Fifteen years of being child-free by choice, and my husband has a secret son. More than one, it turns out. The other woman isn’t in a rush to get a ring. She’s played her cards perfectly. She knows I don’t have children, and in the eyes of the law, his children have a right to his inheritance. She doesn’t need to be his wife. Her kids will still inherit the empire my husband and I bled for, the one we spent half our lives building. I thought about this for a long time. If I divorce him, I can walk away with the majority of our assets, but what’s left would be more than enough for them to live on for generations. It would be letting them off too easy. If that’s the case, then bankruptcy it is. I’m on my own. As long as I don’t starve, I’ll be fine. Let’s just see how they manage to raise his precious children when the money runs out. 1 By the time I found out about my husband Trevor’s affair, his son was about to start preschool, and a second pregnancy was already in the works. The reason it took me so long to discover the truth is that not a single person in Trevor’s family is a decent human being. For years, they’ve all conspired to help him cover his tracks. The only reason I found out at all was because the other woman was pregnant again—this time, with twins—and Trevor accompanied her to a doctor’s appointment. Someone sent me a photo. An anonymous text from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a picture of Trevor walking into the maternity ward of a downtown hospital. When I saw it, I just stared at my phone for two full minutes. The anger was there, a hot coil in my stomach, but before it could spring, a cold, hard rationality clamped down on it. After all these years clawing my way up in the business world, I was long past the age of impulsive reactions. I wouldn’t confront him without knowing the full story. I paid a top-tier private investigator a small fortune. In just two days, every secret Trevor had hidden from me was laid bare. Four years ago, he had started seeing a recent college graduate. Three years ago, she gave birth to their son. And now, she was pregnant again. Twins. It suddenly made sense why Trevor’s mother had stopped her passive-aggressive nagging about grandchildren these past few years. I’d assumed she’d finally given up, accepting that we were getting older. The truth was, she already had the grandchild she so desperately wanted. 2 Once the affair was confirmed, I suppressed the volcano of rage inside me and didn’t say a word to Trevor. His infidelity was a fact. Screaming, crying, throwing things—none of it would change what he had done. What I needed to figure out now was how to maximize my own interests in the coming divorce. In the world of adults, self-interest has to come first. I found a quiet hotel bar downtown and spent the entire afternoon replaying the fifteen years of our marriage in my head. It was Trevor who had wanted to be child-free in the first place. I found it grimly ironic that he was the one to regret it. In the early years, when we were starting our company, we had nothing. No foundation, no connections. Even our families were less than supportive. To say we struggled would be an understatement. We ate, slept, and breathed that business, pouring every ounce of ourselves into it. And now, after all that sacrifice, the moment we could finally breathe, the first thing he does is find a younger woman to give him the children he told me he never wanted. The bitterness of it was like acid in my throat. I spent that afternoon on the phone with three different lawyers. The consensus was bleak. We never signed a prenuptial or postnuptial agreement. Even though Trevor was the one who cheated, forcing him to walk away with nothing would be nearly impossible unless he agreed to it. That path was a dead end. I needed another plan. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Trevor. He was asking why I wasn’t home yet. I glanced at the time. It was after ten. For the past few years, despite having a secret second family, he had maintained a flawless facade. Aside from the occasional late night for a “client dinner,” he was always home by ten. That was one of the main reasons I’d never suspected a thing. I’d forgotten a simple truth: a man who truly wants to cheat doesn’t need much time. By the time I got home, it was almost eleven. Trevor was on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. When he heard the door open, he looked up. For a man in his forties, he was in good shape—no gut, no bald spot. He had that mature, steady look that time can bestow. But I saw it. The flicker of his thumb as he instinctively locked his phone and placed it face down on the coffee table. It was a tiny detail I would have never noticed before. Now, it was magnified, glaring at me under a spotlight. Once suspicion takes root, every shadow looks like a monster. He walked over to me, his expression as normal as ever. He took my purse from my hand, his smile gentle. “Hey, you’re late. Long day?” For a second, I was stunned. How could a person do something so fundamentally destructive to a marriage and still not show a single flicker of guilt? For four, almost five years, he had hidden this from me. The man I shared a bed with had a mind so meticulous, so duplicitous, it made my teeth ache. He must have noticed my silence, because his expression shifted to one of concern. “What’s wrong?” I looked away, forcing myself to remain calm. I shook my head. “Nothing. Just tired.” After more than twenty years together, Trevor knew me too well. He could read the slightest shift in my posture, the smallest change in my tone. But the same was true for me. I knew this wasn’t an accident, him getting caught. It wasn’t a moment of carelessness. He was simply done hiding. Our company was stable, a well-oiled machine. I had weathered all the storms of our startup years with him, and now, someone else was ready to step in and enjoy the calm seas and sunny skies. On what grounds? I managed a few more noncommittal responses, careful not to betray any of the turmoil inside me. Trevor, likely still unaware of what I knew, acted completely normal, though his glances at his phone were a little too frequent. For a middle-aged couple, a quiet, predictable life can be a blessing. But some people can’t stand the quiet. A wave of raw impulse surged through me. I wanted to scream, to throw a lamp, to rake my nails across his handsome, lying face. I wanted to demand, hysterically, why he had betrayed me, betrayed us. For a fleeting, ugly moment, I even wanted to hurt him back in the same way, to have an affair of my own. And then, just as quickly, the wave receded, leaving me cold. The person I had been in that moment felt terrifyingly unfamiliar. Betrayal deserves punishment, but you don’t punish someone else by setting yourself on fire. Trevor was already rotten. I refused to become rotten too. 3 I knew I couldn’t keep up the charade for long, but moving assets takes time. A man who cheats is like a used tissue in a public restroom—disgusting and worthless. The two decades of shared history, the hardships we endured together… all of it became a sunk cost the moment I learned there was a third person in our marriage. And the sunk cost of my marriage to Trevor was devastatingly high. I was nowhere near as composed as I appeared. But the sharp, stabbing pain of the emotional impact was forcing me to become more and more rational. Trevor was a wreck. Our marriage was a wreck. But our company wasn’t. Not yet. Our lives were too deeply intertwined. Pulling one thread would unravel everything. This was far more complicated than simply filing for divorce. About two weeks after I learned the truth, Trevor finally noticed something was wrong. He stood in the doorway of my home office for a long time before finally asking, “Ava… what’s going on with you?” No matter how much I told myself to stay rational, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep next to him. Citing some minor, insignificant disagreement, I had banished him to the guest room for the past fifteen nights. My replies to his texts were clipped and perfunctory. He was a naturally suspicious man; he had probably already guessed the reason for my coldness. But since I hadn’t made a scene, hadn’t screamed at him or gone after the other woman, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question directly. I rubbed my temples, trying to soothe a dull ache. I decided to go on the offensive. “I was looking over the financials. There are some irregularities. A few large expenditures don’t add up.” I knew exactly where that money had gone. And as the one who had spent it, Trevor certainly knew better than I did. His mistress, with one child and two more on the way, needed to be well taken care of. And Trevor, now a successful entrepreneur in his forties, had the capital to keep her satisfied. He froze for a fraction of a second. I saw his right hand, hanging by his side, clench into a tight fist. But he recovered quickly. “That was me,” he said, his voice calm. I lifted my head and met his eyes. He looked away, his explanation laced with guilt. “Mark and I have been making some small private investments over the past couple of years. I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t mention it.” Mark was his childhood friend. He would cover for Trevor without hesitation. I didn’t press for details about the “investments.” He didn’t offer any more explanations. He simply closed the door and left. He suspected I knew about his other family, but there was no panic in him. It was as if he was certain I would endure it. And if I didn’t, what could I do? If I filed for divorce now, it would be a gift to him. He would have everything: immense wealth, a loving family, perhaps soon to be three sons. And me? I’d be approaching forty, alone. Even so, there was no point in wasting another second of my life on a man this broken. 4 I found it increasingly unbearable to have Trevor play the role of husband in my life, but the transfer of assets wasn’t complete. The cold war between us had to continue. Maybe he was waiting for me to come to my senses. Maybe he was waiting for me to ask for a divorce. Either way, I had no intention of letting him off easy. Twenty days after I discovered the affair, I met the woman he was keeping. She must have heard something from Trevor, because she decided to provoke me directly, staging a “chance encounter” at the coffee shop I frequented. She was even sitting at my usual table by the window. The P.I. I hired had sent me dozens of photos and videos of her. I recognized her instantly. She was young, probably no older than twenty-five or twenty-six. The clothes she wore, the designer bag at her side—none of it was cheap. Trevor must have sheltered her well; she had a vibrant, almost naive energy about her. Her eyes held a sort of clear-eyed stupidity. For a moment, I thought of myself at twenty-five. Trevor and I had been married for just over a year, living in a cramped, second-floor walk-up on a meager salary. Our clothes were worn for years, faded from countless washes. It was during those years that we scraped together every penny to fund our startup. Late at night, overcome with emotion, he would sometimes swear he would never betray me. I believe, back then, some part of him meant it. What a pity that sincerity has such a short shelf life. I acted as if I didn’t know her. I ordered my usual coffee and sat at a table diagonally across from hers. I didn’t give her so much as a sideways glance. My initial assessment of her was quickly proven wrong. She moved to the seat directly opposite me, a provocative smile on her face. “Mrs. Hayes,” she said. So, she knew exactly who I was. This wasn’t a case of being manipulated or lied to. She was a willing participant. And now, she was trying to challenge me, openly and brazenly. Tsk. Did she have any idea that half of everything she ate, everything she wore, belonged to me? I took a sip of my coffee, my gaze drifting over her slightly swelling belly. “I’m sorry, have we met?” In the end, she didn’t have the courage to admit her sordid role in all this. She stammered out a flimsy, ridiculous explanation of how she knew of me. I said nothing, simply watching her with a half-smile. I wanted her to know that I saw right through her pathetic little game. A vine that spends its life clinging to a tree forgets how to withstand the wind and rain on its own. She didn’t last thirty seconds under my gaze before she scrambled away, her hasty retreat a picture of utter humiliation. I felt a pang of something like pity. For her, and for the state of the world. So young, with a whole life ahead of her, and this was the path she chose: to be someone’s broodmare. 5 Whether Trevor knew about this little stunt or not, the fact that the woman he was keeping had the audacity to confront me was his problem. I decided it was time to move the divorce proceedings to the top of my agenda. Before I could act, my phone lit up with a series of texts from my best friend, Jenna. She was sending me screenshots of the other woman’s Instagram stories—a constant stream of her flaunting her lavish lifestyle. This was nothing new, but today’s screenshots were different. Jenna added a message: She’s provoking you. Everyone needs a few trusted friends. I’d had Jenna follow the woman’s account months ago. If she so much as breathed in the wrong direction, I knew about it immediately. I opened the last screenshot. It was her latest post. The picture was of a child, laughing so hard he was practically rolling on the floor. Above it was a caption. The gist of it was: What does it matter how arrogant you are now? Everything you’re working so hard for will belong to my children one day. Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten. She has a child. I do not. And her child with my husband, though born out of wedlock, still has inheritance rights. This world is a real piece of work. I looked at the divorce papers I had drafted on my laptop. No matter how hard I fought, the most I could hope for was 70% of the assets. The remaining 30%, combined with the company’s annual profits, would be more than enough to support their family of five for the rest of their lives. I have her Instagram post to thank. It was the final push I needed to realize that this was not enough. It was far too easy for them. I clawed my way through hell to build this life. No one was going to walk on the path I paved without my permission.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386404”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

She asked me once, her head resting on my chest in the quiet of our shared apartment, “If you ever made it big, Luke, would you leave me?” “Never,” I said. And for the next six years, I kept that promise. Through every failed audition, every soul-crushing rejection, every moment she was ready to give up, I was there. Then, she was the one who made it big. At the Lumina Awards, the industry’s golden night, she stood on stage, tears welling in her mascara-lined eyes, ready to announce the love of her life to the world. The spotlight swept past me, landing instead on the kid I’d taken under my wing. He stood beside Sienna, his own eyes glistening. “Luke, man,” he said, his voice thick with emotion for the cameras. “Thank you for taking care of her all these years. But love and gratitude are two different things. You can’t hold her hostage with kindness.” Sienna’s gaze found mine, and it was as cold as steel. “I transferred a hundred thousand dollars to your account,” she mouthed silently, a final, brutal transaction. “We’re even.” Six years of my life, reduced to a wire transfer. As the internet exploded with headlines branding me the obsessive “other man,” I made a single phone call. “Pull every film Sienna Croft has ever been in from every platform. Effective immediately.” You see, Sienna, you weren’t the only one who made it big. And in that moment, I knew I’d made a mistake all those years ago. If I had been the one to hit the big time first, I would have left you without a second thought. 1 After the awards show, in the sterile quiet of our now-fractured home, Sienna tried to soften the blow. “I’m grateful for the six years we had, Luke. For weathering the storm together,” she’d said, avoiding my eyes. “But you can’t force love. I knew it was over the day you brought Evan home.” She offered a final, hollow olive branch. “We can still be friends, though.” But by the next morning, friendship was the furthest thing from her mind. A coordinated smear campaign erupted online. The six years I’d spent supporting her were twisted into a narrative of coercion and emotional blackmail. Sienna went on a morning talk show, her face a mask of practiced sorrow. “When he first told me how he felt,” she said, dabbing a tear, “I never planned on saying yes. But he used Evan’s situation against me. For six years, I had to do what he said. Taking bad scripts, doing those terrible reality shows… I’m so sorry I gave my fans such a poor experience.” Six years had honed her acting skills to a razor’s edge. She bowed her head, and a single, perfect tear hit the floor. And there he was, right beside her, the boy I’d mentored, his own eyes red-rimmed. “Sienna and I were terrified of what he’d do,” Evan said, his voice trembling. “We never dared to even see each other alone. I never dreamed we’d be able to stand here together, in the light. Thank you all for your support.” Perhaps as a final pang of guilt, Sienna had another hundred thousand dollars wired to my account. I had to laugh. It was a bitter, hollow sound. The resources I’d leveraged for her, the deals I’d brokered from the shadows—the commission alone on any one of them dwarfed this pathetic sum. I didn’t say a word. This was a job for my PR team. The team I had secretly built over the years, a crack unit designed for the sole purpose of protecting Sienna Croft from negative press, was now about to be turned on its original subject. But when I called my department head, his voice was clipped and unfamiliar. “Luke, the entire department is resigning. The letters are on your desk. Sorry, but we won’t be working for you anymore.” The line went dead before I could respond. I scrambled to call the others. Each call went straight to voicemail. They’d all blocked me. The entire department, the one I’d built from the ground up to serve her, had abandoned me. A quick search confirmed my suspicion. They had all been hired by a new boutique agency, a joint venture co-owned by Sienna Croft and Evan Ross. I shrugged, a gesture that felt heavier than it should. They had no idea what they’d just thrown away. I started calling the major PR firms I had on retainer. But something was wrong. The same agency heads who had called me “Luke, my man” for years were now rejecting my calls. One of them, a guy I’d considered a friend, finally picked up. His tone was cautious. “Listen, Luke, I’m telling you this as a friend. Your ex… she’s been hand-picked by a major player. Someone with serious backing. She’s untouchable right now.” He sighed. “She wants to make her new boyfriend a star, and you getting in the way is bad for his image. Take the money and walk away. You don’t want to go up against the person behind her.” The person behind her? A cold smile touched my lips. Who could possibly have more power than me? For six years, I had moved mountains for her, all from the shadows. She never knew the extent of my influence, the true nature of my work. It was all because of that one damn question she’d asked. I was afraid that if she knew who I really was, she’d feel insecure, that our relationship would be built on an imbalance of power. So I played the part of a small-time manager, carefully lifting her up so that one day, she could stand beside me as an equal. Just as I was about to call my real team, my right-hand man, the hospital’s number flashed on my screen. I answered, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. “Mr. Walker? Your father… his room has been surrounded by a mob of radical fans! You need to get here now!” 2 “That’s the bastard’s mom! And if the son is harassing our queen and trying to tear down our king, you can bet the father is just as scummy! Don’t let him get away!” By the time I arrived, the entire hospital corridor was a chaotic sea of screaming fans, their phone cameras held high like weapons. Hospital security was completely overwhelmed. My bodyguards and I forced a path through the throng. Inside the room, I found my father, huddled in a corner, his face bloodied. “The bastard’s here! Get him!” “We’ve been shipping Sienna and Evan for three years, asshole! Who the hell are you to get in their way?” A phone was hurled at my head. My father, despite his injuries, lunged to shield me. The sound of sirens finally pierced the chaos. “Police! Everybody drop what you’re holding!” The mob’s makeshift weapons clattered to the floor. My father was rushed into emergency care. Seething, I pulled out my phone and dialed Sienna. “It was you,” I snarled, my voice raw with fury. “You told them where my dad was. Only you and I knew which hospital he was in.” There was a pause on the other end. When she finally spoke, her voice was cool and detached. “Fans can be resourceful, Luke. They dox people all the time. I know you’re upset about your father, but you can’t just throw baseless accusations around.” She hung up. But she had forgotten something. I still had the password to her private social media accounts. I logged into her official fan Discord server. And there it was, in a private channel for her most dedicated “stans”: a message from her, posting my father’s location and medical information. My hands started to shake. My dad had treated her like his own daughter. After her parents passed, he’d always set a place for her at our dinner table. Before I could screenshot the evidence, the system logged me out. A notification popped up: “Password has been changed.” She knew. My anger was choked by a wave of panic. My father’s doctor appeared, his face grim. “He’s older, Mr. Walker. The assault caused severe internal bleeding. We need to transfer him to a specialized trauma center immediately.” “Then transfer him!” I yelled, my voice cracking. The doctor hesitated. “Mr. Walker… the funds from your account won’t clear.” I froze. My father’s medical expenses were tied to my personal black card. The account held, at a minimum, nine figures. How could there be no money? It took a dozen frantic calls before a friend at the IRS gave me the news. “Someone tipped us off, Luke. An anonymous report with some very convincing-looking documents suggesting money laundering. All your domestic accounts have been frozen pending a full investigation. Don’t worry, if it’s clean, they’ll unfreeze everything eventually.” The floor dropped out from under me. I felt like I was plunging into ice water. 3 My friend didn’t say who reported me, but I knew. Only one person could have fabricated evidence that convincing. The person who had shared my life for the past six years. I hadn’t done it. The authorities would eventually clear my name. But the investigation could take weeks, months. The delay was a death sentence for my father. And then, the knockout blow. The news of the investigation broke online. Sienna was immediately in front of a camera, her eyes artfully red-rimmed. “He could be very controlling,” she said, her voice catching. “He did some terrible things to me and Evan. But he did help us in the past. I… I never thought Mr. Walker was this kind of person.” Evan stood beside her, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. “Was it because of me?” he whispered to the reporter. “Because Sienna and I fell in love? Did we push him over the edge? If I’d never fallen for her, maybe none of this would have happened.” Sienna squeezed his hand tightly. “No, Evan. It’s not your fault.” A photo of her clutching his hand went viral, catapulting to the top of every trending list. A high-resolution shot of Evan’s “perfect tear” became a meme celebrating their tragic, beautiful love. And I became the villain who tried to tear them apart. You two have to stay together forever! Show that monster Luke Walker what real love is! I’m literally crying. My ship is finally sailing! My choice was simple. Cooperate with the investigation and let my father die, or… My fists clenched. Or become the criminal they accused me of being. 4 I discarded the thought as quickly as it came. There had to be another way. I immediately initiated an emergency funding request. But the platforms that usually approved my requests in seconds were now rejecting me outright. I didn’t give up, assuming my name was temporarily toxic due to the money laundering allegations. I tried using a trusted friend’s credentials. The result was the same. Desperate, I called a contact at one of the firms, someone whose career I’d helped build. He spoke in a hushed, nervous whisper. “Luke, stop trying. Ms. Croft put the word out to the entire financial community. A total blackout. Anyone who provides you with capital is blacklisted. She’s got Mr. Morrison behind her, and nobody is willing to cross him.” He hung up and blocked my number. I couldn’t believe Sienna could be so ruthless. She had already used me to launch Evan’s career. Now she was systematically sealing every possible escape route. My eyes fell on the bank card she’d given me. The two hundred thousand dollars. I had sworn I would never touch her pity money. But now… my pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford. My father’s life depended on it. I handed the card to the hospital administrator. She ran it. The machine beeped. “Insufficient funds.” “Mr. Walker,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “It appears Ms. Croft contacted the bank and had the transfer reversed as soon as she heard about your legal troubles.” I nearly collapsed. A nurse had to grab my arm to steady me. My hands trembled. First, the false accusation. Then, clawing back the money meant to buy her a clear conscience. And while I was trapped in this bureaucratic nightmare, she and Evan were basking in the public’s sympathy, their careers soaring. I finally understood. She wasn’t just pushing me out of the way. She was building Evan’s throne on top of my grave. I called her. She let it ring a dozen times before answering. After a long silence, she sighed. “You helped him once, Luke. You couldn’t stand to see him suffer. I can’t stand seeing him as just some nobody in this town. The day you brought him home, bleeding and scared, I knew there was no future for us.” The phone felt like it was about to shatter in my grip. Her voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact. “I admit, I used you. I’ll cover your father’s transfer fees.” The call ended. A moment later, a notification confirmed the deposit. At this critical juncture, I had no choice but to swallow my pride and accept. But as soon as this is over, Sienna, I swear, you will pay for this. 4 (Continued) My father was stabilized, but it was a temporary fix. His ongoing treatment would cost a fortune. To make matters worse, the fan who had assaulted him was defiant, choosing jail time over paying any compensation. My accounts were still frozen. My friends pooled their money and covered a fraction of the bill, a gesture that touched me deeply but barely made a dent. The hospital administrator delivered the grim news: if I couldn’t secure more funding soon, my father would be moved to a standard ward. I sat slumped against the wall in the hallway, the rhythmic beeping of my father’s heart monitor a steady drumbeat of my own failure. Hope was a distant memory. “I hear you’re in need of some capital, Mr. Walker.” A group of men in sharp, ill-fitting suits stood over me. “We can offer you a loan,” the leader said with a slick smile. “But first… we need to see how serious you are.” 5 He showed me their company’s website on a tablet. It wasn’t a legitimate financial institution. This was the underworld of lending, a place of exorbitant interest rates and broken kneecaps. Loan sharks. But I had no other choice. As soon as my accounts were unfrozen, I could pay back any loan, no matter how predatory the terms. “Where’s the contract?” I said, holding out my hand. “I’ll sign. Anything under fifty percent interest is fine.” They laughed. “Slow down, Mr. Walker. We can offer you an interest-free loan.” I stared at him, confused. “All we require,” the man said, his smile turning predatory, “is some… collateral. Something personal.” He slid the tablet over. It was a contract for what amounted to a sex-for-loan agreement, demanding compromising photos and videos. “I’ll take the high-interest loan,” I said, my voice low and hard. “Sorry,” he shrugged, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Ms. Croft’s instructions were specific. This is the only deal on the table for you.” My eyes widened. Sienna. Again. Why was she pushing me this far? What kind of sick game was this? The contract was placed in my hands. The choice was clear: sign away my dignity and save my father, or watch him die. I couldn’t do it. With a roar of fury, I ripped the contract to shreds. “Bad move,” the man sneered, brushing a piece of paper off his suit. “We’re the only ones willing to lend to you. You’ll be back.” A wave of hot rage washed over me. I stumbled to the restroom and splashed cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. When I walked back out, my blood ran cold. Nurses were forcibly removing my father from his bed, wheeling him out into the hallway on a gurney. I rushed to stop them. “His account is empty,” one of them said, shoving me aside. “This equipment costs ten grand a day, and we have paying patients who need the room. This is a private hospital, Mr. Walker. We’re not a charity.” “No!” They dumped my father onto a cot in the busy corridor and left him there. I scrambled to his side, cradling his head in my arms. “Ms. Croft said the offer still stands,” one of the nurses called over her shoulder with a contemptuous smile. “You can still think about it.” “What did he do to piss off someone like her?” another nurse whispered loudly. “Who knows? But everyone knows who she’s with now. This guy clearly doesn’t know his place.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386403”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My philosophy is simple: scorched earth. When the golden boy of campus wanted to shove my face in a septic tank to fish out his girlfriend’s diamond ring, I blew the whole thing sky-high with a quarter stick of dynamite. When some rich prick cornered me on a rooftop, ready to play king of the hill, I wrapped my arms around him and took us both for a swan dive. After that little swan dive, I woke up here, inside the dog-eared pages of some old, tragic romance novel, cast as the long-suffering male lead. A System, buzzing in my head like a fluorescent light, told me all I had to do was play my part. Live through the story’s greatest hits of agony, let the female lead dig out my heart and my kidney for another man. Once her Regret Value hit 100% and she started down that long, groveling road of redemption, I’d get my life back. Plus a hundred-million-dollar bonus. The System’s voice oozed smarmy confidence in my ear. “Listen, kid. The others who came before you? They all tried to fight it. Tried to run. Every single one of them got erased by this world. I’m telling you, don’t be an idiot.” It paused, clearly expecting me to break down. Instead, a grin spread across my face. I couldn’t nod fast enough. “Don’t worry,” I said. “An offer this good? Why would I ever run?” After all, making people regret things? That’s my specialty. 1 So when the female lead, Victoria, demanded I give my kidney to her one true love, the ghost of her first love, I injected a vial of HIV into my own veins without a moment’s hesitation. Sure enough, just as they were wheeling me out of the OR, I heard Victoria’s furious roar echo down the hall. “Leo, are you insane? Why didn’t you tell me you were HIV-positive?” I glanced up. Floating over her head, a shimmering meter labeled REGRET spiked to 40%. I shot a wicked grin at the System. “Who ever said her regret had to be the romantic, I-miss-you-so-much kind?” I thought. “See? Right now, she definitely regrets asking for my kidney.” The System was practically having an aneurysm. “You’re supposed to be the one suffering, not her!” I ignored it, turning to the furious Victoria with a face full of manufactured sincerity. “You never asked,” I said simply. “What? Is Evan not happy with this one? I can give him the other one, too.” I made a show of trying to sit up. The next thing I knew, Victoria had me by the collar, pinning me to the bed. “Leo, you did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she seethed. “This is your pathetic way of getting back at him! Where did you get HIV? Were you cheating on me?” Ah. So, the idea of me being unfaithful was more infuriating than the fact that I’d just given her precious Evan a diseased organ. Good to know. Tears welled in my eyes on command. “Victoria, how could you say that? The only reason I have this… this disease… is from that time I sold plasma to pay for your medical bills. You can’t possibly question my loyalty to you.” The mention of her amnesia made her pause. Her expression flickered. According to the novel’s script, the original Leo had found a gravely ill Victoria with no memory and mountains of debt. To save her, he’d done everything—participated in shady medical trials, sold his plasma at those sketchy clinics down on the south side, nearly sold a kidney even back then. He was the picture of devotion. Remembering that time, Victoria’s grip on my collar slowly loosened, her brow furrowed in thought. “Even so, you should have told me. Evan’s health was already so fragile. Now he has this because of you. You need to go apologize to him.” I nodded immediately. “Okay. I’ll go.” Victoria looked taken aback, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. Before this, Evan and I were like oil and water. Every encounter was a barely-veiled declaration of war. Her face hardened. “You’d better mean it.” The moment she was gone, the System exploded in my head, screeching like a groundhog. It raged about me going off-script. I scoffed. “What do you mean, off-script? Did I give him the kidney? Yes. Does she regret it? Yes. Has the world erased me? No. So what, exactly, is your problem?” My logic seemed to stump it. The System had to admit that I hadn’t received any kind of warning or punishment. When I first got here, I’d asked what would happen if I didn’t follow the plot. The System had just laughed. Then, a massive jolt of electricity had coursed through my body. I convulsed, my heart feeling like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. “If you deviate,” it had said, “the rules of this world will punish you. A hundred times worse than that.” Clutching my chest, I’d cursed the System out, but I knew I had to play within the rules. A slow smile spread across my face now as I got up and dressed. “No punishment means it’s allowed by the rules,” I said. “And if I remember correctly, the apology is a key scene, isn’t it?” The System was getting scared of me. “What are you going to do now?” My smile was pure poison. “She regrets making me donate the kidney. Now, it’s time to make her regret making me apologize.” When I pushed open the door to Evan’s private room, he was nestled in Victoria’s arms, sobbing quietly. The moment he saw me, his whole body trembled. “Victoria, get him out of here! I don’t want to see him…” Victoria rubbed his back, her voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “He’s here to apologize.” When she looked up at me, her gaze turned arctic. “Well? Get over here.” I walked forward and gave a perfunctory bow. “I’m sorry.” “That’s it? That’s his apology?” Evan lifted his head from her shoulder, his face a mask of indignation. “Victoria, he gave me this… this filthy disease. If this gets out, my acting career is over. I’ll never be a star. And all I get is a simple ‘I’m sorry’?” Victoria frowned. “Then what do you want…” “I’ll give you an apology you can be satisfied with,” I cut in. “Just give me two hours.” I turned and walked out before they could respond. Two hours later, the quiet hospital grounds turned into a circus. I’d brought with me a dozen protestors I hired off Craigslist, complete with a massive, bright red banner. In bold yellow letters, it read: 【I’M SORRY, EVAN PIERCE! I NEVER SHOULD HAVE DONATED MY HIV-INFECTED KIDNEY TO YOU! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!】 One of the women I hired, a pro with a bullhorn, aimed it directly at Evan’s hospital window and let loose. “MR. EVAN PIERCE! WE’RE SOOOOORRY!” “MR. LEO WANTS YOU TO KNOW HE WAS WROOOONG!” “YOU’RE A BIG MAN, A GENEROUS MAN! PLEASE FIND IT IN YOUR HEART TO FORGIVE HIM FOR GIVING YOU AN HIV-INFECTED KIDNEY!” “HE TOLD YOU HE DIDN’T WANT TO DONATE, BUT YOU INSISTED! HE FINALLY AGREED, SO PLEASE DON’T LET THIS UPSET YOU! THINK OF YOUR HEALTH!” All up and down the hospital wing, windows slid open. Curious faces peered out, their gazes zeroing in on Evan’s room. The System screamed again. “This is not how the apology was supposed to go!” “There are different types of apologies?” I sneered. “He got the words ‘I’m sorry,’ didn’t he?” Just then, Victoria stormed out of the building. She snatched the bullhorn and slammed it onto the pavement, her voice a low, furious hiss. “Leo, have you lost your mind? Evan’s an actor! Are you trying to destroy him?” I watched the Regret Value above her head climb to a neat 50%. I blinked innocently. “But I just wanted to show him the depths of my sincerity. If this isn’t enough… I can come back and do it again tomorrow?” Victoria lunged, grabbing my collar in a rage. “Leo, are you incapable of understanding English? How dare you pull a stunt like this? Do you want me to cut off your mother’s medical payments?” As the words left her mouth, her phone rang. She answered, and her face went ashen. After hanging up, she stared at me, her eyes burning. “What else did you do?” “Nothing much,” I said, smoothing the wrinkles she’d made in my shirt. “I just rented out the Jumbotron in the middle of the city. It’s looping my apology video 24/7.” Seeing the veins throbbing in her temples, I added helpfully, “If Evan’s still not satisfied, I could always contact a few TV networks, set up an exclusive interview…” “You—!” Victoria raised her hand to slap me, but she was interrupted by a nurse sprinting towards us. “Ms. Blackwood! It’s terrible! Mr. Pierce… he’s slit his wrists!” Victoria’s hand froze in mid-air. She immediately turned and ran back toward the hospital. Halfway there, she spun around to glare at me. “If anything happens to Evan, I’ll make you pay with your life!” A grim smile touched my lips. “Look, we’re at 60%,” I mused to the System. “Think I can get it to 100% by tonight?” “And you know, most people take three, five years to complete this mission. Do I get a bonus for speed?” The System sounded like it had a migraine. “A bonus? Evan is trying to kill himself! That never happened in the book! The plot is completely off the rails!” “Relax.” I yawned, turning to head back to my own room. “He doesn’t have the guts to die.” The System was still panicking. “Aren’t you afraid Victoria will just kill you herself in a fit of rage?” My face was blank, but my voice was cold. “If she tries, that just makes things simpler. We die together.” “But I don’t think,” I added, “that Victoria will have time for me.” Just as I predicted, Victoria was insanely busy for the next two months. My apology video went viral. #EvanPierceHIV #EvanPierceScandal Both hashtags were trending worldwide within thirty minutes. Victoria threw a fortune at PR firms to kill the stories and scrub the search results, but it only backfired. People started digging. They found traces of her long, ambiguous relationship with Evan. And then the bombshell dropped: the story of how she forced her own husband to donate a kidney to save her old flame. The moment that news broke, Blackwood Industries’ stock took a nosedive. To save the company’s image, Victoria had to make a choice. She sacrificed Evan. She released a public statement claiming they were just friends and expertly redirected most of the ensuing blame onto him. Evan’s career was incinerated. To make it up to him, Victoria brought him to our home. She gave him total control over the household finances, making him the de facto house manager. The System was stunned. “The… the plot point where he gets control of the finances… that just happened five years ahead of schedule!” In the original novel, Evan took over the money, but only after years of his own self-destructive behavior had ruined his career. Victoria gave him the responsibility to try and help him get back on his feet. Somehow, I’d managed to fast-track the whole damn thing. “No, it wasn’t an accident!” the System declared, a newfound respect in its tone. “You planned this from the start, didn’t you?” I just smiled and said nothing. Once in power, Evan began to make my life a living hell. He moved my mother to the worst ward in her nursing home, citing budget cuts. He cancelled my driver and gave me a ten-dollar daily allowance, calling it a “real-life experience.” I accepted it all without a word of protest. Even when he deliberately withheld the payment for my mother’s life-saving medication, I just smiled and said, “As you wish.” The System finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Host, have you had a personality transplant? You’re just going to let him do this?” I was calm. “What’s the rush? Have you forgotten the most critical turning point in this book?” The System thought for a moment. “It’s when Evan, in charge of the finances, arranges for your mother to be in an accident. Then he refuses to pay the medical bills, she dies, and you, heartbroken, finally leave. That’s when Victoria’s regret kicks in and the redemption arc begins!” I nodded. “Should be any day now.” The System was speechless. “You don’t mean…” “That’s right.” I smiled. “I’ve already built the stage. Now we just have to see if Evan will play his part.” And how could he not? He was desperate to get me out of the Blackwood family. So, two days later, the call came from the hospital. “What?” I gasped into the phone, my voice filled with panic. “A car accident? How? I’ll be right there with the money.” I hung up and sprinted to find Evan, my voice trembling. “Evan! There’s been a car accident! A family emergency! They’re in the ER, they need money for the surgery right now, can you give me some?” “Sure.” Evan coolly pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and pressed it into my hand. “You’d better hurry. Don’t want to keep them waiting.” I stared at the ten dollars. “This is it? You’re only giving me ten dollars?” Evan smirked. “Ten dollars a day. That’s the rule. You want more, you can come back tomorrow.” He was doing this on purpose. I knew it. No more words. I dropped to my knees in front of him. “Evan, please, this isn’t a joke. The hospital said they won’t operate without payment. Please, just give me more. You don’t understand, the one in the accident is…” He cut me off before I could finish. “It’s the same procedure for everyone. The Blackwood fortune wasn’t built on handouts. If I make an exception for you, how will I ever manage this household?” I figured he wouldn’t budge, so I pulled out my phone and dialed Victoria. “Victoria, Mom’s been in a car accident! She’s at the hospital waiting for money to save her life, and Evan won’t give it to me! Please, just talk to him, tell him to give me something! It’s life or death!” There was a few seconds of silence on her end before she told me to put Evan on the phone. I quickly handed the phone over. His tone immediately softened. “Victoria, darling, it’s not that I’m being unreasonable. It’s just, if I break the rules so soon after they’re set, the staff will never respect my authority. I know you feel for him, but I need to establish my position.” I couldn’t hear what Victoria said, but a triumphant smirk spread across Evan’s face. He handed the phone back to me. “Victoria wants to talk to you.” I took it. Her voice was sharp with impatience. “Leo, a house has rules, just like a country has laws. Evan just took over the finances; he needs to establish his authority. If he makes an exception for you now, how will he ever stand on his own two feet in this house? As for your mother, it’s fine if the money is a little late. The hospital won’t actually let her die.” “A little late?” My voice shot up an octave. “Victoria, are you insane? It’s emergency surgery! A single minute could be the difference between life and death! Are you telling me you’re just going to do nothing? You are going to regret this!” “Regret it?” A cold laugh came through the phone. “Leo, I still haven’t settled the score with you for that disaster you created at the hospital. This time, just let Evan have his way. Once he’s calmed down, the money will be sent. Just behave yourself and stop making trouble.” The line went dead. I shot Evan a murderous glare, spat out the word “bastard,” and left. Of course, I went straight to the hospital. No money, and Evan had clearly given them instructions. It wasn’t long after I arrived that they handed me the death certificate. Looking at the paper, my lips trembled slightly. I knew these were just characters in a book, but still… Just then, the System whispered, “Try to keep your laughter down.” I tried. I really did. I failed. “Sorry,” I choked out. “I just can’t help it when I think about what’s coming next.” The System was completely immune to my antics by now. “So, what’s the plan?” I clutched the death certificate and hailed a cab. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to settle the score with those two scumbags.” The second I walked into the Blackwood mansion, I went straight for Evan. I slapped him hard across the face, twice, before he could even react. “You son of a bitch, Evan! It’s all because of you! She didn’t make it! She’s dead! Are you happy now?” The commotion brought Victoria through the door. She had just gotten home. She ran over and shielded Evan with her own body, pointing a finger at my nose. “Leo, who do you think you are, hitting him? It’s not Evan’s fault your mother died! If you have to blame someone, blame her for being too weak! We were about to send the money. It’s not our fault she couldn’t hold on! Who can you blame for that?” Her words lit a fire in me. Without thinking, I blurted it out. “Victoria, are you even human?” “And besides, it wasn’t my mom who died. It was yours!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386402”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I transferred to Blackwood Academy, some rich kid had a banner stretched across the main gate. It read: ONE KISS: $100. Everyone else was hesitating, too shy to step forward. I, on the other hand, moved like a lightning strike. Not only did I plant eighteen solid kisses on the guy, but I also conscientiously peeled eighteen crisp hundred-dollar bills from his hand. When I was done, I wiped my mouth, utterly satisfied. “City life really is full of opportunities,” I told him. “Let me know next time you’re running a charity event like this.” 1 My mom always said the city was full of opportunities. That’s why she pulled every string she could to get me into Blackwood Academy. I’d heard the sons and daughters of the elite were a tough crowd, so before I left, I spent two months learning Muay Thai, just in case. But when I arrived, I realized I’d worried for nothing. Not only were they easy to get along with, but they even held impromptu charity events. The kind designed specifically to help out a poor student like me—one with a soft spot for pretty faces and a deep love for cash. I counted the money, a goofy grin plastered on my face that I couldn’t suppress. I was so absorbed that I didn’t notice the bustling crowd behind me had fallen eerily silent. After a long moment, someone finally whispered, “That’s Landon Prescott. Does she have a death wish?” So, his name was Landon. My hand paused its counting, and my gaze shifted back to the boy in front of me. Unlike my triumphant glow, he looked… wrecked. His lips were swollen, his eyes unfocused, and he stood frozen to the spot. The designer shirt he’d deliberately left unbuttoned was now wide open, revealing the hard lines of a well-defined abdomen. It seemed that in my enthusiasm, I’d ripped off a couple more buttons. A pang of guilt hit me. With a heavy heart, I pulled two of the hundred-dollar bills from my new stash and stuffed them into his hand. “It was my first time, so I’m not very experienced,” I said. “Here, take a little back. Call it a refund.” Either way, I still came out ahead. This Landon kid was gorgeous, and his lips were incredibly soft. But as the words left my mouth, a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Anyone who’d ever been to a club knew that line. Did she just treat Landon Prescott like an escort? Sympathetic glances landed on Landon, and it was only then that he seemed to process what had just happened. That he’d been taken advantage of. And that this girl thought he was for sale. Landon’s expression shifted through a storm of emotions before he finally ground out, his voice tight, “What do you take me for?” Anyone who knew him recognized this as the calm before the storm. But all I saw was the blush creeping up from his neck to the tips of his ears. He was putting on a tough-guy act, but underneath, he was all innocence. Realization dawned on me. I dug out another five hundred dollars and held it out to him, my tone sincere. “I didn’t realize it was your first time, too. Here, I’ll give you a bit more. But that’s all you’re getting.” At that, Landon’s brow furrowed even deeper. He let out a laugh that was pure, frustrated disbelief. “Is that what you think this is about? Did I say you could kiss me?” He was a full head taller than me, and when he leaned in, his shadow completely enveloped me. I had to tilt my head back, blinking innocently as I pointed to the banner behind him. “Isn’t this a charity event?” I asked. “Wasn’t I allowed to kiss you?” Even if it was just for students, I was a student now. I was here to enroll today. Speaking of which, I glanced at my phone. 7:55 AM. I had five minutes before I was late. Seeing that Landon was still motionless, I tucked the cash into the collar of his shirt. As I turned to leave, I noticed the strange looks on everyone’s faces. Especially the girl who had been hesitating in front of Landon earlier; her glare was so intense it felt like it could drill a hole through me. I figured they were just impatient for their turn, so I thoughtfully stepped aside, clearing the path to Landon. Before I left, I made sure to put in a good word for him. “Don’t be shy, everyone! Landon’s a great kisser. Let’s not let his charitable spirit go to waste.” 2 As I walked away, a few people actually looked tempted to try their luck. But one withering glare from Landon sent them scurrying back. The girl who had been hesitating before, however, took a step forward. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “Landon,” she said, her voice steady but laced with hurt, “even if you wanted to humiliate me, did you really have to hire someone to put on a show?” She spoke with a fragile dignity, as if she’d suffered a terrible injustice. The crowd’s mood shifted. So that’s what this was. A twisted little game Landon had orchestrated to make Audrey Reed feel a pang of jealousy, to finally get her to accept him. Landon wasn’t about to take the blame for this. He rubbed his temples, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. “I don’t know her.” His words shut everyone up. Just then, a voice from the crowd piped up. “What’s with the innocent act? When Landon asked her out before, she acted like she’d rather die. Why the wounded routine now?” That opened the floodgates. “Seriously, she’s such a hypocrite. Everything she’s wearing, everything she owns, didn’t Landon pay for it? How does she have the nerve to say something like that?” “I think she’s just stringing him along. She doesn’t want him, but she doesn’t want anyone else to have him either.” “Didn’t it feel like her little speech was meant to lead us on? If Landon hadn’t clarified, I would’ve actually thought he staged all this just to get her attention.” Seeing her carefully constructed narrative crumble, a flash of panic crossed Audrey’s face, quickly masked by a fresh wave of tears. She bit her lip hard, looking at Landon with a defiant stare. “Is that what you think, too?” Landon was silent. Normally, the slightest hint of redness in Audrey’s eyes would have sent him into a tailspin of concern. But today, his heart felt like it was crawling with ants. Another second of her tear-streaked face and he felt his patience snap. When it was clear Landon wasn’t going to comfort her, Audrey took a staggering step back, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her nails dug into her palms. “Landon, I’ll never forgive you for this.” With that, she turned and ran off, sobbing. This time, Landon didn’t follow. He shot a cold glare at the gawking crowd. “Get lost,” he snarled. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of Landon Prescott’s anger. In an instant, the school entrance was empty. Landon’s best friend, Leo, slung an arm over his shoulder. “Still thinking about her, Mr. ‘Great Kisser’?” Leo teased. “Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for that new girl. You didn’t even seem to care about Audrey.” The movement was too rough. The cash I’d stuffed into Landon’s collar tumbled out, scattering across the pavement. Landon’s face darkened further. The Prescotts were one of the city’s founding families, with deep roots and even deeper pockets. Landon was the sole heir, spoiled beyond belief. He was used to being the one dishing out humiliation, not the one on the receiving end. Seeing his friend continue to poke the bear, Landon’s jaw tightened. He let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Like her? I’d have to be blind.” He kicked at a stray bill on the ground. “She won’t last a day in this school if I have anything to say about it.” 3 I was completely oblivious to all of this. After enrolling, the dean of admissions told me to head up to the senior hall, room 1A. My eyes were wide with wonder the whole way. So this was an elite prep school. It was more than twice the size of my old, rundown public school. There were elevators in every building, and even the hallways and bathrooms had air conditioning. But after wandering around for what felt like an eternity, I still couldn’t find room 1A. Classes were in session, so the hallways were completely deserted. I couldn’t even find someone to ask for directions. I scrunched up my face, pacing back and forth and nervously twisting the hem of my shirt. Then I looked up and locked eyes with someone at the far end of the hall. He was a long way off, but I recognized him instantly. Landon. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. He’d changed into a clean white shirt, this time buttoned meticulously all the way to the top. The moment he saw me, he started striding in my direction. I walked toward him, too. When I was close enough, and with no one else around, I threw my arms around his waist. It was lean and solid. “Landon!” I chirped happily. He really was a good guy. He must have been worried I’d get lost and come looking for me. Landon’s entire body went rigid. He froze, whatever he’d been about to say or do completely forgotten. After a beat, he peeled me off him, his voice a low growl. “What kind of game are you playing now?” I shrank back, feeling a little guilty. I tried to placate him by rubbing my cheek against the palm of his hand. “I can’t find room 1A, Landon.” Whenever my mom got mad, I’d just let her squish my cheeks and she’d calm down. I wasn’t sure why Landon was angry, but a little charm couldn’t hurt. Except Landon didn’t squish my cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He snatched his hand back as if it were burned, his expression unreadable. He grabbed my wrist instead. “I’ll take you.” On the surface, it looked like he was dragging me down the hall. But in reality, his grip was light, and he was matching his pace to mine. I beamed to myself. A soft mouth and a soft heart. Just as I thought. I wanted to take advantage of the situation a little more, but he was on guard now, not letting me get close enough to touch him. When we reached the door to 1A, he dropped my wrist like it was hot, a flicker of annoyance on his face. So moody. Impossible to figure out. But I wasn’t one to hold a grudge. I sidled up to him with a grin. “So, Landon, which class are you in?” He took a step back, creating distance between us, and turned his head away. “None of your business,” he mumbled. “This is 1A. Just go in.” I pouted, a little disappointed. But then another thought struck me: people only get shifty and avoid eye contact when they’re lying. He must want me to know but is too embarrassed to say it himself. With that, I cheered myself up and decided to ask someone else later. The classroom door was slightly ajar, needing only a gentle push to open. Just as my hand reached for the handle, I paused. I turned back to Landon and flashed him a sweet smile. “Thanks for everything, Landon.” He looked startled. Seeing me reach for the door again, he barked, “Don’t move!” I froze. Landon closed the distance between us in three long strides, glancing at the top of the doorframe. Then, his usual arrogant smirk returned. “Who do you think you are,” he said, his voice dripping with mock contempt, “walking in before me?” He shoved me back, making me stumble, and made a big show of entering first. The second he pushed the door open, a bucket of water tipped over, drenching him from head to toe. 4 Room 1A was on the top floor, the only classroom in that wing. It was usually quiet, but right now, it was filled with raucous laughter. The students looked like they’d just pulled off the perfect prank, their jeers and disdainful looks aimed at the doorway. The teacher was standing at the side of the room, arms crossed, with no intention of stopping the charade. I peeked my head out from behind Landon, confused about what was so funny. But their laughter died on their lips pretty quickly. A heavy silence fell over the room. Landon’s presence was a storm cloud, his eyes scanning the classroom, memorizing every face. The smiles froze on their lips, replaced by looks of pure terror. They couldn’t understand why Landon, of all people, had walked in first. Even the teacher went pale, standing there, utterly lost. This Landon guy was powerful. Just by standing there, silent and dripping, he had the entire room under his thumb. I looked at him with stars in my eyes, full of admiration. But he wasn’t buying my act. He simply covered my eyes with his hand. My world went dark. Landon’s deep, furious voice came from above me. “Wasn’t I clear the last time this happened? One more incident, and you’re out of this school for good.” From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time he’d stood up for someone. I pulled his hand away from my face, annoyed. The teacher, who had been gloating just moments before, was now a crumpled heap on the floor. That made me happy. I hid behind Landon and made a face at her. The teacher’s expression soured even more. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. A boy in the front row tried to play peacemaker. “Landon, man, we didn’t know she was with you. Look…” He tried for a placating smile, but it looked more like a grimace. For some strange reason, Landon didn’t correct him. His lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. He wasn’t about to let this go. The silence was heavy, like the air before a thunderstorm. Seeing that Landon was unmovable, they turned their hopeful gazes to me, silently begging me to intervene. But I didn’t spare them a single glance. My attention was entirely on Landon. He was soaked. The ill-fitting white shirt clung to his skin, clearly outlining the smooth, powerful muscles underneath. I tentatively reached out and poked one of the distinctly defined squares of his eight-pack. Solid. When Landon didn’t react, I grew bolder, my hands starting to explore. Up past his stomach, over his chest, to those little pink nubs my grandpa used to call his “sweethearts.” They looked like they were just begging to be pinched. But before my fingers could make contact, Landon’s hand shot out and captured my wrist. 5 I looked up, annoyed, only to find Landon already looking at me. His face was a mask of stone, but his eyes were dark and complicated. His voice was a raw, scratchy whisper. “What do you think you’re touching?” With that, he grabbed me by the collar like a stray kitten and deposited me at an empty desk in the back of the room. It was his old seat. Landon didn’t show up for the rest of the afternoon. The other students, however, did a complete one-eighty. They were suddenly falling over themselves to be my friend, showering me with gifts. I accepted everything, expensive or not. In no time, a small mountain of offerings had piled up on my desk. Only one person kept her distance—a girl by the window, who was staring at me with an unnerving intensity. I knew who she was. Audrey Reed. Her name was the one that came up most often when I’d asked about Landon. They said she was special to him. That there was never supposed to be a scholarship spot in a class like 1A, but she’d casually mentioned she was jealous of their resources, and Landon had pulled strings to get her in. They also said that she’d once declared she didn’t want to be in the same class as a guy who only knew how to throw his weight around, and Landon had immediately transferred out. Audrey treated him like dirt, but Landon just kept doting on her. Before I came along, no one had ever challenged her position. I pursed my lips. It was a waste of a perfectly good Landon. My sour mood for him extended to her. Seeing her still staring, I shot a glare right back. To my surprise, she wasn’t intimidated. She stood up and walked calmly toward me, stopping right in front of my desk. The sunlight caught her from behind, framing her in a way that really sold the whole “defiant, delicate flower” vibe. “How can you have so little self-respect?” she demanded, her voice filled with righteous indignation. “Just accepting handouts from anyone!” I had no idea what she was talking about. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. That kind of moral high ground might work on herself, but she had no right to preach to me. Besides, if she really had so much integrity, her eyes wouldn’t have been glued to the pile of gifts on my desk the entire time. Worried she might try to take something, I shifted my body to block her view, refusing to engage with her nonsense. Seeing my defensive posture, Audrey’s face flushed with anger, her pretty features twisting into something ugly. “Do you really think they want to be your friend? They’re just using you to get close to the Prescotts.” She leaned in closer. “Without Landon, no one would give you a second look. And you’re treating their trash like it’s treasure!” I remained completely unfazed, offering a dismissive, “Yep, you’re right, everything you say is absolutely right.” Real or fake, I couldn’t tell the difference between genuine kindness and cold, hard cash. But the gifts were in my possession now, so who cared about the empty sentiment behind them? My indifference finally broke her. Her face contorted with rage. She leaned in so close her lips were at my ear, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for me. “Landon is just using you to make me jealous because he’s mad at me. I bet if I so much as crooked my finger, he’d drop you in a heartbeat. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave on your own. Otherwise, you have no idea what you’re in for.” The mention of Landon finally got a reaction out of me. Not because I was hurt, but because I was disgusted. “Do you not own a mirror? Or have a puddle you can look in?” I sneered. “Go take a good long look and tell me what part of you is worthy of Landon Prescott.” I rolled my eyes again. I couldn’t fathom where Audrey got the audacity to say something so shameless. It was as baffling as how, out of all the people in the world, her skin could be so thick. 6 She seemed genuinely shocked that I could be so crude. Her face turned crimson, her lips trembling. Just as she was about to explode, her eyes darted toward the doorway, and a triumphant smirk instantly appeared on her face. “You don’t believe me? Should we test it? See who Landon really cares about?” Without even looking up, I ripped open a bag of chips and held a few out in my palm. “Be my guest. Let the show begin.” Audrey took my casualness as a bluff. She took a step back, raised her hand, and slapped herself across the face. Hard. Just from the sound, I knew she’d put her all into it. Crunch, crunch. I popped a few more chips into my mouth. When she paused, I gestured with my eyes for her to continue. A flicker of pure rage crossed her face, but like a seasoned actress, she quickly regained her composure. She straightened her back, tears welling in her eyes, defiantly holding them back. “Nina,” she choked out, “I told you already, there’s nothing between me and Landon. Why are you doing this to me?” Audrey was naturally pale, and the right side of her face was already an angry red. It was a sight that would make anyone’s heart ache. A pretty convincing performance. I should have known a place like Blackwood Academy would be this great. Not only do you get to grope hot guys for free, but you also get free money and a free show. If I’d known, I would have begged my mom on my hands and knees to send me here sooner. I was filled with regret. I shook my head, lamenting all the money I could have been making. But in Audrey’s eyes, my gesture looked like a sign of surrender. From an angle where no one else could see, she shot me a smug, triumphant little smile. It was my cue to join the scene. I cracked my knuckles, ready to show them what real acting talent looked like. “It’s because you’re always trying to seduce him!” I screeched, flipping my hair back with a haughty gesture, channeling my inner villain. “He would never even look at someone like you otherwise!” I pointed a finger at her. “Watch and learn. I’m the only one who deserves Landon. What are you? Nothing.” Whispers erupted around us as the other students took in my masterful performance. I shot a challenging look back at Audrey, then turned, and my eyes met Landon’s in the doorway. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, or how much of the “show” he’d seen. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Landon!” I exclaimed, my eyes lighting up with genuine surprise. “What are you doing here?” The moment Audrey saw him, she kicked her performance into high gear. “Landon, I’m not some toy you can play with! You need to control your little pet. She can’t just walk all over me!” But Landon ignored both of us. His expression was unnervingly calm as he strode toward us. Suddenly, my stomach dropped. I’d walked right into that witch’s trap.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386401”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For eighteen years, my husband, Michael, never once contacted the one that got away. He learned to cook for me, his hands, once only familiar with spreadsheets, becoming adept with a chef’s knife. He attended every one of our son’s parent-teacher conferences. He meticulously planned our annual family vacations, from Tuscan villas to ski lodges in Aspen. We built a life, a seemingly happy one, for eighteen years. But on the evening of our son’s eighteenth birthday, I turned to Michael and said, “We need to get a divorce.” He was standing in the doorway of Leo’s room, the echo of birthday laughter still hanging in the air. He looked at me, completely floored. I added, my voice as calm as a frozen lake, “You promised me when Leo was born. You promised we’d get divorced when he turned eighteen.” 1 A slow, disbelieving smile spread across Michael’s face. “Olivia, that was a joke. How could you possibly take that seriously?” In that moment, the gentle, dependable man before me blurred, merging with the ambitious, bright-eyed man I’d met two decades ago. Our marriage had been a merger, a strategic alliance between two powerful New York families. Before he’d even sat down across from me at our first stilted ‘date,’ he was in love with someone else: his college sweetheart, Isabelle. Isabelle was a scholarship kid, a brilliant artist with no pedigree. Michael’s parents would never accept her. They paid for her to study abroad, effectively shipping her out of their son’s life. I gave him a choice back then. “You have two options,” I told him, our hands resting on a cold, marble tabletop. “One, you fly to her, you fight for her, and I find someone else. Or two, you marry me, and you never speak to Isabelle again.” He chose me. He chose his duty to his family. After the wedding, he was a good husband. Kind, attentive. I fell pregnant quickly, and for a while, I let myself believe that I could have it all—the business advantages of our union and a real, growing love. So when I went into labor prematurely, my first instinct was to call him. He didn’t answer. Hours later, after Leo was born, he finally called back. His voice was strained, but he was honest. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. Isabelle… she was in a car accident.” He had chosen her. In the moment of crisis, his heart had defaulted to her. He stammered on the other end of the line, unsure of what to say next. In that instant, I felt myself curl inward, like a threatened animal, pulling every last thread of my affection back from him. All the love I had been nurturing for him withered on the vine. But then I looked at our son, so small and fragile in the hospital bassinet, and a strange calm washed over me. “Michael,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “Can you promise me something? That we’ll wait until Leo turns eighteen. Then, we can get a divorce.” I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle. “For these next eighteen years, I need you to play a role. In front of our son, I need you to be a good father and a good husband.” A long silence, then a choked, “Okay.” I never forbade him from contacting Isabelle again. But it seemed my proposition had shocked him back into his role. He became a model father, a devoted husband, and as far as I knew, never reached out to her. He recommitted to the promise he made me. I knew he did it out of a sense of responsibility, a duty to me and to Leo. But I also knew he never let her go. I saw it in the way he would trace the outline of a worn-out scrunchie she’d given him in college, which he kept hidden in his desk drawer. I knew it from the private investigator he paid every month to send him candid photos of her life in London—Isabelle at a gallery opening, Isabelle laughing in a park. He wasn’t a bad man. He was trying desperately not to hurt anyone. But in the quiet darkness of his own heart, his love for her grew wild and unchecked, like ivy overtaking a ruin. Now, eighteen years had passed. Michael’s parents were gone. My son was a man, ready to forge his own path. And I had finally, completely, excised my feelings for my husband. It was time to let him go find his real love. 2 I thought the hardest part would be telling our son. I never imagined the first wall of resistance would be Michael himself. “It’s okay,” I said softly, trying to soothe the panic in his eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me. I let go of all that eighteen years ago.” He stared at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, as if he were truly seeing my resolve for the first time. “And you don’t have to worry about Leo. I’ll talk to him. I’ll explain everything.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You’re free, Michael.” My voice was steady. “So, our agreement from eighteen years ago? It’s time to honor it.” He let out a long, slow breath, a sigh of resignation. “You’re right. I’ve done you a great wrong, Olivia.” His tone was heavy with a practiced sort of guilt. “Whatever you and Leo need in the future, I’ll always be there to provide it.” Then, a nervous energy seized him. His hand, almost trembling, reached for his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed a number that had been buried for nearly two decades. That night, for the first time in our marriage, we slept in separate rooms. For eighteen years, despite the emotional chasm between us, we had maintained a physical relationship. We met each other’s needs. It always left me with a faint, bitter taste of guilt, as if I were borrowing another woman’s man. But Michael never seemed to mind. As the years went on, he almost seemed to enjoy it. I pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter anymore. Tonight, that connection was severed for good. The next morning, I found Leo in the kitchen, fresh off a video call with his admissions advisor at Harvard. I told him his father and I were getting a divorce. Before I could even launch into the carefully constructed, amicable story I’d prepared, he cut me off. “Mom, you don’t have to spin a story for me. I know. I’ve known for a long time.” He looked at me, his eyes full of a wisdom that broke my heart. “I know you don’t love Dad. And I know he’s the one who wronged you.” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m going to be here for you, Mom. I’ll take care of you.” A wave of sharp, dense pain washed over me. He knew. My son knew everything. I had failed. I hadn’t played my part well enough, and he had been forced to quietly carry the weight of our fractured truth for years. Still, his knowledge simplified things. Michael and I filed the initial divorce petition online. The plan was set: we would fly to Cambridge to move Leo into his dorm, which would also give Michael a chance to see Isabelle, who lived just outside of Boston. He could decide if he wanted to bring her back to New York or stay with her there. After the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period, we would sign the final papers. The moment our plane landed at Logan, Michael was gone, a man on a mission. To my surprise, Leo insisted on going with him. “Mom, I just want to see her. I want to see what this woman who’s lived in Dad’s head for my entire life actually looks like.” A warning bell sounded in my mind. I could hear the resentment simmering beneath his words. “Leo, don’t be impulsive. Whatever happened back then, your father has paid his dues to us for the last eighteen years.” He didn’t listen. He left with his father. And as the city lights began to glitter outside my hotel window, Leo still hadn’t come back. 3 When I finally called, the background was a cacophony of music and laughter. It sounded like a party. “Mom, I’m not coming back tonight,” Leo said, his voice bright and a little distant. “Why not?” He hesitated. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket for Isabelle. She’s… she’s really great, Mom.” He rushed on, the words tumbling out. “It wasn’t her fault, you know? What happened back then. She’s been all alone here for so long. It’s been really hard for her.” He paused, then added, as if reciting something I’d told him, “Like you said, Mom, no one owes anyone anything anymore. But don’t worry. I still love you.” In just a few hours, his entire perspective had shifted. And he was right, of course. No one was to blame. But his words made the eighteen years I had fought for, the charade I had orchestrated for his sake, feel like a pathetic joke. What if I had just divorced Michael back then? Left Leo with him? Would they have been a happier family of three? The thought was a physical blow. I had poured so much of my life into that boy. I swallowed my pride and begged Michael to stay so Leo wouldn’t be the kid with a broken home, so he wouldn’t be whispered about at school. I wanted him to have the world, to be forged by the combined power of our two families. I wanted him to be a titan. After the divorce, he would be all I had left. I had already started planning for his future—the type of woman he should marry, how I would help raise my grandchildren, continuing the dynasty. I couldn’t lose him. I could detach from Michael—it took me a year to fall for him and eighteen years to fall out of love—but my son was different. He was my entire world. “Leo,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. “I made your favorite brown butter chocolate chip cookies. I’ll wait up for you, no matter how late it is.” It was well past midnight when he finally returned. Seeing me awake on the sofa, he rushed over and gently guided me toward the bedroom. “The cookies were amazing, Mom. Seriously. Now get some sleep, you look exhausted.” I felt a wave of relief. It was just his compassion, his big heart. He felt sorry for Isabelle. I could accept that. It was a selfish thought, but as long as my son still loved me, that was enough. I closed my eyes, but just as I was drifting off, I heard it—a soft, muffled chuckle from the other side of the room. The sound of him looking at his phone, trying to suppress his laughter. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see it. I couldn’t face the fact that Isabelle had already, in a matter of hours, utterly captivated him. When Michael and I took Leo to campus to officially register for his classes, Isabelle came along. It was the first time I’d ever seen her in person. She was far more vibrant than in the photographs, radiating a kind of youthful energy that felt rare for a woman our age. She was gracious when she saw me, keeping a respectful distance and giving me space to have a final moment with my son. But Leo’s eyes kept darting over to her, his attention divided. Finally, he asked, “Isabelle, is there anything you want to say to me?” Only then did she step forward. She ran a hand through his hair, her smile warm and encouraging. “Just don’t stress too much. If you don’t feel like studying, go get a good meal. Being healthy and happy is the most important thing!” She was a proponent of ‘happiness first’ education. No wonder Leo was so taken with her. She wore a floral sundress, her sneakers smudged with dirt and stray petals. I remembered hearing that years ago, Michael had secretly arranged for a garden to be built for her small house outside the city. It suited her perfectly—that wild, untamed, romantic persona. Leo nodded, looking utterly charmed, then waved goodbye to us. As we walked away, I turned to Michael and Isabelle. “So, what’s the plan? Are you staying here, or are you both coming back to New York?” It was Michael who answered, but his eyes were on Isabelle. “We’ll stay here for these next four years, to be close to Leo. After that… we’ll see what he wants to do.” 4 Just like that. In a few short days, the three of them had planned their future, a future that neatly excluded me. But the understanding had always been that Leo would be with me. Michael drove Isabelle home first, then returned to the hotel with me. He settled into an armchair, adopting the posture of a man about to have a very serious, very reasonable conversation. “Olivia, since Leo chose a school here, I think it’s clear he’s drawn to the more liberal atmosphere on the East Coast. You can still come visit him whenever you want, of course.” I thought of the look on Leo’s face—the adoration for Isabelle, the casual dismissal of me. A profound weariness settled into my bones. Maybe my fight had been meaningless all along. I was silent for a long moment. Then I looked up at him. “Will you hate me for it? For the last eighteen years?” I asked quietly. “Do you think Leo will hate me?” A flicker of understanding crossed his face. “No. Of course not. None of this is your fault. It’s all on me.” It was his default setting: take the blame, smooth things over. So meaningless. I gave up. “Fine,” I said, my voice flat. “I respect Leo’s wishes. I hope the two of you take good care of him.” Michael managed a small, relieved smile. “You say that as if you’re never going to see him again.” “I just don’t think Boston is for me,” I said, the words feeling casual, conversational. “I prefer a quieter life.” Michael, who had spent the last few days chasing a ghost of his youth, looked at me with a complex expression. Was it nostalgia? Regret? I couldn’t tell. I turned and began packing my suitcase. “Don’t forget,” I said over my shoulder, “you need to be back in New York in about three weeks to sign the final divorce papers.” He nodded. He was still standing there as I zipped my bag. “So,” he asked, his voice hesitant. “This whole time, these eighteen years… were you just acting?” I gave him a look that bordered on a sneer. “Weren’t you?” He flinched, then quickly changed the subject. “Do you think… do you think I was any good at it? At being a husband?” He seemed deeply uncomfortable, wiping a bead of sweat from his palm with a handkerchief. He must be worried about his performance with Isabelle, practicing for his new life. I walked over and patted his shoulder, like an old friend offering a bit of hollow comfort. “Don’t worry. You’ll be great for Isabelle.” I leaned in a little closer. “Especially in bed.” I didn’t care anymore. But as I walked away, Michael just stood there, rooted to the spot, a look of profound loss on his face. After I returned to New York, Michael’s social media became surprisingly active. Photos of art exhibits, picnics in the park, scenic drives along the coast. In every single picture, Isabelle was conspicuously absent. He was probably trying to be considerate, given that we weren’t officially divorced yet. But it was just like the last eighteen years. Her presence was a ghost that haunted the edges of our lives, an invisible pressure that left me no room to breathe. There were times, fleeting moments, when I was fooled by his performance, when I thought, maybe I should just give up. Forget the pact. Pretend none of it happened. We could have another eighteen years. But then I would remember the woman I was in that hospital room, fragile and utterly alone, and I knew I couldn’t betray her. Now, I was grateful for my resolve. I was letting Michael go. And it wasn’t too late to let my son go, either. Michael would occasionally text me photos of Leo, making small talk. I replied at first, then I just stopped. I threw myself back into my work, burying myself in strategy meetings and financial reports. And just like that, as I was in the middle of a heated boardroom negotiation, the thirty-day cooling-off period ended. 5 Michael flew back to New York with Leo. When our son saw me, there was a new, desperate dependence in his eyes. But when I casually asked how long he was staying, he answered without a second’s thought. “Just for tonight. I have to fly back.” So soon? So eager to get back to Isabelle? Michael, ever the diplomat, jumped in. “His coursework is really demanding.” I looked closer at Leo. He was pale, his energy completely drained, as if he’d been hollowed out. Are Harvard classes really that grueling? I was too tired to press the issue. We all went to the mediator’s office. The lawyer slid the final divorce decree across the mahogany table. Without hesitation, I signed my name. Michael glanced at me, his own pen hovering over the paper. He was hesitating. I looked at my watch. “Can we speed this up? I have a two o’clock meeting.” Leo chimed in, his voice insistent. “Dad, just sign it. Isabelle’s waiting for us to have dinner with her tonight.” Hearing his words, I felt nothing. A complete and total calm. As if stung, Michael snatched the pen and scribbled his signature, then threw it down on the table with a clatter. “There. Are you happy now?” His voice, usually so smooth and controlled, had a low, guttural edge I’d never heard before. The question itself was childish. I raised an eyebrow. “Michael, I haven’t forced you to do a single thing.” He rubbed his nose, looking embarrassed. He turned to our son. “Leo, let’s go.” But Leo didn’t respond. I turned and saw my son’s face was ashen. His body was trembling, seized by violent convulsions. Then, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the floor. “Leo!” Michael and I cried out in unison. The lawyer, a former paramedic, rushed around the table and knelt beside him. He took one look at Leo’s dilated pupils and clammy skin. “Oh, God,” he said, his voice grim. “This isn’t a seizure. He’s in withdrawal.” Michael’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Withdrawal? From what? How could he get his hands on… wait. The brownies he ate yesterday… Isabelle gave them to him…” Michael’s voice trailed off into horrified silence.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386400”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Ten years. That’s how long I served my time in the gray, the space between lives. I scrubbed my karmic slate clean and bought myself a second chance, but I didn’t come back empty-handed. The universe, in its infinite and brutal wisdom, gave me a gift: a power that makes the lies of my biased parents come true. At the dinner table, my adoptive mother slid the only steak onto my brother’s plate. “A growing boy needs his protein or he’ll get stupid,” she’d said. “A girl can make do with bread and scraps.” In that instant, my brother’s eyes glazed over. He’s been babbling like a toddler ever since. When I was eighteen, they started a vicious rumor to scrape together cash for my brother. My adoptive father swore an oath to the whole town. “I saw it with my own two eyes! Old Man Hemlock dragging my daughter into the cornfields. I’d have to be blind to mistake my own kid!” The next second, my father’s world went black. He hasn’t seen the light of day since. Later, when the Quinns—the obscenely wealthy family who were my real parents—finally found me, my adoptive mother pulled my new mother aside, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Be careful what you say around this one. Don’t ever, ever lie to her.” My birth mother, Eleanor, didn’t understand. Not yet. She would. Back at the Quinn estate, she wrapped an arm around the weeping girl they’d raised as their own, a girl named Natalie, and smiled at me. “Natalie has always been so delicate. The room with the morning sun… it’s better for her health if she keeps it.” 1 My father, Richard Quinn, nodded instantly. His gaze softened as he looked at the fragile, perfect Natalie. “She’s right. Natalie’s constitution is weak; she needs the sun. The third-floor suite with the terrace is hers. You can take the room on the second floor.” I looked at Natalie. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her skin as flawless as porcelain. She looked about as “delicate” as a diamond. Then I thought of my own reflection: hair like straw from years of malnutrition, skin sallow and stretched thin over my bones. I tilted my head, my voice flat. “What about her is weak?” The question seemed to throw Eleanor. She stammered, searching for an answer. “Well… she’s just…” Natalie’s eyes immediately welled with tears. She sagged against Eleanor like a wilted flower. “Mom, does she hate me? I… I can give her the room. I don’t mind… I should be the one to leave anyway. Yes, you should just let me go!” She made a show of wiping her eyes and turning toward the door. “Natalie, don’t be ridiculous!” Eleanor pulled her back, cradling her protectively before turning to glower at me. “Zoe, we aren’t playing favorites. The fact is, Natalie is fragile. She has to be looked after carefully.” That’s when my brother, Leo, who had been sizing me up with a critical stare, finally spoke. “Why are you asking so many questions? You might share my blood, but Natalie is the only sister I’ll ever claim. You’re the older one now, so you need to learn to give way to her.” A cold smile touched my lips, one they couldn’t see. In my last life, I was ground down to nothing by that cruel couple who raised me. I did the hardest chores, ate the worst food, and finally froze to death on the street one winter when I was fifteen. I used to wonder why. I thought it was just because I was unlovable. It never occurred to me that I wasn’t theirs at all. But looking at this new family, I realized that even if I had survived long enough to be found, my life wouldn’t have been much better. But the powers that be gave me a second chance. And they included a little party favor. This time, to hell with family. Anyone who owes me a debt will pay it. In full. I asked again, my voice deceptively soft. “Are you sure? Is she really that weak?” My little gift would be the judge of that. I was practically vibrating with anticipation, eager to see how it worked on the Quinns. My father waved a dismissive hand. “That’s enough. Don’t be so difficult. Are you saying we’re lying to you?” Eleanor nodded, her voice edged with urgency. “It’s true, Zoe. Natalie’s health is a serious matter. Her doctor said if she’s not cared for properly, she could… she could collapse, even cough up blood.” She hadn’t even finished the sentence. Splat. The girl in her arms, Natalie, gave a violent shudder. A spray of crimson erupted from her lips, painting the pristine white rug. The silence in the grand living room was absolute, broken only by the drip of blood onto the marble floor. Then, Natalie’s eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the ground, her face paling to a ghostly white before our eyes. “Natalie!” “My baby!” The three of them scrambled, their panic a chaotic symphony around her limp body. I remained where I stood, a silent, satisfied smile playing on my lips. See? Lies have a way of coming true. They rushed Natalie to the hospital. The moment their car was gone, I told the housekeeper to prepare the third-floor suite. I moved in that afternoon. A few days of peace passed. That weekend, Natalie, apparently recovered, invited me on a shopping trip. As we were about to get in the car to go home, she clutched her stomach, feigning a sudden pain. She told me to wait while she and the driver went to a nearby pharmacy. The second she was out of sight, a couple of creeps materialized, rubbing their hands together as they closed in on me. I almost laughed. You could have had a peaceful life, Natalie. Instead, you chose to play with fire. Fine. I’d let her feel the burn. I flexed my knuckles and met them head-on. A few sharp, well-placed strikes, and the thugs were groaning on the pavement. When I got home, I put on the performance of a lifetime. “Mom, Dad!” I cried, forcing tears. “Some men tried to attack me! If I didn’t know how to defend myself, God knows what would have happened! We have to call the police!” Just as I finished, Natalie burst in. “Don’t call the police!” Her eyes darted to me, a flash of pure hatred in them when she saw I was unharmed. She quickly masked it. “Sister, let’s not rush into things. Calling the police could be bad for the family’s reputation…” My father’s brow furrowed. “Natalie has a point. This isn’t a game.” Leo looked me up and down, his contempt undisguised. “Zoe, take a look in the mirror. You’re a mess. What kind of creep would be desperate enough to go after you?” Eleanor hesitated. “Perhaps there was a misunderstanding?” I stood my ground. “It was no misunderstanding. I want justice. Why else would they come straight for me? I was standing right next to Natalie’s car.” I let my gaze drift to Natalie. “If they weren’t after me, then maybe…” Leo jumped in immediately. “That car is always for Natalie. They must have mistaken you for her. Who else would they be after? It’s not like anyone would want to get near you,” he sneered. “And call the police? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re wasting their time.” Eleanor hugged Natalie, nodding in agreement. “He’s right, it must have been a simple case of mistaken identity. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” I pretended to protest. “But what if they really were after me?” Richard waved his hand impatiently. “Stop making trouble, Zoe! It’s obvious, isn’t it? Those men were after Natalie. You just had the bad luck to be in the way. Consider it taking one for the team—for your sister.” I suppressed a surge of manic glee. “Mom, do you really think so too?” “Of course,” she said firmly. “They were clearly after Natalie. Since you’re not hurt, and the Quinn family’s reputation is at stake, it’s best to let this go.” I drew out my next words, my tone shifting completely. “Ooooh. So the creeps were after Natalie.” I turned, whistling a cheerful tune as I went upstairs, leaving the three of them staring after me, a flicker of confusion on their faces. That evening, Natalie came downstairs dressed to kill. “Mom, Dad, Leo, I have a party tonight. I won’t be home for dinner.” Eleanor beamed, turning Natalie around by the hands. “Just look at you! My beautiful girl. You’re going to break so many hearts tonight!” From the second-floor landing, I watched the happy family scene. Perfect. I wondered if they’d still be smiling by the end of the night. At dinner, my mood was unusually bright. I ate three bowls of rice. Just as I was about to head out for a walk, I heard my father’s voice roar from the living room, laced with a tremor of fear. “What?! Natalie… attacked by thugs?! Where?! When did this happen?!” I turned to see Richard clutching the phone, his face ashen. Eleanor had already fainted on the sofa. Once again, the Quinns scrambled off to the hospital. This time, I followed at a leisurely pace. In the hospital room, Natalie’s face was swathed in bandages. The skin that was visible was a patchwork of angry purple and blue bruises. Her eyes were hollow, vacant. Lifeless. Eleanor was clinging to her, her sobs echoing in the sterile room. Richard, his face like thunder, was barking orders into his phone, telling his men to find the attackers and deal with them—quietly. I leaned against the doorframe. “Well, well. You don’t think these are the same guys who almost got me by mistake, do you? They work fast. Found their real target in no time.” Leo spun around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Zoe! Do you have any humanity at all? Natalie is lying there like that, and you’re making jokes?” Natalie’s head snapped toward me, her eyes filled with a poison so potent I could almost feel it. Richard took a deep breath, looking at his battered daughter. “Natalie has been through a terrible ordeal. We have to make it up to her. I’m transferring ten percent of my shares in Quinn Corp to her name. As a comfort, and for her future security.” Eleanor and Leo nodded in solemn agreement, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. I let out a soft laugh. I’d been wondering how to get my hands on the Quinn family fortune, and here my dear father was, serving it up on a silver platter. I put on a wounded expression. “Dad, Mom… have you forgotten something? Your actual daughter comes home, and you’ve given me nothing.” Leo pointed a trembling finger at me. “Zoe, don’t push your luck! Do you have to grab everything that’s Natalie’s?” My parents’ faces hardened. I wiped away a non-existent tear. “So that’s how it is. I suffered for eighteen years out in the world, thinking that when I came home, I’d finally be loved. But I see now my place is still lower than an adopted girl’s.” Eleanor’s expression softened for a moment, but Natalie, ever the actress, started crying again. “Mom, Dad, I think she’s right. I’m just the adopted daughter. I don’t deserve the shares. You should give them to her. Once I’m better, I’ll move out. I won’t take up her space anymore.” Her performance sent Richard and Eleanor into a fresh wave of pity. Richard’s brow furrowed, his gaze on me filled with disapproval. “Zoe, look what you’ve done to her. I’ve told you, you are our daughter, but so is Natalie. It’s just ten percent of the shares. Why must you fight over everything? Can’t you just yield to her for once?” Just as Eleanor was about to scold me, I heard a couple of nurses whispering nearby. “Wow, the classic long-lost daughter story. You have to feel for the real one. Eighteen years of hell, and she comes home to be treated worse than the imposter.” “And the parents are clueless. The fake one has been living her life for years. They should be showering the real daughter with compensation, not pushing her aside.” The Quinns heard them. Their faces flushed with shame. Eleanor’s tone shifted. She took my hand. “Zoe, we know you’ve suffered. But Natalie was just attacked. We have to compensate her. Don’t worry, we won’t favor one of you over the other.” I nodded slowly. “Oh. So ‘not favoring one over the other’ means I get ten percent too?” Leo exploded. “Zoe! Have you no shame? Still thinking about money at a time like this! You’re just some hick from the countryside. How can you even compare to Natalie? Ten percent? You don’t deserve a thing!” The nurses shot him looks of disgust. “What is wrong with that brother? Defending the fake one over his own flesh and blood. Is he an idiot?” Leo opened his mouth to retort, but Richard stopped him. My father cared deeply about appearances. His face was a mask of strained composure. He cleared his throat. “Zoe, you are our daughter. Rest assured, we would never be biased. But you’re still young, inexperienced. Shares are not a toy. You are my flesh and blood. Naturally, half of this company will be yours one day.” It was a beautiful, empty promise. But it was exactly what I needed to hear. I widened my eyes, looking at my mother. “Mom, is that true? Will half of the company really be mine?” Feeling the nurses’ eyes on her, she nodded quickly. “Of course, dear. Why would we lie to you? I carried you for ten months. Of course half of everything we have belongs to you!” A satisfied smile spread across my face. I turned and walked out of the room. “Thanks, Mom and Dad!” Behind me, I heard Leo scoff. “Idiot…” I raised an eyebrow. Soon enough, you’ll see who the real idiot is. The day Natalie was discharged from the hospital, my father took a phone call. His face went white. “No… that’s impossible… how could it…” Just moments before, through a series of untraceable but completely legal and binding maneuvers, the fifty percent of Quinn Corp stock held in his name—including shares he held in trust—had been instantaneously transferred to me. The paperwork was flawless. The transfer was effective immediately. Just like that, I became the absolute majority shareholder of Quinn Corp, holding fifty percent of the company. My word was now law. In the living room, a vein pulsed on my father’s forehead. He roared, his voice low and furious. “Impossible! This has to be a clerical error! Zoe, you’re coming with me to the office right now to transfer it back!” I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Why would I do that?” Leo lunged toward me. “Why? Because it’s not yours! This is the Quinn family’s company! Transfer it back, and maybe we’ll still let you eat at our table!” I met his gaze. “You need to understand the new reality, Leo. From now on, you’ll be begging me to let you eat at my table. And I’d watch your tone. With fifty percent of the stock, I can call a board meeting tomorrow and have all of you thrown out on the street.” The threat landed. Their faces went rigid with fury, but they didn’t dare say another word. Now that I had the company, it was time to get rid of the parasite who had stolen my life. The next day, Richard tried again, his approach softer. “Zoe, you can’t hold fifty percent of the shares alone. It should be split evenly between you three children. No matter what, you have to give some to your brother and to Natalie.” I nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Leo and I are your biological children. The shares should be split between us. But Natalie? She’s just an adopted daughter. Ten percent is more than generous.” I paused, then added casually, “Of course, if Natalie were your biological daughter too, then it would make sense for the three of us to share equally. But she’s not. What a shame.” Richard started to speak, then stopped, a strange look crossing his face. He forced a smile and left without another word. Watching his retreating back, I smirked. The fish has taken the bait. A week later, an emergency shareholders’ meeting was called at Quinn Corp. Richard stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat. “Everyone, there is a family matter I must clarify today regarding the recent shift in stock. It was all, in fact, a misunderstanding. Zoe, the time has come for the truth. Natalie… is your biological sister. I kept it from you because I didn’t want to upset you when you had just returned home.” A murmur went through the room. I sat among the shareholders and started to applaud softly. “Bravo.” Seeing my calm reaction, Richard pressed on. “Now that you know you are all three my biological children, you must be willing to part with some of those shares, right? To divide them fairly? If you don’t believe me, I have a DNA test right here from a reputable lab.” I ignored the report he offered. My voice was solemn. “Dad, are you certain? Is Natalie your biological daughter?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he slapped his chest. “I swear on it. Natalie is my daughter, Richard Quinn’s flesh and blood!” I fought to contain my joy. “That’s wonderful news! But just to be fair to everyone here, I request we conduct another test. Right now.” “Absurd!” Leo objected instantly. Panic flickered across the faces of my parents and Natalie. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Scared? If it’s the truth, what is there to fear?” The other shareholders began to look at them with suspicion. Trapped, Richard had no choice but to agree. The results came back quickly. In front of the entire board, the sealed envelope was opened. Richard’s fists were clenched. Leo looked like a cornered animal. Natalie hid behind Eleanor, unable to look up. The lab technician’s voice was clear and professional. “The results confirm that Richard Quinn is the biological father of Natalie Quinn.” The Quinns froze, then exchanged shocked glances. “How is that possible…” they whispered. While they were reeling, I took another sealed envelope from the technician. “So Dad wasn’t lying. Natalie really is my sister.” Richard, though confused, breathed a sigh of relief. “See? I told you I wouldn’t lie. Natalie is my daughter.” Eleanor snatched the report. Her eyes scanned to the bottom line confirming the paternal link. She swayed on her feet, about to confront her husband, when I held up the second envelope with a bright smile. “Don’t get too excited. There’s one more test result for Natalie.” Another one? The room filled with confused murmurs. I tore open the envelope and held the final page up for everyone to see. As the conclusion on the report came into focus, the blood drained from every Quinn family member’s face. Their eyes widened in horror. The entire boardroom fell into a dead, chilling silence.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386399”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Five years. That’s how long it had been since I’d divorced Ryder Croft, the ghost I thought I’d finally laid to rest. And then, there he was, standing in the doorway of the rehearsal hall for the Joint Service Commendation Ceremony. The security guard, in the middle of checking my credentials, straightened up, his tone shifting from professional to familiar. “Captain Croft! Good to see you, sir.” Ryder gave a slight nod, his gaze landing on me, a current passing through the space between us. “She’s with me,” he said. I politely cut him off, pulling my own laminated pass from my pocket. “No need. I have my own clearance.” His eyes dropped to the ID in my hand. For a moment, he was silent. “Anya,” he said, his voice low. “It’s been all this time. You’re still angry with me.” I offered a small, empty smile and said nothing. My mind was already occupied by the man who would be receiving his award tomorrow. There was no room for anyone else. 1 After the rehearsal, I packed up the dress uniform I needed to take home, slung my tote bag over my shoulder, and headed out. The early autumn wind whipped up dust from the parade ground, stinging my eyes as I walked toward the on-base shuttle stop. By the time I’d rubbed the grit from my eyes, Ryder’s black government SUV had pulled up in front of me. He noted the redness rimming my eyes, his brow furrowing. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” “Not necessary. I’ll take the shuttle.” His gaze swept over me, from my combat boots to my practical fatigues, finally settling on the tote bag slung over my shoulder. His voice softened. “How have you been these past few years?” “I’ve been great.” Ryder clearly didn’t believe me. “Get in the car, Anya.” The shuttle behind us honked its horn, but he didn’t move an inch, creating an impasse. Under the curious stares of other personnel, I finally relented and pulled the passenger door open. “Three Miller Road,” I said, giving the address to the old base housing. The air in the car thickened. When Ryder finally spoke, his voice was strained. “You’re still living there? They zoned that whole sector for demolition years ago. And you’re all alone, with….” He trailed off, but I knew exactly what he was leaving unsaid. It was where my mother died. Ten years ago today, she had refused to attend my wedding to Ryder Croft. Instead, she jumped from her tenth-floor window. The back seat was spacious, but the heat was cranked up too high. I pressed the button to lower my window. “You always catch a cold from the draft,” he said automatically. “You should close it. I can turn down the heat if you’re warm.” I shook my head, a real smile touching my lips this time. “That was a long time ago. I’m fine now.” Silence fell between us until his phone rang, the name flashing on the car’s infotainment screen. The call connected, and a familiar voice filled the speakers, though it was laced with a delicate sweetness I didn’t recognize. “Honey, is rehearsal over? Are you on your way home?” “Just wrapped up. Ran into Anya. I’m giving her a lift.” A beat of silence on the other end. “Anya’s back? Wow, it’s been forever. You should have said something, we should get the old gang together for dinner.” I’d known Mia for over a decade, and I’d never heard her use that soft, almost girlish tone. The Mia I remembered was quiet, head-down, completely absorbed in her tactical cartography. The Mia I knew would just cry in private when someone with better connections stole her spot in the national competition. It was me who had smashed that person’s sand table in front of the entire company, me who had written letters of complaint all the way up the chain of command until they gave Mia her spot back. It’s true what they say. Being cherished really does bring a person to life. “It was just a chance encounter,” Ryder said. “She has plans. I’ll be home after I drop her off.” “Even a chance encounter is fate! What’s wrong with treating an old friend to dinner?” “Mia. Don’t start.” The line went silent. Ryder was always gentle when he was trying to coax someone, but when he made a decision, nothing could change his mind. Mia, of all people, should have known that better than I did. The call ended abruptly. Just then, the SUV pulled up in front of the old housing complex. “Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door to get out, but his voice stopped me. “Anya, can I ask? The dress uniform you picked up… who is it for?” “My husband.” Ryder rubbed his forehead and let out a bitter laugh, as if he thought I was just saying it to spite him. “It’s the same regulation uniform. You used to prep mine just like that, five years ago.” “And?” I met his gaze, my expression perfectly calm. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. All these years, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. Not… not like this.” Like what? My reflection stared back at me from the tinted window. A standard set of fatigues, combat boots, a tote bag filled with groceries I’d picked up. I looked like any other military spouse, worn down by the daily grind. But compared to the woman I used to be, the one who felt she had to be perfectly polished at all times, this version of me wasn’t so bad. I smiled, feeling no anger at all. “But I am happy.” A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “You really have changed, Anya.” “Yeah,” I said. “A lot of people say that.” I turned and walked toward the building without a second glance. Inside, I climbed the five flights of stairs and unlocked the door to my old apartment. The layout was exactly as it had been last year. My mother’s official military portrait sat beside the old television, the incense in the burner long since turned to ash. I moved on autopilot, lighting three new sticks and tying on an apron before heading into the kitchen. I soon had a simple meal on the table—three dishes and a soup. Across from me, I placed a bowl of rice that would go untouched. I ate slowly. “Mom,” I murmured to the empty room. “I saw Ryder today.” “Don’t get upset. He can’t hurt me anymore. Besides, I’m not the fool I used to be.” The only answer was the wind howling outside the window. My appetite faded. I put down my chopsticks, went into the bedroom, and pulled an old photo album from a dusty box. “Look at how commanding you were back then,” I said to the portrait. “Staring at a picture is so boring.” I hadn’t even opened the album when a loose photograph slipped out and fluttered to the floor. I bent to pick it up. It was a picture of Ryder, Mia, and me. Three young, smiling faces. I was standing in the middle, my arms linked with theirs, my grin the widest of all—a faint purple bruise from training still visible on my right cheek. It was the summer I turned thirteen. Debt collectors had shown up at Ryder’s house, making a scene. All the neighbors shut their doors, even my own parents were too afraid to get involved. But I ran out there. A wooden stick that was meant for Ryder’s back came down hard across my face instead. A fractured cheekbone. I spent the entire summer recovering. My mother, her heart aching for me, forbade me from seeing Ryder ever again. That lasted until Ryder’s mother, dragging her injured leg, knelt on our doorstep, thanking us over and over. My mother’s heart softened. For the next ten years, there was always a place for Ryder at our dinner table, always a new set of clothes for him at the holidays. When Mom wasn’t busy, she’d help Ryder’s mom at her small convenience store, and she had a tongue sharp enough to scare off anyone who came looking for trouble. They called each other sisters. But no one ever imagined that the timid, stuttering “little sister” would one day climb into her “big sister’s” husband’s bed. I came home to find our apartment destroyed. My mother stood in the ruins, sobbing, a bright red handprint stark against her cheek. My father stood protectively in front of the other woman, Helen. “Let’s get a divorce,” my father said, his voice flat. “You can have everything. All I want is Helen.” Ryder, who was with me, rushed to pull his mother away, but my mom slapped him twice, hard. I shoved my own mother. She stumbled backward and fell, staring up at me in disbelief. Tears were streaming down my face, but the words that came out of my mouth were the cruelest I’d ever spoken. “Mom, what gives you the right to hit Ryder?” That chaotic memory, frozen forever on this small, glossy square. After my divorce, I burned everything that had to do with Ryder. I thought I’d gotten it all. Apparently, one piece of evidence had survived. I was about to toss the photo into the trash when a knock came at the door. Assuming it was Mrs. Gable from next door, who always brought over dumplings on this anniversary, I opened it without thinking. It was Mia, her arm linked through Ryder’s. Her smile was radiant. “Anya! It’s been so long! You haven’t changed a bit.” She turned to Ryder. “See? I told you she wouldn’t mind. Sorry for dropping in unannounced, Ryder was just too stubborn to call first.” I looked at them, my expression unreadable. “I’m not going to invite you in. What do you want?” Mia’s smile faltered, and she looked up at Ryder with a wounded expression. “Mia wanted to see you,” Ryder said, his voice a low rumble. “She brought a gift. We mean well.” He placed a gift box on the small table by the door. Mia immediately launched into her explanation. “I’ve been using this skincare line, and it’s amazing. I thought you might like it too. We always used to share these kinds of things, remember?” I glanced down at the box. It looked like the same brand my housekeeper used. “That photo…” Mia started, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. “Anya, after all these years, you still haven’t let it go.” I crumpled the photograph in my fist and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “You’re overthinking it.” She reached out as if to take my hand, then hesitated. “I know you’re still hurting. If you two were still together, today would have been your anniversary.” Her voice was thick with performative sympathy. “I had no choice back then, you know that. If you’ve really moved on, then let us take you to dinner. And if you’re struggling with anything, please tell us. We’re old friends, after all.” My immediate instinct was to refuse. But then, one of the incense sticks on the altar for my mother suddenly flared, letting out a sharp pop. I smiled and changed my mind. “Alright.” In the car, Mia’s chatter intensified, as did her little gestures of affection. While we were stopped at a red light, she uncapped her lip balm and gently applied it to Ryder’s lips with her finger. “Honestly, I have to remind you every winter. Last time you kissed me too hard your lips started bleeding. You never learn, do you?” Ryder caught her wrist, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Stop it, Mia.” “Oh! I completely forgot Anya was here. You don’t mind, do you, Anya? Ryder and I are just so used to…” I cut her off with a placid smile. “Of course not.” My voice was even. “I’ve already seen the two of you naked and tangled up in bed together. This is nothing.” The car fell into a dead silence. Finally, some peace and quiet. I stared out at the passing scenery, thinking that if my mother were still alive, she’d be stunned by how much the city had changed. My father’s determination to divorce her for Helen had nearly driven her mad. My decision to secretly marry Ryder was the final blow that took her life. At first, I only hated my father and Helen. Their betrayal had transformed my mother from a formidable, respected officer into a paranoid, weeping wreck, time cruelly eating away at her spirit. Later, I came to hate myself. After my mother’s funeral, during what should have been my honeymoon, I requested a temporary assignment to a remote border posting and stayed there for a month. Back then, the only person I didn’t hate was Ryder. To me, he was a diamond in the rough, a resilient soldier who had overcome a difficult past. Before I left for the border, I asked Mia to look after him. And she did a wonderful job. She cooked for him in our new apartment in the base’s family housing, whipping up impressive four-course meals that looked and smelled delicious. I was genuinely grateful to her. In that year, the three of us grew even closer. Ryder treated me better than ever. He spent his entire first commendation bonus on a tactical watch I’d been wanting. For my birthday, he arranged a city-wide fireworks display. Every time he came back from a field training exercise, he would cancel all his meetings just to be with me. I never once doubted him. I believed he loved me to the bone. Until one day, by chance, I went to his office alone. The door to his private break room was slightly ajar, and I heard… sounds. I pushed the door open. Two naked bodies, entwined. The image was a bayonet stabbing into my eyes. A scream tore from my throat. He moved like lightning, pulling a sheet over the woman beneath him. “Who told you to come in here?” he roared. “Get out!” I went berserk, grabbing anything I could find and hurling it at them. Blood trickled from a cut on Ryder’s temple, but he never stopped shielding the woman in his arms. I destroyed everything in the room I could get my hands on. But I couldn’t bring myself to get any closer to them. These were the two people I had loved most in the world. Fear seized my heart, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Mia,” I managed to say. “Look at me.” The woman, her face swollen from crying, struggled out from under the sheets and knelt before me on the floor. “Anya, I’m so sorry.” “Ryder and I… we shouldn’t have, but we’re truly in love.” “Please,” she begged. “Please, just let us be together.” Her pathetic, groveling form looked so much like the first time I met her, when she was cornered by a group of bullies behind the training grounds. That was the day I, a top-ranked cadet, received my first disciplinary action for defending her. I had personally handed her my wedding bouquet, wishing for her to find her own happiness. And now here she was, in my husband’s arms, begging for my blessing. Tears streamed down my face. My voice trembled. “When did it start?” Her lips quivered, but no words came out. He answered for her. “Does it matter? Have you made enough of a scene? This is a military base, Anya, not your living room.” “Does it not matter?! Ryder! Does it not matter?!” I shrieked, my voice raw. He stood there, naked and unapologetic. “Fine! You want to know? I’ll tell you!” “It was last March, when you insisted on transferring to the border post. We got together then.” “We didn’t mean to hide it from you. But you had just lost your mother, and I didn’t want to hurt you more. So I let this marriage continue, to humor you.” “Mia has given up too much for me. I can’t let her suffer anymore. I was planning to ask for a divorce after the anniversary of your mother’s death.” “But since you’ve found out, we might as well be honest.” “Let’s get a divorce. You can name your terms. All I want is Mia.” In that single, shattering moment, I finally understood. I understood the true weight of that day I had sided with Ryder, when I had pushed my own mother away. Before the divorce was finalized, I waged a war. I took the photos I had of them in that state and had them printed, slipping copies into every company mail slot on base. I hung banners exposing their affair across the front of the main administration building. I filed a formal complaint with the Inspector General’s office about Mia’s conduct. I plastered the online forums of the National Defense University, where she was finishing her degree, with my story. At her graduation ceremony, I paid someone to loop a slideshow of all our old photos—the ones of our supposed friendship—on the main screen. The memories I had once treasured became my weapons. But Ryder protected her through it all. She graduated with honors. She was even about to have her first solo art exhibition. To clear the path for Mia, Ryder finally confronted me directly. “Mia is about to achieve her dream. Don’t you dare interfere.” By then, I was seeing red. “Interfere? I’m just getting started. I’m going to make sure everyone who comes to see her art gets to appreciate your masterpiece, too.” He threw a file on the table in front of me. “Sign the divorce papers, and stay the hell away from us. Do it, if you want your mother to have a final resting place.” When my mother was buried, I was so consumed by grief that Ryder had handled everything, including the purchase of the plot at the national cemetery. His name was on the deed. Now, he was using my mother’s grave against me. I threw my coffee in his face. That night, I slept at my mother’s graveside, crying until I passed out. The next day, I went to the legal office and signed the papers. The outcome was a final, cruel twist—Ryder only gave me the old, dilapidated apartment in the family housing complex. “You reported me for misconduct,” he said, his voice cold. “Most of my assets are frozen. This is all I can give you.” A pause. “If Mia hadn’t begged me, you wouldn’t have gotten a penny.” I could never win against Ryder. It had been that way since we were kids. He was calm, calculating, never acting on impulse. He knew how to use strategy and power to get what he wanted. I was the one who always charged straight ahead without thinking, wounding the enemy but taking the brunt of the damage myself. I gave him what he wanted. I went quiet. I sold the apartment and put in for a long-term transfer to the border. But before I left, on a whim, I went to Mia’s art exhibition. Her serene face was projected onto a massive screen in the city’s central plaza. The exhibition was titled, The Unlocking. It was a phrase we used to use in the letters we wrote to each other as teenagers. It represented the purest dreams of girlhood, the most sincere hopes of friendship. Driven by a final, self-destructive need for closure, I put on a hat and sunglasses and slipped into the gallery, feeling like a rat sneaking in to watch someone else’s feast. And then I saw the centerpiece painting. The Unlocking. It depicted two entwined bodies. I had kissed the mole on the man’s back a thousand times. The woman’s fingers were clenched, wrinkling the bedsheets. The bed had a pale green duvet cover, and outside the window, a magnolia tree was in full bloom. I had picked out that duvet cover myself. The pink blossoms swayed in the wind, a picture of tranquil beauty. It was my home. It was the place where he and Mia had first been together. So, the soul was hers, and the key was Ryder’s. A wave of nausea crashed over me. I threw up, right there on the polished gallery floor. The commotion drew the attention of the happy couple, who were greeting guests nearby. A soft voice sounded beside me. “Ma’am, are you alright?” The heart-shaped pin on her dress glittered, a perfect match for the key-shaped cufflinks on Ryder’s shirt. I lunged, ripping the pin from her chest and slashing it across the canvas. Screeeech. The sound of tearing canvas silenced the room, followed by a collective gasp. In the chaos, security guards tackled me and pinned me to the floor. My cheek pressed against the cold marble, I looked up and saw him, holding a sobbing Mia, his eyes meeting mine. He looked at me as if I were something he’d found in a sewer. “Call the police,” he said.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386398”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

She took the commission on my million-dollar contract and slashed it to nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. “Platform overhead, marketing spend, client retention costs… you think that’s free?” “You should be on your knees thanking me for the $9.99. Now sign it.” I went to my boss, Mark, looking for a shred of sanity. I found only deeper humiliation. “Whatever Finance says, goes. We can’t bend company policy for your personal gain.” Then, with a magnanimous sigh, he added, “Look, I’ll tell you what. I’ll throw in my own money to make it $99.99. For good luck. Happy now?” Later, that same Finance Director used a web of fabricated policies to cut my expense report until I owed the company money. That’s when I finally understood. I would follow their policies. To the letter. Two weeks later, I sat in silence during a meeting for a two-million-dollar deal. My boss had a complete meltdown. 1 “Nine ninety-nine. Sign it.” Veronica Lang, the Director of Finance, slapped the pay stub down on my desk. The acrylic tips of her nails clicked against the paper. “Veronica, I closed a million-dollar deal. How is my commission nine dollars and ninety-nine cents?” I fought to keep my voice steady, to keep the tremor of disbelief from cracking it. “Hmph.” She tapped impatiently at her monitor. “That client signed because of the Nexus Dynamics platform. Did you really think it was because of you? Without the company, what are you?” Before I could form a retort, her fingers were flying across a calculator, a vicious staccato in the quiet office. “Your million-dollar contract had the highest overhead of any deal this quarter,” she announced, as if delivering a verdict. “Let’s see… we deduct 40% for platform fees, 30% for marketing, 20% for office administration, 10% for post-sale support…” She spun the monitor toward me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “After all the deductions, you were actually in the negative. See? But the company, in its infinite mercy, decided to forgive your debt and grant you a bonus of $9.99.” Her chin tilted up, a pose of regal condescension. “It’s an act of profound generosity. You should be grateful.” Of course, a million-dollar deal has higher costs than a ten-thousand-dollar one. But in her mouth, my success became a crime. A hot, tight knot of anger formed in my chest. My hands clenched into fists. I spun on my heel and stormed into my boss’s office, Mark Redmond. “Mark, I need a reasonable explanation for the commission on the Sterling account.” Mark’s usually warm smile evaporated the moment I said the word “commission.” “Ava,” he said, his tone shifting to one of paternal disappointment. “As a sales professional, you need to see the bigger picture. You can’t get hung up on nickels and dimes. Think about the platform and the value this company provides for you.” “As for the commission,” he continued, steepling his fingers, “whatever Finance says, goes. We can’t bend company policy for your personal gain.” “My commission should have been twenty-five thousand dollars,” I said, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I was barely suppressing a volcano of rage. Mark’s voice hardened. “You need to recognize your position here. Without this company, you’re nothing.” Seeing the look on my face, he softened his approach, shifting to a posture of performative charity. “Look, I know it’s not easy. I’ll tell you what.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll throw in my own money to make it $99.99. For good luck. Happy now?” I had come to him hoping for an ally, for a sliver of reason. Instead, he handed me a deeper, more personal humiliation. I forced the words through my teeth. “Mark, if this is how it works, who is ever going to close a major deal for this company again? Why would anyone kill themselves to land a big client, only to have Finance gut them and leave them with nothing?” He slammed his hand on the desk, the sound cracking through the office. He pointed a trembling finger at my face. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me! Ava, you’ve been here for years. The market is tough right now. You need to be a team player.” His voice dropped again, becoming a soothing, manipulative purr. “Just focus on your work. Don’t worry, your contributions will be remembered when it’s time for annual bonuses. Don’t be so impatient.” Every word was a needle. “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of the emotion that was churning inside me. “I’ll take the $9.99.” The second I stepped out of his office, I was swarmed. Veronica was at the center of the vulture’s circle. “Be happy with it, Ava. $9.99 is still money. You came out ahead,” one of them chirped. “Exactly. You should be glad you don’t owe them. You should thank Veronica and Mark for their kindness.” “Some people just don’t know their own worth,” another chimed in, loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “They really think the company can’t survive without them.” Even my boyfriend, Liam, hurried over, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Why did you have to go and argue with Mark?” he hissed under his breath. “Making such a scene over a little bit of money. You’re embarrassing me.” A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. “Fighting for money I earned is embarrassing? Fine. From now on, why don’t you all just donate your salaries back to the company? Work for charity.” That shut them up. If a million-dollar deal was only worth $9.99, then my efforts were wasted here. I sat down at my desk and calmly typed out a text message: “Sarah, about that business proposal you mentioned last month. I’m in.” That afternoon, a potential investor, Mr. Peterson, came for a site visit. Mark was in full schmooze-mode, bowing and scraping. To showcase the company’s strength, he made my million-dollar deal the centerpiece of his presentation. “Mr. Peterson, I won’t lie to you, our sales team is the best in the business,” Mark boasted. “We have deep partnerships with several publicly traded companies. Just last month, one of our top people, Ava, closed a million-dollar contract. That’s the kind of talent we have here. You can rest assured.” He then called over to me. “Ava! Come over here for a second. Share some of your insights with Mr. Peterson on how you landed that major deal.” I walked over, a practiced, professional smile fixed on my face. “Mr. Peterson,” I said, my voice sincere and earnest, “my biggest takeaway is that you must spare no effort in contributing to the company’s success.” Mark nodded, beaming with satisfaction. “Here, you can see for yourself,” I said, my tone suddenly shifting as I held my phone out for Mr. Peterson to see. Displayed clearly on the screen was my pay stub. “And to recognize my contribution, Mark was generous enough to approve a staggering bonus of nine dollars and ninety-nine cents.” My voice was loud enough to carry across the room. “I insist on using this… fortune… to buy you a coffee later, as a small token of my appreciation.” Mr. Peterson’s expression darkened. He glanced at Mark, whose face had gone pale. “Your company’s incentive program is… unique,” Mr. Peterson said, his voice now distant and cool. “It seems you still have a long way to go.” Sweat beaded on Mark’s forehead. He scrambled to recover. “Mr. Peterson, please don’t misunderstand. The younger staff, they love to joke around. Our benefits package is absolutely top-tier…” Mr. Peterson held up a hand, cutting him off. “I think I’ve seen enough for today. We’ll need to re-evaluate this partnership.” He turned and left without a backward glance. Mark watched the deal walk out the door, then shot me a look of pure venom. A moment later, a notification popped up in the company-wide Slack channel, posted by Veronica. “Due to inappropriate and unprofessional conduct during a client visit today, which has caused significant damage to the company’s reputation, employee Ava Miller is hereby fined $1,000, to be deducted from her salary.” The office erupted in whispers. “Serves her right. Closes one big deal and suddenly she’s royalty.” My colleague Rick snickered loudly. “Some people need to be put in their place. They get a little success and their head gets so big they can’t see straight.” Liam rushed to my desk, his voice a furious whisper. “Are you trying to get fired, Ava? Is that it? Everyone knows we’re together. If you’re going to self-destruct, don’t drag me down with you.” I gave him a withering look and typed a public reply in the Slack channel, tagging Veronica. “@Veronica Lang, could you please cite the specific company policy this fine is based on? Thank you.” Veronica shot up from her desk, her hands on her hips. “It was authorized by the CEO. My word is the policy.” She lifted her chin, defiant. “And this rule will be added to the employee handbook effective immediately. Does anyone else have a problem with that?” Rick was immediately on his feet, practically bowing. “No, of course not! We completely support you and the company, Veronica.” He glanced pointedly at me. “People who can’t follow the rules don’t deserve to work here.” Others murmured in agreement. Liam saw the tide turning and shoved my shoulder, hissing, “Go and apologize to her right now, or we are done.” I brushed his hand away, disgusted. “If you want to lick her boots, go ahead. I did nothing wrong.” “For God’s sake, Ava, can you just be reasonable for once?” he practically shouted. Veronica watched our exchange with a cruel smile. “Liam, you deserve better. I have a cousin, she just graduated from Stanford. I could introduce you two sometime.” Liam’s eyes lit up, even as he mumbled, “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Veronica.” The shamelessness of it all was breathtaking. “Fine. We’re over,” I said calmly. Liam froze, then his face twisted in anger. “What did you say? You don’t get to break up with me. I’m breaking up with you!” I shrugged. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” The next morning, Liam walked into the finance department with his head held high. Not five minutes later, another company-wide notification appeared. “An internal audit has revealed that Sales Executive Ava Miller engaged in a serious violation of contract policy. Without approval from Finance, she unilaterally granted a client an unauthorized discount. As a penalty, this employee’s salary will be reduced by two pay grades.” It had to be Liam. I was bored anyway. I decided I might as well see this farce through. In her office, Veronica tapped a long, crimson nail on a stack of contracts. “Who gave you the authority to offer a client a 15% discount?” Her voice was shrill, the nail jabbing in the air just inches from my face. “This is a grave detriment to the company’s interests. I’m being merciful by not garnishing your entire salary to cover the loss.” She was warming up now, her voice rising with theatrical indignation. “No wonder profits have been shrinking these past couple of years. We have traitors like you eating us out from the inside.” I pointed to the contracts on her desk. “Veronica, Mark himself gave me verbal authorization to offer that discount to high-potential legacy clients. The repeat business and add-on sales from those accounts have more than covered that initial discount.” She slammed her palm on the desk. “Is that verbal authorization written anywhere in the company’s policies? Anywhere at all? No? Then it doesn’t count!” she shrieked. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, trying to shift the blame. I’m already being lenient. Don’t push it.” It was a witch hunt. I turned and walked out. The office was buzzing. “She used company money to buy herself favors. Makes you wonder how she really closed all those other deals.” Rick picked up the thread. “I always said there was something fishy. A woman pulling in numbers like that… maybe she wasn’t just offering them a discount, if you know what I mean.” “Tsk, tsk. Acts all high and mighty, but who knows what she does behind closed doors.” I stopped. I picked up the lukewarm coffee from my desk, walked over to Rick, and poured the entire cup over his head. “There’s a sewer rat in here,” I said calmly. “It’s making a lot of noise.” “You… you’re an unhinged bitch!” he sputtered, his face turning a blotchy red as coffee dripped from his hair. I ignored him and returned to my desk, my fingers flying across the keyboard. They wanted to accuse me of giving unauthorized discounts? Fine. I went into the system and revised every single one of my active client proposals, setting the price to the absolute maximum allowed by company policy. The emails from clients canceling their contracts started rolling in within the hour. For the next week, my sales figures were zero. On Monday morning, Mark came down to the sales floor himself. “Due to a lack of performance,” he announced to the entire team, “the two-million-dollar medical account previously managed by Ava Miller will be transferred to our new hire, Leo, who will be taking over effective immediately.” This Leo, I’d heard, was a personal recommendation from Veronica. A real “superstar.” The team burst into applause. “Congratulations, Leo! It’s about time.” “Some people just can’t carry their own weight. Serves her right.” More daggers, all aimed at me. During my lunch break, I walked past Mark’s office and heard voices. “Mark, darling, you can relax. Leo’s family owns a chain of clinics. He knows the medical sector inside and out. This deal is a slam dunk,” Veronica cooed. “Weren’t you worried about Ava having too much power? I found you a real loyalist.” “You always know what I need,” Mark laughed. “Your bonus is doubled this month.” So, they were replacing me. Too bad for them. That medical account was a minefield. I’d spent a month doing due diligence, and the internal politics and technical requirements were more complex than anyone knew. A nepo-hire with a family connection wasn’t going to just waltz in and close it. I was almost excited to see how Leo would handle it. At three o’clock that afternoon, Mark was in his office, practically groveling into his phone. “Yes, yes, of course. Don’t worry, Ava will still be involved in the project.” The moment he hung up, he posted in the team channel. “While Ava has made some mistakes, I believe in second chances. Leo will remain the project lead, but Ava will provide support as an auxiliary member.” It seemed the client had pushed back. Mark couldn’t afford to lose the deal, so he was forced to shove me back onto the team. Fine by me. The new company Sarah and I were launching wouldn’t be ready for a few weeks anyway. I might as well enjoy the show. Besides, I still hadn’t been reimbursed for my last business trip. I wasn’t about to let them keep that money. I walked over to Veronica’s desk with a stack of receipts. She was touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. The company’s star employee.” The sarcasm was thick enough to choke on. I placed the receipts on her desk. “My expense report.” She poked at them with her pen as if they were contaminated. “Fifty dollars for an Uber? Couldn’t you take the subway? It’s three bucks.” “Veronica, I was carrying three large cases of product samples. Did you want the client to think we’re broke?” I replied patiently. “This hotel bill is outrageous. Why didn’t you sleep under a bridge?” “That was the cheapest corporate-rate hotel in the area. If you’d feel safer under a bridge, you’re welcome to try it on your next trip.” Veronica’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing. “Don’t get smart with me. I say it’s not approved, it’s not approved.” She picked up another receipt. “A hundred and fifty for a meal? What are you, a black hole?” “I had to take the client for coffee and a sandwich. Or do you think our clients are black holes?” She was momentarily speechless, her face darkening. She took a red pen and started slashing through my receipts with a vengeance. “This one’s blurry. Denied.” “This one is past the submission deadline. Denied.” “This one… hmph, no itemized list. Who knows what sordid things you bought with this. Denied.” She punched numbers into her calculator, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “Oh, and I almost forgot. You used a company laptop during your trip. As per the new fixed asset usage policy, there’s a daily rental fee of fifty dollars. For eight days, that’s four hundred dollars.” She scrawled a final figure on the reimbursement form and shoved it at me. “Read it and weep. For this trip, you owe the company $838. I’ll be generous and waive the change. We’ll just deduct the eight hundred from your…” She paused, a look of mock realization on her face. “Oh, silly me! I forgot we already docked your entire salary this month. Well, we’ll just take it out of next month’s paycheck, then.” She watched me, waiting for me to break. “I’m just following company policy,” she said sweetly. “Is there a problem?” I looked at her mean, pinched face and felt a strange mix of pity and amusement. “No problem at all,” I said calmly. “Go ahead and deduct it. Consider it my contribution to your medication fund.” Her smile froze for a second before blooming into a triumphant, gloating laugh. “Still trying to get the last word in. With all that energy, you should probably be figuring out how you’re going to pay your rent this month. I’ve seen your type before—broke, arrogant, and always ending up with nothing.” Back at my desk, my phone buzzed. Another notification in the company Slack. “It has been determined that employee Ava Miller has violated company reimbursement policies with multiple non-compliant submissions. Her reimbursement privileges have been downgraded to the lowest possible level. At this company, policy is paramount. No one is above the rules.” The jackals descended immediately. “Good. Trying to scam the company for money. Absolutely shameless.” “Rules are what separate us from the animals. About time the company cracked down on the bad apples.” My ex-boyfriend, Liam, even chimed in, seeking his own moment of glory. “For the record, I want to state publicly that Ava Miller and I officially ended our relationship last week. I am currently single.” The subtlety was overwhelming. Veronica immediately replied with a tag. “@Liam, good for you. My cousin is free this weekend. I’ll set it up. She’s a real class act. Not like some people.” Then, she tagged me directly. “@Ava Miller, see the memo? Cat got your tongue? Failure to respond to work-related communications in a timely manner is a hundred-dollar fine.” I took a deep breath and slowly typed my reply. “Seen. I am reflecting on my actions.” Veronica responded with a single smiley-face emoji, dripping with the smugness of a victor. They wanted me to follow the policy? Fine. This time, I would follow it to the very end. A few minutes later, my phone began to ring incessantly. “The proposal meeting is starting! Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you at the client’s office yet?” Mark’s frantic voice crackled through the speaker. I held the phone to my ear, my voice unhurried. “Ubers aren’t a reimbursable expense, Mark. I’m waiting for the bus.” “It’s two million dollars on the line, who gives a damn about an Uber fare right now?” he roared. My tone was placid. “Mark, Leo is the project lead. His presence should be more than sufficient.” “Ava, the client specifically said if you’re not here, they’re not signing the contract.” Mark’s voice dropped, becoming a desperate plea. “This is a two-million-dollar deal. We can’t afford any mistakes. Just get over here. Please.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386397”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Four months pregnant. My husband, an OB/GYN, was with me to get the results of my latest scan. The smile on his face froze the moment he saw the report. Then, he was dragging me by the arm, insisting I have an abortion. I stood there, stunned. The doctor had just told me the baby was perfectly healthy. I wrenched my hand free. “Why? What are you talking about?” He didn’t answer, but his fingers were already flying across his phone, scheduling the procedure. When he saw me backing away, his grip on my arm became a vise. “This baby cannot be born, Anna.” I clutched my stomach and called my parents—both of them OB/GYNs, like him. My father, the man who had always cherished me, raised his fist as if to strike my belly. My mother’s face was a mask of terror, her head shaking frantically. “No, this is wrong. All wrong.” Then, a chilling whisper from my father. “We need some guys. To be with Anna.” I didn’t understand why they wanted to destroy my child, my life. I tried to run. They locked me in a dark room. When I saw the blood pooling beneath me, I knew my baby was gone. My mother came for me later, a bright, brittle smile on her face. I screamed at her, demanding to know why, why they had done this to me. She didn’t answer. Instead, she had me committed to a psychiatric hospital. I died there, tormented and alone. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back. It was the morning we were supposed to get the test results. 1 “Annie, you ready?” My husband, Mark, smiled at me from the doorway, his eyes shining. “Our first baby. I can’t wait to finally meet them.” “Come on, honey, let’s beat the morning rush at the clinic.” Hearing his voice jolted me back to the present. I felt the gentle, firm curve of my four-month belly, the warmth of the life inside, and I knew it was real. I was back. I had been reborn on the exact day my life had shattered. In my first life, Mark had been the perfect expectant father. He’d treated me like I was made of glass from the moment we saw the positive test. Every day, he’d buy something new for the nursery—a tiny pair of socks, a beautifully illustrated book. He’d already compiled a list of over a hundred names. Even though I was getting my prenatal care at the very hospital where he worked, he insisted on taking the day off to come with me to every single appointment. His excitement for this child was boundless, a radiant sun we both orbited. Then came the four-month check-up. We went to the appointment, holding hands, full of happy anticipation. Dr. Evans, my obstetrician, confirmed that the fetus was healthy, with all genetic markers, including for Down syndrome, coming back clear. Mark, being a doctor himself, asked to see the report. He was still smiling when he took it. And then the smile didn’t just fade; it shattered. A raw, animal fear flashed in his eyes. Without a word, he grabbed my hand and started pulling me out of the office, his other hand already on his phone. I realized with a sickening lurch that he was booking an appointment with the surgical unit. I dug my heels in, yanking my arm back. “Mark, Dr. Evans just said the baby is fine! Why are we doing this?” He ignored me, his focus locked on the screen. I tried to snatch the phone from his hand, but he spun away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were bloodshot when he turned back to me, and his voice was a raw snarl I had never heard before. “Anna, listen to me,” he growled. “This baby cannot be born!” The sheer violence in his tone terrified me. My heart hammered against my ribs, and my knees went weak. While he was finalizing the arrangements at the front desk, I scrambled for my phone and sent a desperate text to my parents. They were both respected doctors; surely, they would talk some sense into him. They arrived in minutes. Seeing them didn’t faze Mark. If anything, a strange, chilling smirk touched his lips. I shrank into my mother’s arms, seeking the familiar comfort of her embrace. My father, however, bypassed me completely and slammed his fist into Mark’s jaw. “What the hell are you doing?” he roared. “The baby is healthy. Why would you schedule an abortion?” Mark didn’t even rub his cheek. He simply straightened up and handed the lab report to my father. The rage on my father’s face dissolved into the same stark terror I’d seen in Mark’s. His eyes widened, his hands trembling as he clutched the single sheet of paper. Then, he turned, his gaze fixing on my stomach, and he lunged, his fist raised. My mother threw herself in front of me just in time. The blow landed on her shoulder with a sickening thud. “Are you insane?” she screamed at him. “That is your daughter! Your grandchild!” My father just laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He passed the report to my mother. The woman who had just protected me, the woman whose arms were my lifelong safe harbor, recoiled as if the paper had burned her. Her face went ashen. She pushed me away from her, stumbling back, shaking her head over and over. “No,” she whispered. “No, this can’t be.” A cold dread was coiling in my gut. “Mom? What is it? What’s wrong with the baby?” She didn’t seem to hear me, lost in her own private horror. “This is not going to work,” she muttered, grabbing my father’s arm. “Doing it here, at the hospital… it’s too public. I have another idea.” Her eyes, when they finally met his, were cold and hard. “We need some guys. To be with Anna.” My entire body went numb. I stood frozen, watching the three most important people in my world transform into monsters, all because of a piece of paper. What could it possibly say? And why wouldn’t any of them tell me? As my parents started to move toward me, instinct took over. I turned and ran. But my father was faster. He caught me by the arm, his grip unforgiving. I sobbed, begging them to let me go, begging them to just tell me the truth. They forced me into their car, stuffing a glove in my mouth to silence my screams. They locked me in a dark, foul-smelling room with five naked men. I was too terrified to even scream. I pounded on the door until my fists were bruised and bloody, but the world outside was silent. The men dragged me to the floor. Every time I fought back, they hit me. My child dissolved into a pool of blood that dried on the filthy concrete. A week later, my parents and Mark came to get me. “Anna, sweetie, we’re going home,” my mother said, her voice bright and cheerful. I stared at her, at the casual way she pretended nothing had happened, and something inside me snapped. A raw, guttural laugh escaped my throat. “Why?” I shrieked, the sound tearing at my vocal cords. “Why would you do this to me?!” The mask of maternal concern dropped, revealing a face of ice. My father slapped me, hard. “You ungrateful bitch.” I was still reeling from the blow when my mother’s gaze, sharp and venomous, pinned me in place. “Anna is confused,” she said, her voice clinical and detached. “We should take her to a psychiatric hospital.” From that day on, Mark made sure my life in the institution was a living hell. He sent people to torment me, to ensure I never had a moment of peace. The man who had once loved me more than life itself now wanted nothing more than my death. Three months later, he got his wish. I died without ever knowing why. What was on that report that made them all want to kill me? The terror of my past life flooded back, a cold tide in my chest. I rested a hand on my still-warm belly and took a deep, shaky breath. This time would be different. This time, I would find out the truth. At the hospital, I made sure I was the one who took the report from Dr. Evans. As she gave me the good news, my eyes were already scanning the page, my fingers closing around it. I thought that as long as Mark never saw it, I would be safe. But as we were leaving the exam room, he held out his hand, just like before. “Can I see the report, honey?” My heart stuttered, but I forced a playful smile. “What for? It’s just a bunch of numbers.” He chuckled, a sound that now seemed laced with menace. “I’m the father, and I’m an OB/GYN. Isn’t it normal for me to want to see it?” “Dr. Evans just told you we’re both perfectly healthy. You don’t trust your own mentor?” “Of course I do. I just want to be informed so I can take the best possible care of you.” I deliberately tucked the paper into my purse. “Well, today you don’t get to. Call it a pregnancy whim.” He played along, his tone indulgent. “Alright, alright. As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” I smiled and linked my arm through his. “I’m just going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back, and then we can go home.” I clutched my bag and walked toward the bathroom. I had glanced at the report, but in my haste, nothing had jumped out at me. I needed to lock myself in a stall and study it, line by line, to find the monster hiding in the details. But the moment I stepped into the deserted restroom, a cold wave of panic washed over me. I fumbled inside my purse. The report was gone. I rushed back out into the hallway and saw him. Mark was standing twenty feet away, his face deathly pale. In his hand was the report that was supposed to be in my bag. He saw me and started walking toward me, his steps quick and purposeful. My survival instinct screamed at me to run, but he caught my arm before I could take more than a single step. His eyes were bloodshot, his gaze locked on mine with a terrifying intensity. “Anna,” he hissed, his voice low and urgent, “this baby cannot be born. We’re going to schedule the procedure right now.” In my last life, I never understood how the man I loved could change so completely in an instant. The raw hatred in his eyes was something I had never seen before. My body trembled, but this time was different. This time, I knew what to do. “HELP!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “SOMEBODY HELP ME! HE’S TRYING TO MAKE ME LOSE MY BABY!” The busy hospital hallway fell silent for a beat, then erupted into motion. In seconds, we were surrounded. Mark froze, clearly stunned by my outburst. I immediately dropped to my knees before him, my voice breaking with manufactured sobs. “Mark, please! The doctor just said the baby is healthy! Why are you trying to make me have an abortion?” He gritted his teeth, his voice a furious whisper. “You bitch. Shut your mouth.” He tried to haul me to my feet, but a burly man stepped out of the crowd and shoved him back. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” “My God, the baby’s fine and he wants to abort it? What kind of monster is he?” a woman gasped. “He didn’t want the responsibility, he should’ve thought of that before he got her pregnant,” another man chimed in. “Forcing a pregnant woman to have an abortion is illegal! Someone call security! Call the police!” Mark’s breath was ragged, his face contorted with a rage he couldn’t unleash. He glared down at me, trapped by the circle of strangers. Then, a slow, cold smile spread across his face. He pulled out his phone and made a call. To my parents. By the time they arrived, a small crowd was still gathered around Mark and me. My mother rushed to my side, her face etched with worry, pulling me into a protective hug. The moment she touched me, I flinched. Sympathetic onlookers quickly explained what had happened. My father’s face purpled with rage. He strode toward Mark, his hand raised to strike. But before the blow could land, Mark held up the lab report like a shield. “Dad, don’t look!” I screamed, trying to scramble forward to snatch it away. It was too late. My father took the paper and his eyes scanned the page. The change was instantaneous. The fury in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by a familiar, chilling horror. “Dad?” I whispered. When he looked at me, his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with loathing. The hand that had been meant for Mark swung without hesitation and cracked across my face. “You animal!” he spat. “Mark wants you to get an abortion for your own good!” The world felt like it was crumbling around me again. I pressed a hand to my stinging cheek, my voice trembling but defiant. “But Dr. Evans said the baby is healthy!” “I’m an OB/GYN too! Are you calling me a liar?” He drew back his fist, aiming for my stomach this time. My mother leaped forward, pushing me behind her. “Have you lost your mind? She’s pregnant!” she yelled at my father. But instead of backing down, my father let out that same, ugly laugh. “You feel sorry for her? This… thing… doesn’t deserve to be our daughter!” Gasps rippled through the crowd. People started murmuring, pointing at my father, disgusted that a man could speak about his own child that way. My mother, though, was no longer looking at him. Her focus was on the report in his hand. She knew my father, knew his gentle nature. She knew something on that paper must have broken him. “Let me see it,” she demanded. I grabbed her arm, my eyes pleading. “Mom, please. Dr. Evans said the baby is fine. You don’t need to look, do you? You can go ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.” I knew that the moment she saw it, I would lose her, too. She pulled me into a hug, stroking my hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your father and Mark are just a pair of incompetent doctors. They’ve misread something. Remember, I was the head of the department. I know what I’m looking at.” “No, Mom, please don’t,” I sobbed, clinging to her. “Please, I’m begging you.” But the more I resisted, the more determined she became. Seeing there was no stopping her, I fell to my knees again. “Mom,” I cried, my voice raw with desperation. “If you look at that report, you’ll stop loving me. Just like they did.” “That will never happen, Anna,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring. “I’ve seen every kind of report imaginable in my career. And even if this baby wasn’t Mark’s, I would still stand by you and protect you. You are the person I love most in this world.” Her gaze was so warm, so full of love, that for a foolish second, I believed her. I let her go. She took the report. The warmth in her eyes vanished as if it had never been there, replaced by a flicker of pure, cold malice that made me shrink back. Her face drained of all color. A bitter, twisted smile touched her lips. She wasn’t explosive like my father or Mark. Her control was what made her terrifying. “It’s alright, Anna,” she said, her voice a monotone. “The baby is fine. Get up now. We’re going home.” She said the words, but the hand she extended toward me was trembling violently. She was fighting to contain an earthquake of emotion. “No,” I whispered, scrambling backward, into the legs of the crowd. “I don’t want to go home.” My mother’s brow furrowed, her expression turning venomous. “Anna, what are you doing? You’re pregnant. You can’t be out here. What if something happens to you?” I saw them closing in—the three people I once called family. I grabbed the sleeves of two strangers, kneeling on the hospital floor. “Please,” I begged them, “please help me. I can’t go with them. They’ll kill my baby.” The onlookers hesitated. I was a pregnant woman, but I was also clearly hysterical. And these were my parents, my husband. It was a family dispute. Thankfully, one woman spoke up. “She’s pregnant and clearly distressed. You shouldn’t be forcing her. What if you hurt the baby?” My father’s face was a mask of fury. “We are the doctors! Do you think we don’t know what we’re doing?” he roared at her. The good Samaritan faltered. In that moment of hesitation, Mark lunged, grabbing me from the crowd and dragging me across the polished floor without a shred of care. The crowd watched, hesitant to physically intervene with family. But just as they were about to pull me through the automatic doors, a firm hand clamped down on Mark’s shoulder. “Let her go. Now.” A uniformed police officer stood behind him, his voice radiating authority. Mark instantly released me. My mother was already spinning a story. “Officer, thank you for coming. This is our daughter. She’s been having some… mental health issues. We’re just trying to take her home.” The officer looked at me, his expression skeptical. I shook my head, my voice finding its strength. “That’s not true,” I said, pointing at them. “They want to kill my baby. My perfectly healthy baby.” The three of them froze, but I could see the smug certainty on their faces. They believed they held all the cards. “If you don’t believe me,” I continued, my voice growing stronger, “check the hospital’s security footage. You’ll see them. You’ll see everything.” The officer dispatched his partner to retrieve the surveillance tapes. After they reviewed the footage, a female officer moved to my side, placing a protective hand on my shoulder. She faced my family, her voice stern. “Why are you trying to force this woman to terminate a healthy pregnancy?” My parents just scoffed. Mark stared at me with cold indifference. “Coercing a pregnant woman into an abortion is a felony,” the officer reminded them. Mark didn’t flinch. I turned to the police officer, my voice steady. “Let me see the report.” Their faces changed the moment they saw it. The truth had to be there. At the officer’s command, Mark reluctantly handed over the single sheet of paper. I took it from him. And as I read the words printed in neat, clinical black ink, I finally understood. I finally knew why this child had to die.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386396”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the day of our high school graduation, in front of the entire class, I threw a stack of cash at Xavier Stone. “I’m done playing,” I said, my voice cold. “Let’s end it here.” He bent down, picking up the bills one by one from the floor. His voice was raspy when he finally spoke. “Okay.” By the end of the summer, Xavier boarded a train to Johns Hopkins for pre-med. I boarded a plane overseas to begin endless rounds of chemotherapy. Years later, back in the States, I lay in a hospital bed, bald from the treatment, scrolling through my phone for a new wig. The door opened. Xavier Stone, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope, locked eyes with me. 1 When Xavier walked in, I was in a compromising position—butt in the air, face buried in the pillow, doing yoga stretches to help with gas. My phone was blasting a livestream: “Black Friday deals! Buy now or cry later!” “Miss Miller, looking at wigs again?” a nurse teased. The noisy room went dead silent. The nurse pointed at me. “Dr. Stone, this is the new patient for the clinical trial. She’s signed the consent forms.” When Xavier looked over, I collapsed onto the mattress like a tipped cow, my mind going completely blank. Ten years. The man I thought I’d never see again was suddenly my attending physician. And he caught me doing gas-relieving yoga. Kill me now. I scrambled up, adjusting my crooked face mask, silent as a cicada in winter. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze. It was cold. There was no warmth in it. It was nothing like the look of helpless affection he used to give me when I messed up a math problem back in high school. “Miss Miller, this is Dr. Xavier Stone, the head of our team. He’ll be in charge of your treatment plan.” I dodged his eyes and gave a curt nod. I didn’t make a sound. The intern next to him held a clipboard, reciting my history like a script. “Mia Miller, female, 28. Ten years ago, a physical revealed enlarged cervical lymph nodes. Initial diagnosis: Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Further pathology revealed—” “You can skip the history.” “Oh? Do you know the patient, Doctor?” My heart hammered in my throat. I pretended to be busy with my phone, feeling Xavier’s eyes drift to the ridiculous sheep-horn beanie I was wearing. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice flat. “I don’t know her. Her case is just unique. I reviewed it beforehand.” My phone screen auto-refreshed to Amazon. The payment countdown was ticking. Seconds ticked by. I zoned out, my finger hovering over the ‘Buy’ button but never pressing it. The intern finished listing the treatment protocols. Xavier listened, his tone devoid of emotion. “Fine. Continue with the current regimen. We’ll re-evaluate tomorrow.” Then, he moved on to the next patient. The rounds lasted twenty minutes. He never looked at me again. I rubbed my stiff neck, realizing my back was soaked in sweat. The wig I wanted sold out while I was frozen in panic. Just my luck. But there was a silver lining: Xavier had forgotten me. Even when the intern said my name, he didn’t flinch. 2 When Xavier and I first met, we didn’t get along. I was the rich girl with terrible grades who did whatever she wanted. To force me to study, our homeroom teacher made Xavier my desk mate. At first, he ignored me. He just stared at his practice exams, solving problems over and over. He had the brains, the personality, and the looks. His only flaw was being poor. I was the opposite. No brains, bad attitude. Next to him, I looked like a bimbo with a wallet. Luckily, I had EQ. While other girls wrote him love letters, I bought him SAT prep books. I bought him every study guide on the market. In less than a semester, I wore him down. The day I kissed Xavier, it was his birthday. His white shirt was rumpled, my lipstick stained on his mouth. He looked down, lashes fluttering. “What does this mean?” It was my first time kissing a guy. My brain short-circuited. I stammered, “Don’t… don’t you get it? Be my boyfriend.” Xavier’s ears turned red. He whispered, “Okay.” Those were good times. I hated studying, but I’d sit obediently next to him, listening to him tutor me. In one year, my SAT score shot up by 200 points. I calculated it. I could get into a college in Boston. I wouldn’t have to do long-distance with him. If only that physical exam hadn’t ruined everything… “Ugh…” The sound of retching echoed in the hospital room. I hugged the toilet bowl, vision blurring, cold sweat drenching my clothes. My best friend, Sarah, patted my back. “This isn’t right. Your reaction is too severe. I’m getting a doctor.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t. I’m used to it.” I’d survived 27 rounds of chemo alone abroad. I’d held on for ten years. Now that I relapsed, who knew how much more suffering awaited? I didn’t want to be the annoying patient who cried wolf. Sarah wouldn’t have it. “Isn’t Xavier your doctor? I’ll find him. He’ll help.” I hugged Sarah’s leg, begging. “Girl, please. Sit down. You should be glad he didn’t recognize me. If he did, he’d probably prescribe a hundred rounds of chemo out of spite.” “Who told you you’re getting a hundred rounds?” A cool voice came from behind. I froze. I didn’t dare turn my head. Sarah let out a breath. “Dr. Stone, Mia isn’t feeling well—” “It’s a normal reaction to chemotherapy. If she can’t handle it…” I didn’t hear what Xavier told Sarah after that. All I could think was: Did he hear what I just said? 3 That evening, a nurse came to give me an anti-nausea shot. She probed, “Do you know Dr. Stone?” I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “No. Why?” “Dr. Stone never micromanages like this. He specifically went to the attending’s office and ordered this shot for you.” I looked in the mirror. I was gaunt. The pain had sucked the life out of my face. I looked nothing like the girl from ten years ago. Impossible… Even if Xavier had a good memory— Okay, he had a photographic memory. Maybe he’s just holding a grudge? The name “Mia Miller” was on the chart. How could I be stupid enough to think he didn’t know? Sarah chimed in, “Your Dr. Stone is only 28, right? A department head at that age?” “Oh, you know your stuff! He did an accelerated MD/PhD program. His resume is legendary. Regular people can’t compare.” Seeing Sarah’s interest, the nurse laughed. “Planning to chase him? Save your energy. He’s taken.” Sarah winked at me. The nurse continued, “The Hospital Director’s daughter. She just got back from overseas with a PhD. Rumor has it they’re getting married soon.” The smile froze on Sarah’s face. I picked at a loose thread on my hospital gown, suddenly finding it fascinating. After the nurse left, Sarah whispered, “Mia… I’m sorry.” “What for?” I shrugged. “I’m 28, not 18.” The dream of the cold genius falling for me ended ten years ago. 4 After that day, I didn’t see Xavier. I heard about him, though. He was at conferences or in the lab. He did rounds once a week to tweak medication. During the break between chemo cycles, patients could go home. So, until I was discharged, I didn’t see him again. On the way home, I got a call from Ben, our old high school class president. “Mia! You’re still in Boston? How’s treatment?” The background noise was loud. Another classmate chimed in, “Why didn’t you tell us you were sick? If Ben hadn’t mentioned it, we wouldn’t have known.” I was popular in high school, and I’d kept in touch with Ben over the years. I laughed weakly. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.” “Nonsense. Where are you staying? We’re coming to visit tomorrow.” I couldn’t refuse their kindness, so I gave them my address. My parents had spent a fortune on my treatment over the years. Thanks to Sarah, I found a cheap rental in the city. First floor, south-facing yard. If I got better, I could plant flowers. Maybe get a dog. Most of our classmates had stayed in our hometown, so only five or six came. They hauled in bags of groceries. “We wanted to do hotpot, but it’s too hot. Let’s just cook a big meal.” I adjusted my thick beanie. “It’s fine, I have AC. I want hotpot.” Everyone cheered and piled into the kitchen. The house felt alive. It felt like graduation again. Ben was washing vegetables. “Have you contacted Xavier?” I paused for a second. “Who?” “Dude, don’t you know he’s an expert in blood diseases? Lymphoma is his specialty. Why didn’t you ask him for help?” “Oh, I—” I really didn’t want to drag Xavier into this mess. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Ben wiped his hands on his apron and went to open it. Then, I heard the cheers. “Xavier! You actually came!” “Dr. Stone, long time no see.” “Come in! Mia wants hotpot. You’re the expert, tell us if she’s allowed to eat it?” I stood frozen in the living room. My unwashed face, maskless, felt exposed to the scorching sun. I never expected them to contact him. And I never expected him to come. Xavier looked at me calmly. “Clear broth is fine.” “Okay! Listen to the Doctor! No spicy broth!” Everyone got busy again. Xavier accepted the slippers Ben offered. He handed a bag of fruit to someone in the kitchen. Ben tried to break the ice. “Hey, the past is the past.” “Laugh it off, right? Xavier, be the bigger man. Don’t hold a grudge against Mia.” “Help with the veggies.” Someone shoved a colander of spinach into Xavier’s arms and pushed him onto the sofa opposite me. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the living room. The AC unit in the corner rattled noisily. I avoided his gaze, fumbling for the mask in my back pocket. Snap. Xavier broke the stem of a spinach leaf. “I already recognized you,” he said coolly. “Is there any point in hiding it now?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386395”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel