After being the sole survivor of my last mission, I submitted my resignation to the organization. I hadn’t even been home for two weeks before I was packaged up and shipped off to be married into the illustrious Archer family of the capital. Flynn Archer, in a flashy sports car, sped past me, his eyes dripping with disdain. “A sheltered little princess like you, you’re not from my world.” A curvy, hot-as-hell secretary was in the passenger seat, provocatively locking lips with him right in front of me. He dangled a business contract over my head, forcing me to be his glorified assistant, subjecting me to endless humiliation. When someone gently tried to reason with him, he just sneered. “She wants to be Mrs. Archer? This is what she gets.” Until the day he took me to a shooting range. He raised a pistol, aiming it right between my eyes. “If you can beat me today,” he challenged, “the debt your family owes me will be wiped clean. I’ll even sign over that Westside development project. How about it? You dare?” … 1. I froze, my mind going blank. I couldn’t respond. My gaze was fixed on the gun in his hand. Memories flooded back, a silver needle piercing my brain. A sharp, stabbing pain. A contemptuous laugh brought me back to the present. I turned my head. “Everyone knows the precious Miss Thorne is a debutante, fresh from her studies abroad,” a woman drawled. “Her hands are for playing the piano, not for messing around with things like this.” Stella Vance flicked a lighter open, lit a cigarette, and then passed it to Flynn with her lips, her eyes daring me to react. Flynn was getting impatient with my silence. “Scarlett, are you in or out? Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” I looked at him, my lips pressed into a thin line. Ever since I’d been forced into this engagement, he’d made my life a living hell. If I could settle things once and for all today, it would be worth it. Under his impatient gaze, I slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll compete with you.” The shooting range fell silent for a moment, then erupted in laughter. “Hahaha, did I hear that right? Scarlett Thorne is going to challenge Flynn Archer in a shooting match?” “Little sister Scarlett, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Our Flynn might look like a pretty boy, but he’s got a firearms license. There’s no one in this city who’d dare say they could beat him.” Stella was practically doubled over with laughter, playfully poking Flynn’s chest. “Flynn, you’re so naughty. What if you hurt our dear Scarlett’s delicate hands?” Flynn just shot me a look of disgust. “She’s the one who insisted on following me. She’s like gum on my shoe, I can’t get rid of her.” I didn’t let their insults show on my face. The Archer family’s power had grown exponentially in recent years. My father had pulled every string he had to secure this marriage, begging me to keep Flynn happy. I’d been away from home for so long, and I felt I owed my family. That’s why I’d put up with it all. But now, he was serving himself up on a silver platter. I wasn’t about to turn that down. Flynn gestured with the gun, his chin tilted high. “You sure about this, Scarlett? Don’t come crying to me when you run home in tears.” I smiled faintly and nodded. “I gave my word. I’ll see it through.” He crossed his arms, a playful glint in his eye. “Don’t say I’m bullying you. Standard range rules: best of five, twenty rounds each. You just have to win one round. How’s that?” My eyes were fixed on the black hole of the muzzle. My heart skipped a beat. My hand trembled slightly, but my voice was steady when I replied, “Deal. Draw your weapon.” I went to change my clothes. Stella was still clinging to Flynn, cooing at him. I didn’t look their way. From the moment the staff handed me the pistol, my breath caught in my throat. The world went silent, except for the roaring in my ears. The sounds of crying, the smell of blood, filled my mind. Someone shoved me, and I snapped back to reality. It was Leo Vance, a notorious playboy. He gave me a lecherous grin. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone? I may not be as good as Flynn, but I can give you a few pointers, so you don’t lose too badly.” His greasy hand reached for my wrist. I stepped back, my face a mask of disgust. “Not interested.” His expression soured. “Playing hard to get? Flynn won’t even look at you. Challenging him to a shooting match? You’ve got a death wish.” He stormed off. Flynn and Stella were already at the shooting line. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Round one. Let’s begin.” 2. Flynn wrapped his arms around Stella, carefully placing a pair of noise-canceling headphones over her ears. He guided her hands, standing behind her, his body pressed against hers. The gun fired. From that one shot, I recognized it. A Sig Sauer P320. The 9mm bullet shot straight towards the target, but it felt like it was piercing my own forehead. The sound scraped against my eardrums. The color drained from my face. Dimly, I heard someone laughing. “Look at Scarlett. She’s scared stiff.” “I don’t get why she even came here. It’s just humiliating.” “Look at her. Can she even pull the trigger? She’s probably going to burst into tears any second.” The shots kept coming, each one a hammer blow to my frayed nerves. Seven-ring. Six-ring. Eight-ring… Finally, after twenty rounds, the torture ended. The range officer raised a red flag and ran over with the score. “One hundred and twenty-two.” The onlookers whistled. “It was all Flynn,” Stella said, beaming. “He was guiding my hand. I’ll practice more, I won’t let you down.” Flynn smiled at her, then turned to me with a frown. “You should be more like Stella. If you can’t do something, just admit it. This whole act is pathetic.” My face was pale, but I took a deep breath and stepped up to the line with my own pistol. Behind me, I heard Stella’s venomous whisper. “Flynn, keep an eye on her. We wouldn’t want her to actually get hurt.” He scoffed. “It would serve her right.” I raised the gun. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The crowd was getting restless. “Hurry up! If you’re not going to shoot, get off the line!” I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. Bang. Miss. A wave of laughter rolled through the crowd. I didn’t hear it. My blood had turned to ice. All that was left was the ringing in my ears. Bang, bang, bang… When I took off the headphones, my forehead was drenched in a cold sweat. The range officer hesitated. “Uh, Miss Thorne… your total is… four…” Flynn laughed out loud. “Scarlett, why don’t you just give me that piece of land your family owns in the south district? I’ll let you save some face.” With what little was left of my composure, I shook my head. That was the last asset my family had. I couldn’t. His face hardened. “You lost the first round. You dare to go for a second?” My face was ashen, but I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “Continue.” Before the second round began, Flynn leaned casually against the shooting table, a smirk playing on his lips. “Scarlett, you can still back out. I’ll even let you keep a little bit of your dignity.” I didn’t say anything, just silently inspected the gun in my hand. Stella fanned the flames. “Flynn, look at her, she’s really putting on a show.” He sneered. “A show? She’s not even qualified to be an actress.” Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “Stationary targets are so boring. Scarlett, let’s play something a little more exciting.” He clapped his hands, and a staff member came running. “Go get some apples.” My stomach dropped. Stella’s eyes lit up. “Flynn, are you going to do that thing? That’s so cool! The last time I saw you do it, my heart almost leaped out of my chest!” Flynn’s eyes were locked on me. “We’ll put the apples on our heads. I’ll shoot yours, you’ll shoot mine. If you’re too scared, you can surrender now. Get on your knees and apologize to me and Stella, and I might consider cutting the original bet in half.” 3. The range erupted. “Holy shit! He’s not messing around!” “That’s our Flynn! That’s a real man’s game!” “Scarlett is done for. She’s probably too scared to even stand up.” “If her hand slips…” The whispers were like needles in my ears. An apple on my head. It meant I would once again be staring down the barrel of a gun. Not at a piece of paper, but at a living, breathing person. And worse, I would have to stand there and be his target. The bullet would whistle past my scalp, shattering the apple. Fragments of memory, accompanied by a splitting headache, assaulted me again. The metallic tang of blood filled my senses. My fingers curled into a fist, ice-cold. “What? Scared?” Flynn’s voice was laced with undisguised mockery. “You were so tough a minute ago.” Stella chimed in. “Scarlett, honey, this isn’t a game. What if Flynn’s hand slips… or what if you can’t stand still… Tsk, tsk. Just give up. It’s not embarrassing.” All eyes were on me, waiting for the show. They wanted to see me break, to see me humiliate myself, to see me beg. This was his way of crushing what little was left of my pride. I took a deep breath. “Fine.” Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Alright. You’ve got guts.” A nervous staff member handed us each an apple. It felt cold and heavy in my hand. Flynn walked to the designated spot, his posture relaxed, almost lazy. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Miss Thorne.” My hand, the one holding the gun, began to tremble uncontrollably. Not out of fear of him, but from a deep, instinctual revulsion to aiming a weapon at another human being. I walked to my position and raised the gun. In my sights was Flynn’s handsome, malicious face. The wind, my own breathing, the frantic drumming of my heart. Everything else faded away. But my hand was shaking too much. “Shoot!” “See, she’s scared!” “Look at her hand, it’s shaking like a leaf!” “I told you it was all an act!” The taunts rained down on me. I closed my eyes, trying to block them out. When I opened them again, I pulled the trigger. Bang! The shot went wide. The apple on Flynn’s head remained untouched. He hadn’t even blinked. He just stared at me. “Useless.” “Your turn.” He took the apple off his head and walked towards me, pointing to where he’d been standing. “Go on. Stand still.” Like a puppet on a string, I walked over and placed the apple on my head. A playful smile touched Flynn’s lips. He raised the gun with a smooth, practiced elegance. Time seemed to stretch. I could see his finger slowly tightening on the trigger. Bang— The bullet screamed past. I felt a slight jolt as the apple exploded, showering me with pulp and juice. I stood frozen, my heart stopped, a deafening ringing in my ears. A wave of applause and whistles broke the silence. “That was incredible!” “Perfect shot!” “Look at Scarlett, she’s in shock!” I slowly opened my eyes. He was standing in front of me, looking down, and he reached out to wipe a piece of apple from my cheek. “Looks like I win again.” “Scarlett, I suggest you just—” Before he could finish, I lifted my pale face and cut him off. “Best of five. There’s one more round.” Flynn froze. The whole range froze. His eyes darkened. “Scarlett, are you determined to see this through to the bitter end?” I wiped the sticky juice from my eyelashes, my voice surprisingly clear. “You’re the one who set the rules. Best of five.” He stared at me for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can last. Round three, moving targets.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Flynn, if we’re going to play, let’s raise the stakes.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386743”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After I got into a car crash at three years old, I was accidentally bound to a “Savior System.” [Mission Objective: Obtain 100 Affection Points from mother, Susan Hayes.] [Mission Reward: One (1) Revival Card.] [Friendly Reminder: Host has only seven days to be revived. Mission failure will result in immediate death.] My little hand touched the gauze wrapped around my head, and my eyes lit up. I’m Mommy’s little sweetheart! Of course, she’ll give me a hundred points. “Nina!” The hospital room door suddenly burst open. Mommy rushed in, her face etched with worry and heartache. “Does your head still hurt? Mommy was so, so scared.” See? Mommy loves me the most. A sweet warmth spread through my chest. The next second, the system’s cold voice echoed in my mind. [Target acquired. Displaying current Affection Value.] A string of numbers materialized above my mother’s head. [Affection Value: -999.] 1. I froze, my little face turning pale. The system said that -999 meant “extreme loathing.” Only 999 meant “deeply loved.” “Nina, you must still be feeling awful after the crash,” Mommy said, gently stroking my head. She pulled out a little teddy bear thermos. “Mommy made you your favorite chicken soup. Here, have a taste.” She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling as she brought a spoonful to my lips. I obediently opened my mouth. My confusion and fear melted away. Mommy made me soup. How could she possibly hate me? The system must have made a mistake! Just then, Daddy strode into the room, his face filled with panic. He swept me into his arms. “Sweetheart, let Daddy see. Are you hurt anywhere?” I hugged him back tightly, my voice small and milky. “Daddy, I’m okay!” “Our little piggy is tough as nails,” my older brother, Leo, drawled, leaning against the doorframe with a grin. “The doctors said it was a bad crash, and all you got was a concussion.” He winked. “I bet the car saw how much you weigh and swerved to get away.” “Leo!” Mommy’s face hardened instantly. She grabbed my brother’s ear. “How can you talk like that? Is that how you show concern for your sister? Go stand outside!” “Mom, I was just kidding! Why are you always on her side?” Leo howled as he was banished to the hallway. See? Mommy really did love me the most. I breathed a sigh of relief and was about to give her a happy kiss when the numbers above her head flickered: [Affection Value: -1000] I froze again. My lip trembled, and a knot of panic and tears formed in my throat. How could this be? Mommy loves me. I quickly rummaged through my little bag and pulled out the present I’d bought for her before the accident. It was a cute little bunny brooch. “For Mommy,” I said, carefully holding it out to her. “Mommy, do you like Nina’s present?” “It’s beautiful! My Nina is so thoughtful!” Mommy’s face lit up with surprise. She took the brooch and immediately pinned it to her collar. “Mommy loves it so, so much.” Seeing her smile, I couldn’t help but smile too, pushing the system’s scary words to the back of my mind. After lunch, Mommy said she was going out to buy me some fruit. I slid off the bed, wanting to ask her to bring me a lollipop because the medicine tasted so bad. Before I could say a word, I saw her face turn to stone. She unpinned the bunny brooch, snapped it in half with a sharp crack, and threw it into the dark trash can. My heart squeezed tight. My nose stung, and tears rolled down my cheeks. Why? But Mommy said she liked Nina’s present… Just then, her phone rang. “Yeah, she’s not dead, just a concussion,” she said, her voice tight. “But Laura, the older she gets, the more her face looks just like that rapist’s!” Her voice broke with a sob, growing more agitated. “Sometimes I just want to tell my husband the truth! That Nina isn’t a symbol of our love!” “She’s a demon seed! Every time I hear her call me ‘Mommy,’ I feel sick to my stomach. Holding her feels… filthy!” 2. I stood frozen, my small body rigid. I didn’t really understand words like “rapist” or “demon seed,” but I knew they were bad things. Very, very bad things. Auntie Laura was trying to calm her down on the other end. “Susan, get a hold of yourself. Your husband and son adore her. Your life is so good now. If you tell them what happened three years ago, you’ll be the one destroying your family!” “I know… but it’s so hard to keep it all inside…” Mommy’s voice was filled with pain and resentment. “Why did she have to live? Why couldn’t she have just died in the crash?!” Slowly, step by step, I backed away until I hit the corner of the room, curling myself into a tiny ball. Fat tears plopped onto the back of my chubby hands, hot and stinging. So… Mommy really, really hated me. That bright red -1000 wasn’t a game. It was real. The system reminded me again: I had to raise my mother’s Affection Value to live. Otherwise, in seven days, I would die. I didn’t want to die. Daddy and Mommy and Leo all loved me. When I grew up, I was going to make lots and lots of money for them. I thought about how every time Mommy took care of me, it felt like she loved me. Maybe if I took care of her, she would start to like me, just a little bit. The day I was discharged, I saw Mommy rubbing her temples, looking tired. I immediately grabbed my big water bottle and waddled over to the water cooler. “Nina get water for Mommy!” I stumbled as I walked, spilling water all over my dress. When I finally reached her, I stood on my tiptoes, holding the cup up high, my eyes shining. “Mommy, drink water. Then you won’t be tired anymore!” Mommy blinked, then her face broke into that familiar, gentle smile. “Thank you, Nina. You’re such a good girl.” Her voice was still so nice to listen to. But as she took the cup, I saw it clearly. The red number above her head changed. [Affection Value: -1500] I stared at the number as it plummeted. My lip quivered, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A loud “Waaah!” burst out of me. I felt so hurt and scared. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Why is Daddy’s little girl crying?” Daddy was the first to rush in, his big, rough hands clumsily wiping my tears. “Does your head hurt? Daddy will blow on it for you, okay?” Leo squeezed in too, holding a pudding cup he’d just bought me. “Don’t cry, little piggy. Have some pudding. It’s your favorite strawberry flavor.” They surrounded me. Daddy patted my back gently while Leo made funny faces to make me laugh. Any other time, I would have giggled through my tears and thrown my arms around them. But now, through my blurry, tear-filled eyes, I saw Mommy standing behind Daddy. She looked concerned, and she was saying, “Why is she crying so hard all of a sudden?” But the number above her head was dropping like a broken counter: [-1600… -1700…] Every comforting word from Daddy and Leo sent the number spiraling down. I think I understood. The more Daddy and Leo loved me, the more they spoiled me… the more Mommy hated me. Looking at her worried, yet utterly cold expression, my heart ached. I decided I had to be quieter from now on. I couldn’t be a crybaby anymore. Maybe then… Mommy wouldn’t hate me so much. 3. At dinner, I didn’t chatter about my day at preschool. I just kept my head down, pushing rice around with my little spoon. Even when my favorite custard was served, I didn’t dare shout “More, more!” like I used to. “Nina, you’ve been so quiet lately,” Daddy said, a worried frown on his face. “Is the food not good?” I shook my head hard, swallowing my craving for more custard. “Nina’s not hungry,” I whispered. He frowned but didn’t press. I peeked at Mommy. Her number had only dropped by 3. That night, I tripped over a toy and bumped my knee on the corner of the table. It hurt so much. I opened my mouth to cry, but then I remembered Mommy’s hateful eyes. I clamped my hands over my mouth, stifling the sobs until my face was red and my eyes were swimming with tears. Leo ran over, his face full of concern. “Where did you hit it? Does it hurt? Let brother see!” But I flinched away from him like a scared little rabbit and scrambled onto the couch, curling into a ball. “Doesn’t hurt… Nina’s okay…” I whimpered. Mommy was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching us. She seemed… satisfied with what she saw. Her number didn’t change at all. A wave of sadness washed over me, but it was mixed with a strange kind of joy. A small, hopeful smile touched my lips. Mommy… was she finally not hating me as much? I became even quieter. When Daddy came home from work and tried to give me his usual kisses and lift me high in the air, I would run and hide in my room. When Leo wanted to take me out to play, I’d say I was sleepy. The looks on their faces were full of worry and confusion. “She’s been like a different person since the accident,” I heard them whisper. “Maybe she has some kind of trauma.” “She doesn’t smile anymore. She’s lost all her spark.” They became even more careful around me, even more attentive. And I withdrew even more. But my plan seemed to be working. For two whole days, the number above Mommy’s head stayed stable at “-2000.” The system kept nagging me. [Host, only three days remaining. Please increase the target’s Affection Value as soon as possible. Otherwise, you will die in three days.] But I didn’t dare try to please Mommy. She didn’t like it when I got close. I think… I was more afraid of her hateful eyes than I was of dying. In the middle of the night, I woke up thirsty. I tiptoed to the living room for some water and heard Mommy’s voice coming from the study. It was hushed and full of tears. “…that rapist is threatening me with the video again. He wants a hundred thousand this time. If I don’t give it to him, he’ll tell Daniel everything!” “What am I going to do? I hate him so much! I want to kill that monster!” I stopped, clutching my stuffed bunny tightly. Rapist? Was that the bad man who made Mommy hate me? How could I help her? I asked the system, but it didn’t answer. The next day, Daddy and Leo were going out to buy me my favorite strawberry cake to try and cheer me up. I tugged on Daddy’s shirt, my heart filled with a strange panic. “Daddy, you don’t have to. Nina doesn’t like cake anymore.” He stroked my head, his eyes full of pain. “What’s this? My little sweet tooth doesn’t like cake anymore? Don’t worry, Daddy and Leo will be back soon.” They left. I watched their car drive away, and the panicky feeling in my chest grew stronger and stronger. Two hours later, Mommy answered a phone call. The color drained from her face. She looked at me, and her eyes were terrifying. Smack. She slapped me, hard. “It’s all your fault! You’re a curse! If my husband and son die, I will never forgive you!” 4. It was the first time I had ever seen Mommy look so wild and broken. I was so scared I trembled all over. My cheek stung, and tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t dare let them fall. “Mommy… what happened?” “They were in a car crash. That rapist hit them. It’s because of your accident that he demanded more money from me! I couldn’t pay, so he tried to kill my husband and son!” Mommy was sobbing hysterically, her eyes burning with a deep, chilling hatred. “Nina, why did you have to live?! If you had died, our family would have been fine.” “Mommy…” I listened to her broken questions and curses, and the tears finally spilled over. I think I understood. The bad man didn’t just bully Mommy; he had hurt Daddy and Leo, too. And it was all because of me. If I hadn’t been born, Mommy wouldn’t be bullied by the bad man, and Daddy and Leo wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I watched, terrified and helpless, as the number above her head started jumping like crazy. The red deepened until it looked like it was about to drip blood. [Affection Value: -9999] [Target’s Affection Value has dropped below -5000. Triggering Level 3 Punishment: Three minutes of neural shock every hour!] The next second, a buzzing roar filled my head, and a violent pain shot through my body. It felt like a million needles were stabbing me all at once. I collapsed to the floor, my body spasming. It hurt so much. I wanted to cry, but Mommy was so sad already. Nina couldn’t make Mommy even angrier. The system’s warnings flashed in my mind. [CRITICAL WARNING: If target’s Affection Value drops below -10000, host will be immediately terminated! Please increase Affection Value to preserve life!] The pain was so bad I was convulsing, but I stayed quiet. I watched Mommy grab her car keys and flee the house. System-uncle, Nina doesn’t want to do the mission anymore. It’s okay if Nina dies. That way, Mommy can be happy. And Daddy and Leo can be safe. Daddy and Leo’s injuries weren’t serious. After they were moved out of the ER, they just needed to be observed for a few days. They were worried about me being home alone, so they sent Mommy home. She seemed calmer. When she saw the handprint on my face, she silently applied some medicine to it. The number above her head was now -9000. “Mommy, it doesn’t hurt,” I said, clutching my empty, rumbling tummy. I forced a smile onto my pale little face. In the last two days of my life, I wanted to try and make Mommy happy, just once. “I’m not hungry either, Mommy. But you have to eat. You can’t get sick. Daddy and Leo would be worried.” Mommy’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Her voice was harsh. “I don’t feel guilty. I don’t need to feel guilty.” But the number above her head changed to -8000. The system said this was a good thing, but I didn’t care anymore. The next day, Mommy put my coat on. Her voice was flat. “Come on. I’m taking you somewhere.” She didn’t take me to the hospital to see Daddy and Leo. She drove to a run-down, deserted part of town. There was a tall, scary-looking man waiting for us. He had a mean look on his face. He sneered at Mommy, demanding money. But Mommy suddenly let out a cold laugh. She grabbed me by the neck. “I know you’re sterile now. You can’t have any more kids. This is your one and only child!” “I’m telling you, if you ever harass me again, if you ever touch my family again, I will kill her right in front of you! You’ll have no one to carry on your name!” Her fingernails dug into my skin. It hurt so much that tears welled up in my eyes. I gritted my teeth and looked at the strange man. Was this him? The bad man who made Mommy hate me? He scoffed, his cloudy eyes looking me up and down with disgust. “A useless girl is just a useless girl. So what if she dies? It’s not like she’s a son. Susan, you think you can threaten me with this? You’re dreaming!” “Give me the money. Or else.” Mommy froze, fear flashing in her eyes. She let go of me and tried to run. “Trying to run?!” The bad man’s face twisted into a snarl. He pulled a glittering knife from behind his back and lunged at her. “Don’t hurt my mommy!” In that instant, I used every bit of strength I had. I launched myself forward like a little cannonball, right in front of my mother. Shhhk. The knife sank deep into my chest. Blood gushed out, instantly staining my little flowered dress…

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386742”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my husband died, I started seeing his soul, lingering in the air above. While I was sorting through his belongings, I heard him say, “Thank God she hasn’t found the deed to the apartment I gave Iris.” My hand, clutching his things, froze. I didn’t say a word. I turned, called my lawyer, and using our proof of shared marital assets, I reclaimed the property he had secretly gifted away. The day the apartment was legally returned to me, his soul paced frantically around the living room. But a second later, I heard him let out a sigh of relief. “At least I had the foresight to have her foster my son with Iris. With her personality, she’ll definitely take good care of him. It’s the least I could do to provide for them.” Again, I remained silent. That very day, I contacted the orphanage and sent the boy I had adopted back. They had no idea how hard I had worked for my money. There was no way I was letting his bastard son get a single cent of what was mine. 1 The moment I rushed to the doors of the emergency room, I was yanked aside with brutal force. It was Milton’s aunt. Her eyes were bloodshot as she shrieked, “Judy, you damn jinx! If you weren’t so shallow and materialistic, always pressuring Milton to buy you this and that, would he have gotten into an accident on his way to pick up your anniversary gift?” My mother-in-law lunged forward, grabbing my arm and twisting it viciously. “Milton was such a good, simple man before he married you! He worked himself to the bone for this family, and you still weren’t satisfied! You and your stupid anniversary gift—it cost him his life!” The rest of his relatives swarmed around me, their words a torrent of blame, each one a sharp stone cast in my direction. I opened my mouth, wanting to explain that I had only mentioned in passing that our anniversary was coming up, that I never pressured him to buy me anything. But the words caught in my throat, strangled before they could form. It was my son, Leo’s, reaction that truly suffocated me. He tugged at my sleeve, shaking it wildly. “You’re a bad mommy! Daddy’s dead because you wanted a present! I don’t have a daddy anymore!” A child’s words are the most honest, and the most cutting. Guilt coiled around my throat like a wild vine, choking the air from my lungs. He was right. If I hadn’t mentioned the anniversary, Milton wouldn’t have been out at that exact time. He wouldn’t have been in that car crash. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. And that’s when I saw it—a shimmering, translucent form floating near the ceiling of the ER. It was Milton’s soul. At first, I thought it was a hallucination, a cruel trick of my grief-stricken mind. But then his voice drifted down, and I knew it was real. “Thank God Judy doesn’t know I was on my way to buy a cake for Iris when I crashed.” “Iris is so timid. If she knew I died because of her, the poor girl would blame herself forever…” His voice was a weightless whisper, but it hit me like a bolt of lightning, freezing the blood in my veins. My tears stopped abruptly. My gaze locked onto his spectral form. Iris. Of course, I knew her. She was the junior from his college, the one who’d joined his company a couple of years after graduation. Milton mentioned her often, describing her as a sweet, naive girl from a poor family who was working incredibly hard. He’d said it was only natural for him to look out for her, a gesture of alumni solidarity. He told me not to overthink it. And he’d been true to his word, never crossing any visible lines with her. But I never imagined he could be so devoted to another woman behind my back. “If Iris hadn’t said she was craving that mango mousse from the West End bakery, I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry, wouldn’t have run that red light…” Milton’s soul drifted aimlessly, his voice thick with regret, but not once did he mention my name. “Good thing Mom and Dad are covering for me, telling everyone I was out getting an anniversary gift for Judy. Knowing her temper, she’d go after Iris and make the poor girl’s life hell.” “I died so suddenly, I didn’t get to leave Iris much. But at least I bought her that apartment when she first started. Now, even with me gone, she won’t be without a place to stay in this big city.” Hearing that, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Let’s see how he planned to protect his precious little girl from beyond the grave. The day after the funeral, I called my lawyer. I gave him the address of the apartment Milton had mentioned, along with every piece of information I had on Iris. “Also, I need you to draft a statement. Say that Iris took advantage of my husband’s sympathies, that she lied about her family’s financial hardship to fraudulently obtain the property.” “My husband was a kind man and made the decision without consulting me. Now that he’s gone, as his legal spouse, I have every right to reclaim our shared marital assets.” The lawyer looked surprised, but he prepared the documents exactly as I’d requested. Three days later, I showed up at Iris’s doorstep with my lawyer and a team of movers. When the door opened, I froze for a second. Iris was wearing a cream-colored lounge set. The style, the cut, the details—it was identical to the one Milton had brought back for me as a “gift” from a business trip. Even the necklace she wore was the same as mine. So that’s how it was. He had split his love in two, one piece for me, and one for his college junior. The moment Iris saw me, panic flashed across her face. She instinctively pulled her collar tighter. “Judy? What are you doing here?” I didn’t answer. My lawyer stepped forward and handed her the papers. “Ms. Iris,” he said formally, “according to the law, this property is a shared marital asset of Mrs. Judy and the late Mr. Milton. Mr. Milton’s unilateral gift is legally invalid. Mrs. Judy is now demanding the return of the property. We ask for your cooperation in vacating the premises.” The color drained from Iris’s face. She turned to me, her voice trembling. “Judy, Milton gave this to me. You can’t just… you can’t make me leave.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Tell me, Iris, what exactly was your relationship with my husband?” Her body went rigid, her eyes darting away, unable to meet my gaze. “Judy… I… I was just his junior from college. We were just friends.” “Friends?” I repeated, the word dripping with sarcasm. “What kind of friendship is worth a three-million-dollar downtown apartment?” Iris glanced at the lawyer behind me, her lips trembling. It took her a moment to force out the words. “He… Milton said I was a recent graduate, that it was hard starting out. He wanted me to have a place to land on my feet…” Before she could finish, I saw Milton’s ghost spinning in agitation. He was muttering frantically, trying to coach her. “Iris, don’t be an idiot! Just say I was letting you stay here, that it was out of kindness between alumni!” He floated toward her, trying to tap her shoulder as a reminder, but his hand passed right through her. He could only stomp his spectral feet in frustration. “Say it! Don’t give her any ammunition! That apartment is your security; you can’t let her take it back!” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on Iris. “My husband told me you came from a poor family with nowhere to go. Funny, because my research shows your parents just finished building a new detached house back in your hometown.” “Ms. Iris,” I said, my voice low but carrying clearly to the curious neighbors who had started to gather, “preying on someone’s kindness isn’t a very good look.” Her face flushed crimson, then turned deathly pale. She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “We have already prepared the necessary documents regarding your fraudulent acquisition of this property from my husband. If you cooperate and move out, we will not press charges.” “However, if you refuse, we will proceed with legal action. At that point, you will not only have to return the apartment, but you will also face the legal consequences.” Milton’s ghost was in a frenzy, trying to rush at me to protect Iris, but he passed through our bodies again and again. Helpless, he could only scream at me. “Judy, stop it! You can’t do this to Iris!” He stopped mid-scream, his soul freezing in mid-air. A flicker of cunning hope crossed his face. “Besides, I almost forgot, Leo is still with her. He’s my son with Iris. Everything the family has will be his one day…” I felt like I’d been rooted to the spot, unable to process anything. The boy I had adopted from an orphanage with Milton, the child I had doted on for five years, treating him as my very own… was their biological son? A flood of memories rushed into my mind, uncontrolled and agonizing. Helping Leo with his homework. He would cry over a simple math problem, and even after I patiently explained it five times, he’d rip the page from his workbook, whining, “I don’t understand when you explain it!” Then Milton would come home, recite a formula once, and Leo would instantly get it. He’d throw himself into Milton’s arms, then turn to shoot me a smug look. “Daddy’s a hundred times smarter than you.” Reading him bedtime stories. He’d often jolt awake, complaining, “Mommy, your voice is ugly.” But on the rare occasions Milton read to him, even if it was something utterly boring, Leo would drift off into a peaceful sleep. A humorless laugh escaped me. All my affection, all my patience—it was all a one-sided fantasy. The child I’d poured my heart into for five years already had a mother. No wonder nothing I ever did was good enough for him. Nothing I did ever seemed right. “Iris was so clever, raising Leo right under Judy’s nose,” Milton’s ghost mused, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction as he floated in the air. “That woman, Judy, she’s a real softy. After raising Leo for five years, she’s already attached. She’ll never remarry now.” “When she gets old, the house, the cars, the savings—won’t it all go to Leo?” “And then, Leo can bring Iris to live with him. Mother and son, reunited. I can finally rest in peace.” He drifted back and forth, his voice growing lighter. “So what if she takes the apartment back for now? All of it will end up being Leo’s anyway. Judy is just an outsider. At best, she’s just holding onto it for him for a few more years.” Iris’s face was now a mask of fury, the fragile, pitiful act gone. “Judy, do you really have to be this cruel?” she snapped. “Milton’s barely gone, and you’re already kicking me out! It’s just an apartment! Do you have to be so petty?” “Aren’t you afraid of what Leo will think? The last time I took him out for candy, he told me he likes me more. Does your son ever say that to you?” Her words, meant to wound, instead sparked an idea. She was right. The most important thing now was to deal with Leo. I glanced at her flushed face, ignoring her taunts, and turned to my lawyer. “Proceed as planned. If the apartment isn’t empty in three days, file the suit.” Iris was stunned, her bravado deflating instantly, but she still managed to crane her neck and yell, “You wouldn’t dare! When Leo asks about me, what are you going to tell him?” I didn’t even bother to look at her. I walked straight downstairs and dialed the number for the orphanage. “Hello, is this the Sunbeam Orphanage? This is Judy, Leo’s adoptive mother.” “There’s been a new development. I’ve recently located Leo’s biological mother. According to regulations, I can no longer continue as his guardian. I’ll be bringing him in this afternoon to finalize the paperwork.” I was clutching the orphanage’s transfer certificate. As I bent down to take Leo’s hand, my mother-in-law grabbed my arm in a death grip. “You raised him for five years, and you’re just going to send him away? Judy, what is wrong with you?” she shrieked. “Milton is barely cold in his grave, and you’re already trying to get rid of your baggage so you can remarry, aren’t you?” My father-in-law’s face was dark with anger. “This is ridiculous! Leo may not be your biological son, but he is the future of this family. You dare lay a hand on him, and you’ll see what happens.” Leo exchanged a look with his grandfather, then threw himself onto the sofa, wailing. “I don’t want to go! This is my home! Why do I have to leave? You’re a mean mommy, I hate you! I want Grandpa! I want Grandma!” He kicked his legs and scrambled behind my mother-in-law, his sobs ragged and breathless. Before, seeing him like this would have sent me into a panic. I would have held him, cooed reassurances, and knelt down to gently tell him, “It’s all Mommy’s fault.” But now, all I felt was that the child in front of me was loud. Annoying. I rubbed my temples, ignoring Leo’s tear-streaked face and my in-laws’ glares. I scanned the room and stated flatly, “The paperwork is getting filed today. This is not up for discussion.” My mother-in-law released my arm and threw herself in front of Leo, shielding him like a mother hen protecting her chick. It was clear she was ready for a fight. “Let’s see who dares touch my precious grandson today.” My father-in-law frowned, probably sensing my resolve. For the first time, he put on a stern face and scolded Leo. “Leo, did you do something to make your mother angry?” “Get over here and kneel down. Beg her not to send you away.” Leo hesitated, then bit his lip and dropped to his knees with a thud. “Mommy, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have made you angry. I won’t rip my homework anymore, and I won’t say your voice is ugly. Please don’t send me away, okay?” Thinking back on everything I’d done for him, I could have accepted three full kowtows from him, let alone this pathetic kneeling. I didn’t bend down to help him up. Instead, I took a step back, avoiding his outstretched hand, and looked directly at my in-laws. “This child is leaving today. Period.” Milton’s ghost, floating above, could no longer contain himself. He lunged at me like a madman, his transparent fists passing through me again and again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386741”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The last time Stewart asked me to arrange a blind date for him, I didn’t set him up with duds or a divorcée with two kids. I just coolly opened my tablet, pulled up a photo, and placed it in front of him. “How about Miss Covington? She’s beautiful, intelligent—exactly your type.” “Most importantly, she’s in love with you.” But Stewart’s gaze never left my face. His voice was tight when he asked, “Vanessa, why aren’t you jealous anymore?” I paused for a second, then smiled. “Mr. Feimster, you can’t be serious. How long has it been since our divorce?” “Once my debt is paid, I’ll resign from my position as your assistant. Just as you’ve always wanted.” And I’ll disappear from your world completely. … Stewart’s eyes lingered on my smile, as if trying to decipher something hidden within it. “It’s just a date my family is pushing for. Just arrange for someone to go through the motions.” His pinky finger tapped twice on the desk—a nervous habit he had when trying to suppress his irritation. “Isla Covington? Cancel it. You know I would never marry her.” “Nessa, I’ve explained this to you a hundred times. She’s just a business partner’s daughter. Looking out for her a little doesn’t mean anything.” “The girl is sensitive; I can’t just reject her outright. Why would you set me up with her? Nessa, that’s not how you play these games…” It had been a long time since Stewart had said so much to me. Around me, he was usually a man of few words. “Mr. Feimster, you’ve misunderstood,” I interrupted, my tone neutral. “The blind date isn’t with Isla Covington. It’s with her older sister, Isabelle.” “She flew back into the country two days ago and contacted me herself. This date was her idea. Do you still want to cancel?” His fingers, resting on the table, trembled. Stewart’s head snapped down, his eyes fixing on the tablet. In the photo, a girl smiled softly at the camera, a strand of silky hair playfully brushing her lips. It made you want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. Stewart’s hand started to lift before he caught himself, pulling it back as if nothing had happened. “Well, since Isabelle just got back, I suppose we should meet,” he said, trying to sound casual as he opened a file to hide his reaction. “We’re just old friends catching up after all these years.” “Very well. Your schedule is light this Saturday. I’ll arrange a dinner for you and Miss Covington.” I was all business as I turned to leave. Just as I opened the office door, Stewart’s voice stopped me. “Nessa, you don’t have to be so formal with me.” He frowned, his tone almost pleading. “Even though we’re divorced, it hasn’t come to this.” “Mr. Feimster, we’re now colleagues, a superior and a subordinate. This is appropriate.” My words were like a punch landing on cotton. Losing his composure, Stewart shot to his feet. “Vanessa, what is your problem today? Are you acting like this just because the date is with Isabelle?” “Don’t you forget, she was forced to leave the country because of you!” I hadn’t thought about the past in a long time. His words were a sudden downpour, reminding me that the cold, damp rain in my heart had never truly gone away. Back then, I was Vanessa Langley, the treasured princess of my family, vibrant and unrestrained. My most rebellious act was “sponsoring” the top student in our year—Stewart Feimster, the boy who had earned his spot at our prestigious private school on a scholarship. People would tease me, asking if I had a crush on him. I’d just laugh, glancing at his cool, indifferent expression. “It’s just an investment. Don’t you think he has potential?” I never expected that I would be the one to get burned by that investment. I fell for the way his long eyelashes would flutter when he looked at me. I fell for the way he’d silently slide over his meticulously organized notes as a form of repayment. Being near him, breathing in the fresh, clean scent of soap on his skin, always calmed me. I confessed my love to him. I talked about marrying him. And Stewart accepted it all. Back then, I had so much that I never cared if my efforts were reciprocated. He was quiet, so I found endless ways to make him blush. He wanted to climb the social ladder, so I provided him with every resource I could. Until the day he became one of Ashton City’s rising stars. He took the project he had poured his soul into and went to the Covingtons. He gave away the project, a culmination of countless resources, for free—all for the chance to meet one person and say a few words. I found out later that the Covington family, as part of their corporate charity work, had once donated a batch of books and clothes to a rural mountain school in Isabelle’s name. Tucked inside one of the books was a note from her—a generic message about the wonders of the world outside, encouraging the children to study hard and leave the mountains. But one boy had taken it to heart. He had cherished it for twenty years. He had walked a long, long road, just to stand before Isabelle and say, “Thank you.” I made a scene. A huge one. The entire city knew he had used me as a stepping stone to get to his idealized love, the woman he’d always wanted. But Stewart simply arranged another private meeting with Isabelle. He apologized to her on my behalf, for the trouble I had caused her. The more I raged, the kinder he was to her. When our families became business rivals, he didn’t hesitate to side with the Covingtons. He used my trust to send my father—my only family—to prison. In that moment, my world came crashing down. My tears, my pleas, were met with his detached reply: “The Langley family’s books were bound to have problems sooner or later. I just sped up the process.” Even when I demanded a divorce, he just remained silent for a long time before saying, “Not now. There are already rumors about Isabelle. If we divorce at a time like this, it will damage her reputation.” He was so considerate of her. And so heartless to me. I think I truly went mad then. I went to Isabelle. I knelt before her, pathetically, begging her to convince Stewart to spare my father. Isabelle took a leisurely sip of her coffee, her elegance a stark contrast to my disheveled state. She smiled. “Don’t be so naive, Vanessa. A man loves me, he’s willing to do anything for me. Why would I possibly object?” Some paparazzi must have snapped a photo, because it caused an uproar online. The headline “Mistress Forces Wife to Her Knees” was everywhere. That day, Stewart’s grip on my wrist was painful. He threw the photos he’d bought off the press at my face, accusing me of staging the whole thing. He wouldn’t listen to a word of my explanation. When the news broke that Isabelle had gone abroad to escape the scandal, Stewart’s anger finally subsided. He lit a cigarette, then another, and another. Through the haze of smoke, he whispered, “Let’s get a divorce.” I closed the door, leaving his words unanswered. Some truths are never heard, no matter how desperately they are spoken. Saturday arrived quickly. I didn’t need to remind him. Stewart left work early and was already in the car. In the silence, he suddenly spoke. “Your father’s next round of medical bills has been paid.” “Thank you, Mr. Feimster. I’m aware.” With one sentence, the distance between us stretched out again. I sat in the passenger seat, watching him in the rearview mirror. He wore his usual suit, but his tie was a perfect Windsor knot, and his hair was meticulously styled. He hadn’t even dressed up this much for our wedding. The young Stewart, even in simple clothes, had a fresh, clean look that made it easy for me to forgive his social awkwardness. Looking back now, I see it was one wrong step after another. As we got out of the car, Stewart glanced back at me, his eyes filled with a warning. “Stay in the car.” I wanted to be sensible, but work couldn’t wait. When I walked into the restaurant on a call, I saw Stewart gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind Isabelle’s ear. As he pulled his hand back, he lingered, rubbing his fingertips together. Right after the divorce, I couldn’t stand watching him act like this—so obviously in love but refusing to admit it. He thought he was hiding it so well, even fooling himself into believing it was just gratitude. Yet he never once said “thank you” to me, the person who funded his entire university education. “Mr. Feimster…” The moment I spoke, Stewart shot to his feet. He moved to stand in front of Isabelle, his expression hostile. “Vanessa, Isabelle is not someone you can mess with.” I was taken aback. He’d misunderstood. To be honest, since the day we divorced, I hadn’t made a single scene. I didn’t have the courage, or the desire. Stewart always thought I set him up with terrible blind dates because I was jealous. The truth was, it was the only small act of revenge I could manage. The jealousy was fake; the desire to ruin his dates and annoy him was real. But now Isabelle was back, and she had even approached me herself. “Vanessa, he’s lost that smell of the gutter,” Isabelle had said, looking at a large screen outside the skyscraper. It was broadcasting a live feed of Stewart at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new project. “I used to be in love with someone, but now, I just want to find someone who loves me.” I suspected that after Isabelle, I wouldn’t get another chance to arrange a blind date for Stewart again. “Mr. Feimster, it’s a work call. That project…” “Hang up.” “What?” I froze, my throat suddenly tight. “I said, hang up.” Stewart was angry. The last time I’d seen him this mad was when he was just starting his career. He had been working so hard he’d fallen asleep at his desk. A call came in, but I didn’t wake him. I just wanted him to get a little more rest. But when he woke up, his eyes were red with fury. “That was a potential partner I worked for weeks to get in touch with! How could you…” I always thought he was just incredibly dedicated to his work. Now I see, it was just that I was never that important. “Alright.” I ended the call. Just then, Isabelle spoke up. “Stewart, how can you treat your wife like that? You’re not like this at all.” Because you don’t have to do anything, and he will handle everything for you. After you went abroad, his affection even extended to your sister, Isla. But me? Everything I do is wrong. “Miss Covington, you misunderstand. We’ve been divorced for a long time. Mr. Feimster is single. I’m just his assistant.” I tried my best to clarify our relationship, explaining on his behalf. I probably looked more anxious about the misunderstanding than he did. He was the one who had always lashed out at me over Isabelle. Yet now, as I emphasized our professional relationship, he was the one whose face grew dark. The date ended sooner than I expected. I sat in the car, my stomach growling, and watched as Stewart gallantly saw Isabelle to her car, his eyes following it until it disappeared. Then, he opened the driver’s side door and dismissed the chauffeur. It was the first time since the divorce that we had sat side-by-side like this. The small space was filled with the sound of our breathing—one heavy and strained, the other barely audible. “Was that fun, Vanessa? How many times do I have to tell you it was just a meeting between old friends? And still you had to come in and check up on me.” “Mr. Feimster, I must remind you again, we are divorced. The term ‘checking up on you’ doesn’t apply.” I stared out the window at the bustling city, a place where not a single corner felt like home. “And for the record, you say you’re old friends, and I believe you. Whatever you say, I believe.” Stewart slammed his hand on the steering wheel, and the horn blared, a sound as jarring as the unfixable crack between us. “Fine. If you’re so determined to cut ties with me, then I’m done paying your father’s medical bills.” He waited, expecting a reaction. He probably thought I would fall apart, just like I did years ago—scared, helpless, like a Stockholm syndrome patient crawling back into the cage he built for me. But I kept my eyes on the window, not sparing him a single glance. “Suit yourself.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386740”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After being transported to a historical world, I became the lowest of the servants. Every day was a blur of the heaviest, most grueling chores, punctuated by the mistress’s verbal abuse and the sting of her whip. After three years, not a single piece of my skin was left unscathed. Until one day, as I dragged my battered body to the well for water, I overheard two other servants whispering behind the rockery. “Does that one in there really think she time-traveled? It’s brutal, what they’re doing to her.” “Serves her right for crossing Ms. Vivian. You know she’s the apple of Mr. Warburton’s eye.” “I heard Mr. Warburton built this entire historical estate just to appease Ms. Vivian. Hired all of us actors to play along, and made that woman a servant to atone for her sins.” The wooden bucket crashed from my hands, icy water flooding over my feet. That evening, the lord of the manor—who had supposedly been away in the capital for three years—finally returned. The “mistress,” Vivian, flew into his arms. I knelt with the other servants, my eyes meeting the face of the man who looked identical to my husband. I whispered his name. “Adrian Warburton. It’s been a long time.” 1 “Adrian Warburton. It’s been a long time.” The words hung in the air, and the courtyard fell into a dead silence. The man Vivian had thrown herself at—the man with my husband’s face—went rigid. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, there and gone in an instant, before his hand instinctively went up to touch his nose. It was a nervous habit Adrian always had when he was lying. It really was him. Vivian was the first to react. Her voice trembled, but she fought to keep the charade alive. “My lord! This wretched servant has gone mad! How dare she speak your name!” So, who was this Vivian? Adrian’s mistress? I watched her over-the-top performance, then turned my gaze back to Adrian. He avoided my eyes, his voice a blade of ice. “Insolent nonsense, offending your masters. Drag her away. Twenty lashes.” The order was given with a sharp, rushed urgency, as if trying to cover something up. Two “guards” instantly seized my arms. The rough hemp ropes bit into the unhealed wounds on my wrists, a familiar, dull ache. But this time, the pain in my arms was nothing compared to the ice forming in my heart. I didn’t struggle. I just stared at him. I watched the man I once thought I would spend my life with, personally ordering my punishment to please another woman. I was forced to my knees, and the whip cracked against my back. “Ugh…” A choked gasp escaped me as fiery pain exploded across my skin, nearly making me pass out. But I bit down on my lip, refusing to beg for mercy as I had for the past three years. Instead, a cold, bitter laugh forced its way through my clenched teeth. For three years, in this meticulously constructed historical prison, I had endured every kind of torment from my “mistress,” Vivian. Whippings, starvation, forced kneeling, washing clothes in ice water during the dead of winter… I had genuinely believed I was just unlucky, that I had been transported into the body of a lowly servant and had to accept my fate. I had even spent countless nights praying that the Adrian in my own time was safe and happy, that he could forget me and find someone new to love. Ha. How utterly ridiculous. The whip fell again and again, the pain making my whole body tremble. I lifted my head and looked at the perfect couple. Adrian had his arm around Vivian’s waist, whispering in her ear with an air of intimacy. When his eyes met my pleading gaze, he quickly looked away. Of course. How could he not know what my life had been like for three years? How could I have held onto even a shred of hope? Vivian nestled against him, a faint, cruel smile on her lips. When she looked at me, her eyes were filled with undisguised malice and provocation. The surrounding “servants” began their performance. “The master and mistress are a match made in heaven!” “Indeed, indeed! A divine couple, the envy of all!” Vivian’s voice was sickly sweet. “Rewards! Rewards for everyone!” Look at them. So perfectly matched, so deeply in love. And I was just the tragic fool in their script, the dirt beneath their feet, meant to be tortured to death to elevate their love story. Adrian seemed pleased by the atmosphere. “Why are you so happy today?” he asked softly. Vivian immediately shot me a look, her voice a poisonous blend of grievance and spite. “You don’t know, my love, but this Juliet is the most disobedient of them all. She constantly talks back to me, causing me such distress. Now that you’ve returned, you must stand up for me.” To hate me so much, yet never forget her role… she was truly method acting. Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. Adrian’s gaze finally fell on me. “Oh? She dares to anger my lady?” His tone was light, casual. “In that case, another twenty lashes. Beat her until she learns her place.” Forty lashes in total. A careless sentence for him, but for me, it could mean a month unable to leave my bed. The last, faint ember of hope was extinguished. The whip struck again, pain devouring my consciousness. Their smiling faces blurred, fading into darkness until I finally closed my eyes and saw nothing more. … A bucket of ice water splashed over my face. The sharp, stinging pain forced my eyes open. The first thing I saw was the back of the two of them, walking hand in hand into their chambers. Tears mixed with blood and cold water streamed down my face. But this time, I wasn’t crying from the pain. I was crying for the person I had been, trampled and broken for three years. Confront them? Question them? No. That would only make their little play more entertaining. Adrian Warburton. Vivian. You stole three years of my life with your elaborate lie, grinding me into the mud. From this day forward, the Juliet who could love, feel pain, and beg for mercy died under those forty lashes. The one who survived has only one thought— Escape. Escape this hell you so carefully prepared for me, at any cost. And then, for myself, live. 2 After the forty lashes, I was thrown into the woodshed. I collapsed onto a pile of straw, too weak to move, listening to the rats scurrying nearby. Suddenly, the wooden door creaked open. A tall figure stepped inside, silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. It was Adrian. He stood over me, his face mostly hidden in shadow, his expression unreadable. “You’re hurt that badly?” His voice held a note of surprise, as if he were just a casual passerby. “This healing salve is quite effective. You should use it.” A small, cool porcelain jar landed on the straw beside me. I kept my eyes closed. I didn’t move. Not even an eyelash flickered. He paused, then his tone became lecturing. “Behave yourself from now on. Serve the mistress well and don’t provoke her again. You’ll suffer less for it.” When I still didn’t react, he actually bent down, his hand reaching to lift the tattered fabric of my clothes. “Is the wound on your back? Let me help you…” The moment his fingertips brushed my sleeve, I summoned every ounce of strength I had and recoiled, my voice a raw, broken whisper. “It would be… improper… This servant dares not trouble… my lord.” Adrian’s hand froze in mid-air. I slowly lifted my head and, for the first time in this “world,” I looked him directly in the eyes, with nothing held back. There was no pleading, no shock, no lingering affection. Only a flat, chilling emptiness. Perhaps my gaze was too direct. Adrian’s expression darkened instantly. “Insolent fool!” He flung his sleeve, striking me across the face with the back of his hand, and then smashed the delicate medicine jar on the ground. “If you’re so tough, then you can tough it out! Someone get in here, bandage her wounds, and then take her to the main courtyard to serve for the night!” He stormed out, leaving a stone-faced “servant” to dab some ointment on me. Then, I was taken to their chambers in the main courtyard. By the time I arrived, Adrian and Vivian had already bathed and were sitting on the edge of the bed in their nightclothes. “You will stand vigil tonight,” Adrian announced, his voice calm once more. Vivian snuggled against him, a sultry smile on her lips. She shot me a disdainful glance. “My love, with her standing guard outside, I’ll sleep much more soundly.” I lowered my head and silently walked to my designated spot. The bed curtains were drawn, hiding their entwined figures but not the sounds of carefully suppressed laughter and moans that soon followed. Those sounds flayed what was left of my dignity. I was forced to listen to the man I loved be intimate with another woman, every shared memory we once had now feeling like a cruel joke. My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. I stood there all night. I listened as their passion faded into the steady rhythm of sleep. The wounds on my back throbbed with a pain that seemed to seep into my bones, and my legs grew numb, losing all feeling. Just as the sky began to lighten, Vivian’s lazy voice drifted from behind the curtain. “You may leave, servant.” I dragged my numb legs and walked out, step by agonizing step. The “actors” hadn’t started their day yet, so the courtyard was quiet. I remembered a place in this estate that we were forbidden to approach. The other “servants” had told me it was the master’s private sanctuary, and anyone who went near would be beaten to death. Now, I wondered if it was the only flaw in this Truman Show-like world, a place where I might find a clue to the outside. My pace quickened. Just as I suspected, in a corner of the forbidden area, hidden among overgrown weeds, I found several cigarette butts, soaked by the rain and nearly invisible. Cigarettes. That meant I was close to the real world. The exit had to be nearby. My heart, which had been dead and still in the abyss of despair, for the first time, gave a violent throb. 3 In the days that followed, the “night vigil” became a routine torture. The deliberate sounds from behind the curtain, the wounds on my back scabbing over only to split open again. A numb, relentless pain. Then, one afternoon, Adrian returned with a small, dirty puppy. “Found him on the road. He looked pathetic,” he said, casually setting the dog on the ground. That dog… it was Buddy! The dog Adrian and I had raised for five years! He was thinner, his coat dull, but I would never mistake those eyes. Buddy yelped with excitement, squirming out of Adrian’s grasp and stumbling toward me, nuzzling me with his wet nose. Adrian watched, a faint smile playing on his lips, but his tone was flat. “It seems this animal has taken a liking to you. In that case, you can be responsible for him.” What was this? Was this his way of giving me just enough hope to keep me going, so their little play could continue? Whatever his reason, Buddy’s arrival was a sliver of light in my numb existence. He would lie quietly at my feet as I tended to my wounds, licking my fingers with his warm tongue. When I woke from nightmares in the middle of the night, he would jump into my arms, calming me. He was the only real warmth in this endless suffering. I thought that with Adrian’s implicit permission, Vivian would leave Buddy and me alone. I was wrong. A few days later, she found an excuse, claiming that my “resentful glare” while cleaning revealed a “treacherous heart.” She had me tied to a tree in the courtyard and whipped in front of everyone. The whip landed on old wounds. I bit my lip, refusing to make a sound. I was used to this charade. I just had to endure it. But this time, Buddy shot out and bit the hem of Vivian’s dress. “Aaaah!” she shrieked dramatically. “You animal!” Adrian’s face contorted with rage. He grabbed a thick wooden stick from nearby and, without a moment’s hesitation, swung it at Buddy. A single, short yelp. Buddy’s small body was thrown through the air, landing in a heap on the ground. He convulsed for a moment, then lay still. “Kill it! Drag this mad dog away and kill it!” Vivian cried, collapsing into Adrian’s arms. “I’ve had a terrible fright. A bowl of dog stew will be just the thing to calm my nerves!” “No… please, no!” The words tore from my throat, a desperate, broken scream from someone who had never begged for herself. “My lady! I beg you! Spare him! He didn’t know any better! Hit me instead! Give me a hundred lashes! Just please, don’t kill him! Please!” I struggled against the ropes, which cut deeper into my flesh, blood trickling down my arms. I looked at Adrian, my eyes filled with a plea I had never shown before. “Master… I’m begging you… he’s just a dog…” Five years. Buddy had been with us for five years. Didn’t Adrian feel even a flicker of pity? But… “It disturbed the mistress. It deserves to die.” He spoke the words with chilling indifference. Then, as I watched in disbelief, he personally took the guard’s sword. The blade rose. And fell. A few drops of warm blood splattered my face. The world went gray. All sound faded. All that was left was that blinding splash of red. But Vivian wasn’t satisfied. “My love,” she cooed, “isn’t this wretched servant heartbroken over her little pet? Then let her have a taste of it! Tonight, bring her a bowl of its meat, and make sure she eats every bite!” That night, a bowl of stewed meat was placed before me. “Eat up. If you don’t, the mistress will find new ways to punish you.” I stared at the bowl. My heart felt like it had turned to stone. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I picked up the bowl and forced the meat down my throat. A violent wave of nausea surged through me, and I threw it all up. The “guard” grunted in disgust, locked the door, and left to report my compliance. I sat at the table, my eyes a vast, empty expanse. I have to find the exit. Now. I cannot stay in this hell for one second longer. 4 The constant torment of the past few days had drained my last reserves of strength. My vision would frequently tunnel, and my legs felt like they were walking on cotton. At noon, I forced myself to stay upright as I served the “master” and “mistress” their meal. Vivian was deliberately making things difficult, complaining one moment that the soup was too hot, the next that the dish was too bland, ordering me around in circles. As I picked up the soup tureen again, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My hand trembled. “Aah!” Vivian screamed as if she’d been scalded by hot oil. “My lord! She did it on purpose! She despises me and wants to ruin my face!” Adrian’s expression changed in an instant. He pulled Vivian behind him. “Useless! You can’t even do a simple task like this! What are you plotting!” “I… I didn’t…” I whispered, my voice trembling with exhaustion and fear. The hot soup had spilled mostly on my own hand, which was now throbbing with a burning pain. “You didn’t?” Vivian sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “My love, look at her! Look at the hatred in her eyes! Today she throws soup, tomorrow she’ll use poison! We cannot let such a menace remain in this house!” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “My love, if you truly care for me, you’ll put her in her place and punish her properly!” Adrian’s brow was furrowed. He patted her back comfortingly, but his eyes were on my ashen face, his tone unreadable. “How do you wish to deal with her?” Vivian’s crying stopped. A truly venomous smile curled her lips as she said, her voice a light whisper, “I think she’s too wild, perhaps because she has no one to answer to. Why don’t you, my lord, decree that she be given to Old Fitz, the lame stable hand in the back courtyard? Once she has a husband to discipline her, she might finally learn to settle down and do her work without these improper thoughts.” The words exploded in my head. No! Absolutely not! I snapped my head up to look at Adrian, my eyes flooding with tears. I nearly fell to my knees. “Master… no… I beg you… I was wrong… punish me however you want… please, just don’t…” I was begging him. Begging the man who had orchestrated all my suffering. Begging him for a shred of mercy that he probably no longer possessed. Adrian’s gaze met mine. He saw the absolute despair, the utter brokenness in my eyes. His throat moved, his expression complex, and for a split second, I saw a flicker of hesitation. But that flicker was instantly shattered by Vivian’s soft, cloying, “My love~” He looked away. “As my lady wishes. Drag her away, and have them wed today!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386739”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For me, Nate Hunt gave up three things. Women, fighting, and street racing. Everyone said that I, his gilded canary, had tamed the city’s most untamable wolf. Until the morning after our wedding of the century. I woke up five years in the future. A twenty-nine-year-old Nate was slamming a divorce agreement onto the table in front of me. “I told you, stay away from her! Otherwise, next time it won’t just be a broken hand.” “Clara, I’m done wasting my time on you.” The man before me was all sharp angles and cold fury, the warmth in his eyes completely extinguished. My own eyes welled with tears, my lip trembling. “Honey, you’re scaring me.” Nate froze. Then his brow furrowed even deeper. 1 It was like… I couldn’t understand. Just the night before, he had humbled himself, bringing me a basin of warm water to wash my feet. A few months ago, after a car crash, he had nearly died shielding me from the impact; the scar by his eye was still a pale, visible line. At our wedding, the famously ruthless heir to the Hunt empire had choked back tears in front of all our guests, simply because he was marrying me. How could one night change everything? The man who had once cherished me like life itself was now looking at me with pure disgust. Clearly, Nate couldn’t understand my confusion either. He stared at me, his gaze intense. “Time travel? Clara, there’s no need to invent such a ridiculous excuse.” He didn’t believe me. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not even wanting to look at me as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. I stood there, stunned, then instinctively ran after him, trying to grab his arm. “Na—” He stopped so abruptly I didn’t have time to react, my nose crashing into the solid wall of his back. A small cry of pain escaped me as tears pricked my eyes. But Nate didn’t seem to hear, let alone turn around. He was looking down at his phone, which was vibrating in his hand. Ah. Someone was calling him. He answered. A light, feminine voice came through the speaker, clear enough for me to hear. “Nate, where are you? Finn has been waiting for you forever.” Nate’s response was a soft hum. The cold mask on his face melted away. “On my way.” A knot tightened in my stomach. I blinked, my voice small. “Who is that?” Her voice was vaguely familiar, but my mind was a tangled mess. I couldn’t place it. “Are you done with the act?” Nate put his phone away. When he turned back to me, a trace of that softness still lingered around his eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine. “If it weren’t for me, you would have died on that godforsaken mountain, not standing here in the Hunt family home.” His gaze flickered over my reddened nose, his tone flat and cold. “You should be grateful, Clara.” The door slammed shut. The sound was so loud it made my entire body flinch, snapping me out of my daze. My hands trembling, I picked up my phone. Almost on instinct, I dialed the number I knew by heart. It rang for a long time before it was finally answered. “Hello? Is this… Clara?” Nina sounded surprised, as if my call was the last thing she expected. But I couldn’t dwell on her strange tone. The moment I heard my best friend’s voice, the tears I’d been holding back broke free. After I told her everything, there was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Then, Nina’s voice shot up several octaves. “You’re saying you just got married yesterday?” I stared blankly at the paper in my hand. “Yes. And now Nate… he wants to divorce me.” I sniffled. “Nina, can you come get me?” Another long pause. So long I thought she might not have heard me. Finally, a single word. “Okay.” 2 In the coffee shop, Nina stared at me for a long time, disbelief etched on her face. “So you’re telling me you just went to sleep and woke up here? You… you don’t remember anything from the last five years?” I nodded, then shook my head. “This isn’t the first time Nate has tried to divorce you,” she said, her expression complicated. After a moment, she managed a wry smile. “And we… we haven’t spoken in a very long time.” I was speechless. Nina sighed, and then she told me everything. Less than a year after our spectacular wedding, Nate changed. The reformed bad boy, it turned out, had been an illusion. My eyes widened. “He cheated?” “Yes. Four years ago.” She took a sip of her coffee, glancing at me. “With a junior from your university. And just like you, she was a scholarship student sponsored by the Hunt family.” Nina said that when I found out, I fell apart. I did a lot of crazy things. I went to the university and cornered the girl, screaming at her, making a huge public scene. Then I crashed the lavish birthday party Nate threw for her, forcing him to have me arrested. That was the first time he demanded a divorce. Nina took another sip. She told me she couldn’t stand to watch me self-destruct and tried to convince me to let him go, but in my crazed state, I had attacked and injured her. And with that, my only friend cut ties with me. The canary who tried to tame the wolf had become the city’s biggest joke. I was horrified. “He broke my hand just because I ruined a flower his mistress was growing?” Nina looked at me and nodded. I looked down at the divorce agreement. Honestly, Nate was being generous. For a bitter divorce, the settlement was substantial. Twenty million dollars and several downtown apartments. I came back to my senses and picked up the pen to sign. Nina’s hand shot out and grabbed mine. “Are you sure this time?” Seeing my confusion, she hesitated. “The last few times, you pretended to sign, then went back on your word and made a fool of him. It made Nate furious.” I was stunned. Had I really become that unhinged? Nina pressed on. “Clara, are you sure you don’t love him anymore?” My hand paused. Love? My thoughts drifted. Nate was right. If it weren’t for him, I would have died on that mountain. I was a scholarship student he had personally selected. Without the Hunt family, I never would have escaped, never would have gone to school. Then, my sophomore year of college, my stepfather tricked me into coming home, lying that my mother was seriously ill. He was afraid I would run away again, so he broke my hand and locked me in the cellar, waiting to sell me to an old bachelor for thirty thousand dollars. It was Nate who drove through the night to save me. He was enraged. He hired the best lawyers to put my stepfather and that man behind bars. He saved both me and my mother. Before my mother passed away, she told me over and over, “Clara, you wouldn’t be here today without the young master of the Hunt family. We may be poor, but we must always be grateful.” I never forgot. I swore I would repay him. He said he loved me, so I learned to love him back. He said he wanted to marry me, and I nodded happily, just wanting to make him happy. And now, he had found someone else, someone better suited to him. My debt of gratitude… hasn’t it been paid in full? Isn’t it time for me to find a life of my own? Nina’s eyes were red as she spoke, her voice thick with emotion. “Clara, for you to think that way… it’s really… it’s for the best.” 3 Standing beneath the Hunt Industries tower, I tilted my head back, looking up at the skyscraper piercing the clouds. It was the same building, but it felt different from five years ago. “Isn’t that the crazy Hunt woman?” “What’s she doing here again? Didn’t she embarrass herself enough last time? You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.” The whispers around me pulled me back to reality. I lowered my gaze and clutched the divorce agreement in my hand. Before I left, I had tried to call Nate. The call was declined after one ring. When I tried again, I was blocked. I figured if we were getting a divorce, there was no point in dragging it out. I would deliver the papers myself. Nina had tried to stop me, only relenting after I convinced her I was really, truly just going to finalize the divorce. “I have a case this afternoon. Are you sure you can handle this on your own?” Nina was a busy lawyer. Seeing my determination, she left, looking back every few steps. She still didn’t trust me, worried I was using this as an excuse to cause a scene at Hunt Industries. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. The moment I walked into the lobby, the receptionist knocked over a glass of water in her nervousness. Security guards immediately surrounded me, on high alert. I suddenly remembered what Nina had told me. At my most manic, I had even trashed the Hunt Industries headquarters, giving their rivals plenty of ammunition to drag the company’s reputation through the mud. Nate had held a lot of people accountable for that. No wonder they were so tense. I offered the receptionist a friendly smile. “I’m here to see Nate Hunt.” She hesitated, then said apologetically, “Ms. Lin, the new director, has a strict rule. No one can see Mr. Hunt without an appointment. Not even… Mrs. Hunt.” It took me a second to process. Ms. Lin. That must be my university junior, Seraphina Lin. Nate’s precious mistress. “And if I insist on going up?” I asked calmly, starting to walk forward. The receptionist grew more anxious, and the guards moved to block me. I frowned, about to speak, when a commotion erupted outside. A crowd of people was surging into the lobby. 4 Before I could even turn around, someone pushed me from behind. I stumbled and fell, my not-yet-healed right hand slamming against the corner of a wall. I hissed in pain. Then, a sickeningly sweet voice rang out. “Oh, someone help the cleaning lady up… wait, is that you, Clara?” I looked up into Seraphina Lin’s wide, innocent eyes. “You must be aging quickly, Clara. From the back, I didn’t even recognize you. Is your hand okay?” I rubbed my swollen wrist, my expression turning cold. “You’re so young, Ms. Lin, it’s a shame your eyesight is already failing. Then again, when it comes to men, you also seem to prefer those who are already taken.” Seraphina’s face instantly darkened. I ignored her and turned toward the elevator, but she motioned for her entourage to block my path. “Did you not hear the receptionist, Clara?” Seraphina’s voice was soft and melodic. “Let me repeat it for you. Outsiders without an appointment are not allowed to see Mr. Hunt. Unless they’re a senior executive, of course. Oh, right… you’re not an employee of Hunt Industries anymore, are you?” My eyes narrowed. I had started working at Hunt Industries during college. According to Nina, the jewelry lines I designed over the last few years had been instrumental in the company’s successful expansion into the luxury market, and I had even become the Director of the Design Department. Until last year, when Nate replaced me with the newly graduated Seraphina. Seeing me stand there silently, Seraphina smiled, leaned in, and whispered triumphantly, “Haven’t you learned your lesson yet, Clara? You were kicked out like a stray dog…” I watched her for a moment, then let out a small laugh and, in one swift motion, slapped her across the face. “As long as I am not divorced, I am the rightful Mrs. Hunt, the lady of this company! Who do you think you are to stop me? The company watchdog, or… Nate’s dirty little secret?” Seraphina, spoiled and pampered by Nate, had never been treated like this. She clutched her face, her eyes wild as she lunged at me. “How dare you hit me!” I sidestepped her, caught her flailing arm, and used her momentum to swing her around, delivering another sharp slap with my other hand. “If Nate won’t teach you some manners, I will!” The slaps sent Seraphina into a frenzy. Her face was contorted with rage as she tried to attack me again. Just then, the elevator chimed open. The man emerging, surrounded by his executives, looked up and his eyes landed on me. He froze for a second, then strode forward and wrapped his arms around Seraphina, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. When he looked back at me, his face was a mask of fury. “Clara, what the hell are you doing now!” 5 Before I could speak, Seraphina beat me to it. She huddled in Nate’s arms, looking terrified. “Nate, I was just explaining the rules to Clara. No appointments, no entry. Even if she… tried to use her status as Mrs. Hunt to pressure me, it’s still against the rules!” “I was just following company policy, but she flew into a rage and started hitting me…” I gave her a cold look. “Still haven’t learned your place, have you…” “Clara!” Nate’s voice was sharp, his eyes colder than mine. “Is this fun for you?” He stared at me, his lips a thin, hard line. “Whatever games you’re playing, they won’t work anymore.” I was taken aback for a moment, then I understood. In his eyes, everything I was doing today was just another desperate ploy to get his attention, to delay the divorce. He was telling me that no matter how much I fought, he wouldn’t change his mind. “You’re right. It’s not fun at all,” I said with a humorless smile, pulling the papers from my bag. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” This time, it was Nate’s turn to be stunned. His gaze swept over my calm face, then settled on the divorce agreement in my hand for a few long seconds. The next thing I knew, he knocked the papers from my hand, his voice exploding with rage. “Do you think this is funny?” he roared, his temple pulsing. “Trying the same old tricks again? Clara, are you really so pathetic that you can’t live without me? Do you have to keep stooping to these cheap tactics? How desperate can you be? You—” Slap. Nate’s head snapped to the side. The rest of his words were swallowed by the sharp sound of my hand connecting with his cheek. Meeting his thunderous gaze, I flipped the agreement to the last page and shoved it in his face. “Take a good look!” Nate glared at me, his jaw clenched, before finally taking a deep breath and looking down at the paper. And then he froze.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386738”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was the seventh year of my marriage to Julian. We ran into each other at an upscale restaurant downtown. He was in the middle of a candlelit dinner with Isabelle. I was there with a client. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before we both instinctively looked away, pretending the other didn’t exist. It was a silent, practiced agreement. After my meeting ended, I found Julian waiting outside, his car idling by the curb. I offered a polite, hollow thank you and slid into the back seat, a space that had long felt more appropriate than the one beside him. Halfway home, he abruptly pulled the car over. “Claire,” he said, his voice low. “Tonight was the end. I’m completely done with her.” The words caught in my throat, and all I could manage was a tight, awkward smile. Whether it was over or not had nothing to do with me anymore. I’d stopped loving him a long, long time ago. 1 The passenger seat still bore the faint outline of a sticker Isabelle had put there, a once-bold declaration of her presence that now looked faded and pathetic in the hazy glow of the streetlights. Perhaps my reaction was too placid, because I saw Julian’s brow furrow in the rearview mirror. “I was planning to visit my parents in a few days,” he said, changing the subject. “When would be a good time for you?” I stiffened, my refusal immediate and reflexive. “Their health hasn’t been great lately. It’s probably best if you don’t go.” He hadn’t been back to see them since he’d gotten together with Isabelle. Four years, I calculated. It had been four years. The moment the words left my mouth, his expression darkened. A familiar tension coiled in my stomach. I opened my mouth to explain, to soften the blow, but he cut me off with a quiet sigh. “Alright. Whatever you say.” He started the car again. Outside, the rain began to fall harder, drumming a frantic rhythm against the windows. The atmosphere inside the car grew cold and heavy, and we drove the rest of the way in silence. Staring out at the rain-streaked city lights, I felt a strange sense of dislocation. It had been so long since we’d been in the same space without it erupting into a war. The last time we’d seen each other, we were mortal enemies. Now, here we were, sharing the quiet confines of a car. I was pulled from my thoughts when the car slowed, turning into a familiar gated community. Julian had driven us back to the condo we used to share. Our old home. I wanted to say something, to tell him to turn around, but the look in his eyes when I caught his gaze in the mirror made the words die on my lips. Inside the elevator, the silence was finally broken by his voice. “How have you been these past few years?” I gave him a polite, distant smile. “I’ve been fine.” He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. His eyes bore into me, searching for something—a crack in the facade, a hint of the woman he used to know. I felt a prickle of discomfort under his intense gaze and fixed my eyes on the floor numbers, praying they would move faster. As the doors slid open with a soft chime, he said something else, but his words were swallowed by the automated voice announcing our floor. I hadn’t heard him. He placed his thumb on the fingerprint scanner, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by the ghost of a smile. But that smile froze the second the door swung open. The condo hadn’t been lived in for a long time. The air, thick with the cloying stench of mildew and rust, stung my eyes and made me want to gag. Julian reached for the light switch, his hand coming away coated in a thick layer of gray dust. I pulled a tissue from my purse and handed it to him. “The power’s probably off. I doubt the bill’s been paid in a while.” My voice was as calm and matter-of-fact as if I were haggling over vegetables at a market. He stared at me, startled. “You… you don’t live here?” I just nodded, pulling out my phone to pay the overdue electricity bill online. A few moments later, the lights flickered on, illuminating the scene in stark, unforgiving detail. Four years, and it was exactly as I had left it. Our wedding portrait lay on the floor, torn to shreds. The sofa and bed were marred by dark, ugly stains—shadows of the day I had tried to end my life, a grim reminder of the worst days of my depression. In the seventh year of my marriage to Julian, I had stepped back into my own private hell. But surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. A strange calm settled over me. Peace. That was a word that hadn’t existed between Julian and me for a very long time. He stood frozen, his head bowed as he took in the wreckage of our shared past. After a moment of silence, I decided to leave him to it. “If you’re planning on staying here tonight, you can call building management. They can find a cleaning service for you.” As I walked past him, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Where are you living now? I’ll take you.” A jolt, like an electric shock, shot through me. I yanked my hand away, stumbling back a step to put space between us. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” My ride-share was already waiting downstairs. I turned and fled without another word. When I got home, my dad and brother were already asleep, but Mom was waiting up for me. “Why are you so late? Did something happen on the way?” she asked, her face etched with worry. “The food’s cold, I’ll go heat it up for you. Go take a shower.” The moment the hot water hit my skin, the suffocating gloom of the day began to wash away. The scars on my wrist, usually just a pale reminder, began to ache with a dull, familiar throb. They always did when it rained. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw the worried look on my mom’s face. Then I saw why. An unexpected figure was standing in our living room. Julian had followed me home. My dad and brother emerged from their bedrooms, their sleep disturbed. Their health had been fragile ever since that year, four years ago, and they needed their rest. Julian stood in the center of our small living room, still radiating that same air of authority, of someone who was always in charge. “Arthur,” he said to my brother. “It’s been a long time.” 2 Julian and my brother, Arthur, had once been inseparable. The three of us grew up together, kids from a small town lost in the mountains, dreaming of a bigger world. From elementary school through high school, we were a unit. Even as a boy, Julian had a maturity that set him apart from the others. It was only years later that I realized his sharp intellect was likely inherited from his mother—a woman from the city who had been trafficked and sold into our remote town. She drowned herself in the river when Julian was three. They found her body naked, covered in bruises. I was a year behind them in school. The year they both got into college should have been a celebration, but for my parents, it was a crushing financial burden. One afternoon, I went looking for Julian and found his acceptance letter torn to pieces on the dirt floor of his shack. His father stood over him, reeking of cheap liquor. “A piece of trash from the sticks thinks he can be king? Not while I’m alive, you won’t!” Julian knelt on the floor, silent, absorbing every blow. I waited, hidden, until the moon was high in the sky and the violence finally stopped. He remained kneeling, the moonlight casting a silver halo around his bruised form. He was so beautiful, even then. “Do you want to go to college?” I asked him softly. He said he did. On an impulse I still don’t fully understand, I went home and told my parents, “I’m quitting school.” I wasn’t a brilliant student, always hovering around average. One successful child was enough for our family, I reasoned. My parents screamed, they hit me, and then they held each other and wept, blaming themselves for their powerlessness. After weeks of fighting and tears, I officially withdrew from school. The three of us—Arthur, Julian, and I—left for the city together. They went to the university, and I went to work. With my lack of education, I could only find the most menial jobs. I lived in a cramped basement apartment, surviving on bread and water. I worked three jobs a day, grinding myself down to pay for their tuition. But my heart was full of hope, and even in the depths of that hardship, I felt a profound sense of purpose. When Julian received his first scholarship, he took me out for a steak dinner, a luxury we couldn’t afford. It started snowing on our way back. He took my hand, his grip warm and firm, as snowflakes collected in our hair like tiny stars. “I’m going to give you the best life, Claire,” he promised. “The very best.” It wasn’t a grand, romantic declaration, but to me, they were the most beautiful words in the world. Julian was brilliant. Soon, my grueling schedule was no longer necessary. We rented a better apartment, and Julian moved out of the dorms to live with me. He was studying law, and during his internship, he was constantly undermined and challenged. A well-meaning senior partner pulled him aside once. “In this line of work,” he’d said, “you won’t get far without connections.” Julian refused to believe it. He was determined to break through on his own terms. Then a rich kid from the city got into serious trouble, a case that looked like a guaranteed prison sentence. But somehow, Julian worked his magic and got him off. Just like that, his name started making waves. As we were leaving the courthouse that day, the victim’s father lunged at him with a knife. Before Julian could even react, I moved. Instinct took over, and I threw myself in front of him. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, the world fading into a blur of red and panicked shouts. Julian, who was always so composed, was completely undone. His face was a mask of terror and despair, his words a jumbled mess. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please don’t leave me.” The hospital issued one critical condition notice after another. Arthur later told me that Julian had spent the entire time on his knees, clutching a doctor’s legs, begging and sobbing. He kept asking Arthur, his voice raw with grief, “What do I do? What am I going to do without Claire?” He knelt like that for an entire night. When I finally woke up, tears were streaming down his face, silent and endless. For weeks after, he was plagued by nightmares. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, clutching me tightly, his body shaking with silent sobs. “Thank God,” he’d whisper into my hair. “Thank God you’re still here.” His love for me then was real. Undeniably, fiercely real. But later, his hatred for me would be just as real. 3 Facing Julian again, my brother’s eyes were still filled with a burning hatred. “What more do you want from her?” Arthur snarled, his fists clenched. “If you dare touch her again, I swear, we’ll all go down together!” My father’s chest heaved, and he broke into a fit of hacking coughs. “My daughter has done nothing to wrong you,” he rasped, his voice thin. “I’m begging you, just let her go.” He looked like he was about to fall to his knees right there in our living room. A hot sting filled my eyes, and I moved to support him, but Julian was faster. He caught my father’s arm, holding him steady. “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Julian said, his voice retaining its cool composure. “I just want to make things right.” My mother, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, stepped in front of me, forming a protective barrier. “We don’t need anything from you. The best way you can ‘make things right’ is by staying away from her.” Her voice trembled. “She barely survived. Please, don’t come back and torment her again.” Seeing my parents on the verge of breaking down, I quickly started pushing Julian toward the door. “You should go. Now.” “We don’t want anything,” I pleaded. “Just leave us alone, like you did before.” In the struggle, the sleeve of my pajamas slid up, revealing the jagged, angry scar on my wrist. Julian’s eyes locked onto it, his focus faltering for a split second. I used that moment of distraction to shove him out the door. “Don’t come back,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m begging you.” I slammed the door and leaned against it, my heart pounding. My parents let out a collective sigh of relief. Arthur slowly unclenched his fists. “Don’t be scared, Claire,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll protect you this time. I promise.” A wave of warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the chill. It had always been this way. No matter what, Arthur had always been there, my shield. When I took that knife for Julian, he blamed himself for not being there to protect me. Even when Julian cheated, Arthur somehow twisted it into his own failure. After the stabbing, my health never fully recovered. I spent our early married years recuperating at home while Julian climbed the ladder at a prestigious downtown law firm. He was always leaving, always heading somewhere more important. “Claire,” he’d say, “I want to give you a better life. The best of everything.” And he did. He gave me a world of material comfort. But he also left me covered in scars. In the third year of our marriage, he had an affair. The other woman was his client, Isabelle, the victim of a human trafficking case. A case like that was normally beneath him, but perhaps it reminded him of his own mother. He took it on himself, pro bono. When I first met Isabelle, her eyes were vacant, and she flinched away from everyone’s touch. Everyone except Julian’s. “She trusts me,” he explained. “She knows I can help her, so she lets her guard down around me. It’s helping with the case.” Looking at the young woman, covered in bruises that mirrored the ones his mother carried to her grave, I understood. He was trying to atone for a past he couldn’t change. So I didn’t interfere. For months, it became our new normal. No matter how late Isabelle called, Julian would rush to her side. “Her mental state is fragile,” he’d say. “My being there calms her down. It’s good for the case.” It gnawed at me, but when I saw the sheer desperation in Isabelle’s hollow eyes, my resentment softened into pity. Gradually, Isabelle started to heal. During her lucid moments, she would cling to me, sobbing uncontrollably. “Claire, if it weren’t for you and Julian, I would be dead.” She was genuinely apologetic for taking up so much of his time. “Once the trial is over and I’m better, I’m going to move to Santa Fe,” she told me, her eyes finally holding a flicker of a future, not just the ghosts of her past. Julian, true to his word, was brilliant. He put the traffickers behind bars. Isabelle came to say goodbye, telling me her business in the city was finished. I went to the airport to see her off. But just outside the terminal, I saw them. Locked in a passionate embrace, kissing as the snow fell around them, blanketing them in white. The cold seeped into my bones, freezing me in place. In that snowstorm, I was the only one who truly lost my mind. Julian held her tightly, shielding her face from the world as I screamed and raged, a spectacle for a growing crowd of strangers. “Claire, this is my fault,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through my hysteria. “Don’t take it out on Isabelle.” He guided her into a waiting car and drove away, leaving me to collapse in the snow, an abandoned animal left to freeze. 4 Being turned away once didn’t deter Julian. He showed up at my office. Faced with the city’s most renowned lawyer, my boss was practically bowing. But Julian walked right past him, his eyes fixed on me. “I have a meeting nearby. What time do you get off? I’ll wait for you.” My colleagues’ eyes widened in disbelief. I kept my gaze fixed on the documents on my desk, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “I take the subway.” My rejection meant nothing to him. Later, in the breakroom, a coworker cautiously asked me what my relationship was with Julian. I stirred my coffee, a small, bitter smile on my lips. “Legally, according to our marriage certificate, he’s my husband.” Before she could react, I added, “But I’m not the one people call Mrs. Archer.” The implication was clear enough. Her eyes darted nervously over my shoulder. I turned. Julian was standing there, his expression unreadable. On the drive that wasn’t supposed to happen, he kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I stared out the window, wrapped in a blanket of silence. In my mind, I hadn’t said anything wrong. Once a man’s heart strays, it never truly comes back. If it seems to, it’s only because he has no better options left. Back then, having known his love, I couldn’t accept the reality that it was gone. I went home and smashed our wedding photos, tore up everything that reminded me of him, and sent him pictures of the wreckage. He came over, bringing Isabelle with him. “You can have the biggest house, the best life I can offer,” he said, his voice cold. “And I can promise you, Isabelle will never appear in front of you again.” Isabelle sat there, her face a mask of guilt. “I couldn’t control my feelings. I’m so sorry.” That was the third year of our marriage. No matter how much I screamed, how much I threatened, his resolve was unshakable, just as it had been when he first decided to take her case. He moved out and officially started his life with Isabelle. I was left alone in that empty, silent house. Night after night, I lay awake, composing long, desperate messages that I sent into the void. They were never answered. The cold, silent treatment is a weapon that can break anyone. With no reply, the last flicker of hope inside me died. I thought about just letting it go, writing off all my years of devotion as a loss. I drew up divorce papers and took them to him. He refused without a second thought. “I’m not divorcing you.” “A stable marriage is a factor clients consider,” he said coolly. “You’re free to see other people, if you want. I won’t interfere.” But I wasn’t him. I couldn’t do something so sordid. I couldn’t get a divorce, and I couldn’t go back. The inescapable heartache and hollowness started to manifest as a physical pain that consumed me. When the agony became unbearable, my eyes fell on the fruit knife on the kitchen counter. Just before my consciousness faded, Julian finally came home. When I woke up in the hospital, it was Isabelle sitting by my bedside. “Claire, I know you’re hurting, but you have to take care of yourself,” she said, her voice soft. “When you’re like this, it’s very hard on Julian.” The timid, fearful girl was gone. In her place was a woman glowing with a victor’s pride. I mustered what little strength I had and slapped her across the face. I threw everything I could reach at her. Julian rushed in just in time to block a flying water pitcher. “Look at you,” he hissed, his voice laced with disgust. “What’s the difference between you and a lunatic?” They stood there, the two people who had driven me to madness, and called me a lunatic. Fueled by a bottomless well of hatred, I decided to retaliate. I hired a private investigator and collected a mountain of evidence of his affair. The day I was about to send it all to his law firm and leak it online, Julian came back. 5 A moment later, my mother’s frantic call came through. She was sobbing, telling me my brother had been tricked in a business deal and now owed ten million dollars. “They said either we pay it back or he goes to prison! How can we possibly pay that much money?” she wailed. “Julian, you’re a lawyer, isn’t there something you can do? If Arthur goes to jail, what will your father and I do?” My parents knew nothing about the affair. They were pinning all their hopes on him. Julian had the phone on speaker, ensuring I heard every single, desperate word. “Mom, this is complicated,” he said smoothly. “Let me discuss it with Claire. You and Dad try not to worry.” He hung up and fixed his gaze on me, his eyes cold and hard. “Claire, you’re a smart woman. Don’t make this difficult for everyone.” He knew. He had known all along what I was planning. This whole thing with my brother—it was a trap he had set. With his intelligence and his ruthlessness, it would have been effortless. He knew I would never abandon my family. So I surrendered. Right in front of him, I deleted every last piece of evidence. Julian watched with a satisfied smirk, then turned and left. The next day, Arthur was released. Julian insisted I accompany him to pick my brother up. On the way back, he told me I had to go with him to a dinner party that night. “This client is crucial, and he values family above all else,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Claire, don’t be stupid. You can’t afford the consequences.” Numbly, I complied with his every demand, a marionette whose strings he expertly pulled. I played the part of the loving wife, navigating the glittering world of wealth and power by his side. His feigned affection, the casual touch of his hand on my back, sent waves of nausea through me. The moment he leaned in to whisper something in my ear, the world went black. I woke up in a hospital room. Julian was sitting in a chair nearby, his face a grim, unreadable mask. I was pregnant. The news hit me like a lightning strike. For so long, I had believed I would never be a mother. And now, at the absolute nadir of our relationship, a child had come into our lives. More than anyone, Julian had always yearned for a child of his own. He despised the blood that ran in his veins, the legacy of his cruel father, yet he had inherited every ounce of that man’s selfishness and darkness. So when he found out I was pregnant, his first, unwavering instinct was to keep the child. I didn’t want it. He used my parents as leverage. “Mom and Dad are getting older. You wouldn’t want them to have to worry about you anymore, would you?” They were getting older. And so, again and again, I gave in. When I was five months along, Julian moved back in. He was going to take care of me and the baby himself. This move, of course, sent Isabelle into a panic. She went to my parents and told them everything—the affair, the life she and Julian had built together. She even told them the truth about how Julian had framed my brother. Finally, my parents understood the depth of the chasm that had opened between us. When I arrived, they were sitting on the sofa, their faces ashen, their eyes red. My mother pulled me into her arms, her body shaking with silent sobs. “My poor child,” she wept. “All this time, you’ve suffered so much.” Arthur was on the floor, his head in his hands, not saying a word. Isabelle was kneeling in the middle of the room, begging me to give Julian back to her. “I can’t live without him,” she cried. “I really can’t.” In that moment, a murderous rage, cold and clear, washed over me. I lunged forward, a scream tearing from my throat, and slapped her hard across the face. Julian arrived to find me straddling her, my hands wrapped around her neck, my eyes blazing with a fury he had never seen. He tore me off her without a second thought, his face a mask of cold fury as he looked from me to my family. “Everything you have today, I gave you,” he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. “Don’t be ungrateful. You know damn well that if I wanted to, I could take it all away. You wouldn’t stand a chance.” With that, he scooped Isabelle into his arms and left. His retreating back was a rigid line of absolute finality. My stomach, which had slammed against the corner of the coffee table when he pushed me, began to throb with a dull, insistent pain. But it was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. Arthur shot to his feet, his eyes burning with a righteous fire, and bolted out the door after them. A cold dread seized me. I ran after him, but I was too late. The next news we received sealed all of our fates. 6 When my parents and I rushed to the hospital, Julian was already there, his arm in a cast, his face a mess of cuts and bruises. When he saw me, the hatred in his eyes was so potent it was terrifying. “Claire,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl. “I will make sure he dies.” After learning the truth, my brother, consumed by a need for vengeance, had gotten in his car. He floored the accelerator, aiming directly for Julian and Isabelle’s vehicle. In that moment, he had genuinely wanted to kill him. But he had failed. At the last second, Julian had instinctively wrenched the steering wheel to the side. The impact was still devastating. Isabelle was critically injured. Julian escaped with minor wounds. Arthur was in the ICU, fighting for his life. My parents, their hair seemingly turned gray overnight, pleaded with Julian, begging him for mercy. He remained unmoved. Heavily pregnant, I knelt on the cold hospital floor, bowing my head again and again until my forehead was raw. “If you let him go, I’ll do anything you ask,” I sobbed. “Consider this my debt to you, Julian. I’m begging you.” I don’t know how long I knelt there, how many times I brought my head to the floor. The world grew colder and colder, and a violent shiver wracked my body. It wasn’t until I heard a doctor’s horrified gasp from behind me that I realized I was kneeling in a pool of my own blood. The baby was gone. It was a boy, already perfectly formed. He never got the chance to open his eyes to this world. That was when Julian’s icy resolve finally cracked. “Claire,” he said, his voice hollow. “Between us, we’re even now.” He produced a legal document signed by Isabelle, dropping all charges. He paid for all of Arthur’s medical bills in a single transaction. And then, he vanished completely from my life. He wouldn’t divorce me, but he would never come back. After losing the baby, my world collapsed into rubble. There was nothing left to hold on to. My body gave out, and I lay in bed, a ghost in my own life. I learned that when your heart is truly shattered, your mind becomes a thick, impenetrable fog. To this day, my memories of that time are a blur. I don’t even remember if, in the depths of my agony, I ever uttered the words, “I can’t go on.” In my rare moments of clarity, I would see my mother’s face, her eyes sunken deep into their sockets. I think I must have said it. With Arthur in a coma and me hovering between life and death, my mother cried every day. She was too afraid to leave my side, even for a moment. At night, she tied a string from her wrist to mine, terrified she might sleep too soundly and miss something. My father, his body stooped with age, took on odd jobs to make ends meet. Two people who should have been enjoying a peaceful retirement were now caught in a relentless cycle of work and worry for their broken children. They took me to doctor after doctor. The diagnosis was always the same: severe depression, a difficult road to recovery. “The wounds of the heart are the hardest to heal.” Those words finally broke my parents’ spirits. My mother guarded me relentlessly. She would wheel me outside to sit in the sun. She tried to cook all my favorite foods, hoping to tempt an appetite that wasn’t there. My father, exhausted after a long day of physical labor, would still come and sit by my bed, talking about his day, filling the silence with the mundane chatter of life. The doctors had said that the simple, everyday rhythms of life—the smell of cooking, the sound of conversation—might be the only thing that could heal me. I didn’t want to disappoint them. I forced myself to respond, to engage. But they could see through the effort. They stopped pushing, content to just sit with me for a while before quietly leaving my room. At night, I could hear their muffled sobs through the walls, the sound of their helplessness. One night, I woke up from a nightmare, my mind a blank, mechanical slate. The moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the small, curled figure of my mother, asleep on the floor at the foot of my bed, ever watchful. I knew I had to get better. For them. But the past was a suffocating shroud I couldn’t seem to throw off. I cried, I rallied my courage, and I failed, again and again. I truly believed I couldn’t take it anymore. That night, I quietly untied the string from my wrist and climbed out onto the balcony. The night wind whipped around me, making my frail body sway. The pain was a living thing inside me, screaming for release. All I had to do was jump. A single foot was already over the edge. But I wanted one last look at my mother. I turned my head. And saw her standing in the doorway, holding a steaming bowl of rice. “My child,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “Eat something before you go.” No one else in the world would ever worry if you were hungry at the moment of your deepest despair. Only a mother. I came back from the edge. I lived.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386737”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

At the scene of the crash, a man was holding my father’s body, his cries raw and torn from his soul. My mother’s lips parted in confusion. Then, a bitter, knowing smile touched her lips as she drew her last breath. After the funeral, the house was filled with relatives, all of them wearing troubled expressions. No one wanted to take me home. I sat in the yard, ten years old, praying over and over for my mom and dad to come back to life. The man from the crash site pushed open the gate. His eyes were steady as he declared, “I’ll raise Rose.” The relatives erupted. They pointed at him, their faces twisted with disgust. “And what are you going to be to her? Her new mommy, or her new daddy?” 1 The man’s name was Aidan, a name that sounded soft, almost feminine. But he was a man. A genuine, bona fide man. My father’s high school yearbook, which he flipped through countless times, was filled with photos of the two of them. They were just kids then, in the green, tender years of youth. The affection in their eyes was innocent, naive. Nothing to raise an eyebrow. My mother had suspected every woman in my father’s orbit, a list that included, but was not limited to, the old ladies from the neighborhood who played bingo on Tuesdays. But she never found a single trace of an affair. She would straddle my father, a wild look in her eyes, slapping his face, then her own. She’d break down, sobbing, demanding to know who the “other woman” was. Who was she? No one knew. My father had hidden that person away so well. He was willing to lose everything—leave with nothing but the clothes on his back, ruin his reputation, be scorned by everyone—rather than reveal a single detail about them. It was this stubborn, self-proclaimed sense of honor that finally pushed my mother over the edge. One night, she dragged me out of bed. The snow was falling outside, the winter air biting cold, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that I was wearing nothing but my underwear. She threw open the window and shoved me toward the edge. She told my father that if he didn’t name that woman, she would push me from the fifth-floor window. Then, she said, the family would be truly and utterly destroyed. And it would be all his fault. 2 My father stared numbly at my mother, at her desperate, crazed face. His gaze flickered to me, a flash of pain and love in his eyes. A moment of hesitation. But it was only a moment. He turned away, his expression resolute. He pulled a duffel bag from the closet and began to pack, his movements stiff and mechanical. My mother snatched me back from the window in a panic. I scrambled into the bedroom and buried myself under the covers, my body wracked with sneezes. The door to their room slammed shut. The walls in our old apartment were thin. I lay there, my eyes wide open, staring at the door. My mother’s hysterical sobs echoed through the wood. “What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll change. I can change.” My father sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion and resignation. “You’re a good person, Sarah. It’s me. I’m the problem.” “If you’re the problem, then just die! Why are you divorcing me? I will never let you destroy this family.” Then, silence. I listened for a long, long time, but heard nothing. Fear, cold and sharp, coiled in my stomach. My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw on the first clothes I could find and fumbled with their doorknob. My father was lying on the floor, as still and lifeless as a fish washed ashore. My mother was tearing at his clothes, her kisses, mingled with tears and snot, landing on his chest like frantic, desperate pleas. When he saw me, a wave of shame washed over his face. He pushed her off and turned away to straighten his clothes. He stood up, his face a blank mask, and picked up his bag. He patted my head, a light, fleeting touch, and then he walked out the door. Without a shred of hesitation. His expression never changed. He was calm, unmovable, weathering my mother’s storm of pleas and threats with a quiet resolve. This was a departure he had planned for, and longed for, for a very long time. I knew, as he stepped over that threshold, that he would never come back. And deep down, I think my mother knew it too. But knowing, and accepting, are two very different things. 3 I had actually met Aidan long before the funeral. Not in the black-and-white photos of the yearbook, but in the breakroom of the factory where my dad worked. They were laughing, their eyes reflecting the pure, unadulterated happiness they found in each other’s company. I didn’t understand what that look meant back then. I only knew that when my dad was with Aidan, he was happy. And when he was happy, the comic books I wanted were suddenly mine. Aidan would buy me all sorts of treats, too. I really liked him back then. My mother knew of Aidan, but she was dismissive of him. In her eyes, he was a man in his forties with no wife, no real job, just a dead-end dream of being a musician. A man like that had to have a few screws loose. She’d even told my dad to spend less time with him, worried his lack of ambition might be contagious. My dad would always respond with an awkward silence. And my mother, seeing no point in fighting over someone so insignificant, would let it drop. It wasn’t worth risking an argument that might sour her own marriage. But no one could have ever imagined that my father, after more than a decade of marriage, had been in love with a man the entire time. The first time my grandfather heard me mention Aidan’s name, he just stood there, stunned, for what felt like an eternity. Then, a furious argument erupted between him and my father, who was in the middle of making dinner. It ended with my grandfather having a heart attack and being rushed to the hospital. My father was run ragged during that time, shuttling between home and the hospital. My mother, worried sick, rushed back from her training seminar out of town, giving up a promotion. My father was withdrawn for a long time after that. I don’t know what my grandfather said to him behind closed doors after he was discharged, but I never saw Aidan visit again for a long, long time. My father spent more and more time staring into space, his eyes always drifting to the mailbox with a flicker of hope, only to sigh in disappointment when he found it empty. Day after day, the light in his eyes dimmed. And the look my mother gave him grew darker and more suspicious. They had the biggest fight of their lives, a screaming match that only ended when Aidan showed up and somehow managed to calm them both down. That incident actually changed my mother’s opinion of Aidan. She decided he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. 4 After that day, Aidan wasn’t just a regular in the factory breakroom; he started coming over for dinner. My mother, suddenly the gracious hostess, would insist he join them whenever she cooked something special. She was just so relieved that my father was back to his old, cheerful self. In her mind, a deadbeat friend was a far safer bet than a secret mistress. An unambitious buddy was a threat she could manage. She even offered to set Aidan up with a girlfriend. The atmosphere at the dinner table immediately went cold. “Can you just stay out of other people’s business?” my dad snapped. Aidan, looking mortified, excused himself and left, his bowl still half-full. My dad got up and followed him out. My mother was left alone to clear the table, hurt and confused. She couldn’t understand what she’d said that was so wrong. She was just trying to be nice. Later, when I went downstairs to take out the trash, I saw them in a shadowed corner of the alley. My father and Aidan, holding each other in a tight, desperate embrace. That was the moment I knew. I was young, but I wasn’t stupid. My father had never, ever held my mother with that kind of gentle, protective tenderness. When I got back upstairs, my mother was reading a novel. I sat beside her, my heart pounding, trying to figure out how to tell her. The book was about a woman whose husband was having an affair with her best friend. Everyone knew, except for the wife. Just then, my father walked in. My mother, whether intentionally or not, said aloud, “If I were this man’s wife, I’d kill them both. I’d chop those two bastards to pieces.” My father sat down, his face a perfect mask of indifference, though I saw the flash of panic in his eyes. The words I was about to say died in my throat. My father was cheating with a man. My mother could become a murderer. Between those two realities, the thought of my mother spending the rest of her life in prison was the one I couldn’t bear. So, at ten years old, I decided I had to talk to my father. I had to convince him to end it with Aidan. 5 But before I could stage my intervention, the news of the divorce came. The war that night ended, temporarily, with my father’s departure. The divorce proceedings were then put on hold by my grandfather’s sudden death from a heart attack. My mother, while nursing the heartbreak of her husband leaving her, had to somehow find the strength to arrange the funeral. I watched her, her eyes perpetually swollen from crying, while my father moved through the motions with a numb, almost relieved expression. My grandfather must have known about Aidan, I realized. All I could feel was a profound sorrow for my mother. Dad and Aidan must have known each other since high school. Last month, the uncle of a kid in the class next to mine was caught with another man. His family beat him half to death. He disappeared for three days. They found his body in the park lake, swollen and bloated. People talked about it in hushed, fearful whispers, as if the topic itself was a disease. Maybe… maybe my grandfather had torn my dad and Aidan apart all those years ago, too. After the funeral, my mother put me on the back of my aunt’s bicycle and told her to take me to school. Then she got into a car with my father, slamming the door shut behind her. I had only been in class for one period when my aunt burst in, frantically pulling me out of my seat. My parents had been in a car accident. My aunt, her face pale with panic, threw me onto the back of her bike and pedaled with all her might back the way we came. The crash site was already cordoned off. The rain was coming down so hard it felt like the world was ending. My father had died instantly. My mother’s leg was pinned in the wreckage. A crowd of people were trying to free her. When Aidan arrived, he threw himself onto my father’s body, sobbing, refusing to let anyone take him away. He cried with a raw, helpless desperation that was more than just the grief of a friend. It was the heart-wrenching agony of a lover who has lost everything. The adults standing around understood immediately. Their faces filled with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. My mother, who had been weeping in pain and sorrow, saw Aidan’s reaction and her expression turned to one of pure confusion. I knelt beside her. She struggled to lift her hand to touch my face, her eyes full of a love that tore at my heart. “I’m so sorry, Rose. That night… I can’t believe I pushed you toward the window.” I shook my head. It was okay. She was just angry. “I’m so tired,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to die. My daughter is still so little. She needs someone to take care of her. But, Rose… I don’t think I can hold on.” Her eyelids grew heavy. She looked past me, at Aidan, and murmured, “So… it was him.” A bitter, self-mocking smile touched her lips, and with a final, deep look of unwillingness, she was gone. I knelt in the rain, a silent, choked sob caught in my throat. A heavy stone had settled in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Even at ten, I knew what death meant. 6 The relatives arranged the funeral. I was a puppet, moved from one task to another. After it was all over, they sat in the makeshift funeral hall, each lost in their own thoughts. My aunt took me out to the yard and told me to wait, not to wander off. I saw Aidan hovering nervously outside the hall and nodded. The arguments inside started quietly, but within five minutes, they had escalated into a full-blown shouting match. My uncle’s voice was first. “We already have three kids. I broke my leg last year and haven’t had a steady income since. I can’t take her.” Then my aunt’s, loud and self-righteous. “I can’t either! I’m transferring to Chicago soon. What am I supposed to do with a half-grown kid?” Then, another aunt’s voice. “If I take Rose, you’re all still her family. You’ll each have to give me three hundred dollars a month.” That set my uncle off. “Are you trying to rob us? Are you even human?” She shot back, “Oh, shut up! You think you’re a saint?” Three hundred dollars was a lot of money. My parents’ combined monthly salary had barely been more than that. The argument quickly devolved from my future to personal attacks. You’re poor, I’m ugly, he’s cruel, you’re selfish… They hurled the most vicious words they could think of, targeting each other’s deepest insecurities. Soon, the shouting turned to shoving, and the sound of crashing chairs and tables filled the air. I looked up at the gray, oppressive sky and cried silently. Dad, Mom, please come back. Rose misses you so much. Aidan appeared above me, his face gaunt and exhausted. He gently wiped the tears from my cheeks, then walked with determined steps into the house. “I’ll adopt Rose!” Everyone fell silent, staring at him, trying to process what he’d just said. When it sank in, their eyes filled with scorn and contempt. My aunt spoke, her voice dripping with ice. “And what are you going to be to her? Her new mommy, or her new daddy?” Aidan flinched, a look of shame crossing his face. “You all have your own difficulties. I have the time and the money. I can give Rose a good life.” I stood behind him, looking up at his thin, straight back. In my mind, he was the one who had destroyed my home. But now, he was the only one who wanted me. Perhaps it was the fear of gossip, or maybe some shred of familial duty remained. They didn’t let Aidan take me. A compromise was reached. My eldest aunt would take me in, and my other aunt and uncle would each give her thirty dollars a month for my upkeep. As I was leaving, Aidan slipped a piece of paper into my pocket. It had his address and the number for a public phone. “If you ever need anything, call me. Or just come find me. I’ll always be there.” With all the bravado a ten-year-old could muster, I spat, “I never want to see you again. I hate you!” 7 My aunt had two sons, both much older than me. From the moment I arrived, their dislike was a palpable thing. They didn’t try to hide their resentment. I wasn’t allowed to eat at the table with them. I wasn’t allowed to use the main bathroom. I didn’t have my own bed. I wasn’t allowed to speak. At first, my aunt would scold them. But soon, she just stopped noticing. Habit is a terrifying thing. I slept on a thin mat in a cramped corner of the balcony. It was too cold to sleep most nights. I would just lie there, staring out at the dark sky, imagining that if my parents were still alive, I would be tucked into a warm bed, listening to my mother read me a story. But they were dead. And it was all Aidan’s fault. My hatred for him grew with each passing day. My aunt worked at a diner on the corner, and my uncle was a small-time contractor. They were always busy. So busy that there was never any breakfast in the morning. My cousins got money for breakfast, but I didn’t. When I tried to make something for myself, they called me a thieving, greedy little rat. They hated me so much they wouldn’t even let me in the kitchen. No one walked me to school. I had to wake up at five-thirty and run the whole way to avoid being late. During gym class one day, I fainted from low blood sugar. In the nurse’s office, my teacher looked at me with a helpless expression. “I’ve been trying to call your parents’ work numbers, but no one is picking up. We need to get them to come and take you for a check-up.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, teacher. My parents died in a car accident. The school’s contact list hasn’t been updated.” The teacher was silent for a long time. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with unshed tears. “Who do you live with now?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386736”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve tried to save the tortured, self-loathing male lead seven times. And seven times, he jumped off the roof. Before his death, he arranged everything perfectly. He considered everyone, including his former bullies. Lucas left a note specifically absolving them, ensuring they wouldn’t be cyberbullied after he was gone. Just like the six times before, Lucas left this world gently, trying to take care of everyone until the very end. At the funeral, everyone mourned him. They were regretful, heartbroken, devastated. Everyone except me. Because this time, I was pregnant. I had knelt on the ground, begging Lucas not to give up, begging him not to leave me and our child. But Lucas just gave me that sad, beautiful smile and said, “I’m sorry.” Then I lost my husband, and my child lost his father. I asked the System: Can I stop saving the male lead? I’m done. The System ignored me and booted up the eighth loop. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the high school classroom. Over in the corner was Lucas, the pathetic little outcast, drenched in dirty mop water thrown by the school bullies. I stood up. I saw the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked at me. Then, I walked right past him. I walked straight up to his stepbrother—the bully leading the pack—and looked into the boy’s malicious eyes. “Kill me.” I stared him down. “Or take me away from here.” 1 Xander’s expression froze. Then, he let out an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Lina, did you sleep your brain away during lunch? ‘Kill you’? What are you, some kind of emo drama queen?” I didn’t say anything. I just watched him quietly. Gradually, Xander stopped laughing. He looked into my eyes, then abruptly looked away, unsettled. “…Shit. You’re freaking me out.” I kept staring at him stubbornly. Because I knew Xander could do it. In the future, Lucas’s stepbrother would become a murderer. Right now, though, High School Xander just kicked over the mop bucket his friend was holding. “This vibe is cursed. Show’s over. Everyone get lost!” Before leaving, Xander glanced back at me a few times. His brows furrowed, like he wanted to say something but held back. In the corner, that figure was curled up in a ball. High school Lucas was skinny. His skeletal frame looked even more fragile wrapped in the soaked uniform. Dirty water dripped from his black hair, sliding down his sharp brow bone and crashing onto the floor, drop by drop. He just looked up at me like that, his dark, wet eyes unblinking. His pupils constricted slightly, like he’d just seen a ghost. Memories hit me like a tidal wave. Every loop started with this scene. Usually, I would rush over immediately. I’d spread my arms and shield Lucas. I’d scream at Xander and his goons to back off. “Tch—Lina, playing the saint again?” Xander would sneer. “Hey Lucas, look at you. Hiding behind a woman? Pathetic.” And when I finally chased them away and turned around… Lucas would always look up at me with those dark eyes. Like a puppy left out in the rain. It made my heart ache and swell at the same time. Then I would carefully help him up, whisper comforting words, and take him to the sink to clean up… But this time was different. My gaze lingered on Lucas’s dark eyes for half a second. I saw the expectation he hadn’t had time to hide, the confusion about why I wasn’t moving. And the lingering, shattered shimmer of tears. Then, I lifted my foot. And I stepped around him. I didn’t pause. I walked straight back to my desk and sat down. I took out the textbook for the next period and smoothed it out in front of me. I didn’t look back. Finally, the warning bell rang through the school. In the corner, the figure moved. Lucas’s upturned head slowly, inch by inch, dropped down. 2 Class started. Lucas returned to his seat in the back row. The wet uniform clung to his back, outlining his shoulder blades. From the teacher’s podium, you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. But the teacher said nothing. Because Lucas and Xander… they were technically family now. The homeroom teacher had tried calling the parents before—Lucas’s father, who was also Xander’s stepfather. The father’s attitude was to turn a blind eye, clearly favoring his stepson, Xander. The result? Xander’s bullying didn’t stop; it got worse. Since then, no teacher bothered. In the adult world, difficult problems are easily filed away as “family matters.” Right now, I was staring at my textbook, but I couldn’t read a word. Originally, I accepted the System’s contract on my hospital bed to come to this world. The System promised that if I completed the mission, my illness in the real world would be cured. I thought saving a gentle boy would be easy. For the first three loops, I stayed by Lucas’s side as a friend. I blocked the bullies, listened to his fears, and shared every bit of happiness I could find. I naively thought friendship was enough to pull Lucas out of the abyss. But at the end of every loop, all I got was a cold funeral invitation. And a handwritten letter: [Lina, you were my best friend. Thank you. Please be happy.] So clean. So gentle. He thought of everyone else, but forgot to leave a way out for himself. In the fourth loop, I realized my feelings for Lucas weren’t just pity. I fell in love with the boy who would give me his only umbrella in the rain and run home soaking wet. The boy who remembered my period, carried spare pads, and silently carried my heavy books. I loved his kindness toward a cruel world. I even loved his bone-deep insecurity and sensitivity. From then on, I gave it everything. I used all my love, my optimism, my passion. I tried to light a bonfire in his dark world that would never go out. I confessed. We dated. We moved in together. Lucas would sit by the bed watching me sleep, kissing me gently when I woke up. He loved hugging me from behind, burying his face in my neck, whispering: “Lina… meeting you was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.” I thought he was healed. I thought this time, we could grow old together. But his death always came without warning. One day, Lucas would be wearing the bunny apron I chose, face flushed from the steam in the kitchen, asking, “Lina, do you want steamed fish or braised fish tomorrow?” The next day, I’d find an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside his cold body. One night, we’d be cuddling, his warm breath on my neck. The next morning, the space beside me would be empty, and the smell of blood would drift from the bathroom. Beside his body, there was always a small wooden box. The first time I saw it, Lucas took out a yellowed piece of paper. One glance, and the color drained from his face. I asked him what it was. He immediately put the paper back, gave me a reassuring smile, and said it was nothing. The next day, he turned on the gas in a sealed room. Since then, I desperately tried to find that box. I wanted to know what was written on that paper, what words had the power to push him to death again and again. But I never found it. Until the seventh time. The last time. We had come so far. We were married. Lucas smiled genuinely more and more often. That afternoon, I came back from the hospital, hugging the ultrasound report, wanting to surprise him. And then I saw it. Lucas was standing by the window, holding that piece of paper I knew too well. The joy froze on my face. It took everything I had not to scream, rush over, snatch the paper, and tear it to shreds. “Lucas…” My voice trembled. “I’m… pregnant. Do you want to see our baby?” Lucas looked so pale by the window, like a flicker of light in the snow, ready to melt away. He turned, backlit by the sun, wearing that familiar, tragic smile. “Yeah. In a bit.” My world collapsed. “Lucas!!” I shook the report frantically, tears streaming down my face. “Isn’t this enough?! Don’t you look forward to our baby? What is on that paper? Even if it’s a curse, so what? I’m here! I’m here! We can start over!” In that moment, the fragile air around him shattered. He rushed over and hugged me, apologizing over and over. He held me so tight, as if trying to embed me into his bones. But the next day, he still jumped from the roof of that building. I loved him, saved him, pulled him out of the abyss time and time again. And every time, he chose to jump back in. My effort, my endurance… it was all for nothing. RIIING— The harsh bell snapped me out of my memories. SLAM! A hand slammed onto my desk, making my pencil case jump. A shadow fell over me. I looked up and saw Xander. One hand in his pocket, leaning forward, looking down at me. Two buttons of his uniform were undone, showing his collarbones. His hair was getting long, black strands falling into his eyes. “Hey, Lina.” His voice was lazy, carrying a rogue-ish edge. “That stuff you said before class… ‘take me away’… what did that mean?” Xander paused, then smirked, revealing sharp canine teeth. “You don’t… have a crush on me, do you?” 3 Xander burst into loud, mocking laughter. “Trying to get my attention with that? Pretty unique. I almost bought it. But your acting is seriously—” “Yeah.” I said. Xander’s laughter choked off into a cough. He straightened up immediately. “Cough! You… you said ‘yeah’?” I didn’t look away. Yeah. I give up. I don’t want to save Lucas anymore. I just want to be free from this endless loop. “If I say I like you, will you kill me later?” “…” Xander froze. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A few seconds later, a flush crept up his neck, burning his ears and spreading to his cheeks. The classroom went silent. Everyone was staring, eyes wide with gossip. Only from the back row came the screech of a chair being dragged. Lucas, who had been hanging his head, now buried his face completely in his arms. His uniform was half-dry, the muscles in his back tight and trembling. “You…” Xander took half a step back. He finally found his voice, but it was loud and cracked. “Are you f*cking crazy?! You’re just a kid, why—why are you always talking about death! You think it’s edgy? There’s a limit to being an emo teenager!” His friend next to him burst out laughing at Xander’s flustered state. Xander snapped like a cat whose tail got stepped on and kicked his friend in the shin. “Laugh at your mom! Shut up!” He was humiliated. I looked at this loud, blustering boy. But in my mind, I saw a different image. Years later. An afternoon. Adult Xander, being escorted out of an apartment building by two officers. Hands cuffed behind his back, stained with dark, drying blood. The onlookers whispered one word: Murderer. The last time I saw Xander, he smiled at me through the police car window. “…Hey! Why are you spacing out?” Present-day Xander poked my forehead. He looked fierce, but his touch was light. “What is your deal? Is this how people confess these days?” He pulled his hand back and ruffled his own hair aggressively, making it even messier. “Say something!” Suddenly, a harsh screech came from the back of the room. The sound of a chair hitting the floor. Everyone turned to look. Lucas was standing up, leaning forward, hand still pushing the desk. His chair was toppled over behind him. Meeting my eyes, Lucas froze, like a kicked dog. Then he panicked, bending down clumsily to pick up the chair. He kept his head down the whole time, hair hiding his face. Once the chair was upright, he didn’t look at anyone. He turned and rushed out of the classroom. “…” Seeing this, the blush on Xander’s face faded. He stared coldly at Lucas’s retreating back and spat out one word: “Freak.” 4 Lunchtime. The cafeteria was a chaotic din. Xander slammed his tray down on the table, jerking his chin at the student sitting next to me. “Move.” The student didn’t argue and scrambled away. Xander sat down heavily. “Hey, Emo Girl. You planning to keep that depressed face all day?” He stabbed at a green pepper on his tray but kept glancing at me. “I’m telling you, the gym rep from the other class? He gave one of our guys a bloody nose last week. Yesterday after school, I cornered him. Guess what? He peed his pants. Hilarious, right?” He kept talking, moving a spare rib from his tray to mine. “Eat. Lunch lady had a shaky hand today, gave me extra meat.” I didn’t touch the rib. I didn’t look at him. Xander tapped his tray with his chopsticks. “What’s with the face? Food sucks? Or do you lose your appetite looking at me?” Xander talked until his mouth was dry. My tray was empty. I wiped my mouth, stood up, and picked up my tray to leave. “Hey! You’re done already? That rib…” Xander tried to talk with his mouth full. I didn’t look back, walking toward the return window. Just as I got close, a figure stood up from a nearby table and followed me. Head down, back slightly hunched, shoulders drawn in. His uniform still had water stains. Lucas. I could feel him behind me. Not too close, not too far. Step for step. Suddenly, a sneaker shot out from the side, blocking Lucas’s path. Lucas was caught off guard. He pitched forward, about to face-plant onto the greasy floor. The students around him were already laughing. Subconsciously, I shot my arm out to catch him— It was pure muscle memory from seven lifetimes of protecting him. My hand hovered for a second. The exhaustion of futility washed over me, and I started to pull back. But a hand grabbed my wrist faster. It was cold, bony, and gripping tight. Lucas used my meager support to steady himself. The students waiting for the show booed in disappointment. I stared at the person in front of me. Lucas was still holding my wrist. He looked up. Those pitch-black eyes were terrifyingly bright. Like he was overwhelmed by an undeserved favor. Lucas’s lips moved. Very softly, very slowly, he choked out words that were almost drowned by the noise: “…Thank… you…” At that moment, Xander rushed over with his unfinished tray. “What the hell are you doing?” His eyes locked onto Lucas’s hand on my wrist. His face went black. “Let go!” Lucas didn’t let go. He stood his ground, unmoving, staring straight at me. The look in his eyes was heavy. “Lina… Lina.” He whispered my name. Raspy. Trembling. “I… I think I have… a lot of new memories.” “In the future… we have a baby, don’t we?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386735”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When I saw the fragile “White Lotus” being cornered by thugs in the alleyway, I didn’t scream. I didn’t call 911. I pulled out my phone and started recording. A stream of floating text—comments from some interdimensional live stream—scrolled across my vision: [Yes! The hero is about to swoop in! Redemption arc, let’s go!] [Oh no, it’s the evil villainess first. She’s filming it? The heroine is doomed…] [Chill, guys. This is just building tension. The more arrogant the villain, the harder the slap in the face later!] [Waiting for the karma.] [Same.] Oh. So, I’m the evil villainess. I smirked, a wicked glint in my eye, and turned to the six massive bodyguards behind me. “Drag them somewhere with no cameras. Rough them up. Just don’t kill them.” 01 Hearing my order, the floating comments exploded: [WTF? She’s a psychopath! Villainess, be a human for once!] [Hero! Where are you? Save our precious baby!] [Am I the only one who finds this spicy? Girl-on-girl rivalry is getting intense!] The thugs stopped what they were doing and looked back at me. Then their eyes widened as they saw the wall of muscle standing behind me. The leader, a guy with bleached blond hair, looked from the skinny, trembling Sophie Hayes to my personal army. He let out a greasy laugh. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s your beef with this little girl? You bring this much firepower, she might break.” His two lackeys laughed along. “Besides, first come, first served, right?” Sophie was pinned against the wall by the blonde guy. She had been cursing and scratching a second ago, but now she was frozen. She looked at me with pure terror. Tears swirled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Like a stubborn little lamb waiting for the slaughter. I remembered the Villain’s Handbook: Don’t talk too much. “Take them.” My bodyguards moved like a dark tide. They snatched the three thugs up like they were baby chickens and dragged them deeper into the shadows of the alley. The thugs panicked, legs flailing. “Whoa, whoa! What the hell!” “Check your eyes, man! I’m a dude!” “That’s not a fair fight! Let go!” My guards, trained professionals, clamped hands over their mouths and chuckled darkly. “Heh, we love dudes.” The alley fell silent. Only the wind whistled through, messing up Sophie’s hair. The floating comments were stunned. The screen was filled with [WTF]. Sophie was stunned, too. 02 Sophie’s school uniform was torn, exposing a shoulder so thin it looked brittle. Her face was scraped, and her nose was bleeding. She slumped to the ground, looking at me blankly. I took off my blazer and handed it to her. “Put this on.” She took it, and suddenly, the tears she’d been holding back started falling. Plip, plop. Her body shook uncontrollably. It was the tremors of surviving a disaster. I knew that shaking well. “Vivian… thank you.” She lowered her head, exposing her delicate neck, shoulders heaving with sobs. Even under the jacket, her shoulder blades poked out sharply. I reached out, wanting to pat her shoulder. But I really hate physical contact. So, I dropped my hand. The comments returned: [Boohoo, baby don’t cry, my heart is breaking.] [No, cry harder! The hero will be here any second!] [Tears are a woman’s best weapon.] Bunch of idiots. I lowered my eyes and organized my thoughts. This world was a classic cliché romance novel. The heroine, Sophie Hayes, was the fragile White Lotus—born to suffer, destined to be tough. The hero, Gavin Pierce, was the savior CEO type. He exists to save her from the fires of hell. And I, Vivian Sterling, am the designated Villainess. The calamity creator. The professional stumbling block. Because of my meddling, the hero would misunderstand the heroine, she’d suffer miscarriages and trauma, and he’d eventually grovel for forgiveness. They’d get a Happily Ever After. My ending? Bankruptcy, family ruin, and a permanent room in a psych ward. Okay, cool. So the guy takes zero losses, right? 03 Thinking of this, I handed my phone to Sophie. “I recorded the evidence. Do you want to—” Before I could finish, a low roar filled with rage erupted behind me. “Vivian Sterling!” Gritting teeth and all. I raised an eyebrow and turned to face Gavin Pierce. The Hero had arrived. The comments gave him a grand welcome: [OMG! The School King is here! So handsome, his legs are longer than my life expectancy!] [I want to slide down his nose bridge~] [I want to swim in his abs~] [Can’t wait to see him comfort our baby!] These people need therapy. I frowned at the floating text. Gavin interpreted my expression as jealousy that Sophie was getting his attention. He shoved me aside and grabbed Sophie by the shoulders. “Sophie, are you okay? What did she do to you?” Before Sophie could answer, he saw the video playing on my phone screen. On screen, the thugs were tearing at Sophie’s clothes, laughing lewdly. “Look at this, fresh meat! Let big brother teach you a lesson!” Sophie was struggling and screaming: “You perverts! The police station is right there! You touch me, and you’ll have a criminal record! You’ll never get a government job!” The thug slapped her. “I’m already a lowlife, who cares about a government job!” … I sighed internally. The brain circuitry of a straight-A student like Sophie was truly unique. Logically sound, but weird. Sophie clutched my jacket with both hands, biting her lip, her big round eyes darting glances at me. Gavin’s eyes turned red with rage. He tried to snatch my phone, but I dodged. “What are you doing? Robbery in broad daylight? Aren’t you afraid of getting a criminal record?” The future heir of the Pierce Group did not appreciate the callback. He shouted at me: “Vivian! I know you’re jealous that I like Sophie, but take it out on me! Don’t bully her!” “If you try to ruin Sophie’s reputation with this video, don’t blame me for destroying you!” 04 He was acting like an NPC following a script. But the comments went wild: [Ahhhh! I can’t! Domineering CEO protecting his wife! So hot!] [Who else but the hero could protect our baby like this?] [Sophie, marry him already!] So noisy. I raised my hand. SLAP. A crisp sound echoed through the alley. Five distinct finger marks appeared on Gavin’s face. “You…” I covered my nose, looking disgusted. “Back off. Your breath stinks.” Gavin raised a hand to hit back, but Sophie suddenly squeezed between us. She blocked me with her small body. “Gavin, you misunderstood! Vivian saved me! If it wasn’t for her, I would be…” She pressed her lips together, eyes red, then turned to me. “Vivian, can you send me the video? I want to call the police.” I raised an eyebrow. The academic White Lotus had a brain after all. “Police?” Gavin was confused. After realizing what actually happened, Gavin’s face grew dark. “Sophie, I forbid you from calling the police.” “You don’t know people like Vivian. If you report this, your reputation will be ruined. Everyone will talk.” He glared at me viciously, as if I were the one pushing his flower into the fire. Sophie paused. “Gavin, they bullied me. I’m the victim. Why would my reputation be ruined?” Gavin didn’t expect her to ask that. He stammered, “Sophie… you… you’re too naive. If you file a report today, tomorrow people will throw mud at you. They’ll say you’re… unclean.” I decided to stir the pot. “He’s right, Sophie. I know the Pierce family. They don’t allow ‘damaged goods’ through their front door.” Gavin didn’t refute me. He looked at Sophie, waiting for her to submit. “Sophie, trust me. I’ll use my connections to bury this. No one will know.” Sophie acted like she didn’t hear him. She looked at me timidly. “Vivian, I think you misunderstood. I have no interest in Gavin. I just want to study.” “And, Gavin… I think you’re wrong. If a thug touches me, and that makes me ‘unclean,’ that means the thug is dirty, not me.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386734”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel