck in a room with someone like you.” With that, Dana glanced at the last bite of cake in her hand, tossed it into the trash, and walked out. I was dizzy with hunger, my head buzzing. I didn’t have the energy to wonder if her act was one of pity or humiliation. I pounced on the trash can like a starving animal and retrieved the piece of cake. I devoured it, shoving it into my mouth. Hot tears streamed down my face, mixing with the cake crumbs, creating a taste that was both salty and bitter. I couldn’t blame her for thinking that. She didn’t know that before school even started, my mother had printed flyers with my face on them and distributed them to every shop around campus with a single instruction: Do not hire this girl for part-time work. She had cut off all my escape routes. “Isn’t she lucky? Then let her rely on luck to eat,” my mother had said. I wondered if her face held the same mocking expression as Dana’s. I had tried to explain countless times that it wasn’t luck. Every award, every accomplishment, was the result of my own hard work. But she never believed me. To her, everything I achieved was just “luck.” Two simple words that erased all of my effort. The last bite of cake settled in my stomach, and the dizziness subsided slightly. My eyes returned to the final scratch-off ticket on my desk. I made my decision. With trembling hands, I began to scratch. As the silver coating peeled away, my heart sank with it. Until the very last line. The prize amount: $20. My heart died completely. That meant I had to survive on twenty dollars until my mother gave me a new book of tickets next semester. Clutching the ticket, I left the dorm to cash it at the lottery stand outside the campus gates. I had just stepped out of the building when I heard the stern voice of my academic advisor behind me. “Zoe Miller!” I turned. When he saw the scratch-off ticket in my hand, the disappointment on his face deepened. “Someone told me about this, but I didn’t want to believe it. You got into this university with one of the top ten entrance scores in the state. How could you become obsessed with games of chance?” “Look at your grades now. You’re failing almost every class! You are a profound disappointment!” “Consider this conversation a warning. If you continue down this path, I will have no choice but to follow university regulations and recommend your expulsion.” I stood there under the blazing sun, listening to his lecture. The energy from that single bite of cake was already gone. I started to sway. “Zoe?!” His expression shifted from anger to alarm. “Are you alright?” He glanced at my skeletal hands and sighed. “Let me take you to the cafeteria to get something to eat. And please, stop spending your food money on lottery tickets. You can’t live your life waiting for a miracle.” I didn’t refuse his offer. At this point, anyone who gave me a meal was my savior. Dignity? Pride? They were worthless when you were starving. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal from the cafeteria all semester. I’d only ever bought plain steamed buns and drank the free hot water. I had no energy to pay attention in class; the words on the blackboard swam before my eyes like tadpoles. My grades had plummeted, and my pride was in pieces. After devouring the meal, I felt much better. I could walk without stumbling, and my mind felt clearer. I thanked my advisor and turned to leave, but he stopped me, his brow furrowed. “Where are you going?” I held up the crumpled ticket. “To cash this in. Otherwise… I won’t have anything to eat.” “Zoe!” he exclaimed, his anger returning. “Have you already forgotten everything I just said?” “Or are you deliberately defying me? Do you want to be expelled? I shouldn’t have bought you that meal. Maybe if you truly starved, you’d understand the gravity of the situation!” “Give me that ticket. It’s time to cut your losses!” He held out his hand, his expression demanding and unyielding. I quickly hid the ticket behind my back. “Sir, I really can’t give this to you. You don’t understand.” He slammed his hand on the table. “You’re a lost cause! I’m telling you right now, if you don’t hand it over, I will go back to my office and issue a formal demerit and disciplinary action against you!” I lowered my head, my nails digging into my palms. After a moment of internal struggle, I bowed to him. “I’m sorry, sir. I really can’t.” Ignoring his shouts behind me, I turned and ran towards the lottery stand as fast as my weak legs could carry me. The woman at the counter took my ticket and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what an addict,” she muttered. “Wasting her parents’ hard-earned money like this.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. If I told her this ticket was my living expense, the only thing keeping me alive, she’d probably think I was even crazier. “QR code,” she said impatiently, holding up her phone. I took out my own phone, its screen a spiderweb of cracks, and was about to open my payment app when a thought struck me. Suddenly, I didn’t want to cash it in anymore. “I’ve changed my mind,” I heard myself say. “I’d like to exchange it for a new one.” The woman gave me a massive, undisguised eye-roll, then tore off another five-dollar ticket and threw it on the counter. “Hopeless. How did Kingston University ever accept a student like this?” I had heard words like that so many times—from my roommate, from strangers, from her—that they no longer stung. I took the new ticket, thanked her, and turned to leave without scratching it. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps when my phone rang. The screen displayed a single word: “Mom.” I froze. That name felt like a relic from another lifetime. “Hello?” I answered just before the call ended. Her sharp, acidic voice immediately filled my ear. “Hmph. I thought you had too much pride to answer my calls.” “You should be done with the book of tickets I gave you. How much did you win on the last one?” “Twenty dollars,” I said truthfully. The sarcasm in her voice deepened. “Tsk. I guess you really are lucky. You’re not dead yet.” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, do you have any idea how I’ve been surviving this semester? On handouts from my roommate and scraps I find in the trash! If my advisor hadn’t bought me a meal today, I would have collapsed and ended up in the hospital!” I thought hearing about my suffering might change her mind. Instead, she laughed. “So? Are you trying to brag about how lucky you are to have a nice roommate and a kind advisor?” “Zoe, I’m trying to teach you a lesson! You can’t rely on handouts!” “If you can get into Kingston on luck, then you can certainly eat a full meal on luck. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it?” Tears burst from my eyes. I screamed into the phone, my voice raw with pain. “I got into Kingston, I won those competitions, because I worked for it! I never once said I got in because I was lucky!” My outburst only made her more impatient. “Stop pretending. Hard work? I gave birth to you; I know exactly what you’re made of. When I was pregnant with you, I deliberately fell down a few times and couldn’t even get rid of you. If that’s not luck, what is?” Her words froze the blood in my veins. It was the first time she had ever said it so plainly, so cruelly. I had heard the whispers from relatives. When she was pregnant, a village doctor told her she was having a girl, and she didn’t want me. Abortion techniques weren’t as advanced back then. She didn’t have the courage to go through with it, so she gave birth to me. But the delivery was difficult, and she had to have a hysterectomy. She could never have another child. Because of that, my father divorced her. All the pieces clicked into place. Rage and grief exploded inside me. “If I had known I’d be living off scratch-off tickets, do you think I would have chosen to be born?” “Now you’re complaining?” she sneered. “Fine. From now on, I’ll buy you the two-dollar tickets instead.” “Since you’re so lucky, it’ll save me some money!” With a sharp click, she hung up. She had probably blocked me again. I walked back to my dorm in a daze and stared at the new ticket for a long time. Finally, I gathered my courage and began to scratch. The first line: nothing. The second line: nothing. The third… nothing. With only the last line left, I closed my eyes and scraped randomly at the ticket. After a long moment, I opened them, my hands trembling. I had won. The prize box read… $500,000! A storm of emotions swirled in my chest, but overwhelming it all was a wave of pure, unadulterated joy. The grand prize had to be claimed at the central lottery office. Wasting no time, I shot out of my room and started running. Thankfully, it wasn’t far from the university. I didn’t have money for a bus, but I made it there in half an hour on foot. Even as the money was transferred into my account, it felt like a dream. I stared at the string of numbers on my banking app, tears streaming down my face. I went to the most expensive restaurant in the city and ate until I was full. The other patrons stared at me, at my skeletal frame and ravenous eating, like I was a ghost back from the dead. My mother was right. I really was lucky. After wandering the city all day, I returned to my dorm to the sound of my phone ringing. It was her. “Zoe, darling, did you win the lottery?” The affectionate nickname sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d called me that. Even when I got into Kingston, her reaction had been lukewarm at best. “Win what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone immediately soured. “Zoe Miller, don’t you play games with me! I saw it on the news! A grand prize scratch-off was claimed in the city today. I recognized your back in the photo! I’d recognize you even if you were a pile of ash.” I cursed myself. In my excitement, I had only thought about claiming the prize and getting a hot meal. I had forgotten to disguise myself. “You’re mistaken. It wasn’t me.” I hung up before she could reply. She called again and again, but I didn’t answer. Finally, I blocked her number. I thought that would be the end of it. The next morning, I was shaken awake by Dana. “Zoe, get up! Something terrible has happened!” Her next words jolted me fully awake. “Your mother is on the roof of the science building. She says if you don’t come to see her, she’s going to jump!” All sleepiness vanished. I leaped out of bed and ran outside, still in my pajamas, my hair a mess. “I am here to expose my daughter, Kingston University student Zoe Miller!” my mother’s voice shrieked from above. “She has always been a gambler, relying on luck, with no respect for her own mother!” “And now that she’s won the lottery, she wants to cut me off! Does a student like this deserve to be at Kingston?” Even though it was early, the campus was already dotted with students on their morning jogs. Everyone stopped to watch the spectacle. Some people cursed my name, some looked on with envy, but most just watched with the detached curiosity of a crowd at a circus. I looked up at the crazed figure of my mother on the rooftop. I opened my mouth to shout for her to come down, but the words died in my throat. She said I was a gambler. Fine. This time, I’d bet on her. I’d bet she didn’t have the guts to jump. I turned and walked away from the crowd, back to my dorm. I sat down at my desk and wrote an application for an overseas research program. I won the bet.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386854”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel