I have the Midas touch. All I have to do is sit in an office, and deals start rolling in. The vice president treated me like a queen, terrified I’d jump ship. But then, the CEO’s childhood sweetheart parachuted into the company, taking the VP’s job. She stormed up to my desk, picked up her coffee, and dumped it over my head. “It’s working hours. Who gave you permission to nap? It’s because of corporate parasites like you that this company is failing!” “Your bonus for this month is gone. And I want a five-thousand-word self-criticism on my desk by tomorrow morning.” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. The whole situation was absurd. I was tired because I’d spent all night closing a ten-million-dollar deal. My manager had specifically told me to catch a nap during the day if I needed it. I hadn’t even been asleep for two minutes, and now I was being branded a parasite? Before I could even form a defense, she had already clicked away on her high heels. My manager, Mark, hurried over, his face etched with sympathy. “Aria, that’s the future Mrs. CEO. She has a thing against pretty girls. I’m afraid things are about to get rough for you.” So that was it. Well, that made things simple. I’d just leave. I had plenty of other companies trying to headhunt me. This one wouldn’t be a loss. 1. The moment I got home, I contacted the CEO of Hudson Corporation. They had previously offered me a seven-figure salary, but I’d turned them down out of loyalty to the vice president who had mentored me. Now that she was gone and this lunatic was in charge, it was time to get out. I sent a message and got an immediate reply. “Handle your transition. You start next month. I’ll add another fifty thousand to your original offer. I look forward to working with you.” My reputation as a business magnet wasn’t just talk. When I’d first joined this company, it was a second-rate firm that couldn’t land a major contract to save its life. After I arrived, not only did the deals start pouring in, but investors came knocking too. But on any day I took off, the company couldn’t close a single deal. The former VP, Ms. Miller, had even half-jokingly consulted a fortune teller who told her I had the Midas touch, better than any lucky charm. She did everything in her power to keep me, practically chaining me to my desk. Unfortunately, she couldn’t fight the powers that be. A parachute promotion pushed her out. I walked up to Stella’s office with my resignation letter in hand. She didn’t let me in right away. Instead, she sat there, primping in a compact mirror while video-chatting and giggling with her friends. I stood outside her door for a full thirty minutes before she finally deigned to speak. “Come in.” As I held out my letter, she looked me up and down with disdain. “Your name is Aria Lin, right? This is a place of business, not a brothel. Who are you trying to seduce, dressed like that?” “No wonder you have the most deals. So this is how you do it—with cheap tricks. Let me tell you something. My fiancé’s company doesn’t do dirty business.” In my twenty-plus years, I had never been spoken to like that. I couldn’t stop myself from retorting. “Ms. Xia, I’m wearing the standard company uniform. And I landed those deals with my own skills. If you continue to insult me, we can settle this in court.” Stella’s eyes widened in fury. She grabbed a teacup from her desk and threw its contents at me. Thankfully, I was ready for it and dodged sideways, avoiding the splash. 2. “You little tramp, you dare to dodge? Don’t think you can do whatever you want around here just because you have a pretty face. Landon and I are engaged. I am going to be Mrs. Lu, and there’s nothing you can do about it!” “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get on your knees and apologize right now. If you do, I might consider letting you stay. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you can never work in this city again!” She was screaming like a madwoman, her finger practically in my nose. I took a few steps back, disgusted, and tried to treat her ranting like a yapping dog. Just then, Mark, my manager, rushed in. He shot me a sympathetic look before turning to Stella respectfully. “Ms. Xia, Mr. Hayes is on the phone. He says he has a deal he’d like to discuss with Aria.” He leaned in and whispered, “Ms. Xia, there’s something special about Aria. She’s like a good luck charm. The company’s success has been riding on her since the day she got here. I know you don’t like her, but…” Stella rolled her eyes and cut him off. “Are you insane, Mark? What kind of superstitious nonsense is that? I refuse to believe this company can’t function without this little tramp!” She glared at me, her voice shrill. “So you’ve even seduced the manager. You really are shameless, aren’t you? You’ll jump into bed with anyone who can give you an advantage, is that it?” The sheer venom was baffling. I felt a throb in my temples. I told myself a million times not to argue with an idiot, but I couldn’t help it. “With all due respect, if you don’t have anything intelligent to say, you should probably keep your mouth shut. You start spouting filth the moment you wake up. Were you a sewer in a past life?” “All you talk about is seduction and vixens. Anyone would think I stole your husband.” “Then again,” I added, “if I looked like you, I’d probably feel insecure around beautiful people too.” Screw it. I was quitting anyway. Stella’s face contorted with rage. “So that’s it!” she spat. “No wonder Landon is always talking about you at home. You have been shamelessly throwing yourself at him!” Aha. So Landon was the one who threw me under the bus. Stella stared at me as if she wanted to tear a chunk out of my flesh. She turned to Mark. “From now on, all of Aria’s accounts are to be handed over to someone else. Her new job is cleaning the bathrooms. No pay until they’re spotless!” Mark looked horrified. Who makes their top salesperson clean toilets? It was financial suicide. “Ms. Xia, Aria’s clients are all long-term partners. If we suddenly switch their contact, I’m worried they’ll…” Stella cut him off impatiently. “They’re long-term clients, so they won’t mind a new contact person. Just do as I say.” She shot me a triumphant look, her eyes falling on the letter in my hand. A smirk played on her lips. “Is that the self-criticism I asked for? I don’t feel like reading it today. Go back and write twenty thousand words. By hand. I’ll be checking it personally.” This woman was certifiable. I was done. I placed the resignation letter on her desk. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have time for that nonsense. I quit. This is my resignation.” 3. Mark looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “Aria, you can’t!” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “You’ve been with us for years, working so hard. You haven’t even gotten your year-end bonus yet! Don’t be impulsive!” Stella tsked, picking up the letter with two fingers. She glanced at it and scoffed. “Quitting? What kind of act is this? Who else besides Lu Corp is going to pay you a million-dollar salary? I think we’ve spoiled you, made you think you can threaten me with leaving.” For a top sales rep of my caliber, other companies were starting their offers at one and a half million. If it wasn’t for my history with Lu Corp, I would have been gone long ago. I didn’t bother arguing. “I will ensure a smooth handover of my work. My last day will be the first of next month.” Stella’s look was pure mockery. “Fine. I’d love to see who’d want a piece of trash like you who only knows how to sleep her way to the top.” Mark looked like he was about to cry. The company’s golden goose was leaving. The company was doomed. He decided then and there to start looking for a new job. I walked out. As soon as I got back to my desk, a colleague leaned over. “Aria, are you okay? I heard Ms. Xia yelling. She sounded vicious.” I shook my head. “It’s fine. Let her do what she wants. I’m leaving next month anyway.” A collective gasp went through the office. “You’re quitting? Oh god, we’re all finished!” “Is Ms. Xia crazy? She’s kicking out her own money-maker!” “Alright everyone, you heard her. Time to polish up those résumés. Let’s get out of here while we still can.” The sounds of despair from the office reached Stella’s ears. Her face flushed with anger, she stormed out. “Who said you could gossip on company time? I’m docking everyone’s pay by a thousand dollars! If I hear it again, I’ll double it!” Her eyes landed on me, and she gritted her teeth. “Aria Lin, get your ass over to Mr. Hayes and sign that contract. If you fail, you can forget about your commission for this month.” She was clearly panicking. Mr. Hayes must have rejected her proposal to switch contacts and insisted on me. This month, I’d closed seven major deals. The commission alone was over three hundred thousand dollars. I’d just bought a new penthouse and my savings were a little thin. With that in mind, I grabbed my bag and headed for the restaurant. Mr. Hayes beamed when he saw me. “Ms. Lin, you’re finally here! I have to tell you, the day after our last meeting, my company’s stock jumped several points.” “It’s a shame you’re always so busy. It’s impossible to get a meeting with you.” He pulled a box from his pocket and handed it to me. Inside was an exquisite Imperial Green jade bracelet. Other clients gave me gifts, but this was on another level. It was far too valuable. I tried to refuse, but he feigned anger. “Ms. Lin, are you trying to disrespect me?” Put like that, it would have been rude to decline. I accepted the bracelet and we signed the contract. Back at the office, I went to the finance department to file my expense report for the meal. The accountant was about to process it when Stella, like a bad omen, burst in. She snatched the receipt and her brow furrowed. “What kind of meal costs over three thousand dollars? Did you conspire with the restaurant to skim money from the company?” Was she serious? It was a multi-million-dollar deal. Was I supposed to take the client to a street food stall instead of a five-star hotel? Before I could respond, the accountant explained, “Ms. Xia, Mr. Lu’s policy is that any deal over half a million dollars can be celebrated at a five-star restaurant. Aria hasn’t broken any rules.” Being contradicted sent Stella into a rage. “Who are you to question me? I see this little tramp has bought you off too!” The accountant stared, aghast. “Ms. Xia, how can you say that?” Stella sneered. “Accuse you? You’re not even worth the effort. You’re fired. Pack your things and get out. Now.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386374”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The night before my sister was set to marry into the prestigious Ashton family, she finally spoke her mind. “Lindsay,” she began, her voice soft as ever, “I don’t think you should be my maid of honor tomorrow.” I was in the middle of fastening a bracelet I’d strung myself onto her wrist, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. Her voice was a familiar, fragile whisper. “I know you’re my only sister, but… the vitiligo on your face…” She let the words hang in the air. “People will talk. I don’t want Liam to think I’m like a flawed gem.” She finally dropped the act. “Frankly, having you stand next to me is embarrassing.” My hands froze. I never imagined she could think of me that way. Our mother draped a cashmere shawl over her shoulders, her silence a clear endorsement of Rachel’s words. “You’ve been good to me, Lindsay. You’ve always given me everything since we were kids,” Rachel continued, as if that made it better. “But tomorrow is the most important day of my life.” “Liam’s family is so prominent. I can’t have his friends mocking him… saying my family isn’t presentable.” … My gaze fell to the bracelet in my hand, a string of one hundred and eight lustrous pearls. I had chosen, polished, and threaded each one myself. It was supposed to be a part of her dowry, a gift from my heart. Now, it seemed, it was just another imperfection. Slowly, I unclasped the bracelet from her wrist and placed it back into its velvet box. “Alright,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Rachel let out a visible sigh of relief. “Oh, Lindsay, you’re the best. I knew you’d understand.” Mom stroked Rachel’s long, silky hair, her eyes brimming with pride. “That’s enough standing around. Go get some rest. You need to be the most beautiful bride tomorrow.” I quietly gathered the accessories I had prepared for the bridal party, packing each piece away. I should have been used to it by now. It all started when I was thirteen. That summer, after a severe illness, a coin-sized white patch appeared on my left cheek. At first, my parents were frantic, taking me to every specialist they could find. But six months later, my eleven-year-old sister, Rachel, noticed a similar patch on her back while bathing. The atmosphere in our home turned heavy overnight. The doctors called it an autoimmune disorder. The treatment would be long, expensive, and offered no guarantee of a cure. I was thirsty late one night and overheard my parents arguing in their room. “Treat them both?” my father’s voice was strained. “The business is barely off the ground. Where are we going to find that kind of money?” My mother’s reply was a low, chilling whisper. “Then we choose one.” “Rachel is still so young. Her life is just beginning.” “Besides,” she added, “hers is on her back. It’s hidden. The chances of a full recovery are much higher.” “And Lindsay?” my father asked. “Lindsay… she’s the older sister. She’s sensible. She should let her sister have this.” Her voice dropped even lower. “And honestly, hers is on her face. The damage is done. Why throw good money after bad?” The glass of water slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. I didn’t cry. I just cleaned up the shards, went back to my room, and pulled the covers over my head. From that day on, I was the sensible older sister. Every resource, every ounce of attention, was funneled toward Rachel. All I ever got was the same tired refrain: “You’re the older sister. You have to look out for Rachel.” As I was ignored, the patch on my face grew from the size of a coin to cover nearly half my cheek, like a permanent flaw carved into porcelain. Snapping back to the present, I put the last piece of jewelry away. “Mom, I’m heading out.” She finally glanced at me, a slight frown on her face. “Be here early tomorrow to help. Even if you’re not the maid of honor, there’s still a mountain of things to do.” “I know.” I walked out of my sister’s room. In the living room, my father was laughing with his future son-in-law, Liam Ashton. When Liam saw me, his smile faded slightly. He gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment. His eyes flickered to the patch on my face for less than half a second before darting away. We had grown up together, inseparable childhood friends. Before he left for college abroad, he’d held my hand and promised, “Lindsay, wait for me.” But when he returned, he found a me with a scarred face, and a brilliant, beautiful sister by my side. He was disappointed. And I never explained that the groundbreaking proposals at the company, the ones that made Rachel shine, had all originated on my desk. Because, as my mother always said, the older sister has to support the younger one. I stepped out into the night. The wind was cool against my skin. I looked up at the moon. It was bright, round, and perfectly whole. 2 I arrived the next day before dawn. Even stripped of my title, my duties were endless. From the final check of the floral arrangements to confirming the details of the banquet menu, to running through the guest reception protocol one last time, I was a spinning top wound tight, never stopping for a moment. My mother was pleased with my compliance. She pulled me into the dressing room, directing the makeup artist on Rachel’s final touches. “Our Rachel is a natural beauty. Look at that skin. A little makeup and she looks like an angel.” She turned to me, a tight smile on her lips. “Lindsay, you should have the artist put some concealer on you, too. There will be a lot of guests today. Don’t let it be too obvious.” The patch on my face was too large. No amount of concealer could hide it; it only made my skin tone look uneven and more jarring. I’d tried once and given up. “It’s fine, Mom. I have to be backstage. There’s no time.” I could feel the pity in the eyes of the makeup artist and the other bridesmaids. I pretended not to notice. When the ceremony began, I stood in the darkest corner of the ballroom, a walkie-talkie in my hand, ready for any emergency. Rachel, wearing the gown I had picked for her, walked down the aisle on our father’s arm, toward Liam waiting at the center of the stage. She was breathtaking, a true princess. When my father placed Rachel’s hand in Liam’s, his eyes were red. He choked back a sob. “Liam, I’m entrusting you with our family’s most precious treasure. You have to take care of her.” The hall erupted in applause. I felt like a complete outsider. Every detail of this wedding had consumed the last six months of my life. Even the down payment on the red sports car Rachel received as a wedding gift came from my savings. My parents had told me the family’s finances were tight after years of paying for Rachel’s treatments. They couldn’t look cheap in front of the Ashtons. You’re the older sister, they’d said. It’s your duty to help out. But in this moment, no one remembered me. The officiant’s voice boomed from the stage. “Our beautiful bride, Rachel, is not only stunning but also one of Mr. Ashton’s most capable executives! She has single-handedly spearheaded several of the company’s most critical projects. A true talent!” I looked down, a bitter taste in my mouth. Those projects, those sleepless nights… they had all become jewels in her crown. During the reception, they moved from table to table. When they reached Liam’s friends, one of them let out a low whistle. “Hey, Liam,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “your new sister-in-law is… something else.” His eyes landed squarely on my face. A hush fell over the room. Rachel’s face went pale, her hand tightening on Liam’s arm. My mother quickly jumped in, forcing a laugh. “Oh, she’s always been a tomboy, all work and no play. The workhorse of our family.” Liam raised his glass, his gaze sweeping over me with a cool indifference. “Don’t be an ass. This is Lindsay, my wife’s sister.” I picked up my own glass, drained it in one go, and offered a thin smile. “Enjoy yourselves. I’m going to check on the kitchen.” As I walked away, I heard the whispers behind me. “Such a shame. I heard Liam and the older sister were childhood sweethearts…” “Yeah, but who would marry that? It’s humiliating to even be seen with her.” “The younger one is gorgeous and capable. She and Liam are a perfect match.” I slipped into the empty backstage area, finally able to breathe. My phone screen lit up with an old photo of Liam and me from high school. In it, the patch on my face was still small enough to be covered by makeup, and I was smiling, fearless. Liam’s eyes in the picture were full of me. “Lindsay, you… you weren’t like this before.” That’s what he’d said when he came back, after seeing my face and meeting my “talented” sister. He was right. I wasn’t. The bright, defiant girl I used to be had been murdered long ago by my parents’ mantra: You’re the older sister, you have to give way. I deleted the photo, erasing a memory that had already rotted away. 3 Rachel and Liam spent two weeks honeymooning on a private island. For those two weeks, the office was blissfully quiet. I poured all my energy into my new project: the ‘Aura’ smart home system. The day Rachel returned, she walked straight into my office. “Ugh, the honeymoon was so exhausting,” she complained, though her tone was dripping with pride. “Liam insisted on dragging me everywhere.” I nodded. “You should get some rest.” “Rest? No time for that.” She sat down across from me and picked up my project proposal. “Liam says the Aura project is critical. It’s the company’s core strategy for the second half of the year. There can’t be any mistakes.” A cold dread washed over me. “And?” I asked. Rachel looked up, flashing an innocent smile. “And so, Liam has decided that I will be taking the lead.” “Lindsay, you have so much experience. You can be my second-in-command, help me steer the ship. Okay?” My fingers clenched into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. On what grounds? The words burned in my throat, but I couldn’t force them out. I looked at her, and her eyes held the same entitled glint as they did when she was ten, snatching the only imported doll I’d ever owned from my hands. Back then, my mother had said the same thing: Rachel wants it. You’re the older sister, just let her have it. “Is this a company decision, or Liam’s decision?” I asked numbly. “Is there a difference?” Rachel laughed, clutching the proposal to her chest. “Don’t worry, sis. When the project succeeds, I won’t forget your contribution. We’re family. What’s yours is mine. Why draw lines?” She swept out of the room, leaving me alone in the suffocating chill. That evening, I went home. My parents were on the couch watching TV. “Did you eat?” my mother asked without looking up. I cut straight to the point. “The company gave Rachel the lead on the Aura project.” My mother paused, then a wide smile spread across her face. “Really? That’s wonderful! Our Rachel is so capable. Such a huge responsibility right after getting married. Liam really knows how to pick them.” My father nodded in agreement. “Rachel has the drive, and with her big sister helping her out, the project is sure to be a success.” My heart sank into a black abyss. “I was the one who developed that project. From start to finish.” “I know,” my mother said, her tone infuriatingly matter-of-fact. “But you’re her sister. Isn’t it your job to support her? She’s the boss’s wife now. If she’s secure, your life at the company will be easier too. Why can’t you see the big picture?” “The big picture?” I laughed, a hollow sound. “Is my ‘big picture’ just handing over everything I’ve ever worked for to her?” “Lindsay!” my father’s voice was sharp, his face darkening. “Is that any way to speak to your mother? After all the sacrifices this family has made for your sister over the years, you can’t handle a little setback to help pave her way?” He stood up, his voice rising. “Has that disease on your face twisted your personality, too? Made you this bitter and jealous?” I stared at the two people I called my parents, and they felt like complete strangers. They couldn’t see my hard work, couldn’t see my pain. All they saw was my flaw, and Rachel’s perfection. I took a deep, shaky breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. I get it.” I turned to leave. “Where are you going?” my mother called after me. “Work.” I didn’t look back. I couldn’t let them see the tears in my eyes. I stayed at the office all night. I compiled every core file, every piece of research for the project, and I bundled it all into an email to Rachel. At the very end, I wrote a single line: This is the last time I will ever step aside for you. 4 For the next month, I was Rachel’s subordinate. I watched as Liam’s eyes filled with admiration and love every time he looked at her. Occasionally, his gaze would pass over me, and the disappointment seemed to deepen. Then one day, my father called, his voice frantic. “Lindsay, get to the hospital, now! Your mother… she collapsed!” By the time I arrived, my mother was already in the emergency room. My father was pacing outside, his face ashen, while Rachel sobbed in Liam’s arms. A doctor emerged, his expression grim. “She’s in acute liver failure. She needs a transplant immediately.” “A transplant?” My father’s voice trembled. “But… a donor?” “We’ve registered her on the national network, but there’s no telling how long the wait will be,” the doctor explained. “The best option is a live donation from a relative. Her blood type is B-negative, RH-negative. It’s extremely rare. Are any of you a match?” We all looked at each other. Dad was Type A. Liam was Type O. Rachel and I were sent for blood tests. Every second in that waiting room felt like an eternity. Rachel clutched my hand, her palm icy and shaking. “Lindsay, I’m so scared…” I squeezed her hand back, patting it gently. An hour later, a nurse returned with the results. “Who is Lindsay?” “I am,” I said, standing up. “Your blood type is a perfect match with the patient’s. After a preliminary evaluation, you are a viable donor.” Every eye in the room fixed on me. Rachel’s hand slipped from mine as she let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. The nurse then turned to her, her tone clinical. “Miss Rachel, your blood type is B-positive. You are not a match.” Rachel froze. We all knew Mom had what they called ‘golden blood,’ the rarest type. We’d always assumed at least one of us had inherited it. No one ever imagined the lucky one would be me—the flawed, forgotten daughter. My mother was moved to the ICU. The surgery was scheduled for the next morning. I went in to see her beforehand. She was a frail figure in the hospital bed, hooked up to a web of tubes. When she saw me, her clouded eyes brightened, and she weakly reached out her hand. I walked over and took it. She opened her mouth, her voice a faint rasp. I leaned in close, my ear next to her lips. “Rachel, my sweet girl… I knew… I knew you would save me…” She called me by my sister’s name as she squeezed my hand. In that instant, I felt the blood turn to ice in my veins. At death’s door, the only person in her heart was her perfect, flawless daughter. I wasn’t even worthy of being named. Slowly, deliberately, I pried her fingers from my hand. I looked at her, my face a blank mask. When I stepped out of the room, my father and Liam rushed toward me. “Lindsay, how is she?” Seeing the same desperate hope on their faces, I almost laughed. “The surgery can happen,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “But I have a condition.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386373”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The day my wife, Evelyn, discovered I had a Rebirth System, she started killing me. Over and over, all for him—her long-lost love. The first time, it was a carbon monoxide leak while I slept. The second, a hit-and-run she arranged. Every death was different, but one thing never changed: we both looped back to the beginning, to the same starting point. When I confronted her, my heart shattering with each word, her explanation was a chillingly simple blade to the gut. “Leo isn’t like you, Ethan. You have endless chances to come back. He only gets to live to twenty-two.” And so, every time, in the very moment Leo’s last breath rattled in his chest, she would end my life to reset the clock. I tried to run, to escape her, but I wasn’t from this world. No matter how far I fled, Evelyn always found me. But after my one-hundredth death, something new happened. I unlocked an achievement. “Host, you only need to die one more time to return to your original world.” Evelyn was already plotting the next reset, completely unaware that for us, there would be no ‘next time.’ … My eyes snapped open. I was back in the house I shared with Evelyn. There was no joy, only a hollow numbness as I stared at the enormous wedding photo hanging on the wall. In it, we were cheek to cheek, the very picture of devotion. Back then, the city’s elite all whispered the same story: Evelyn Hale, the heiress to a fortune, was madly in love with me. She had to be. Her grand gestures were the stuff of legends. She’d bought out every luxury car dealership in the city to serve as my personal garage and sunk a billion dollars into my fledgling startup just to see if it would float. I believed she loved me, too. Wholeheartedly. But everything changed the day Leo returned to the country. Just then, the front door flew open. Evelyn’s eyes scanned the living room before locking onto me. She strode forward, collapsing into my arms. “Ethan, you’re still here. Thank God.” Her arms tightened around me, a crushing force, as if trying to merge our bodies into one. Anyone else would have thought it was an embrace of relief, of affection. But I knew the truth. She was terrified of losing her chance to complete her list of “a hundred little things” with Leo. Just as quickly, she pulled back, her hand gently tracing the brow bone above my eye. Her touch was a phantom of the last death. She’d dosed me with something powerfully addictive and locked me in the bedroom. The withdrawal was agony, and my only relief was smashing my head against the wall, again and again, until my skull fractured and my brain gave out. Of all the ways I had died, that was the most brutal, the most torturous. “Ethan, can you just wait a little longer? Please?” she pleaded, her voice soft. “There are only a few things left on the list. Once I finish them with Leo, I promise, it will just be you and me. We can have a good life together.” This was the promise I had once yearned for. Now, her words were just ashes in my mouth. I subtly eased away from her touch. “The housekeeper made dinner. Are you staying tonight?” I asked, my voice flat. I already knew the answer. It was a token question. Evelyn seemed to sense my new distance. She knelt, taking my hands in hers, her eyes wide with a performer’s sincerity. “Ethan, was it too painful last time? I’m so sorry.” “Don’t worry,” she promised, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “This time, I’ll make it quick. I won’t let you suffer for long.” A bitter, silent laugh echoed in my soul. Did she even see me as a person anymore? Or was I just a machine, a reset button for her tragic love story? Seeing my lack of response, she opened her mouth to say more, but the shrill ring of her phone cut her off. It was Leo. She shot me an apologetic glance before stepping away to take the call. It was always the same. Any moment we had alone was inevitably shattered by him. I was used to it. Even from across the room, I could hear Leo’s choked sobs through the phone. Evelyn’s face melted with concern, her voice a low, soothing murmur as she comforted him. After hanging up, she turned to me. “I can’t stay for dinner. Something’s come up with Leo. I have to go to him right now.” I knew it was coming, but my heart still gave a painful lurch. I gave a curt, noncommittal nod. “I understand.” She grabbed her cashmere coat from the sofa and headed for the door, then paused, as if just remembering I was there. She glanced back. “You just wait for me at home, okay?” Then she was gone, her departure as swift and final as all the other times she’d left me behind. But this time, a genuine smile touched my lips. This time, I was the one leaving her. It wasn’t long after Evelyn left that I began to plan my own exit. I wandered aimlessly into the kitchen, my eyes landing on the long, gleaming blade of a chef’s knife. It was a custom piece, commissioned by Evelyn from a master craftsman, all so her sashimi would have the perfect, clean cut. It had also been the instrument of my tenth death. She’d been clumsy then, new to the act of killing. Each cut had been a slow, agonizing torment that lasted for what felt like an eternity. My gaze drifted to the deep, stainless-steel sink. She’d held my head under the water in that sink once, the life bubbling out of me in a desperate, silent scream. I’d experienced a grim variety of endings—I’d even been thrown from a skyscraper. To avoid a public spectacle, I decided on the cleanest, quickest method I could think of: a handful of pills with a bottle of vintage red. I’d just pulled the wine from the rack when my phone began to buzz with messages from mutual friends. “What the hell is going on with Evelyn? She’s all over the gossip sites with Leo.” “I thought you two were inseparable. Is something wrong?” Mixed in with the concerned texts were the sneering ones, telling me my dream of marrying into wealth was over and it was time to wake up. I clicked the link one of them sent. News alerts exploded on my screen. The internet was flooded with paparazzi photos of Evelyn and Leo. Holding hands under a sky full of fireworks. A passionate kiss in public. I knew what it was. Number ninety-eight on their list: flaunt their love for the world to see. It didn’t matter how reckless they were. One reset, and the world’s memory would be wiped clean. Just then, a new text came in. It was from Leo. “Ethan Foster, I’m never giving Evelyn back to you.” It wasn’t the first time he’d sent a message like this. After a hundred loops, I had the words memorized. I could even picture the smug look on his face, could anticipate what was coming next. Sure enough, three seconds later, an image appeared. It was their list. “A Hundred Little Things.” Scanning down, I saw that items one through ninety-eight were crossed out in bold red ink. Number ninety-nine was ‘Experience every position,’ and number one hundred was ‘Have a child together.’ This was the first time I had ever seen the actual list. I stared at it, a brief shock giving way to a profound, chilling calm. In an earlier loop, after discovering the truth, I had begged her to show it to me. She’d refused, her eyes evasive, insisting they were just “silly, unimportant things.” Unimportant things. Every single one was an intimate act meant for lovers, for a husband and wife. A dry, humorless sound escaped my lips. I didn’t reply. Leo’s body wouldn’t last long enough to see a child born, and besides, none of it mattered anymore. Soon, I would be free. With a newfound sense of purpose, I uncorked the wine and washed down half a bottle of pills. The effects were swift. My vision blurred. The room began to spin. My breath hitched, each gasp a desperate struggle for air. I collapsed to the floor, my consciousness fraying, drifting away like smoke. Through the haze, I heard frantic footsteps. The sound of the door crashing open. “Ethan!” A strong grip hauled me up, my body feeling as weightless as a kite in the wind. Evelyn’s fingers dug into my arms, her voice laced with a raw, unfamiliar panic. “Ethan! Ethan, wake up! Look at me!” My scattered senses slowly reassembled. I managed to force my eyes open, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed with a fear I’d never seen before. “Are you insane?!” she shrieked. “Trying to kill yourself in my house?” “Let me tell you something,” she hissed, her face close to mine. “Your life belongs to me. You don’t get to die without my permission!” A faint, tragic smile pulled at my lips. Evelyn rushed me to the hospital. I was so close. So close to going home. But she mobilized the city’s top medical teams, sparing no expense to drag me back from the brink. When I woke up, she was there. She gripped my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Was this because of Leo?” she demanded, her voice cold steel. “Were you jealous?” My lips were cracked, my throat raw. “No,” I rasped. My reaction seemed to catch her off guard. The hard lines of her face softened slightly. “I know I’ve been distant,” she murmured. “I’ll spend more time with you from now on, okay?” She leaned in, her lips aiming for mine in a kiss devoid of any warmth or emotion. I turned my head, and the cold press of her mouth landed on my cheek instead. A humorless laugh escaped her. “Don’t you dare refuse me, Ethan.” She pinned me against the headboard, her body caging mine. The cold metal bars of the hospital bed bit into my back. A flurry of desperate, bruising kisses followed. She fumbled with the buttons of my hospital gown, tearing it open and exposing me to the cold air. I felt a wave of shame, of utter humiliation. Her hands explored downward, relentless. “See?” she whispered against my skin, her voice a hot breath. “Your body doesn’t lie. You still want me.” She had always been so gentle in our intimacy, so careful not to push me. Now, it was a frantic, almost violent act of possession. I wasn’t a lover; I was an object, a territory to be reclaimed. I closed my eyes, and the very last ember of affection I held for her was extinguished, washed away by a single, silent tear. Afterward, she carelessly threw a blanket over my body, hiding the marks she’d left. She dressed with a detached air, the last traces of passion fading from her face, leaving it a cold, beautiful mask. “I’m posting guards outside your door,” she announced, her voice flat. “You’re staying here. And don’t even think about trying to die again.” Her idea of “guards” was a dozen stone-faced bodyguards stationed outside my room around the clock. They watched my every move. I couldn’t even close the bathroom door. It wasn’t a hospital stay; it was a prison sentence. My plan was delayed, but I knew my chance would come. On Leo’s birthday… she would still kill me, just as she always had. No matter how I died, I would finally go home. The thought of waiting, however, was a gnawing frustration. When I was finally discharged, Evelyn abandoned all pretense. She had me bound like an animal and thrown into a small, dark storage room in the basement. A maid brought my meals, spooning them into my mouth as if I were an infant. I ate, slept, and relieved myself in that one small space. There was no escape, no visitors. After a few days, I could smell the sour stench of my own filth clinging to me. The maid would pinch her nose every time she entered, her eyes filled with disgust, as if I were a pig waiting for slaughter. Evelyn rarely visited. Once, in a moment of sheer desperation, I begged her. “When can I die? Just tell me when.” Death was no longer a terror; it was my only hope for liberation. Her reply was a casual, devastating blow. “When I’m pregnant with Leo’s child.” Again and again, she ground my dignity into the dust. Somewhere outside my prison, they had completed number ninety-nine. Now only the final act remained. She knew better than anyone that Leo would never live to see his child born, not in this lifetime or any other. But her obsession was a fire that consumed everything, and she was determined to make everyone pay the price for it. The room had no windows, only a single, dim bulb overhead. My days bled into one another—eat, sleep, eat, sleep. I lost all track of time, of day and night. One day, the maid was forcing food into my mouth when a wave of nausea hit me. I retched, spitting the food onto the floor. She cursed, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and shoved the spoon back in my mouth, forcing it down my throat. The nausea intensified, and I could only curl into a ball, vomiting until nothing but yellow bile came up. Seeing me heave until I was empty, she finally panicked and called the family doctor. Suddenly, the tiny room was filled with people. But Evelyn was not among them. With me too weak to struggle, the maid finally untied my ropes. My body was limp, and I slumped against the wall, letting them prod and examine me. After a series of tests, the doctor spoke in a low, somber voice. “Mr. Foster has late-stage liver cancer.” Liver cancer? The words struck me like a physical blow. A tremor ran through me, all other emotions replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. This had never happened in any of the previous hundred loops. This time, I had a terminal illness. The shock quickly curdled into a deep, crushing despair. It seemed fate itself was conspiring to keep me here. I closed my eyes, a tear tracing a path through the grime on my cheek. A wild thought flickered through my mind. If Evelyn knew I was sick, truly dying… would this time be different? After the doctor left, the maid sneered at me. “Still think you’re the high and mighty Mr. Foster? Don’t think getting sick will earn you any pity from Miss Hale. Let me tell you, she and Mr. Leo are inseparable these days. She hasn’t thought about you once.” She punctuated her words with a vicious kick to my side. I instinctively curled tighter, protecting my abdomen from the searing pain. When she was finished, she leaned down, her voice a venomous hiss. “You keep your mouth shut about this, and I might just make your last days here bearable.” I nodded weakly, and I saw the relief on her face. The staff, terrified I would use my illness to regain Evelyn’s favor and expose their abuse, conspired to keep my diagnosis a secret. From that day on, the food they brought me was barely edible. But I forced it down, choking back the nausea, determined to stay alive long enough for Evelyn to finish her gruesome task. She never came. An eternity seemed to pass. I started to believe I would rot in that basement forever. Then, one day, the heavy door creaked open. The sharp, rhythmic click of high heels on concrete grew closer. It was Evelyn. I lifted my head, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in my chest. She took in my filthy, emaciated state, but her expression didn’t so much as flicker. She walked over and, without a hint of disgust, helped me to my feet. “What have you done to yourself?” The maids standing by stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Before I could answer, she took my hand and led me out of the darkness. As we passed through the grand foyer, I saw a calendar. I had been in that room for a month. She led me to our bedroom and sat me down in front of a mirror, where she began to gently wash my face with a warm cloth. “How about I give you a bath?” she murmured, her voice unnervingly tender. “And when you’re clean, we’ll have dinner together.” Her gentleness was a ghost of a happier time, a cruel reminder of what we once had. I forced myself to remain cold, detached. “Why are you doing this? Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?” It was too much, too kind. She had to have a motive. Evelyn didn’t seem bothered by my suspicion. Her voice remained a soft caress. “It’s our anniversary, Ethan. Did you forget?” Our anniversary. For a moment, I was stunned. I had forgotten. Completely. In a hundred lifetimes, we had never once celebrated it. She finished combing my tangled hair, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror, a look of deep affection on her face. “It’s okay. I remembered for both of us.” After the bath, she dressed me in soft, silk pajamas. We sat across from each other at the dining table, the scene so deceptively normal it felt like a dream. She even carefully cut my steak into small, manageable pieces for me. I looked at her beautiful face, and despite everything, my resolve wavered. I was about to tell her—about the cancer, about everything. Then, her eyes still lowered to her plate, she spoke, her voice calm and even. “I’m pregnant.” The words were a lightning strike, sending an icy chill down my spine. She continued, her tone conversational. “When Leo found out, he was so happy he had a heart attack. He’s in the ICU now.” She looked up, her eyes meeting mine. “His body is failing. He won’t even make it to his birthday this time. So…” Her sentence hung in the air. With a slow, deliberate motion, she slid the steak knife she’d been using across the table until it rested in front of me. She picked up her napkin, dabbing delicately at her lips, and pronounced my death sentence. “This time, I won’t do it myself. You can do the honors.” My vision blurred, my eyes stinging with tears. It was happening again. I couldn’t remember which death it was, but I had died at this very table before. She had strangled the life out of me with her bare hands. To think, after all my waiting, I was expected to end it myself. The last fragile thread of hope inside me snapped. “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked, my voice a ragged whisper. “What if this is the last time? What if, after I die, there’s no more rebirth?” A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She reached across the table, grabbing my hand and forcing the knife into my grip. She guided the point until it rested directly over my heart. “Don’t be dramatic. We’ll see each other again in the next life.” I let out a shaky laugh. “No, we won’t.” And with that, I closed my hand over hers, driving the blade deep into my chest. Blood bubbled up, spilling from the corner of my mouth. With my last, fleeting breath, I looked into her shocked eyes and offered one final, taunting truth. “Congratulations, Evelyn. Your child is now fatherless.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386372”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I took my coworkers out for drinks, only to realize I didn’t have enough money to cover the tab. Desperate, I walked up to the hottest guy in the VIP booth. “Hey, can you pay this for me? I’ll Venmo you later.” The guy tried to play it cool. “Miss, do we know each other?” I snatched the drink right out of his hand. “We don’t. But ask your bodyguard how many times he’s called me for a favor.” “I’ve saved your ass enough times. Can’t you return the favor once?” The man looked confused, but his bodyguard immediately covered his face with his hand. “Boss… it’s true. Every time you get blackout drunk, you attack anyone who comes near you. Except her.” “I’ve called her multiple times to beg her to take you home.” 1 The group of guys sitting around him perked up, looking at me like I was a unicorn. “Wait, for real? When Lu gets wasted, he’s like a rabid dog. No one can touch him.” “Yeah, I tried to help him to his room once and he nearly snapped my arm in half.” “Same. They say Lu is possessed by demons when he drinks. I didn’t believe it, tried to out-drink him, and ended up in the hospital for two months with multiple fractures.” “The doctor said it’s hyper-defensive instinct. He trusts no one when his inhibitions are down, so he attacks on sight. What makes this girl so special?” “I don’t buy it. Unless she proves it right now.” I raised an eyebrow and pulled out my phone, flashing my QR code. “Sure. Transfer me five hundred bucks first, and I’ll give you a show.” Someone actually whipped out their phone and sent me the money. Ding. Payment received. I pointed to the bar. “I’m gonna go pay my tab. Get him wasted, then come find me.” The whole booth started cheering and jeering. Only the man in the center, Luke Vance, narrowed his eyes at me dangerously. I wasn’t scared. I’ve seen him hugging a toilet bowl. I have photos. Heh. Look at him now, sitting there like a king in his VIP booth, all elegant and refined. A total fraud. I’d already seen him at his worst. I paid the bill and sent my coworkers home. Then I walked back to the booth. Hey, I took the five hundred, I had to deliver the show. Luke’s friends were trying their hardest to pour drinks down his throat. But Luke wasn’t having it. He grabbed my wrist, dragged me out of the club, and shoved me into his Maybach. Slam. The door shut so hard the car shook. Like a shaken soda bottle finally popping its cap. I rubbed my nose. “Hey, it’s not my fault you only trust me when you’re drunk. It’s annoying for me too, you know?” 2 It all started six months ago. I was leaving work late when I saw a guy sprawled out in the middle of the street, using a Citi Bike as a blanket. It was hilarious. Being terminally online, I had to take a video. But when I got closer… damn, what a face. Too bad he was wasted. Reeking of alcohol. He was muttering about being thirsty. I took out my water bottle and poured him a cup. He was surprisingly obedient, gulping it down. I tried to wake him up. “Hey, you can’t sleep on the street.” “Where’s your phone? I’ll call your friends.” He ignored me, snoozing away on the asphalt. I had no choice but to pat him down. Found his legs were incredibly long. Like, model long. I found his phone, unlocked it with Face ID (easy when they’re asleep), and FaceTime-d the first contact on his list. I pointed the camera at his face. “Hello? This phone’s owner is sleeping on the street. If you’re his friend, come get him.” The guy on the other end didn’t even ask for a location. He just screamed, “BACK AWAY FROM HIM! FIVE FEET! NOW!” I thought he was worried I was going to rob the hot guy. I scoffed. “Relax, I’m not interested in drunks.” “I’m sending you the location. Hurry up.” The guy yelled again, “Do not ignore me! Unless you want to die!” Psycho. I hung up. Then I sat on the curb to guard the guy. He decided my thigh was a better pillow than the bike. He slept like a baby under the moonlight. Ten minutes later, the friend arrived and looked at us like he was seeing a ghost. I swore, “Look, I didn’t touch him inappropriately.” As soon as I spoke, the guy shifted. He wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in my stomach, treating me like a body pillow. I couldn’t pry him off. I pulled his ear. “Hey! Wake up! Your friend is here. Let go!” He didn’t budge. I looked at the friend. “Help me out here. I can’t move his arms.” The friend stood five feet away, refusing to move. I was pissed. “Why are you just standing there?” He said, “I don’t want to die.” Me: “…” What? 3 The guy explained he wasn’t a friend, but a bodyguard. He pulled his car up, parking exactly five feet away. “You have to get him into the car.” “Are you sick? He’s your boss, not mine! I called you out of the goodness of my heart, and now I have to do the heavy lifting?” The bodyguard refused to help. He stood there with his arms crossed. I was furious. I took it out on the drunk guy, dragging him like a sack of potatoes. The bodyguard, probably afraid I’d damage the merchandise, finally stepped forward to help. Suddenly, the man who was dead to the world sprang up. Faster than I could blink, he pulled a Swiss Army knife from his belt. He shoved me behind him and slashed at the bodyguard in one fluid motion. The speed. The aggression. If the bodyguard hadn’t dodged, there would have been blood. I stared, jaw on the floor. What the hell? The bodyguard was back at the five-foot mark, smiling awkwardly. “See? That’s why I didn’t help.” “When the Boss is drunk, no one can get close. His defense mechanism is extreme.” I touched my neck instinctively. Okay, I’m out. But the drunk guy just put the knife away and rested his heavy head on my shoulder, falling back asleep. Me: “…” The bodyguard was baffled. “You are the only person I’ve ever seen get close to him when he’s like this.” Are you blind? He’s leaning on ME! I wanted to cry. “So what do we do?” “You have to put him in the car and drive him home. Can you drive?” “Ideally, yes. In practice… maybe?” “Please.” “Are you guys pranking me? Why only me? What about his parents?” “His parents died a long time ago. He only has a grandfather, and even he can’t get close.” This was insane. I had to use every ounce of strength to wrestle a 6’2″ man into a car and then drive him home. Afterward, the bodyguard added me on WeChat, saying he might need me again. “Get lost! Never again!” He transferred me five thousand dollars. I immediately typed back: “My pleasure! Call me anytime! But this is the rate every time.” 4 Two weeks later, late at night, the bodyguard sent me five thousand. [Miss Lin, emergency. Please come. Location sent.] I followed the GPS to the most exclusive club in the city. I opened the door to the VIP room and saw several powerful looking men knocked out cold on the floor. Paramedics arrived and wheeled them all out. The only one left was Luke Vance, holding his Swiss Army knife, backed into a corner, eyes bloodshot and scanning the room for threats. Honestly, he looked like a demon ready to kill. I didn’t dare approach him. My legs were shaking. I tried to return the money. “Nope. Can’t do it.” The bodyguard immediately sent another fifty thousand. “Understood. Danger pay. Is this enough?” “…” I didn’t mean that. But fifty grand! I’m just a corporate slave. I cannot say no to fifty grand. So, I walked up to him. Gently patted his shoulder. “Hey, don’t kill me. Put the knife down.” I really didn’t expect him to listen. He looked at me with blurry eyes for a long moment, then folded the knife away. Then he swayed and collapsed right into my arms. Oof! He was heavy. I lost my balance and we both went down. Luckily, right before we hit the floor, he twisted his body and became a human cushion. I landed softly on top of him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386371”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My brother and I are professional simps. He’s obsessed with a cold, ascetic CEO. I’ve been secretly in love with the city’s brooding “Crown Prince” for years. Then, the news broke: both of our crushes were getting engaged to other people. My brother and I stared at each other in silence for a long time. Then we ran away. Later, hiding out on a tropical island, we were tracked down by two very angry, very powerful men. That’s when I found out my idiot brother had posted a status update right before we fled: [Me and my sister are off to start our new life together. Incest is wincest! Bye, losers!] 1 When I heard Julian was getting engaged, my brain short-circuited. I thought I was prepared for this. I knew he was out of my league. But when the day actually came, I realized I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. It hurt. Maybe it was because we’d gotten closer recently. Just last week, we went to a symphony together. It was his favorite orchestra. I begged a friend for tickets and nervously asked him if he wanted to go. I even had a speech prepared: If you don’t want to go with me, you can take the tickets and go with someone else. But Julian said yes. I was floating on pink clouds. I did my makeup, wore my best dress, and memorized facts about Mozart. And then… I fell asleep. I had been too excited to sleep the night before. Ten minutes into the second movement, I was out cold. Not just dozing—I was drooling on Julian’s shoulder for a solid thirty minutes. If the applause hadn’t woken me up, I probably would have started snoring. I looked at Julian, mortified. He was rubbing his shoulder. “I am so sorry… is your arm dead?” “It’s fine,” Julian laughed, looking amused. “Not dead yet.” We walked out of the concert hall. Just as we reached the exit, someone called his name. A gorgeous girl ran up to us. “Julian! It really is you!” She looked thrilled. “Are you here alone?” “Hey, Chloe.” Julian gestured to me with his chin. “I’m here with her.” Chloe looked at me with bright, curious eyes. “Hi! Are you Julian’s girlfriend?” My brain, still foggy from the nap, rebooted slowly. Julian didn’t say anything. He just looked at me. I decided honesty was the best policy. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Just a friend.” Julian’s expression didn’t change. Chloe didn’t press. Instead, she turned back to Julian. “Did you drive? My ride bailed halfway through. Can you drop me off? We live close anyway.” Ouch. They were close. Julian looked down at me. “Is that okay?” Chloe looked hopeful. “Sure,” I said. “Of course.” “Okay then.” Julian started walking. “Let’s go.” “Wait—” I called out. “I just remembered I need to stop at Target. You guys go ahead.” I didn’t need anything from Target. I just didn’t want to be the third wheel in his car. Julian stopped. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Are you sure? You’re okay with me taking her home alone?” “Yeah, totally!” I waved, pretending to be breezy. “Bye!” “Right.” Julian turned around. Before he walked away, he dropped one last sentence. “Sarah, you’re very generous.” I had a feeling I messed up. After that night, his texts were cold. I didn’t know how to fix it, so I stopped texting first. Then came the engagement news. I bought a six-pack of beer and sat in my backyard, trying to drown my sorrows like a character in a sad movie. Halfway through the second bottle, a voice boomed behind me. “HOLY SHIT!” My brother, Sam, looked horrified. “You’re drinking?! Did you forget graduation night when two glasses of wine made you puke on my shoes?” Me: “…” Sam continued, “What could possibly be this bad? Don’t tell me you’re heartbroken over Julian getting hitched!” Me: “…” Me: “Yes.” Sam: “…” 2 I’m Sarah. My brother is Sam. We are three years apart. We have a lot in common. We are both pathetic simps. He’s chasing Adrian, a stoic business tycoon. I’m chasing Julian, the wealthy heir to a real estate empire. Our second commonality: We both like men. Yes, my brother is gay. When he came out, our parents almost had a stroke. Thankfully, Sam has been a chaos agent since birth, so their tolerance was high. They eventually accepted it. My mom looked at me with deep concern. “Sarah, are you also…” “No, Mom,” I said. “I’m just like Sam.” Mom grabbed her chest. “You’re a lesbian too?!” “No! I mean, I also like men.” Mom put down the Xanax. Our third commonality: We are terrible at dating. I’m shy and slow. Sam is a flamboyant butterfly. He’s been throwing himself at Adrian for months, but Adrian is an iceberg. Different methods, same result: Failure. Sam sat next to me. “Forget him! There are plenty of fish in the sea. I’ll find you some hot guys!” “No,” I said. “Your hot guys are all gay.” “Not all of them!” Sam paused. “Okay, most of them.” “No.” “Why are you so stubborn?” Sam started trash-talking Julian. “He’s not even that great! He looks polite, but he’s actually a manipulative sociopath! Haven’t you heard of ‘white on the outside, black on the inside’?” I defended my crush. “Oh, and Adrian is better? He’s just an ice cube. Black on the outside, black on the inside.” Sam flicked my forehead. “Hey! I’m trying to comfort you!” I ignored him. “I told you your method wouldn’t work,” he lectured. “You’re too subtle. You make him homemade sandwiches and say you bought them. You go to boring galas just to see him, hide in a corner, and wait for him to say hi first.” Me: “…” “You have to be direct! Like me!” “But you failed too,” I whispered. “At least Adrian isn’t engaged!” Sam shot back. Ouch. I checked my phone. A text from my best friend, Zoe. Zoe: Sarah! Big news! That tycoon your brother is obsessed with? He’s getting engaged too! Zoe: What is in the water? Is there a BOGO sale on engagement rings? Zoe: Is your brother making fun of you? Roast him back! I looked at Sam. He shivered. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Are you… pitying me? You got it backward, sis.” I kept staring. Sam’s smile faltered. “No…” I nodded. “Yes.” Sam grabbed his phone. He typed furiously. Five minutes later, he put the phone down, eyes glassy. “Pass me a beer.” I opened one for him. “Sam, are you okay?” “Don’t comfort me.” “I wasn’t going to. I was going to say thanks. I feel much better now.” Sam flipped me off. We drank in silence. “Sarah,” Sam said suddenly. “Yeah?” He looked like a mad scientist who just had a breakthrough. “Kid, let’s run.” “Huh?” 3 “Run where?” “A private island in Southeast Asia. No visas needed. We disappear for two weeks. No phones, no heartbreak. Just sun and booze. What do you say?” I had vacation days saved up. Sam was a freelancer. It sounded… perfect. “Let’s do it.” Sam booked the tickets immediately. “We leave the day after tomorrow!” But I was weak. Before we left, I wanted to see Julian one last time. I heard he was attending a charity gala. I put on a dress and went. As usual, I hid in a corner, scanning the room like a creeper. Five minutes in, Julian walked in. He looked like a Greek statue in a tuxedo. I shrank back into the shadows. Was his fiancée here? She must be so happy. The thought made my chest ache. I decided to leave before I saw them together. But I got caught. “Sarah?” It was Kyle, one of Sam’s friends. “Kyle,” I smiled weakly. “Here alone? Where’s Sam?” “He’s not here.” “Heading out?” Kyle noticed me edging toward the door. “I’ll give you a ride. I’m leaving too. Just let me say bye to someone.” Before I could refuse, Kyle walked off. I looked around. Julian was gone. “Who are you looking for?” I spun around. Julian was standing right behind me. He always did this. He always found me. “No one,” I lied. “You’re here.” He smiled. “I am.” “Are you… alone?” I asked carefully. “Yes,” he said. “Who else would I be with?” The words Where is your fiancée? stuck in my throat. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small box. “This is for you.” “What is it?” “A tie clip.” I had bought it weeks ago. If I didn’t give it to him now, I never would. It was custom engraved with his initials. Julian opened it. “Thank you. I like it.” “Do you want to try it on?” “Sure.” He handed it back to me. Me: “?” “Aren’t you going to put it on me?” He stood there, chest out, totally natural. I hesitated, then stepped closer. My hands shook as I slid the clip onto his tie. I looked up. He was staring down at me. “How does it look?” My heart was drumming against my ribs. “Good.” He smiled. I was mesmerized. “Sarah?” Kyle was back. “Ready to go?” “Bunny?” Julian interrupted. (Note: My family nickname). His smile was polite but terrifying. “It’s my nickname,” I explained quickly. “Ah. You two must be close if he knows your nickname.” Julian was smiling, but the air felt cold. “He’s my brother’s friend.” Kyle extended a hand. “Kyle. Nice to meet you.” Julian shook it. “Julian.” I felt like I was suffocating. “Kyle, let’s go.” Julian looked at me. “Kyle?” He was turning into a parrot. “I’m leaving now,” I said. Julian didn’t speak. “Oh,” I took a deep breath. “Happy engagement.” I whispered it. Julian frowned. “What did you say?” I didn’t have the guts to repeat it. I grabbed Kyle and ran. When I got home, Sam was drunk. “Went to see Julian again? You sneak.” I didn’t deny it. “You never learn,” he sighed. “Still a coward. No wonder he’s marrying someone else.” “You went to the bar again?” I countered. “Yep.” “You never learn,” I shot back. “Still a slut. No wonder Adrian is marrying someone else.” Sam: “…” 4 We flew out the next night. Waking up to the crystal blue ocean helped. Sam was thriving. Within two days, he knew every bartender on the island. I sat on the beach and stared at my chat history with Julian. Three days. No messages. Sam snatched my phone. “Stop looking at him! Look at the menu! I found you some options.” He swiped through photos of hot guys he’d secretly taken. “This one is rich. This one is foreign—practice your English!” “No,” I pushed him away. “You keep them.” “You think I don’t want to?! They’re straight!” Sam sat down next to me. The sea breeze rustled the palms. “Sam,” I said softly. “Don’t be sad.” “Sad? Me? Ha! I’m a catch. Adrian is blind.” “Yeah. He is.” Sam looked at me like I was possessed. “Did you tell Mom I killed her succulent?” “No. I mean it.” People think Sam is a player. But I know the truth. He flirts with everyone, but he’s only ever loved one person. Adrian just couldn’t see past the glitter. Sam sighed. “Let’s go to the bar.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386370”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was the Sinclair’s real daughter, the one they swapped at birth. But when the imposter and I were tied up on a skyscraper rooftop, and they were forced to choose one of us, I was the one they let go. Chloe was saved. I was pushed off the eighteenth floor. By some miracle, I survived. And in that moment, any lingering hope I had for them died. Then, almost overnight, everything changed. My parents, who had treated me with nothing but disdain, started cautiously asking about my favorite foods. My brother, who had once wished me dead, began sending me expensive jewelry. Even my fiancé, who swore I’d never measure up to Chloe, started planning our wedding. I had no idea what was going on. 1 I was dragging my suitcase down the marble entryway when I ran into Eleanor Sinclair—my mother—returning home with Chloe. A uniformed driver followed them, his arms laden with shopping bags from high-end boutiques. They were arm in arm, the picture of a perfect mother-daughter pair. Chloe’s eyes landed on my suitcase, her expression a mask of manufactured surprise. “Audrey,” she said, her voice dripping with false concern. “Don’t tell me you’re running away just because Mom forgot to pick you up a little something from her trip.” I dropped the handle of my suitcase. “A gift?” I stared at them. “You already gave me my eighteenth birthday present. You stood by and let them push me off an eighteen-story building.” I let a bitter smile touch my lips. “Now that’s what I call a generous gift.” A familiar wave of irritation washed over Eleanor’s face. “Audrey, that was an accident,” she snapped. “The kidnapper forced our hand. Did you want us to just stand there and watch Chloe die? Besides,” she added, her voice chillingly dismissive, “you’re standing right here, aren’t you?” Standing right here. After being pushed from a rooftop, even landing on the firefighters’ airbag meant three months in a hospital bed before I could even learn to walk again. Not one of them came to visit me. Not once. These were my people. My blood. I was their daughter, but because Chloe’s parents had switched us at birth, I was the one who suffered fifteen years of starvation, abuse, and humiliation. Even after the truth came out, they still poured all their affection onto Chloe, the girl who had stolen my life. For me, there was only criticism and suspicion, a constant assumption that I had some ulterior motive. It used to break my heart. Now, it didn’t stir a thing. I had already found an apartment to rent. I had a little money saved up, enough to last me until I graduated and could leave this city for good. From now on, Audrey was going to have a good life. I shouldered my backpack and grabbed my suitcase. “Chloe couldn’t die,” I said, my voice steady. “But I wanted to live, too. Since you made your choice back then, you can just consider Audrey dead from this day forward. I won’t bother you again.” A flicker of triumph crossed Chloe’s face before she could hide it. She opened her mouth to offer some empty, placating words, but Eleanor cut her off, her expression turning to ice. “You said that, Audrey. Not us,” she warned. “Don’t you dare come crawling back to this house one day, because I won’t let you in.” I nodded, my voice crisp. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t step foot in this house again if I were dying on the doorstep.” “Audrey, have you thought about how much this will hurt Dad and Evan?” Chloe chimed in from beside Eleanor, her tone dripping with feigned sincerity. “It all happened so fast. They were just panicked and worried about me. And after all, the Sinclairs have provided for you all these years.” It was a veiled reminder, as always, that I was an outsider. A charity case. Chloe had used this tactic a hundred times, and every time before, I had lost control, screaming at them, demanding to know why I, their real daughter, didn’t deserve a single drop of their love. Chloe lived in a bright, luxurious suite of rooms, with a staff to cater to her every whim. I was given the small, dark utility closet under the stairs, so cramped it couldn’t fit a desk or a proper dresser. The only sunlight I ever got was a narrow sliver that cut across my cot for an hour when the sun was at its highest. I was their flesh and blood, yet I lived like a rat in the walls, scurrying to survive in the shadows of their grand life. But finally, I was done hoping for more. “Provided for me?” I looked straight at Chloe, then at Eleanor. “I lived in a storage closet. I ate whatever was left on the catering trays after one of your parties. You never bought me a single article of clothing. I paid for my own school fees and living expenses with part-time jobs. For three years, you haven’t spent a dime on me. In fact, considering all the housework I did, I’d say you owe me back wages.” “That’s enough!” A sharp voice cut through the air from behind me. 2 My father, Robert Sinclair, and my brother, Evan, had just gotten out of their car. They were both glaring at me. “All this drama just for money,” Robert sneered, his voice laced with contempt. “Chloe has never been as crass and materialistic as you. We never should have acknowledged you in the first place.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. “Acknowledged me? As your daughter? Who in all of South Crest even knows I’m your daughter? You think I’m materialistic, that I only care about money?” I gestured wildly. “That’s because Chloe never has to think about it! She doesn’t even have to ask. You just pile jewelry and houses and trust funds on her. Me? All I get from my ‘family’ is my own brother accusing me of being a thief!” My gaze fell on Evan, who stood silently to the side, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. When I first came to the Sinclair mansion, I was an enemy to everyone. Everyone except Evan. He was the only one who showed me any kindness. He would ask about the scrapes on my knees, inquire about my grades, and secretly press a piece of candy into my palm when no one was looking. “It’s a big brother’s job to make his little sister happy,” he’d said with a warm smile. I was so naive. I believed he genuinely cared. I let my guard down completely, so when he gave me a delicate silver bracelet, I accepted it without a second thought. Until the day Evan called the police, reporting that a custom bracelet he’d bought for Chloe was missing. In front of the entire family, the police searched my tiny closet and found it tucked away in my things. I tried desperately to explain, to tell them that Evan had given it to me himself. Eleanor’s hand cracked across my face. “You are so cheap, Audrey,” she hissed. “Evan barely speaks to you. Why on earth would he give you a bracelet? Especially this one, which he had made specifically for Chloe.” I crumpled to the floor, my hand pressed to my stinging cheek, staring up at Evan in disbelief. And in that moment, everything clicked into place. Evan was already involved in the family business, the heir apparent Robert and Eleanor were grooming. If he had truly wanted to protect me, why would he let me live in a closet? Why would he stand by and watch me get hurt, time and time again? Every single one of our “kind” interactions had taken place in secret, where no one could see. Later, after the police had left, Evan cornered me, his face twisted into a cruel smirk. He told me everything. The scrape on my knee wasn’t an accident; he’d paid another student to push me down the stairs. The candies he gave me were laced with something to make me feel sluggish and sick, all to ensure my grades would never surpass Chloe’s. “You know, Audrey, there was one thing I said that wasn’t a lie,” he whispered, his voice like poison. “It’s a big brother’s job to make his little sister happy. It’s just a shame my only sister is Chloe. What the hell are you?” At sixteen, I had been stabbed in the back by the person I trusted most. Looking back now, it feels like I was under some kind of spell, desperately clawing for a shred of affection that was never there. But after falling from that building, I finally understood. Nothing is more important than being alive. Their love was like candy laced with arsenic—tempting on the outside, but designed to drag you into a world of pain. Facing their collective annoyance now, I felt nothing. The will to fight, to argue, to plead, was gone. “You know,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, “you were right about one thing. My return was a mistake. So I’m leaving. Let’s put everything back the way it was.” Without another glance at the Sinclairs, I picked up my suitcase, adjusted my backpack, and walked out the door. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind me. And just like that, the invisible chains that had bound me for so long simply fell away. I walked down the long, manicured driveway, a strange lightness in my step. I found myself humming a tune as I dragged my suitcase toward my new, rented life. The apartment wasn’t big—just one bedroom, a living area, and a bathroom—but it was a palace compared to that closet. After I finished unpacking, I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted but content. I was just drifting off to sleep when my phone buzzed violently on the nightstand, jolting me awake. I grabbed it and answered without looking. Leo Prescott’s impatient voice filled my ear. “Audrey, what is it this time? Hasn’t Chloe given up enough for you? Do you really have to push her like this, running away from home to threaten everyone?” His voice softened into a condescending sigh. “What happened to the sweet, understanding girl I used to know?” “She’s dead,” I said, sitting up. My voice was calm, detached. “You all gave up on her. You watched her fall, remember? And besides, Leo, didn’t you always want me out of the Sinclair house? Why are you pretending to care now?” 3 I met Leo Prescott when we were kids, after I saved him by chance. He was the sole heir to the Prescott fortune, and in the middle of a rebellious phase, he’d gotten into a fight with the wrong crowd. I’d just been thrown out of my adoptive parents’ house and happened to be passing by. I faked a call to 911, and the boys scattered. To “repay” me, he insisted on transferring to my school. He’d even hang around while I worked my after-school job at a diner. I helped him with his calculus homework, and he protected me from bullies, even getting into a fight once to defend me. But the moment Leo found out I was the true Sinclair heiress, everything changed. He accused me of being selfish, of not considering Chloe’s feelings. He was convinced I was just a gold digger, after the Sinclair fortune. I couldn’t understand it. “Those are my real parents, Leo,” I had argued, my voice breaking. “The life Chloe has was supposed to be mine. Her parents stole me, and my adoptive parents abused me. All I want is my identity back. How is that my fault?” It wasn’t until later that I learned the truth. Leo had known who I was from the very beginning. Our meeting wasn’t an accident. The Prescotts and the Sinclairs had a long-standing marriage agreement between their children. Leo’s parents were old-fashioned; if they knew I was the real Sinclair heiress, they would have forced him to marry me, not Chloe. His plan had been to get close to me, earn my trust, and then convince me to leave South Crest forever, securing Chloe’s position. He never expected me to discover the truth on my own and march straight to the Sinclair’s front door. After I found out, I tried to break off the engagement countless times. Even Leo, theatrically threatening to kill himself, declared he would never marry me, shouting that I wasn’t worth a fraction of Chloe. But his parents wouldn’t budge. Perhaps that’s why, on my eighteenth birthday, when the kidnapper held us both on that rooftop and demanded they choose, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He chose Chloe. I was pushed. That was the closest I have ever been to death. But fate, it seems, had other plans. The emergency airbag saved my life. But what good was surviving? My parents, my brother, my fiancé—they were all fussing over a traumatized Chloe, some of them even muttering that it would have been simpler if I had just died. That way, even if the truth about Chloe’s identity got out, she would still be the one and only, beloved daughter of the Sinclair family. “I’ve cut all ties with the Sinclairs,” I said into the phone, my voice flat. “Our engagement is void. Don’t bother me again.” I hung up before he could reply. I slept better than I had in years. The next morning, I gathered my things and headed to school. After three months in the hospital, I only had a little over a month until the SATs. If I could score high enough to get the state scholarship, my college tuition would be covered. My teachers at Northwood High were incredibly supportive. They had printed out all the materials I had missed and even compiled notes for me. Free from the constant stress of the Sinclair household, my health and spirits improved dramatically. Even my classmates commented that I seemed more alive than ever before. Life was quiet. Peaceful. Until the day I walked into my homeroom and was met with a sea of strange looks. Before I could ask what was wrong, my friend Maya rushed over. “Audrey,” she whispered, “Ms. Peterson just told me your brother is here to see you. You don’t have a brother, do you? This has to be some kind of scam.” Hearing this, other students crowded around my desk. “Yeah, exactly!” “You’ve been on your own for years, no one ever cared. Now that you’re about to ace the SATs, some long-lost ‘family’ shows up?” “Don’t worry, Audrey. We’ve got your back. No one’s going to bully you.” “That’s right! You’re our future valedictorian!” Listening to them all stand up for me, a genuine smile spread across my face. “It’s okay, guys,” I said. “It’s probably just some lunatic. My parents died in a car crash three years ago, and I lost touch with all my other relatives.” This was the story I had told everyone at Northwood. When my adoptive parents found out I was going to the Sinclairs, they had tried to stop me. They’d sped after me, lost control of their car on a bridge, and died on impact. It was a grim truth I preferred to keep to myself. My classmates looked relieved. “Okay, then I’m going to go tell Ms. Peterson to kick that creep out,” Maya declared, standing up decisively. Just then, a voice called out from the doorway. “Audrey.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386369”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day my wife gave birth to another man’s child, her parents hired ten security guards to keep me away from the maternity ward. But I never showed. I didn’t make a scene. Later, I heard her mother was holding her hand, stroking her hair. “Ava, don’t you worry,” she’d said. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t get within a hundred feet of you.” “Your father has men watching the main entrance, too. If he dares to show up and cause trouble, we’ll have him arrested.” Ava, pale and exhausted, managed a weak nod. But her eyes still drifted towards the elevator bank. The space was empty. Only then did she finally let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She couldn’t understand it. All she was doing was giving her high school sweetheart a child, a legacy before he died. Why couldn’t I just understand that? As a nurse placed the crying infant in her arms, a genuine, relieved smile spread across her face. She told herself that if I came to visit her the next day, she would forgive all our recent fights. She would even be willing to let me be the baby’s father. What she didn’t know was that I had just filed my final paperwork with Doctors Without Borders. In seven days, I would renounce my American citizenship and disappear into the world’s forgotten corners. I was never coming back. 1 The day Ava was discharged from the birthing center, I was finishing the last of my handover paperwork at the hospital. I walked up to her parents’ front door and paused, my hand on the knob. Laughter spilled from inside. “He’s such a beautiful baby,” her mother cooed. “Those big eyes… he got them from his father, that’s for sure.” Leo emerged from the kitchen holding a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup. “I made this myself,” he said, his voice a gentle hum. “You’re still weak. You need to build up your strength.” He sat on the edge of the bed, feeding Ava spoonful by spoonful with a tenderness that screamed of domestic bliss. They looked like a perfect family. Her father, shaking a baby rattle, was grinning from ear to ear. “This little guy is just so charming, just like his dad. Thank God he’s not Ethan’s. Can you imagine? Having a doctor for a father would be a nightmare, all work and no play.” My hand tightened on the doorknob until my knuckles were white. I remembered the first time I met her father. He’d clapped me on the shoulder, beaming. “A doctor! Saving lives! It’s an honor to have you in the family.” He’d told me he’d been a surgeon himself, forced into early retirement by a violent patient who’d ruined the nerves in his hand. Now, he was saying a doctor wasn’t fit to have a family. I had been away for a one-year fellowship. In that single year, this home had become a place where I no longer belonged. I lowered my head, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Ava and I had been married for three years. She told me she was staunchly child-free, and I understood the risks of childbirth, the nine-circles-of-hell ordeal it can be for a woman. I never pushed her. I remember the day I left for my fellowship abroad. She’d cried, her eyes red-rimmed, telling me she couldn’t bear to be without me. For that entire year, we were inseparable, despite the distance. We called every day, sharing every little detail of our lives. My colleagues would tease me, saying we were like newlyweds, even after three years. Then, one month ago, I finally got approval for a surprise trip home. I endured an eight-hour flight, my body screaming with exhaustion, but I didn’t care. I rushed straight from the airport, only to find Ava on our doorstep, her belly swollen and round, her hand in that of her first love. Leo’s voice pulled me from the memory. “Ethan? Man, when did you get back? Why are you just standing in the doorway?” The laughter inside died. Everyone turned to look. When Ava’s father saw the resignation letter in my hand, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. “How did I ever entrust my daughter to someone like you? What a disgrace. You quit your job? What’s the plan, Ethan? Are you expecting us to support you?” “What kind of husband are you?” her mother chimed in, her finger pointed at me like an accusation. “You quit? That job was a golden ticket, and you couldn’t even handle that? What can you do? Ava’s recovering, the baby needs things… money, Ethan! Or do you expect the three of you to live on air?” A hollow laugh escaped my lips. “Whose wife and whose child,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, “is whose responsibility.” “What did you just say, Ethan? Have you no sense of duty?” Ava finally broke. Her eyes were blazing, her face flushed with anger. “Leo saved my life in that car crash three years ago! If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. His parents are gone, and now he has terminal cancer. Soon, there will be no one left in the world to even remember he existed.” Her voice cracked. “Why do you always have to attack him? Do you really think I’m that kind of woman? A cheap, disgusting cheat?” A coughing fit seized her, and Leo was immediately at her side, rubbing her back, his face a mask of concern. He turned to me. “Ethan, maybe you should just back off a little. I know this is all my fault. I promise, I’ll disappear from your lives. But please, don’t let me ruin what you two have.” I looked at the four of them, a perfectly united front. A wave of nauseating clarity washed over me. They were the family. I was the intruder. Then Ava spoke, her voice laced with steel. “Ethan, my patience has a limit. If you ever dare to come after Leo again, you can forget about coming back to this house. If you want to stay married to me, you will drop this. At the christening next week, I’m willing to tell our friends and family that you’re the baby’s father.” Next week? My gaze drifted to the sleeping infant in the bassinet. Next week, I’d be on a plane to a different continent. But before I left, I didn’t mind giving them one last surprise they’d never forget. My expression remained neutral. “Okay.” Without waiting for their reaction, I turned and walked to the bedroom to pack. If I was leaving for good, I didn’t want a single trace of myself left behind. The sounds of their cheerful chatter seeped through the closed door. I paused, my hands stilling on a folded shirt. “Leo,” I heard Ava say, her voice thick with emotion, “I want the baby to have your last name. That way, even if he calls someone else ‘Dad’ one day, he’ll always remember who his real father is.” I didn’t need to see her face to picture the adoration in her eyes. My heart, already fractured, felt like it was being ground into dust. I remembered that awful day last month. I’d just gotten home, a souvenir I’d bought for her in my hand. And there they were, walking back from a stroll, hand in hand. The look on Ava’s face was pure panic. Leo, however, just looked at me with mild confusion, as if I were a stranger who’d wandered up the wrong driveway. I said nothing. My eyes were glued to the impossible curve of her stomach. I’d been gone for eleven months. My wife was pregnant. There was no math, no self-deception that could make that child mine. It wasn’t until Ava frantically stepped in front of Leo, shielding him, that the silence was broken. “This,” she’d said, her voice trembling, “is my husband, Ethan.” 2 I thought hearing that would make Leo back off, show some restraint. Instead, he smiled and extended a hand as if he were the host welcoming me into my own home. As he brushed past me to enter the house, he leaned in and whispered, his voice for my ears only, “I hear you’re a bit older than me. Guess that makes you the big brother, huh? After all, your wife is carrying my child.” A hot, white rage surged through me. The eleven months of longing, of missing her, curdled into pure, undiluted fury. I swung. My fist connected with his jaw with a sickening crack. I lost control. If there had been a knife nearby, I think I might have actually killed them both. A neighbor heard the shouting and called the cops. They took us all down to the station, but it was a domestic dispute. They couldn’t do much. They sent us home. The second we walked in the door, Ava’s parents, who had rushed over, started in on me. They didn’t ask a single question. They just yelled. Yelled about me causing a scene, making them a laughingstock in the neighborhood. Yelled about my years of education being a waste, resorting to violence like a common thug. If Leo had been seriously hurt, they snarled, they would make me pay. It was then I realized. They knew. They’d known all along. They supported it. In one short year, Leo had become their perfect son-in-law. I was the only one left in the dark. The bitter taste in my mouth was overwhelming. My chest felt hollow. Ava approached me then, her hands trembling as she reached for mine. “I never meant to betray you, Ethan. Leo is sick. The doctors gave him six months, tops. I couldn’t stand the thought of him dying without leaving anything behind.” Her voice was a desperate whisper. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just… you were so far away, and I didn’t want to distract you from your work. I was going to explain everything when you got back. If you’re willing… can we raise this baby together? Please?” Something so monumental, so life-altering, and she spoke of it as if it were a minor inconvenience we could simply work through. I finished packing the last of my clothes into a suitcase. Just then, her mother pushed the door open. She saw the suitcase at my feet and gave me a look that said, good, you have some sense after all. “You were gone so long, we let Leo use your room,” she said, not a hint of apology in her voice. “And we converted your study into the nursery. So, you can take the couch tonight. Or find a hotel.” I was tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired. I didn’t have the energy to find a hotel. I just nodded, ready to crash on the sofa. But deep in the night, the baby’s cries echoed through the house. I rolled over, reaching for my earplugs, when I heard Ava’s voice, thick with sleep. “Honey, can you do something about the baby? He won’t stop crying.” “You’re my baby,” Leo murmured back. “I just need to take care of you. Let the little guy cry. It’s good for his lungs.” A soft giggle from Ava. “Stop it.” Then came the unmistakable sound of sheets rustling, of bodies shifting on a mattress. I pulled the comforter over my head, a useless shield against the sounds seeping through the walls. I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see was her face the first time she told me she loved me. She was so bright then, so beautiful, and her world revolved entirely around me. That girl was gone. And she was never coming back. 3 I slept in fits and starts, and by the first light of dawn, I was out the door with my suitcase. I went to the federal building and finalized the paperwork to renounce my citizenship. With the government-sponsored placement through Doctors Without Borders, the process was expedited. The clerk didn’t ask many questions. As I was about to leave, she called out to me, offering a genuine, sympathetic smile. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there.” I managed a small smile back. I found a cheap hotel nearby, dropped my bag, and went out to find something to eat. And that’s when I ran into them: Ava, Leo, and her parents. Leo was wearing a custom-tailored Armani suit that must have cost a fortune. He looked radiant, flushed with health. There was nothing about him that suggested a man at death’s door. “Ethan! I thought that was you from a distance,” he called out, his smile wide and confident. “Ava said it couldn’t be you over here.” His eyes fell to the flyer I was holding—a recruitment ad for construction work that a girl handing them out on the corner had pressed into my hand. I’d only taken it because she looked cold. A knowing smirk spread across Leo’s face. “Looking for work, huh? A construction site might be tough, man. You don’t exactly have the build for it. You’ll wear yourself out.” I didn’t say a word. My silence seemed to confirm his assumptions. “You should have just said something,” he continued, placing a chummy hand on my shoulder. “I could probably help you out. We’re family, after all. If you’re doing well, I know Ava will be taken care of. It would put my mind at ease.” Ava’s expression, which had been confused, hardened into contempt. Her brow furrowed as she looked at me, her eyes filled with a disgust that twisted my insides. “Why would you help him?” she snapped. “He’s the one who threw away a brilliant career as a doctor. If he starves on the street now, he has no one to blame but himself. Honestly, Ethan, you have no backbone at all. Did you think this little pity party would guilt me into giving up my son?” I stared at her, at the familiar lines of her face that had suddenly become the face of a stranger. I remembered a time, early in our marriage, when I was caught in a nasty bit of hospital politics and almost lost my promotion. I’d talked about quitting, changing careers entirely. Ava had just held me. She’d stroked my back and whispered in my ear, “We’re a team. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. Quitting isn’t the end of the world. A pearl will always shine, no matter what. I’ll always be by your side, my love.” The woman who promised to always be by my side was now letting another man humiliate me. She had forgotten her words, forgotten the love she once swore was etched into her soul. Her parents just shook their heads, their faces a mask of disappointment. “I was blind,” her father muttered. “To think I was going to leave my daughter’s happiness in your hands.” “Thank God we’re still around,” her mother added. “If we were gone, who knows how you’d mistreat her.” Their voices grew louder, more theatrical, drawing the stares of people passing by on the street. My hands, hanging at my sides, clenched into fists. Just as I was about to speak, Leo stepped forward again. “Well, we were just on our way to get a family portrait done. You should come, Ethan. After all, I’m counting on you to help take care of Ava and the baby for the rest of your life.” Ava cut him off with a disdainful scoff. “Look at him. He’d just lower the tone of the whole picture.” She turned on her heel and started walking toward the photo studio, calling over her shoulder for Leo to hurry up. “Guess we’ll see you around, then,” Leo said, giving my shoulder one last, patronizing pat. “Don’t want to keep you from your job hunt.” I watched them go, a perfect family unit, and felt nothing. Not anger, not sadness. Just a vast, cold emptiness. If this was the life Ava wanted, who was I to stand in her way? 4 Three days before my flight, I got a text from the Dean of Medicine at my old hospital. The top cardiac specialist I’d asked him to contact was in the country for a conference. He’d be willing to take a look at my father-in-law’s coronary disease. Ava’s father had a bad heart; he’d been rushed to the ER a few years back. During my fellowship, I’d made a point of consulting with colleagues, collecting research on his specific condition. No matter what had happened, there were years of history between us. I figured if I did this one last thing, my conscience would be clear. We would owe each other nothing. But when I told him I wanted to take him to the hospital, his face soured instantly. “The hospital? Why? Are you trying to jinx me? My bypass surgery was a complete success. There’s nothing to check.” “There’s a world-renowned specialist in town just for today,” I tried to explain. “He could take a look, maybe suggest some preventative care for the future—” He cut me off by throwing his glass of water at me. It shattered against the wall behind my head. “Empty words! You think a world-renowned specialist is someone an unemployed bum like you can just book an appointment with? All you do is brag! You know who really cares? Leo! Leo stayed up all night once just to get me an appointment with a good doctor. Where were you then, huh?” Everything was Leo this, Leo that. His attitude made it painfully clear. It didn’t matter what I did; it would always be wrong. I could never measure up to Leo. When that realization settled in my gut, all I could do was offer a bitter smile. “If you don’t want to go, then forget it.” I was a fool for even trying. Soon enough, the day of the baby’s christening party arrived. I was late. The banquet hall was packed with relatives whose names I couldn’t remember. For a moment, I was disoriented. The celebration was grander, more lavish than my own wedding to Ava. And there, at the entrance to the hall, was a massive, five-person family portrait. Ava, Leo, the baby, her parents. All of them beaming. As for me, I was the punchline. Relatives saw me and immediately began whispering amongst themselves. I didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were saying. Soon, one of my aunts-in-law cornered me, her grip tight on my arm. “Ethan! When did you get back? Ava never mentioned it. I heard that after your fellowship, you were on track to become a department head at City General! Your future is so bright!” I just nodded politely, saying nothing. I could see the pity and contempt in her eyes. It was obvious. I wasn’t in the family portrait. I wasn’t the one standing by Ava’s side. Another busybody pointed across the room to where Leo was feeding Ava a piece of cake. “Ethan, who’s that man? I didn’t know Ava had a brother.” A faint smile touched my lips. “Ava’s new husband.” The circle of gossiping aunts around us fell silent, their eyes wide. Then, they huddled together, whispering furiously. Ava’s family clearly didn’t care about appearances, so why should I help them keep up the charade? Just then, Ava walked onto the stage and took the microphone. “Thank you all so much for coming to celebrate my son’s christening,” she began. “Before this, I never thought I wanted to be a mother. I was always afraid I wouldn’t be good enough. But in that moment, lying in the delivery room and hearing his first cry, I finally understood the incredible power of a mother’s love.” She spoke with such passion, she looked like she was about to be moved to tears by her own speech. The aunt next to me yelled out, “Let’s hear from the proud father! Where’s the dad?” The atmosphere in the room froze. All eyes darted between me and Leo. The answer was hanging in the air, but the aunt’s question was a direct challenge, forcing Ava to say it herself. My eyes met Ava’s. I started walking slowly toward the stage. Under her stunned gaze, I reached her side and gently took the microphone from her hand. “What are you doing?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with panic. She grabbed my sleeve. “I’m warning you, Ethan, don’t you dare say anything stupid, or I swear you’ll regret it.” I calmly pulled my arm from her grasp. If she had a clear conscience, what was she so afraid of? I turned to the crowd, my voice calm and steady. “First, thank you all for coming today. Many of you here watched Ava and I get married. I’ve always cherished your blessings for our life together. But as you probably noticed on your way in, there’s a family portrait at the entrance.” Ava’s face went pale. She lunged for the microphone, her expression turning thunderous. I sidestepped her easily and continued, my grip firm on the mic. “To be honest, I was shocked to see it, too. But not as shocked as I was to come home after a year-long fellowship abroad to discover that my wife—who had told me she wanted to be child-free—was eight months pregnant.” “This is a humiliation I will not swallow. This is a burden I will not carry!” “Ava, I want a divorce.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386368”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When the zombie apocalypse hit, pets turned into guardians. The system allowed three per person. My best friend spent a fortune on three Tibetan Mastiffs. My landlord cleared out his fish tank for a trio of alligators. My boyfriend stormed the city zoo and came back with a lion. And me? I had three stray cats. The oldest was blind, the middle one had a limp, and the youngest was barely a month old. The moment the System locked in our pet registrations, I knew. I was screwed. My whole plan was to hide with my three disabled cats and just… survive. Quietly. Day one of the apocalypse: Terror. Day two: Helplessness. Day three: My sons padded up to me, their big tails swishing, and dropped something unidentifiable at my feet. “Mom,” the oldest one said, his voice a low rumble in my head. “I bit the heads off every zombie on the block.” He nudged the grisly trophy with his nose. “So. How’s this for playing it safe?” 1 【Apocalypse countdown: 24 hours. Your pets will become your guardians. Each individual is limited to three.】 The moment the System’s announcement echoed in everyone’s mind, the world imploded. Pampered toy poodles and fluffy house cats were dumped on the streets. Vicious, aggressive dogs that people used to cross the street to avoid were suddenly the subject of frantic bidding wars. My boyfriend, Mark, heard the news and raced to my apartment. Without a word, he scooped up my three sleeping cats, bundled them into their carrier, and headed for the window, intending to toss them out like a bag of trash. I moved faster than I ever had in my life, planting myself in front of him. “Mark, what the hell are you doing? I raised them!” He exploded. “Did you not hear the announcement? The world ends in twenty-four hours, Anna! You really think a blind cat and a cripple are going to protect you?” I stood my ground, a human shield in front of the window. Seeing that force wasn’t working, Mark softened his voice, turning on that infuriatingly fake charm. “Anna, baby, just listen to me. Be reasonable. We get rid of these… liabilities, and we’ll have six slots between us. We can get some serious protection. We’ll be untouchable.” I wasn’t moving. I puffed out my chest, a bluff I didn’t feel. “Who says they can’t protect me? Leo isn’t crippled, and Luna isn’t blind. They’re good cats.” It was a stupid, pointless lie. Leo’s left hind leg had always been stiff, and Luna’s eyes were milky, sightless orbs. “You touch them today, and we are over. I mean it.” Mark stared at me like I’d just been committed to an asylum. He slammed the carrier onto the floor, and the raw anger finally broke through. “They’re not blind, Anna? No, I’m the one who’s been blind! What was I thinking, dating a stupid, bleeding-heart case like you?” He stormed toward the door. “We’re done. And when the world goes to hell tomorrow, don’t you dare come crawling to me.” The door slammed shut, the sound rattling the cheap pictures on my walls. Only after he was gone did I rush to the carrier, letting my cats out, my hands shaking as I stroked their fur. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that kind of vitriol. Ever since I graduated college, the label “bleeding heart” had stuck to me like glue. And it was all because I was, to the bone, a cat person. After college, I got my own place, a tiny one-bedroom I could barely afford. To finally fulfill a childhood dream, I took in two strays I found shivering in a dumpster during a thunderstorm. A male and a female. I named the big one Leo and the smaller one Luna, and I loved them like they were my own kids. To most people, having a couple of rescue cats isn’t strange. The strange part was their appetite. They wouldn’t touch the cheap kibble from Walmart. They turned their noses up at the hundred-dollar-a-bag, grain-free stuff from PetCo. They ignored cans of tuna and fancy catnip treats. They only ate fresh meat. Raw. Three-pound chickens? They could tear through four or five a day. When they got tired of chicken, it was pork. Then steak. If I didn’t buy it for them, they’d slip out the window and steal it from the butcher shop down the street. From that day on, my life became a frantic cycle of cleaning up their messes. I was drowning in credit card debt, my already pathetic paycheck vanishing into their food budget. I was the quintessential millennial cliché: working overtime at a soul-crushing job, subsisting on ramen and caffeine, and trying to ignore the constant, gnawing hunger. I fainted at my desk more than once from malnutrition. The older women in my apartment building would see my gaunt face and pull me aside, their voices thick with pity. “Honey, if those cats can find their own food, maybe you should just let them go.” “You’re so young, Anna. You can’t ruin your health like this. You’ll end up with permanent problems.” Lying in bed one night, my stomach aching with hunger, I decided they were right. So, under the cover of a moonless night, I drove them to a park across town and “set them free.” 2 Honestly, the day I abandoned Leo and Luna was the first day in years I ate until I was full. Barbecue ribs, buffalo wings, a whole pint of Ben & Jerry’s. I ordered everything I’d been craving for months and ate until I had to lean against the wall to stand up. I fell asleep in a food coma, dreaming of flavors I had almost forgotten. But the good life didn’t last long. The next morning, a frantic, scratching sound at my door jolted me awake. I opened it, and there they were. Leo and Luna. Leo had a fat trout dangling from his mouth, and Luna had a dead pigeon pinned under her paw. They sat there, looking up at me with those pleading, pathetic expressions they’d perfected. As soon as the door was open, they pushed the food toward me, an offering. The wall I’d built around my heart overnight crumbled into dust. But then the memory of the constant hunger, the dizziness, the shame of my empty bank account returned. I swallowed hard. “No,” I whispered, my voice thick. “I can’t afford you. You can’t come back.” I shut the door in their faces, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. On my side of the door, I was a mess, creeping to the peephole to watch them, tears streaming down my face. The first day, they staged a hunger strike right on my doormat. The second day, the hunger strike continued. The third day, still nothing. I watched through the peephole as the cats I’d worked so hard to nurse back to health grew thinner and thinner. On the outside, I was a monster of cold resolve. On the inside, I was dying with them. After a week, Leo couldn’t take it anymore. He collapsed, retching up bile right in front of my door. That was it. My resolve shattered. I threw the door open. “Get in here,” I choked out. I was resigned to my fate. I was born to be their servant. To keep us all from starving, I descended further into the gig economy. I worked my 9-to-5, then spent my nights and weekends driving for Uber and delivering for DoorDash. My days stretched into sixteen-hour marathons of pure exhaustion. The news spread through my old college friends. Anna’s lost it. She’s got some weird disease where she’ll die without her cats. I didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping my little family together. Over time, I even got used to the grueling pace. I was almost proud of my resilience. And just when I thought I had it all figured out, Luna got pregnant. She gave birth to a single, tiny ball of fur, so white it was blinding. A true demon, born into this world. 3 I’d never seen a cat so white. If you put him in a snowdrift, the snow would look dirty by comparison. I named him Ghost. Ghost opened his eyes on day one. He was walking by day two. By day three, he’d figured out how to open the apartment door, sneak downstairs, and chew through the insulated delivery box to drink all the fresh milk meant for the entire building. Leo and Luna were content with raw meat. But Ghost? Ghost would only eat things that were alive. He single-handedly drove the neighborhood’s escaped-hamster population to extinction. He’d leap into the nearby creek and steal hooked fish right off the line, leaving furious fishermen with nothing. He even got into the neighbor’s backyard and snatched their prize-winning pet rabbit. My role in our little family leveled up again. I went from Chief Financial Officer to Chief of Damage Control. On top of working myself to the bone, I spent my free time making humiliating, bowing apologies to my neighbors. At twenty-three, fresh out of college, I was Anna, full of ambition, convinced I was going to make something of myself. Two years later, I was Anna, the woman at the bottom of the food chain, so beaten down I felt like I should apologize to the rats in the sewer for taking up space. Looking back, it was a hard road. But the four of us, we had each other. We’d made it through the worst of it. And now, the apocalypse was coming. Zombies. Fast, strong, and numerous. One bite and you were either dead or one of them. It didn’t matter if my cats had been eating chickens and rabbits their whole lives. Even if I’d been feeding them timberwolves, they couldn’t stop a horde of zombies. I watched the clock on the wall. Less than twenty-three hours to go. There was no way I was getting rid of my cats. But with the little money I had, I couldn’t afford a trained guard dog, let alone tame a wild animal. What was I supposed to do? Just wait to die? After weighing my options, I clenched my jaw. Fine. I’d just have to prepare. I didn’t have to fight the zombies head-on. If I had enough food and water, I could just… hide. Barricade myself in this apartment and wait it out. Survive for as long as I could. Every extra day was a win. With a new sense of purpose, I joined the frantic mobs looting the city. While everyone else was fighting over attack dogs and exotic animals, I slipped into the back of a grocery store. I made trip after trip with my beat-up 2008 Honda Civic, hauling hundreds of pounds of rice, flour, and canned goods. I cleared shelves of ramen, mac and cheese, and Spam. I filled half my living room with bottled water alone. Through all this chaos, my three cats didn’t stir. They just slept. Lately, it seemed like sleeping was all they ever did. My tiny apartment was now a fortress of non-perishables. I was drenched in sweat, my body screaming with exhaustion. But I wasn’t done. I went to a hardware store and bought steel plates and bolts, reinforcing my door and windows. It wouldn’t stop a horde, but it might buy me some time. Finally finished, I collapsed on the floor, ready to pass out. Suddenly, I heard a key turning in my lock. My landlord burst in, flanked by a group of menacing-looking men. “Leave the supplies. Get out,” he said, not even looking at me. “I’m terminating your lease.” 4 “On what grounds?” My heart hammered against my ribs, but fury quickly replaced the fear. The landlord was arrogant, a classic slumlord who had never once fixed my leaky faucet. He casually hefted a crowbar in his hand. “On the grounds that this is my property, and I can do whatever the hell I want.” His men pinned me to the floor. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but watch as they carried away all the food I had risked my life to gather. I watched as they brought in a massive, custom-built aquarium and set it up in the middle of my living room. Somehow, my landlord had gotten his hands on several small alligators. Their jaws were wired shut for now, but I could see the glint of their teeth. He looked at his new pets with a smug, proud grin, then noticed Ghost sleeping on the floor. He snatched him up by the tail. He swung my tiny, sleeping kitten back and forth, laughing. “Hahaha! Don’t tell me you were planning on this little furball protecting you! There’s not enough meat on its bones to get stuck in my gators’ teeth.” Ghost, who was usually a terror, was completely limp, as if he were in a coma. Leo and Luna, who were fiercely protective, didn’t even twitch. They were all dead to the world. The landlord laughed again and made a move to drop Ghost into the tank. “NO!” I screamed. “I’ll go! I’ll take them and go right now. Just don’t hurt him.” He tossed Ghost into my arms. “Good girl. Now get the hell out of here. If I see you again, I’ll feed you to them, too.” One hour until the apocalypse, and I was on the street with my three comatose cats. This was it. I was well and truly finished. I held one cat in my arms and had the other two in a backpack carrier, wandering aimlessly, looking for a place to hide. I rounded a corner and bumped right into two people. I looked up and my blood ran cold. It was my best friend, Jessica, and Mark. They were holding hands, walking three enormous, snarling Tibetan Mastiffs. “Well, well, look what we have here,” Jess cooed, her voice dripping with venom. “It’s Anna. Still clinging to your precious little masters, I see.” I ignored her, my eyes locked on their intertwined hands. “We broke up a few hours ago, Mark. How are you with her?” He dropped the charade, his face twisting into a sneer. “You really think I was ever into you, Anna? You’re a broke, scrawny charity case. Jess and I have been together for months.” “I was going to trick you into raising some strong pets with me,” he continued, his voice cruel. “Then, when the time was right, I’d have pushed you out as zombie bait. That way, Jess and I could have had nine guardians between us. But you’re just too stupid for your own good. Couldn’t let go of these useless fleabags.” Jess giggled, squeezing Mark’s arm. “Honey, why are you wasting your breath? We’ve got mastiffs and a lion now. She’s dead meat no matter what. Why don’t we just let our babies have a little appetizer?” The meaning behind her words hit me. My whole body started to shake. They’re going to kill me. Before the zombies even get here, I’m going to be eaten by dogs. I could see their teeth. Long, yellow canines. It would hurt so much. As if they understood, the mastiffs surged forward, barking furiously. Jess clapped her hands. “That’s it, boys! Go on! Rip that bitch apart!” The dogs lunged. The smell of their hot, fetid breath washed over me. My feet felt like they were nailed to the pavement. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t even scream. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the teeth. And in that instant, my cats woke up.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386367”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After I got pregnant with our second, my husband hired a nanny to “help with my workload.” But when I fell down the stairs, she didn’t call 911. Instead, she rushed to comfort my daughter, the one who had pushed me. “It’s okay, Sophie, sweetie. Don’t be scared,” the nanny cooed, stroking her hair. “Auntie Jenna knows it wasn’t your fault. Mommy’s just gotten clumsy since the new baby came along.” My daughter buried her face in the nanny’s arms, her sobs muffled. “I hate her, Auntie Jenna! That stupid, ugly woman doesn’t deserve to be my mom!” she wailed. “When Daddy divorces her, you can marry him. You can be my new mommy, okay?” I saw a flicker of pleasure in my husband’s eyes. The nanny, Jenna, just blushed. But when I finally did step aside and give up my title as the wife of a wealthy man, they both came to regret it. I guess a nanny’s salary doesn’t quite cover the costs of a man and a child who bleed money like it’s their job. 1 It was Sophie’s third birthday. At six months pregnant, I had squeezed myself into a sweltering, plush mascot costume of her favorite cartoon character, planning to give her the surprise of her life. But when I pulled off the heavy mascot head, grinning as I held out her present, her face fell. “Oh. It’s you,” she said, her voice flat with disappointment. “Where’s Daddy?” I figured she was just having a moment. I’d been so buried in work lately; maybe she felt neglected. I forced a patient smile. “Daddy went to pick up your birthday cake, sweetie. He’ll be right back.” She just turned away, her little face a cold mask. A wave of dizziness washed over me, the heat from the costume clinging to my skin, but I pushed through the discomfort and offered the gift again. “Sophie, look. Mommy got you the princess dress you wanted. Why don’t you try it on for me?” She didn’t even glance at it. Her hand shot out and slapped the box from my grasp, sending it clattering to the floor. “I don’t want your stupid present!” she shrieked. “I want Daddy! He promised he’d take me to get a kitten today!” I frowned. A kitten? Sophie was severely allergic to cats. Mark would never make a mistake like that. I reached for her, my voice gentle. “Are you sure that’s what he said, honey? I don’t remember him mentioning that.” That was the wrong thing to say. Her face twisted in disgust. She ripped her arm from my grasp and gave me a hard, two-handed shove. My balance was already precarious. I stumbled backward, my feet finding only air, and then I was tumbling, crashing down the stairs. The world was a blur of motion and pain. Sophie’s terrified screams echoed from the top of the landing as Jenna, the nanny, came running. “Jenna,” I gasped, my voice thin and reedy. “Call an ambulance. Now.” She gave me a fleeting, dismissive glance before scooping my crying daughter into her arms. “It’s okay, Sophie, honey. Don’t be scared,” she murmured, her voice dripping with false comfort. “Auntie Jenna knows it wasn’t your fault. Mommy’s just gotten so clumsy since the new baby.” Sophie clung to her. “That woman is ugly and stupid, and she won’t let me have a kitten! I don’t want her to be my mom anymore!” she sobbed. “You’re nice to me, Auntie Jenna. When Daddy divorces her, you should marry him. You can be my new mommy!” The words struck me harder than the fall. I couldn’t breathe. Sophie’s birth had been traumatic. A nightmare of an emergency C-section, an allergy to the standard epidural. I had been half-conscious, feeling every pull and stitch as they brought her into the world. And this was the child I had nearly died for? Saying things like that? Just a few weeks ago, she was my little shadow, my sweet girl. What had changed? Was it Jenna? Mark had hired her when I was about five months along. He said it was to help me with Sophie. I was hesitant—Jenna was barely out of her teens—but Mark insisted she was from a reputable agency. “She’s young,” he’d argued. “She’ll have more energy to keep up with Sophie.” It made sense at the time, so I agreed. Not long after, a neighbor pulled me aside. “I don’t want to be a busybody,” she’d said, “but that new nanny of yours seems a little… overly friendly with Mark. Just be careful.” I nodded and thanked her, but I didn’t take it seriously. Mark and I were college sweethearts. We’d built a life together. If he wanted to cheat, he’d had countless opportunities with women far more impressive than a twenty-year-old nanny. But I never imagined the nanny’s target wasn’t my husband, but my daughter. Thinking back, Sophie’s coldness towards me started right after Jenna arrived. A sharp, violent pain radiated from my abdomen, shattering my thoughts. There was no more time to think. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers slick with sweat, and dialed 911 myself. Then, everything went black. 2 When I woke up, the sterile smell of a hospital filled my nostrils. My hand instinctively went to my belly. The baby was still there. Thank God. The thick padding of the mascot costume must have cushioned the fall. The room was empty. Who had brought me here? I reached for my phone, planning to call Mark. But when the screen lit up, I saw a flurry of notifications from the parent group chat for Sophie’s preschool. 99+ messages. I scrolled to the top. It was a photo posted by Sophie’s teacher, and she had tagged me. “Audrey, you never answered your phone today, I was worried you weren’t coming to the parent-teacher conference! It was so lovely to finally meet you. You’re even more beautiful in person! Mark is a lucky man.” My blood ran cold. Today was the first parent-teacher conference of the year. After Sophie was born, Mark and I had an agreement: I would carry the babies, he would handle the school runs and parent meetings. But I hadn’t been there today. Who did the teacher think I was? With a sense of dread, I clicked on the photo. It was Jenna. She was holding Sophie, a serene, maternal smile on her face. Mark stood beside them, his arm resting possessively on the back of her chair. At a glance, they looked like a perfect family. The comments below the picture were a mix of fawning and envy. “Wow, Mark, you really hit the jackpot! What a gorgeous wife!” “Seriously! And talk about a power couple. I’m pretty sure that limited edition Maybach in the parking lot is his. I heard those things are over a million dollars!” The mention of the car sent the chat into a frenzy. Someone asked Mark what he did for a living to be so successful. He replied with a coy, humble message about just being “lucky.” A knot of bitterness formed in my stomach. Mark had essentially married into my family’s money. He was a kept man. The seed money for his boutique photography studio had come from me. The Maybach was a birthday gift from me. His income alone wouldn’t even cover the insurance on it. I understood a man’s pride. A little bragging was one thing. But why would he take Jenna to our daughter’s conference and let everyone believe she was his wife? I didn’t have the heart to read anymore. I dialed his number. It rang and rang, unanswered. Just then, I heard voices from the hallway outside my room. It was Mark and Sophie. “Daddy, can you divorce Mommy tomorrow?” Sophie pleaded in her sweetest voice. “I want Auntie Jenna to be my new mommy.” Mark chuckled. “You really like your Auntie Jenna that much, huh, sweet pea?” “Of course! Auntie Jenna is young and pretty, and she’s going to buy me a kitten! Mommy is just mean and bossy!” Sophie’s voice turned demanding. “So, will you do it or not? If you don’t, I’m never speaking to you again.” “Alright, alright,” Mark said with a long-suffering sigh. “Whatever my little princess wants.” The door swung open. Mark’s smile vanished the second he saw my eyes were open. “What the hell was that parent-teacher conference about?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. He had the grace to look guilty. “It’s your fault, Audrey. You’re always working, you never have time for Sophie. Jenna was just trying to help so Sophie wouldn’t feel sad.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Helping? Does ‘helping’ now include pretending to be my replacement?” Before he could stammer out another excuse, Sophie ran forward, planting herself between us like a tiny bodyguard. “You’re a mean lady!” she shouted, pointing a finger at me. “Daddy already promised he’d divorce you! When we kick you out, you won’t be able to be mean to him anymore!” My eyes locked on Mark. “Is that right?” He wouldn’t meet my gaze. Sophie got frantic. “Daddy! You promised! You can’t take it back!” My own anger flared. “Sophie Elizabeth,” I snapped, “I haven’t even started with you. Why did you push me down the stairs? There’s a baby in my belly. What if you had hurt the baby?” Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Mommy’s yelling,” she whimpered. “I’m scared!” Mark immediately turned on me. “Look what you did. And nothing happened, did it? Why are you taking it out on a child?” he scolded. “Besides, if you hadn’t gained so much weight with this pregnancy, you wouldn’t be so clumsy. You can’t blame Sophie for that.” He scooped her into his arms. “Come on, sweet pea. Daddy will take you for some ice cream.” The air left my lungs. The words were a physical blow. It was true, I’d gained a lot of weight. I hadn’t even wanted a second child, but Mark had insisted Sophie was lonely. He’d worn me down until I agreed. And now he was using it against me. He was disgusted by me. Just then, his messenger bag, left on a chair in the corner, chimed. He had left his iPad. A sick feeling pulled at me. I opened the bag. His iMessage was open, the screen still lit. I don’t know why I did it, but I started scrolling through his conversation with Jenna. It was all there. A carefully documented campaign of sabotage. It started innocently enough—daily updates on me and Sophie, laced with subtle digs about how I was neglecting my family. Then came the messages bragging about how attached Sophie was becoming to her. Once they were comfortable, she started asking about his finances, feigning naive curiosity. And Mark, drunk on the praise and adoration, had forgotten his place. He told her my family’s corporation was his. He complained about me, my moods, my work. And Jenna, with her gentle and understanding words, reeled him in, whispering suggestions and validations. Even a fool could see her endgame. She wanted to be me. She was angling for the throne. My hands shook as I used my phone to record the entire chat history. A part of me tried to rationalize it. A man can be replaced. A nanny can be fired. But a daughter… a daughter is your own flesh and blood. She’s just a child, I told myself. She’s been manipulated. I decided I would deal with Mark and Jenna later. First, I had to fix things with my daughter. But when I walked through my front door later that day, carrying a box of her favorite cupcakes, I was greeted by a scene that burned any remaining hope to ashes. 3 I walked in to find Sophie curled up on Jenna’s lap. “Auntie Jenna, when are you going to marry my daddy?” she asked, her voice full of childish sincerity. Jenna bit her lip, feigning demureness. “Oh, Sophie. Do you really want me to be your new mommy that much?” Sophie nodded furiously. “Uh-huh! Daddy already promised he’s going to divorce that old woman. As soon as they’re divorced, he’s going to marry you!” Jenna cast a shy, hopeful glance at Mark, who was watching from the other end of the sofa. “Is that what Daddy wants, too?” Mark’s expression was unreadable, a smug, ambiguous smile playing on his lips. He neither confirmed nor denied it. Sophie scrambled off Jenna’s lap and started tugging on his arm. “Daddy, say something! All you have to do is say yes, and Auntie Jenna will be my new mommy forever!” Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes landed on me, standing frozen in the doorway. The color drained from his face. He shot up from the couch as if he’d been electrocuted. “Audrey,” he stammered. “You’re home.” A cold smile touched my lips. “Looks like I’m interrupting something.” He started to make an excuse, but Sophie charged at me, her tiny fists balling up and punching my thigh. “You bad woman! Don’t you bully my daddy!” The pure hatred in her eyes was a physical blow. I felt my heart crack. Just then, Jenna rose gracefully from the sofa. “Audrey, you’re misunderstanding,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I just feel so bad that Sophie feels neglected by her own mother. I was only trying to give her a little extra love… I never thought you’d take it this way. You’re so suspicious and… and irresponsible. No wonder Sophie doesn’t like you.” I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. “You can drop the act,” I said, my voice like ice. “The day I fell, you didn’t call an ambulance. That was negligence. Now you’re actively trying to turn my daughter against me. You are a nanny, Jenna. And when you cross a line this egregious, you get fired.” Not only fired. I could have her blacklisted across the city. My father was the majority shareholder in the agency chain that had placed her. But Jenna didn’t flinch. She pulled Sophie into a defiant hug. “Mark hired me to take care of Sophie, and she will always be my first priority,” she said, her chin held high. “I may just be a nanny, but you can’t intimidate me. If you want to fire me, fine. But I feel sorry for Sophie, knowing she’ll have no one to look after her.” A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. She made a show of turning to leave. “NO!” Sophie shrieked, launching herself at me, kicking and punching. “You evil woman, you can’t make Auntie Jenna leave! You should be the one to leave! I only want Auntie Jenna!” Mark finally spoke, his tone dripping with disapproval. “Audrey, I hired her. Don’t you think you should have consulted me before firing her?” A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips. “I pay for her. Why on earth would I need your permission?” He was carrying on an emotional affair with our nanny and now he had the audacity to lecture me. I pulled out my phone, brought up the screen-recorded video of their texts, and shoved it in his face. “Did you really think I didn’t know, Mark?” I said, my voice dangerously low. “The only reason I didn’t expose you sooner was to spare you some dignity in front of our daughter. But you just had to push it.” I paused, letting the weight of my next words sink in. “Since you’re so unhappy with my decisions, how about this: we get a divorce. Then you can do whatever you want with your precious little nanny. How does that sound?” Mark’s face went pale. He was silent. Jenna looked at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mark? Are you really going to let her send me away? I promised Sophie I’d take her to see the kittens.” Sophie’s wails intensified. “I don’t want Auntie Jenna to go! Bad mommy! I hate you!” Mark shot a look at Jenna, then scooped Sophie up without another word and walked out the front door. After Jenna left, a fragile peace settled over the house. I told myself it had all been her influence. With her gone, Sophie would eventually come back to me. Mark, for his part, blocked Jenna’s number in front of me and swore it would never happen again. My trust in him was nonexistent, but for Sophie’s sake, I decided to give him one last chance. It was a mistake. One night, I woke up around 2 a.m. and he wasn’t in bed. I found him on the balcony, his back to me, whispering into his phone. 4 In the dead of night, the voice coming through the phone was unnervingly clear. It was Jenna. “When are you going to divorce that old hag?” she demanded. “Just be patient,” Mark soothed. “Give me a little more time.” “Patient? How can I be patient?” she hissed. “If you don’t divorce her soon, I’m getting rid of this baby!” Mark glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Don’t say that, baby, please,” he whispered urgently. “I promise you, I’ll handle her. I’ll make this right for us.” Jenna was pregnant? With Mark’s child? My world tilted on its axis. I thought, for Sophie, I could endure a broken marriage. But this… they had been sleeping together all along. And then Mark said something that shattered what was left of my reality. “Just hang on a little longer, for our son,” he pleaded. “I’m looking for another way to get rid of her. If we divorce, I’ll have to give her half the assets. I can’t let that happen. I’ve put up with her for this long… a few more days won’t kill us.” My body started to shake uncontrollably. When I married Mark, he didn’t even have enough money to buy me a ring. I’d married him against my family’s wishes, against all common sense. To protect his fragile ego, I let the world believe he was the provider, the breadwinner. And now, for a nanny, he was talking about getting rid of me. Killing me. Beside me in our bed, Sophie mumbled in her sleep. “Want… Auntie Jenna… to be my mommy.” I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. It was over. The husband, the daughter—I had to let them both go. I hired a private investigator to gather concrete evidence of Mark’s affair and to dig into Jenna’s background. I was preparing for war. But before I could even launch my first attack, Jenna lost her patience and brought the battle directly to me. 5 I had taken Sophie to Mark’s photography studio to get a new passport photo. As we approached, I saw a small crowd gathered outside, murmuring and pointing. In the center of it all was Jenna. The moment she saw me, she threw herself forward and grabbed onto my legs, collapsing theatrically onto the pavement. “Audrey, please, I’m begging you, let me have my job back!” she wailed, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not lucky like you, married to a rich husband. My grandmother needs medicine! You can’t just have the agency blacklist me over a misunderstanding!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “All I did was try to help with your daughter because you’re always so busy! Why are you trying to destroy my life?” She made a show of trying to bang her head on the ground. Mark, his face ashen, rushed out of the studio. “Honey, I have no idea why she’s here,” he stammered, desperately trying to signal for Jenna to leave with his eyes. Jenna ignored him completely, her performance escalating. In her telling, I was a paranoid, abusive, pregnant monster. It was clear what she was doing. This wasn’t about the job; it was a public spectacle designed to force Mark’s hand. At this point, I had nothing left to lose. The onlookers, however, were eating it up. “That poor girl,” one woman muttered. “Imagine having a mother that paranoid.” “Exactly! She fires the nanny for caring too much? That’s inhuman.” “How did a great guy like Mr. Henderson end up with such a shrew?” Beads of sweat formed on Mark’s brow. He grabbed Jenna’s arm. “Jenna, stop this. I’ll… I’ll talk to the agency. We can get you back to work.” I let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “Mark, since when do you make the decisions in this family?” His face flushed a deep, ugly red. Jenna, sensing a shift in power, straightened up. “Mark, you’re the man of the house! How can you let her talk to you like that? A woman like her doesn’t deserve you.” Mark stood silent for a long moment, then his jaw clenched. He turned to me, his voice seething. “Don’t push it, Audrey. If Sophie knew what a tyrant you are, she would be so disappointed.” “Then let’s not disappoint her,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” I knew he was trying to use our daughter as a weapon. But he had no idea that I was already done. With both of them. His face went slack with shock. He was completely cornered. Our prenuptial agreement was ironclad; in a divorce, he would walk away with nothing. He would never risk that for Jenna. Not when he was still plotting to get my assets. But Jenna didn’t know that. She saw her chance. “Fine! Divorce her!” she crowed triumphantly. “Mark has been sick of you for ages! Even Sophie wants a new mother!” Mark lunged to cover her mouth, but it was too late. I smiled, a cold, empty thing, and pulled a folded document from my purse. I threw the divorce papers at his chest. “Then sign it,” I said. “The daughter is yours. I don’t want her.” Mark looked like he was going to be sick. But Jenna, high on her perceived victory, jumped in. “Don’t you act like some kind of saint!” she shrieked at me. “Just three days ago, I saw you at the Grand Hyatt, all over some young guy, hugging him in the lobby! You’re the cheater! Mark should have thrown you out ages ago!” Mark’s head snapped up. A glimmer of hope, ugly and ravenous, lit up his eyes. “Jenna,” he said, his voice trembling with excitement. “Are you sure? You saw her with another man? At a hotel?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386366”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband is a terrible photographer. Which is a problem, because I’m a beauty influencer with over a million followers. In the three years we’ve been married, Leo has been the perfect partner in every other way. He tracks my cycle on his calendar, kneels to massage my sore ankles after a long day in heels, and makes sure I have three solid meals when I’m too lost in editing a video to remember to eat. But whenever I ask him to take a simple picture for me, that pained look crosses his face. “Babe, I’m telling you, I just don’t have the eye for it. Please don’t make me.” On the rare occasion I could guilt him into it, the results were always comical. The lens, they say, captures the heart of the person behind it. If that were true, Leo’s heart saw me as a bizarrely angled cryptid or, at best, sixty pounds heavier than I am. I eventually gave up. Today, rushing to get footage for my big Christmas brand deal, Leo spoke up from the doorway. “You can’t frame it like that,” he said suddenly. “It’s going to look awful.” In three years of marriage, it was the first time he’d ever offered a single piece of photographic advice. I thought he’d been secretly studying, trying to find a new way to connect with my work. My heart swelled. Beaming, I filmed a little behind-the-scenes clip of his advice and posted it to my story, only to have a tidal wave of ice-cold water thrown in my face by my own comment section. “Wait… isn’t that the guy who used to be Ava Sinclair’s exclusive photographer? No way he ‘doesn’t have an eye for it.’” “To you his first words are ‘you’ll break the lens.’ To her, they were ‘I’m all yours, maestro.’” “Holy shit. Your ‘bad at photos’ husband is LEO DAWSON?!” “I’m more shocked that Leo Dawson is MARRIED. What the hell was I doing shipping him and Ava all those years?” 1 The comments kept pouring in, a relentless flood. “You’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that. It was an open secret in the industry. For Ava’s big competition, Leo stayed up for three straight nights shooting and editing. The second the show was over, he literally collapsed backstage. God, their story is still iconic.” “You think that’s iconic? What about how he just dropped his camera and walked away from the entire industry after she left? He went completely dark. Talk about devotion.” “Girl… I think there’s a little green sprouting on your head.” … The shippers and the trolls took over my comments, and the few remaining were just mourning a love story that never got its ending. Three thousand, seven hundred comments, all piecing together a man I didn’t know at all. This wasn’t the Leo I had fallen in love with—the steady, reliable man who was so calm and self-assured that I was the one who had to nervously bring up the topic of marriage. This was a reckless, passionate kid who would race through a rainstorm to explain a misunderstanding at her apartment, who would loudly and publicly claim her as his in front of her other admirers. The night before Ava left the country was Christmas Eve. That same day, Leo Dawson quit his job at the studio, put down his camera for good, and locked himself in his room, staring at the last set of photos they ever took together. It was a bridal shoot. A joint creation. It was Ava who had taught him how to find the angle, how to adjust the light. They had chosen the gown and the backdrop together. It was their shared memory. He watched the slideshow, and with every image, he wept. I scrolled through the comments, reading their entire history. The bright white of the screen burned, and my eyes stung with tears I refused to let fall. I knew that set of photos. They were legendary. They were the key that unlocked the doors to the international fashion scene for Ava. I remember seeing them back then and thinking, the camera really does have a soul. How much love must a photographer have for his subject, for an audience to feel it radiating from a still image? The composition Leo had just suggested for my video… it was the same framing he’d used for Ava, all those years ago. Was it because Christmas was coming again? Was he thinking of her? “Hey, what’s this? You’re crying?” Leo’s soft chuckle broke the silence. The calloused pad of his thumb brushed against the corner of my eye. I flinched away, forcing a smile onto my face as I tried to keep my voice steady. “Have you ever studied photography? The composition you suggested was really beautiful.” I took a breath. “My regular shooter for the event backed out. I could really use a photographer to save the day. How about it, husband?” Everyone has a past. And for the past few years, he had been so good to me. It was real. Besides, I’d just gotten the positive pregnancy test last week. The future we’d always talked about, our little family of three, was finally within reach. If he said yes, it would mean he had truly moved on. I could pretend I never saw any of this. I could let it all go. But Leo just froze. A long, heavy silence stretched between us before he finally spoke. “I’ve never studied it. You know that. I’m terrible at taking your picture.” His words made my desperate attempt at peace feel pathetic. Laughable. The whole world knew his story with Ava. It was still plastered all over the internet. Leo, my cautious, careful Leo, was telling such a clumsy, easily disproven lie. I lowered my gaze, my voice barely a whisper. “Is that so?” “Then what are all of these comments about?” 2 With the last shred of denial torn away, a frantic energy seized me. I demanded to know why. Leo was silent for a long time. “There is no why,” he finally said, his voice flat. “I loved her. And sometimes, I still think about her. It’s that simple.” He watched my hysteria with a chilling calm before adding, “Chloe, we’re married now. You don’t need to be obsessed with my past.” The irony was a bitter pill. “And what if she came back now?” I shot back, my voice trembling. “If she asked you to be her exclusive photographer again, would you go?” He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand moved to my shoulder, trying to pull me into an embrace. I slapped his hand away, my eyes locked on his, demanding an answer. Leo sighed. “Come on. Don’t work yourself up like this. Let’s just go to sleep.” His composure was infuriating. It painted me as the hysterical, irrational wife. Tears welled, blurring his face. “Would you go, or not?” I insisted, my voice thick. According to the comment section, Ava Sinclair had just returned to the States and opened her own studio. She was looking for a skilled, dedicated photographer. The old fans were in a frenzy, convinced this was the grand reunion, completely unconcerned about the feelings of his legal wife. Leo’s jaw tightened. “No, I wouldn’t go. Okay?” As if on cue, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The caller ID glowed in the dark room: a single, shining letter. A. Without a second thought, Leo grabbed the phone and started to walk out of the room. I lunged, clutching the hem of his shirt. A tear splashed onto the fabric, darkening a small circle. “Answer it here.” We were locked in a standoff. The ringing weakened, and perhaps fearing he would miss the call, Leo actually answered it, right there in front of me. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Ava.” He said her name with a deep, lingering tenderness that twisted a knife in my gut. A soft, gentle voice replied from the speaker. “It’s me.” I felt Leo’s entire body go rigid, so still that he forgot to pull his shirt from my grasp. Ava’s voice was laced with a hint of melancholy. “I’m so sorry to bother you this late. But… I didn’t know who else to call. The photographer for our studio is throwing a fit, and now he’s refusing to shoot the final runway show, let alone come back to the States with me. But the venue here is already booked, and we can’t postpone.” She paused. “I know this is a long shot, but… could you come and save me? Please, Leo. For old times’ sake.” 3 “What about your show over there? How will you manage?” The words flew out of Leo’s mouth before he could stop them. Both Ava and I were stunned into silence. I’d never seen him so impulsive, so reckless. Especially not for me. My own voice rose, sharp and high. “You’re going to fly overseas for her? Tomorrow is Christmas Eve! Our families are supposed to come over for dinner!” I had planned to announce the pregnancy then. Our parents had been asking for years. My mother-in-law would always get that wistful look whenever a friend mentioned their grandchildren. And Leo… Leo had wanted a child more than anything. In our most intimate moments, he would whisper against my ear, his voice thick with emotion, “Let’s have a baby, one that’s just as sweet as you. Please?” On the other end of the line, Ava’s voice suddenly caught. “Leo, is… is that a friend of yours?” “We’re married,” I cut in. A choked sound came from the phone. Leo frowned at me, his voice firm. “It’s just taking pictures, Chloe.” Right. It was just taking pictures. Then why was it an absolute “no” when I asked, but the second she called, he was ready to book a flight to another continent? The air crackled with unspoken things. Ava was the first to break the silence. “Forget it, Leo. It’s okay.” “Wait,” he said, a rush of panic in his voice. He covered the phone’s microphone with his hand and pried my fingers from his shirt. His voice was cold. “Can you just stop this?” “She’s all alone in a foreign country. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get to where she is? I’m helping a friend. What is wrong with that?” I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. But it hasn’t been easy for me, either… This was supposed to be the year I finally broke a million subscribers. But the morning sickness has been relentless. My video output has slowed to a crawl, my livestream numbers are dropping, and my brand partners are getting nervous, even threatening to terminate our contract. The Christmas campaign was a lifeline, a huge opportunity a friend had fought to get for me. But the photographer I’d booked bailed, saying my morning sickness was “disgusting” and he couldn’t work with me. I’m not some naturally gifted prodigy. I got here through sleepless nights writing scripts and endless hours practicing in front of a mirror. Now, because of this pregnancy, I might lose everything I’ve built. And even with all that, I never for a second regretted carrying his child. There was too much to say, too much hurt welling up inside me. The moment I tried to speak, tears started streaming down my face. Leo was already grabbing his camera bag, packing in a frantic hurry. Seeing me cry, he paused. For a moment, I thought he would come to me, hold me, or at the very least, offer some hollow words of comfort, like he always did. But all he said was a flat, dismissive, “Drink some water when you’re done crying. I’m leaving.” My nails dug into my palms. “Are you really going?” I asked, my voice raw. “No regrets?” Leo looked at me, a long, hard stare. Finally, he looked away. “Get some sleep.” The heavy thud of the front door echoed through the house, leaving me completely alone in the cavernous silence. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. For a long, long time, I just stood there, crying. Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, I’d like to schedule a consultation for a… for a painless abortion.” 4 My voice must have been choked with tears, because the young woman who answered the phone sounded startled. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Please, just take a deep breath. Don’t do anything rash.” “Is there something wrong? I can just listen, if you want to talk.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. A wrenching sob tore through me. A complete stranger on the phone was showing me more compassion than my own husband, the man who slept beside me every night, who had looked right at my pain and chose to walk away. Almost as a form of self-torture, I spent the rest of the night digging up old behind-the-scenes clips of him and Ava. There was Leo, blushing when Ava glanced his way while posing. There he was, frustrated with himself for not capturing her at the perfect angle. And there he was in an interview, boldly declaring that she was the most beautiful woman he would ever capture through his lens. In our relationship, he had always been the stable one, the calm one. His emotional steadiness gave me a profound sense of security. So when he was occasionally distant or cold, I just chalked it up to his personality. It wasn’t his personality at all. It was just that he’d already given all his fire, all his passion, all of his grand, romantic gestures to someone else. And he was still ready to fight her battles. I watched until dawn, tears tracking paths down my cheeks. As the first light hit my window, I hardened my heart and forced myself to make a decision. I was at the clinic by eight a.m., clutching my appointment confirmation. The waiting room of the OB/GYN clinic was already packed. I saw so many couples, waiting together for their appointments, their faces glowing with happiness. One pregnant woman grimaced, her face pale. Her husband immediately started rubbing her back. “Are you feeling sick again? This is too much for you. We don’t have to do this, you know. We can just stop.” She gave him a weak, loving smile, and he melted. “I know, I know. You’re doing so great,” he cooed, his eyes filled with adoration. It must be nice. A pang of envy shot through me. My morning sickness had been terrible, but Leo had never really asked about it. He probably still didn’t even know I was pregnant. “Chloe Morgan?” a nurse called. “We’re ready for you.” My thoughts snapped back to the present. I stood and walked into the exam room. The doctor reviewed my chart, her brow furrowed. “Your health history indicates that it’s not easy for you to conceive. If you terminate this pregnancy, it could be very difficult to have a child in the future. I strongly recommend you discuss this further with your family.” I stared down at my hands, which were trembling uncontrollably. My phone screen lit up with a text from my mom. “Happy weekend, sweetie! What do you feel like for dinner tonight? You and Leo pick.” A second text followed. “We are so, so excited for your surprise!” I stared at the messages for a long time, the certainty I’d felt just moments ago beginning to crumble. I was about to tell the doctor I needed more time to think when my phone started ringing. It was Leo. 5 “My camera fell. It’s broken,” he said, his voice a frantic rush. “You need to bring yours. Now. Book the earliest flight you can, the event starts in a few hours.” The words hit me like a barrage of stones, leaving me stunned and confused. Ava’s camera broke. What did that have to do with me? “If the camera’s broken, just buy a new one,” I said, frowning. “You could be at a pro shop choosing a new one in the time it would take me to get to the airport.” Before I could finish, Ava’s tearful voice broke in on the line. “We can’t! They don’t have lenses this good here. The photos won’t be the same.” It clicked into place instantly. My camera. The anniversary gift from Leo. It had a custom-made lens—one of only a handful in the world, he’d told me. I remembered the night he gave it to me. When I opened the box, I’d actually stumbled back, insisting it was too expensive, that my skill level didn’t deserve such incredible equipment. But Leo had pressed it into my hands, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What are you talking about? You’re amazing. You deserve the best of everything in the world.” An identical lens. Which meant he had given one to Ava, too. I tilted my head back, trying to keep the fresh wave of tears from falling. “I can’t. I have something here I can’t get out of.” Ava started to say something else, but Leo cut her off, his voice now sharp with irritation as he took the phone back. “What’s the big deal? Just let Ava use the camera. Your little videos aren’t good enough for a camera like that anyway! And what else do you have going on? That influencer stuff isn’t even a real job. What could you possibly have that you can’t get out of?” His casual, cruel dismissal of my life’s work sucked all the fight out of me. Just before the sob broke through, I let out a small, quiet laugh. “I’m about to go into surgery,” I said softly. “So, yeah. I really can’t get away.” I ended the call, my fingers gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I looked at the doctor, my voice steady now. “We don’t need to discuss it anymore.” “What’s the earliest you can do the procedure?” Everything moved quickly after that. As the IV needle slid into my arm, the sky outside was just beginning to bruise with dusk. The television in the recovery room was broadcasting Ava’s final international runway show. Members of her team were telling the reporters a gushing, romanticized story of her bond with her “prodigal photographer.” Two nurses were chattering excitedly nearby. “It’s so romantic,” one of them sighed. “After all this time, they found their way back to each other.” I looked up at the screen. The camera was doing a close-up on Leo as he shot Ava on the runway. The lights converged on them, and for a split second, their eyes met. It was a look of profound, undeniable connection. Love. The crowd roared, the nurses behind me squealed, and my social media feeds were exploding with a single refrain: I’m shipping this so hard. It was Christmas Eve. It was supposed to be a happy, noisy celebration. The anesthetic began its work, a cold spread through my veins. Amid the sound of a thousand celebrations, I was completely alone as I said goodbye to the tiny life inside me. At that exact moment, Leo was finishing his shoot. He and Ava were standing together, taking questions from the press. They looked like a bride and groom at their wedding reception. “Mr. Dawson, it’s so moving that you came all this way. Could you comment on the current nature of your relationship?” “The rumor is that you two are back together. Is that true?” Leo gave a small shake of his head. “No, that’s not true. I’m married.” The smile on Ava’s face faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered beautifully. “We’re just friends! And his wife is amazing, a huge influencer! I was so touched he would leave his family right before the holiday to come help me. I really didn’t expect it.” Her words were just ambiguous enough for a sharp reporter to seize upon. He pushed his microphone towards Leo. “Mr. Dawson, is there tension in your marriage? There’s currently a trending story that your wife was seen at a clinic today… alone… having an abortion.” At the mention of the word, Leo’s entire body went rigid.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “386365”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel