Eight years ago, my entire family was dismembered and murdered. I was the only survivor. Eight years later, my crime novel, written from the killer’s first-person perspective, became a national bestseller. At a book signing, a talk show host, known for his probing questions, cornered me. “Mr. Vance,” he began, “this novel, written with such chilling intimacy from the perspective of a killer… would you say it’s a form of revenge against the person who murdered your family?” My fans, fearing the question would upset me, started booing, yelling at the host for being so insensitive. But I just held up a hand to quiet them. My eyes held a strange mix of relief and anticipation. “Of course not,” I said with a calm smile. “This isn’t revenge. It’s an autobiography, documenting my own crimes from eight years ago.” “After all,” I added, my voice dropping just enough for the microphone to pick it up, “I was the one who killed them. How could I take revenge on myself?” 1. A stunned silence fell over the room. Then, chaos. “Did I hear him right? What did Asher Vance just say?” “Hahaha, what a jokester. Of course a great writer would have a great sense of humor…” “But look at his face. He’s dead serious.” The crowd was a sea of confusion. I tossed my pen on the table, leaned back in my chair, and crossed my arms, my voice lazy. “There’s nothing to joke about. I’d been wanting to kill them for a long time. The cops, though… they’re pretty useless, aren’t they? Letting me walk free for eight years. If I hadn’t said something myself today, they’d still be scratching their heads over that cold case in another eight years.” Reporters in the audience gasped, a collective intake of breath. They smelled a career-making story. Cameras and microphones surged forward. “Mr. Vance, are you serious? You really murdered your family?!” “Why did you do it? And why confess now?” “Aren’t you afraid of the legal consequences…” My agent, Mark, a burly, perpetually stressed man, threw himself in front of me, trying to hold back the press. “Of course it’s not true!” he yelled. “Asher would never do something like that!” He shot me a look of pure terror, as if he were seeing a madman. “Asher, what the hell are you talking about?” I ignored Mark’s panic, my gaze sweeping over the shocked faces in the crowd. My voice was as calm as if I were describing the plot of my book. “Eight years ago, in our family home, I murdered my parents and my younger sister. Then, piece by piece, I took them apart.” A flicker of something dark and pleasurable crossed my face. I was remembering something I was proud of. “My technique was quite good, I have to say. It took the medical examiner three full days just to reassemble the bodies.” The audience, a mix of fans and reporters, stared in horrified silence. Then, the anger erupted. “Is he a monster?” “He’s proud of killing his own family!” “My uncle was a detective on that case eight years ago! He said the scene was a slaughterhouse! Blood everywhere, body parts scattered all over the house!” “So that’s why Asher, who was away at college, was the only survivor! He was the killer all along!” I tapped the cover of my new book, The Fog. It was a novella I’d spent three years crafting. “So,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips. “I’m sure my fans can now appreciate the stunning authenticity of my work. It’s a shame, really. If I wasn’t worried about the police catching on, I could have made the methods and motives even more true to life.” The crowd went wild. “You’re a monster, Vance! And I used to admire you!” “I own every one of your books! I can’t believe I was a fan of a murderer!” “Your most successful book is a how-to guide for murdering your family? You’re not even human!” If it weren’t for the security guards, they would have stormed the stage and dismembered me right then and there. Mark was sweating profusely, his voice hoarse. “Everyone, please, stay calm! The police will get to the bottom of this!” I saw them blocking the exits. I wasn’t going anywhere. Someone had already called 911. My atonement was about to begin. 2. The police were fast. The Vance family massacre was one of the state’s most infamous unsolved crimes. They had chased their tails for years on that one. In the interrogation room, an older detective hurried in. “Captain Miller, you’re here.” Miller. I looked up at the square-jawed, kind-faced detective. He was the lead investigator on my family’s case all those years ago. The pressure to solve it had been immense, and his failure to do so had stalled his career. “Asher. It’s been a while,” he said, sitting across from me. I gave a weak smile. “It has. Your department’s incompetence is truly remarkable.” Back then, he had been the one to guide me through the initial shock and grief, a steady presence in the chaos. Eight years had not been kind to him. “Asher, why did you kill your family? And why confess now, after all this time?” I adopted a careless, flippant tone. “What’s to understand? We were dirt poor, but they still wanted to blow a fortune sending my sister, Chloe, to art school in New York. The money in that house was for my education. Why should she get to live her dream while I was scraping by on student loans and financial aid?” My voice rose, the calm, collected author disappearing, replaced by a raw, resentful young man. The junior detective taking notes couldn’t help but interject. “But they were your family! Our investigation at the time showed you were all very close!” “Close?” I sneered. “When it comes to your own future, what does ‘close’ even mean? Let’s say you and I were close. If I asked you to give me your pension right now, would you do it?” The young detective’s face turned red. He was speechless. Captain Miller just watched me, his gaze steady. “I reviewed the old case file. The estimated time of death for your family doesn’t line up with the time you were confirmed to be at home.” I gave him a mysterious smile. “Well, you’re the detective. I’m sure you can figure it out. I have my ways of creating an alibi.” 3. Miller left, replaced by another officer who asked for a formal statement. I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. “July 3rd, 2015. I was home from college for the summer. My parents told me their plan to send Chloe to Parsons. I told them no way. I worked my ass off to get into a top university, to win scholarships and grants. Why should she get to piss away our money on an art degree?” “So you argued?” the officer prompted. “Yes. I smashed a glass on my father’s head.” I pictured the wound, the way the blood matted his hair. “I took him down first. My mother and sister were screaming. I went to the kitchen, got a knife, and killed them both.” The officer frowned at my detached tone. “And why did you dismember them?” A slow smile spread across my face. “Misdirection, of course. Everyone knew what a good, loving family we were. What kind of a dutiful son would do something so monstrous to the people he loved?” “You animal,” the officer muttered under his breath. When they left me alone, I just sat there, replaying the plot of The Fog in my head. Before its release, I was a moderately successful writer. The Fog made me a star. And as its fame grew, so did the public’s fascination with the unsolved crime that inspired it. This book signing… it was all part of my plan. Soon, Miller returned. He was sweating, like he’d been running. 4. “You’re lying.” I looked up at him, a half-smile on my face. “What did you find?” “We contacted your old professors. Their stories haven’t changed. On the day of the murders, you were on campus, working on your thesis. We pulled the security footage from that day. You were in the library, the cafeteria, and your dorm. You never left campus. Your university is a thousand miles from your hometown. Without a flight or a train, you couldn’t have made it back in time.” He leaned forward. “So, you weren’t there. You’re lying.” “Is that all you have?” I asked. Miller’s frustration was palpable. “Asher, what are you doing? You’ve incited a public panic, you’re on the verge of destroying your life. All our evidence confirms you weren’t there. You didn’t kill them.” He paused. “Unless you had an accomplice.” I just looked at him, not confirming, not denying. My 24 hours were up. They had nothing. Reluctantly, they had to let me go. As I walked out of the station, I saw a familiar face waiting for me. My uncle. Miller explained, “He’s been here for hours.” My uncle was well-dressed, his hair graying at the temples, a successful businessman. “Asher, what’s gotten into you? Why would you say those things?” He turned to the police. “Officers, please, you have to clear my nephew’s name!” He looked distraught, but his eyes were cold. I turned to Miller with a wry smile. “You want to know who the killer is?” He looked at me, confused. My gaze drifted past him and settled on my uncle. “You don’t have to look far.” 5. The moment I got home, my agent, Mark, was on the phone. “Asher! Do you know what you’ve done? Your book sales have plummeted! Online retailers and bookstores are getting mass returns! The publisher has pulled the book!” He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I’m sitting on my sofa, watching my name being dragged through the mud on every news channel.” [Why did they let him go? Don’t they have any evidence?] [The book is practically a confession! Who else could it be?] [Don’t let this killer walk free!] [The Author’s Guild needs to blacklist Asher Vance! We can’t have his sick fantasies on the market!] [CancelAsherVance] Mark was shaking me by the shoulders. “It’s the end of the world and you’re just sitting there! Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut and make your money?” I pushed him away gently. “Mark, I wasn’t crazy. I really did kill them.” Mark just scoffed. “And I’m the King of England. I’d believe that before I’d believe you’re a killer.” After he left, he called back. “Asher, prepare yourself. This is a huge scandal. The publisher’s worried about their reputation. They might drop you.” I just nodded. The hunger for fame and success that had driven me in my twenties had faded. All I cared about now was the truth. As expected, I got another call from the police. “Mr. Vance, we need you to come back to the station.” When I got there, my uncle was already there, his face livid. “Asher, I don’t know what lies you’ve been telling these officers, but I would never, ever harm my own brother’s family!” Miller looked at me. “Asher, are you accusing your uncle, Robert Vance, of the murders?” “Officers, don’t listen to him!” Robert shouted. I ignored him and spoke to Miller. “A month before the murders, I heard him arguing with my father.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385533”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

A month ago, I was laid off. I didn’t really have a problem with it, but my “brothers” from the Power Electronics Mafia… they had a big problem with it. Brother A: “She’s one of us. One of only two women to come out of Thorne’s lab. He thinks he can just fire her? Who the hell does he think he is?” Brother B: “Does he think we’re just a bunch of glorified electricians?” Brother C: “Forget talking. I’m going to short his company’s stock into the ground.” Brother D: “Short it.” 1. I had to laugh, looking at the messages flooding our group chat. The screen was a wall of violent financial threats and plans to remotely brick every server the company owned. I quickly sent a series of facepalm and “thank you” emojis to calm them down. My “brothers”—the alumni from our legendary professor’s lab—were famously protective. Especially of me, the youngest of the group and one of the few who had chosen to work on the front lines of the manufacturing industry. The company was called “Gridstone Power.” It sounds impressive. They make the “heart” and “nerves” of the smart grid: high-power converters, specialty power supplies, and the monitoring systems that keep it all stable. That sort of thing. My title was “Systems Integration Engineer.” I privately called myself the “Thorne Lab’s Chief Ambassador to Gridstone.” My job was a mix of being the company’s “technical mascot” and its “fire chief.” My boss’s name was Wallace. He was a hardcore “data is king” tech bro (or so he thought). The kind of guy who only sees the world in terms of cost, output, and lines of code. By his standards, in his hyper-quantified value system, my “direct contribution” was minimal. I didn’t design core circuits. I didn’t write control algorithms. I didn’t go into the field to tighten bolts bigger than my head. As a woman, he probably figured I couldn’t anyway. My value was in the invisible network behind me. I came from the “West Point” of American electrical engineering, mentored by an industry legend. My lab-mates, my “brothers and sisters,” were scattered across power companies, design firms, top equipment manufacturers, and research labs from MIT to Germany. Some of them held the keys to project approvals. Some specialized in fixing “gremlin” faults that no instrument could measure. Others were at the bleeding edge, knowing which way the technological winds would blow three years from now. But in Mr. Wallace’s eyes, I was a “tech freeloader,” mooching off the reputation of my alma mater. A disgrace to the lab. To him, my daily work consisted of staring blankly at oscilloscope waveforms in the lab, making a few “chatty” phone calls, and occasionally shipping and receiving weird packages (like a rare, out-of-production microchip for one brother, or a sample of a new magnetic material for another). Wallace’s mantra was: “In a tech company, technology is king. All this external relations stuff is just noise, a distraction. If we need an expert, we’ll hire a consultant. Why keep someone on payroll just for that?” 2. Wallace was a pure tech bro. He had zero respect for anything that couldn’t be quantified. On top of that, I was a woman, and he saw my technical skills as subpar. He couldn’t stand me. If it wasn’t for a senior “brother” putting in a good word, I never would have been hired. He thought my only real value was schmoozing and calling in favors. In his mind, that wasn’t a technical skill. It was something anyone could do, as long as the company was willing to write the checks. But he didn’t understand. In the world of high-power electronics, a world built on experience and trust, some doors can’t be opened with money. Some “dark sicknesses” buried deep in lines of code or circuit topologies can’t be solved by standard procedures. Some industry secrets are only shared with “family.” Like last time. A massive solar inverter station project for a key overseas client. During the final testing phase, the system would randomly trip on “overcurrent protection.” The waveforms were textbook-perfect, but every now and then, the whole thing would just hiccup and shut down. The team spent a week chasing their tails. Code reviews, hardware checks—nothing. The deadline for shipping was approaching, and the late-delivery penalties were astronomical. I had a cold at the time. Running a fever, I recorded a short audio clip of the faint, high-pitched “scream” the inverter made right before it tripped and sent it to a brother of mine at a top research institute in Germany. He listened for half a minute. “Kid,” he said over the phone, “that sound… it’s the bootstrap capacitor on the IGBT driver board. You’re using the Model XX, right? Probably from the ZZ batch. Their ESR is a little high, and it can cause sub-harmonic oscillations under certain load steps. Try swapping it out with a different batch.” With nothing to lose, the company sourced a new batch of capacitors overnight. The next day, the system ran as smooth as silk. At the project’s celebration party, Wallace lavished praise on the hardware team for their “tireless dedication and technical excellence.” No one mentioned the overseas phone call or the handful of capacitors that cost less than a hundred bucks. I sat in the corner, sipping my orange juice, looking at the slide on the screen that read “Engineering Excellence, A Team Victory.” Right, I thought to myself. The team. I was used to it. I couldn’t change my boss’s mind. The engineers who could draw the perfect circuit or write the most efficient code were the heroes. The person who just “made a phone call” was, at best, a decorative accessory. A line item that could be easily “optimized” in the next round of “efficiency improvements.” They never understood. That tiny, crucial capacitor was connected to a vast and intricate “technical nervous system.” And now, Mr. Wallace had personally yanked that capacitor right off the board. 3. Kevin, the guy in the cubicle next to me, saw my daily routine as being no different from the stray cats that hung around outside the building. A nice, but ultimately non-essential, part of the office ecosystem. Kevin was a star in the hardware department, and a tech bro through and through. The only things that existed in his world were waveforms, solder joints, and lines of code. He’d see me smiling at my screen, fingers flying across the keyboard, and assume I was slacking off, chatting with friends. In reality, I was monitoring our lab’s alumni Slack channel. A brother’s team just solved a decades-old problem with silicon carbide applications? I was the first to congratulate them. Another brother was ranting about the user-unfriendly design of a new power management chip from a major brand? I was right there with him, taking notes on the hard-won lessons. He’d see me comparing prices on obscure, old-school components and assume I was indulging in some weird retro hobby. He had no idea I was hunting for “happy pills” for my mentor and a few key senior brothers. My old professor had a passion for restoring vintage radios; a senior brother was a whiskey aficionado. A small, thoughtful gift builds more goodwill than a multi-million dollar consulting contract. He’d see me setting up online meetings and testing audio signals and think I was working on a side hustle. In reality, I was organizing our lab’s virtual “Tech Talks.” I found the speakers (my brothers were a ready-made list of top-tier experts), managed the schedule, and ran the sessions. It was a ton of work, but the result was a private, high-density technical community that acted as an invisible trend-spotter and problem-solving hub for the entire industry. And Gridstone Power, by virtue of my employment, got a front-row seat. We dodged countless technical bullets and even got a jump on new market opportunities. All of it, of course, invisible to the balance sheet. 4. One time, Kevin walked by my desk with his tea-infuser bottle. He glanced at my screen, where I was testing audio for a webinar, and sneered. “Networking again, Chloe? What’s the point of all this schmoozing? In our business, it all comes down to the circuit board. Clean waveforms are the only truth.” I just smiled. He had no idea. To him, the universe of power electronics was confined to his oscilloscope, his soldering iron, and his code repository. But I knew better. The most elegant design needs a skilled technician to build it. The most perfect code has to run on real silicon. And the most advanced technology is born in the minds of researchers and forged in the fires of the most difficult real-world applications. Connecting those minds and those applications is about trust. It’s about a shared academic lineage. It’s about a mutual understanding of the inside jokes and technical slang. What I maintained wasn’t a simple contact list. It was a living, breathing, high-voltage brain trust that could be called upon at a moment’s notice. It was the “hidden competitive advantage” that made our products a little more stable, our development cycles a little faster, and our understanding a little deeper. It was the company’s most important, and least visible, piece of infrastructure. And now, someone had decided it was redundant. 5. In the tech department at Gridstone, there was an unwritten rule: any “gremlin”—any fault that couldn’t be measured, couldn’t be explained by logic, and appeared at random—eventually ended up at my desk. Last year, a project nearly bankrupted the company. A centralized inverter station for a massive solar farm in Southeast Asia. It was a high-profile “vanity project” for Wallace himself. Everything went perfectly until the final full-power burn-in test before shipping. After a few hours of operation, the system would inexplicably shut down, reporting a “DC overcurrent fault.” Restart it, and it would run fine for a while, then die again. No pattern. No logic. It was like a ghost was randomly flipping a switch. Worse, all the monitored waveforms and data logs were perfect. Textbook examples. The hardware team checked every sensor. The software team reviewed every line of code. A week passed. Nothing. The client was calling three times a day. Wallace’s face went from pale to ghostly. The whole department was in a panic. The project manager, Dave, pulled me into a conference room. “Chloe,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead, “we’re out of ideas. Wallace is going to kill us. You… you don’t happen to have any… ‘home remedies,’ do you?” I had a feeling I’d heard of this symptom before. I searched our alumni Slack channel. Luck was on my side. I found a thread and got the private number of my “second brother,” a top expert in high-power converters. “Hey, kid,” he answered. “Rare for you to call. What’d you break?” 6. “Brother, I need a lifeline,” I said, and quickly described the problem. There was a pause, then the sound of typing. “Tch,” he said. “You’re using the G-Corp IGBTs, aren’t you? With the FX-7B driver board?” I was stunned. “Yes! How did you know?” “Knew it,” he said. “The bootstrap capacitor on that specific batch of boards has a slight ESR drift after it heats up. Under the right combination of load step and bus voltage fluctuation, it triggers a sub-harmonic oscillation. It’s a nasty, hidden problem. G-Corp doesn’t even mention it in their own application notes. We only know because we fell into the same trap. Swap the capacitor for a different batch and increase the capacitance value to X.” A capacitor? A fifty-cent component was about to sink a multi-million dollar project? We were desperate. The team worked through the night. They swapped the capacitors. They ran the burn-in test. The ghost was gone. The system ran perfectly. At the celebration party, Wallace gave a rousing speech about the team’s “grit and technical prowess.” The hardware and software leads were beaming. No one mentioned the capacitor. It was as if admitting the solution was that simple would diminish their heroic struggle. I sat in the corner, thinking of my brother’s motto: “Individual genius is nice. Team genius is what matters.” After the party, Wallace stopped by my desk. “Good work, Chloe. You did a good job helping the team gather research materials. Keep it up.” What could I say? If I told him the truth, he’d probably think even less of me. In his eyes, I was, at best, a glorified technical librarian. He would never understand that my brother’s private number was a direct line to a level of technical support that money couldn’t buy. He thought the problem was solved by “hard work.” He didn’t know it was solved by access to a world he didn’t even know existed. 7. The inevitable finally happened. A downturn in the economy sent a chill through the manufacturing sector. Gridstone was not immune. Investors wanted to see a “leaner” balance sheet. The Monday all-hands meeting was different. The usual upbeat music was gone. Wallace stood alone on stage. The slide behind him didn’t show soaring profits. It showed three cold words: COST REDUCTION. CORE FOCUS. STRATEGIC RESTRUCTURING. He spoke of “serious challenges” and “short-term pain.” He emphasized the need to “tighten our belts” and “focus all resources on core business functions.” “From now on,” he declared, “we will be conducting a thorough review of our organizational structure. We will be evaluating every employee’s direct output and quantifiable contribution to our core products. We will eliminate all unnecessary, redundant, and non-quantifiable indirect costs!” “Direct output.” “Quantifiable contribution.” “Indirect costs.” It felt like he was reading my job description. The engineers around me, the Kevins of the world, seemed to relax. Their work was “hardcore,” quantifiable. My role, which was more like an insurance policy, was suddenly on the chopping block. After the meeting, I got a message from my direct manager, Dave. “Chloe, you got a minute? Come to my office.” 8. Dave’s door was slightly ajar. He was staring at his computer, a spreadsheet open on the screen. I caught the words “Personnel Costs” and “Optimization” in the title. “Have a seat, Chloe.” He couldn’t look me in the eye. “The list… is it finalized?” I asked, cutting to the chase. He was taken aback by my directness. He nodded grimly. “Yes. HR just confirmed it.” He took a deep breath. “Our department… has one spot on the list. And… they’ve chosen you.” There it was. Even though I’d been expecting it, the words still felt like a punch to the gut. It was absurd. “Can you give me a reason?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to fight it. I just wanted to hear the official justification for my execution. “Chloe, your work is important,” he stammered. “I told them that. I told HR, I told Wallace. You solve the impossible problems, you connect us with experts…” “But,” he said, his voice dropping as he parroted the corporate line, “your contributions aren’t easily quantifiable. In their models, your KPIs aren’t as clear as a developer’s. Wallace feels that this kind of external liaison work isn’t a core necessity. It can be outsourced, or… handled by other engineers as needed. So… your position has been identified as a non-essential cost.” I knew this was Wallace’s decision. The storm had finally made landfall. And my little boat, the one that didn’t look like a warship, was the first to be capsized. 9. The official layoff meeting was held in the same small conference room where the company interviewed new hires. The irony was not lost on me. Across the table sat our HR director, a woman with a professionally sympathetic expression, and Dave, who looked like he was about to be sick. The HR director went through the script, thanking me for my contributions and explaining the N+1 severance package. I listened quietly. When she was finished, they both seemed to be waiting for an outburst. “I understand the company’s decision,” I said, my voice perfectly steady. “I have no objections to the process or the compensation.” The HR director visibly relaxed. Dave looked up, surprised. “However,” I continued, “I do need to properly hand over my work. There are a few… unique situations that the company should be aware of to avoid any future risks.” They both tensed up again. They realized I wasn’t going quietly. 10. “First,” I began, “across our three main product lines, there are seven key components whose validation data and proprietary debugging interfaces were negotiated exclusively by me. The notes and protocols are in my personal encrypted storage.” Dave’s brow furrowed. “Second, the joint R&D project with Dr. Chen’s lab on next-gen semiconductors. I am the only one who has been involved in the preliminary discussions. Their team only trusts me as the point of contact. A new person will have to re-establish that technical trust from scratch, which could significantly delay the project.” The HR director started shuffling papers, looking for a clause that covered “technical trust.” “Finally,” I said, “over the years, I’ve accumulated a certain amount of ‘technical goodwill’ and verbal agreements with a network of experts. These are favors owed to me personally, not to the company. They include things like priority technical support, first-look access to new samples, and insights into unpublished research. If the person who takes over my role isn’t aware of the history behind these relationships, they could be inadvertently nullified.” I paused, letting the implications sink in. “These ‘soft’ assets need to be handled with extreme care during the handover. Otherwise, the negative impact on the company’s future development and supply chain resilience could be… unpredictable.” The room was silent. There was no procedure in their HR manual for handing over “technical goodwill.” I had given my warning. Whether they listened or not was their problem. 11. Unsurprisingly, they assigned Kevin to take over my work. He stood by my desk, a mix of pity and impatience on his face. He clearly felt that taking over my “schmoozing” job was beneath him. “Alright, Chloe, let’s get this over with,” he said, his eyes already drifting back to the code on his laptop. I patiently went through my meticulously organized files. “This is the master list of all our external contacts. I’ve noted their specialties, their current research, and their communication preferences. For example, Dr. Schmidt in Germany prefers detailed emails in English. My brother Alex is fastest to respond, but he picks up his kids at 4 PM, so don’t call him after that. Professor Wang at the university has a ‘technical purity’ test; you’d better have read the datasheet cover to cover before you ask him a question, or he won’t give you the time of day…” Kevin glanced at my color-coded spreadsheet and sneered. “What’s the point of all this? If I have a technical question, I’ll just ask it. It’s about logic and principles, not all this… fluff.” I moved on. “This is the shared drive with all the internal notes from industry conferences, pre-publication research papers from my brothers’ labs, and our private trend analyses…” Kevin just grunted, his fingers tapping away on his keyboard. 12. I dragged the most important file over to his desktop: a single, encrypted contact card file. “This has everything. Private cell numbers, even personal hobbies.” He looked at it like I was handing him a dirty diaper. He truly believed Wallace’s mantra: with technology, you have everything. I swallowed the rest of my warnings. Some people have to learn the hard way. “Oh, one last thing,” I said, as if it were an afterthought. “The access key to our main simulation platform was generated by my old professor using a proprietary algorithm. It’s dynamic, and he built in a few backdoors that only he knows about. If you trigger a lockout, you’ll have to get him personally to fix it, and that would be… extremely difficult.” I emphasized “personally” and “extremely difficult.” Kevin just nodded, not really listening, already absorbed in his code. A nail doesn’t know it’s sharp until you step on it. I clicked “send,” forcing the keys to the kingdom on someone who didn’t want them. My treasure was his trash. So be it.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385532”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

n his last life, Asher Pei, an orphan adopted into a wealthy family, married his childhood sweetheart from the foster system, Elara Vance. He thought their shared lonely pasts would allow them to find warmth in each other. He was wrong. After twenty years, he discovered she had always been in love with his best friend, Julian Thorne. Crushed by the betrayal and public humiliation, Asher died by suicide. He is reborn, given a second chance by a mysterious “System.” This time, when his now-famous friend Julian proposes to Elara—knowing she’s destined to become a world-renowned architect—Asher sidesteps his previous fate. He instead marries Seraphina Wilde, a beautiful actress who, in the last life, also met a tragic end. With a seemingly perfect marriage and a thriving career, Asher believes he’s finally found happiness. He is wrong again. * 1. Asher Pei died of depression. The final days of his life were a torturous haze of rage and confusion. The internet was a cacophony of mockery, a global chorus laughing at the man who couldn’t even hold on to his own wife’s heart. His wife of nearly twenty years, the girl he’d known for forty, had been in love with another man all along. Asher couldn’t take it. He climbed over the railing of his fifteenth-floor balcony and let go. He was dead before he hit the pavement. A cold, mechanical voice buzzed in his mind. [Congratulations, Host. You have unlocked the “Rainy Night Truth” storyline.] *What truth?* Asher’s arm twitched. That voice again. It would pop up out of nowhere every time he hit some kind of narrative milestone, announcing a new plot point as if his life were a game. “Mr. Pei? Asher? It’s time for the investor dinner.” A heavy hand landed on his left shoulder, startling him. He turned to see his assistant’s smiling face. “You alright? You look like you didn’t sleep well last night.” Asher rubbed his temples. Why did he keep having that dream? Elara’s voice still echoed in his ears, sharp and cruel. *“I never loved you! It was always Julian! Always!”* He took a deep breath. “Let’s go. My father is probably getting impatient.” In his past life, just before he died, the System had asked him if he was filled with regret. He’d said yes. A vortex of light had swallowed him, and he’d woken up at eighteen, the day after Elara had rejected his first clumsy confession of love. He was lost in thought again, and by the time he snapped out of it, he was already seated at a large, circular table in an exclusive private club. The atmosphere was convivial. Asher dutifully stood to refill his father’s wine glass throughout the evening. The lead investor was a Mr. Tang, a man in his fifties with the constitution of an ox. He’d poured drink after drink for Asher’s father, who was now slumped in his chair, flushed and incoherent. Asher swirled the wine in his own glass, his eyes dark and empty, watching the bubbles rise and pop. The dinner didn’t end until nearly midnight. It was April in New York, but the air still held a wintery bite. The city, however, was a galaxy of light, the distant glow of skyscrapers and neon signs bleeding into the black sky. His father, emboldened by the alcohol, lectured him the entire ride home. “I know you’re worried about that Wilde girl, but you need to think bigger. You just need to manage that foundation project in Vermont for a couple of years. It’ll look incredible on your resume, silence any talk of nepotism when you take over as Chairman.” His father coughed, and Asher silently handed him a thermos of warm water. Sometime during the drive, it began to rain. As they crossed the bridge, the driver slammed on the brakes. The screech of tires on wet asphalt was deafening. Asher lurched forward, barely stopping himself from hitting the partition. “Looks like there’s been an accident up ahead. We’re not getting through.” The piercing wail of sirens sliced through the night. A police barricade was already in place. A moment later, a sharp rap on the window. A police officer was asking them to step out to give a statement. The moment Asher opened the door, a cold, wet wind whipped at his neck. He opened a black umbrella, shielding his face. He hated scenes like this—too loud, too chaotic. He followed the officer, but before they even reached the police tape, he heard a familiar voice cut through the rain. “Is it true? That you and Elara Vance are married? When did it happen? They said you pursued her for years, that it was love at first sight. Is that true?” The questions came in a rapid-fire burst, the last few words swallowed by a clap of thunder. He froze. That voice… Asher’s grip tightened on the umbrella handle. The alcohol still lingered in his system, slowing his thoughts. It had to be a hallucination. His wife, Seraphina, had just texted him saying she was going to bed. But the voice was identical. A sharp, inexplicable pain lanced through his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked ahead, his eyes searching desperately through the flashing lights. There she was. A woman in an eight-centimeter heel, her body wrapped in a sleek, grey cashmere dress that clung to her curves. Her skin looked impossibly white against the dress’s sparkling trim. “Answer me, Julian!” she cried, her voice breaking. “You told me if I stayed married to Asher for three years, you’d leave her and marry me! Why did you break your promise?” The man across from her ground out his cigarette with the heel of his shoe. “When did I break my promise?” Julian Thorne’s voice was a low, lazy drawl, yet every word landed like a hammer blow. “You and Asher haven’t been married for three years yet, have you?” “This was just a means to an end!” The woman—his wife, Seraphina—was staring at Julian with such intensity she didn’t even notice Asher standing just a few yards away. “A means to an end? You married Elara! How is this just a means to an end?” she pleaded. “Julian, she’s from the foster system! What can she possibly do for your career? I’m one of the biggest stars in the country! Why won’t you just look at me!” His assistant, noticing Asher’s strange stillness, whispered his name. “Mr. Pei… isn’t that… isn’t that Mrs. Pei?” Asher had been married to Seraphina Wilde for nearly three years. And only now, in this rain-soaked nightmare, did he understand why she had agreed to their marriage so readily. It was because of Julian. He’d never seen the famously poised and elegant Seraphina look so desperate. Suddenly, the electronic voice echoed in his head. [Warning, Host. If you die of depression in this life, you will be permanently erased.] In a flash, it all came back. The agony of his past life, the horrific end. He had already been reborn once. Why was he being forced to live through this kind of hell again? “Mr. Pei, are you okay?” Asher snapped back to reality. He walked over to the officer, gave a brief statement, and left. He couldn’t bear to stay. He tilted his umbrella up slightly, stealing one last look. Julian had lit another cigarette, blowing the smoke directly into Seraphina’s face. She coughed but didn’t seem angry. Instead, she playfully tapped his arm. “Stop it, Julian. You still haven’t answered me.” Julian tipped her chin up with his finger. “Who ever said you have to marry the one you like the most?” he purred. “Sometimes, the favorite isn’t the one you keep at home.” Julian Thorne. Asher’s high school classmate. His college roommate. A lightning flash illuminated Asher’s face, turning it a ghostly white. He turned and walked away. By the time he got back to the car, his father was asleep. The assistant glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Back to the family estate, Mr. Pei?” Asher just grunted in affirmation. He was exhausted. He’d pulled an all-nighter finishing a proposal, spent all day in meetings, and endured the dinner. Now this. Another word and he felt like his head would split open. The house was empty when he got there. Seraphina wasn’t home yet. A message pinged on his phone. It was from his old university professor. He squatted on the floor for a long moment before opening it. It was a long text. “Asher, have you made a decision about the director position for the foundation’s rural development project? I know it’s a hardship post, but it would be a phenomenal addition to your resume and would silence any critics when you join the Sterling board. The decision needs to be made today. This is a rare opportunity, and I personally hope you’ll take it. Of course, if you have personal reasons not to, I respect your choice.” A tear fell onto the screen, blurring the words. Asher wiped it away with his sleeve and replied. “I’ve thought it over, Professor. I want to go. Thank you for the opportunity.” He’d been considering it for a while. As an adopted son, a direct entry into the Sterling family business would be met with resistance from the board. This was a way to earn his place. He’d only hesitated because of Seraphina, worried that the distance would cause problems. He was dozing on the sofa when he heard a key in the lock. He sat up, his mind clearing, just as Seraphina walked in. “You’re still awake,” she said, kicking off her heels. She tossed her coat onto the floor. “I was asleep. A work issue came up. Then on the way back, there was that awful accident. The police held me for questioning, that’s why I’m so late.” Her story was seamless. Except for the part where she was meeting Julian. Asher could smell the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with the faint, acrid smell of tobacco. “Someone said they saw you with Julian Thorne,” he said, his voice flat. Seraphina froze, her jaw tightening. “Oh, right. I ran into him. He and Elara just got married, you know. Such big news, and we didn’t even get to congratulate them. Especially since you and Elara grew up together.” Asher took off his glasses, his eyes narrowing. “Is that right? Seraphina, why did you marry me?” She was already on edge, and his question pushed her over. “Why did I marry you? For nothing! What could I possibly want? My fame? The publicity my name brings to yours?” “Seraphina, all I ever wanted was a heart that was true to me!” A wave of bitterness rose in his throat. Before he could say more, she cut him off. “Did you drink too much at your dinner? Are you even thinking straight? Talk to me when you’re sober. I’m exhausted.” The bedroom door slammed shut. The house fell silent. The clock read 3 a.m. Asher stepped onto the balcony, the cold air a shock to his system. He lit a cigarette, his mind racing. If Seraphina and Julian were in love, why did she die of depression in the last life? He remembered her final moments: imprisoned by Julian, her body decaying, her eyes wide with unseeing horror. And if Elara and Julian were in love, why was he stringing Seraphina along? None of it made sense. The wind, the distant rain, the vast, empty silence of the city—it felt like shards of glass in his heart. He absurdly called out to the System, hoping for an answer. There was none. He didn’t know when he finally fell asleep. When he woke, the apartment was empty. Seraphina was already at a photo shoot. The doorbell rang. He ignored it. It rang again, patiently. “Delivery for Ms. Wilde. We have the gift she ordered.” *A gift? For whom?* Asher opened the door. The box contained an expensive, beautiful watch and a blue-and-black silk tie. “Ms. Wilde has exquisite taste,” the delivery person gushed. “Mr. Pei is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful wife.” The man’s smile faltered as he noticed the veins standing out on the back of Asher’s hand. “Mr. Pei?” “Today isn’t my birthday,” Asher said quietly. If he remembered correctly, today was Julian’s birthday. “My birthday was yesterday.” He hadn’t planned on celebrating. He’d told himself Seraphina was just too busy with work. But now he knew the truth. She hadn’t forgotten. She had remembered Julian’s. A bitter smile touched his lips. “Thank you for bringing this by.” He was calm, eerily so. He changed into a suit and prepared to leave for the office. His phone buzzed. Seraphina: Darling, I forgot to change the delivery address. That’s Julian’s birthday present. Dinner is at S Hotel tonight. Come with me. Asher’s fingers tapped the screen. Asher: No. 2. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared for minutes. No message came. It wasn’t until Asher was pulling into his office garage that she finally replied. Seraphina: Darling, you and Julian were classmates, roommates. You didn’t even go to his wedding. Now you’re going to skip his 30th birthday? He’ll be offended. And you can’t expect me to go alone, can you? Elara will be there. You haven’t seen her in years. It would be too awkward if you didn’t come. Just hearing her name made it hard to breathe. He didn’t want to go, but Seraphina’s relentless texts wore him down. He finally sent back a single word: Fine. S Hotel was in a trendy downtown district. He was late due to rush hour traffic. As he reached for the door to the private room, he heard Seraphina’s voice. “Julian, getting married without even telling us? That’s not very friendly.” A chorus of laughter followed. Asher paused. Through the crack in the door, he heard Julian’s lazy reply. “I wasn’t marrying you. Why would you need to know?” Julian was leaning back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, radiating a roguish charm that defied his tailored suit. Asher’s hand, clutching the gift bag, trembled. His gaze fell on Elara. She stood beside Julian, wrapped in a trench coat, looking as elegant and serene as a pale blossom. She offered everyone a polite, gentle smile. A wave of painful memories washed over him. In the last life, she had used that same gentle smile to deliver the cruelest words. He pushed the door open. “Gentlemen, it’s been too long. Julian, you’re as charming as ever.” Julian’s cool eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to normal. He jumped up, a wide smile on his face, and shook Asher’s hand. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Seraphina broke the silence, linking her arm through Asher’s. “Darling, what took you so long?” Her voice was a sweet, drawn-out purr. Asher laughed softly, raising her hand to his lips for a kiss, his eyes full of adoration. “Traffic was a nightmare. Did I delay you from giving your gift?” He handed her the black bag. Her smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. Waitstaff arrived with the first course, and the group gratefully returned to their seats. Asher gently removed his arm from Seraphina’s and took a seat across the large table. She followed, her smile never wavering. Later, Seraphina raised her glass to Julian. “To Julian. Happy birthday. A toast?” “Of course. After you, beautiful.” As she poured, her hand trembled, and wine sloshed over the rim, spilling onto Asher’s suit. He reached out, his cold fingers closing around her wrist. He stood. “Let’s toast the birthday boy together, shall we?” Seraphina smiled and grabbed a new bottle from the table, walking towards Julian. As she poured, she stumbled, and the wine splashed onto a decorative candle on the lazy Susan. The glass holder exploded with a loud pop. “Look out!” Seraphina screamed, instinctively grabbing Julian’s wrist and pulling him back. Shards of glass flew through the air. Asher threw his arm up, shielding Elara’s face. A large piece sliced deep into his forearm. Someone doused the small flame with water. “Are you okay?” Elara asked. It was the first time she had spoken all night. Blood snaked down Asher’s arm, staining the red string bracelet he always wore, before dripping onto the floor. He stared at it for a moment before lowering his arm. Seraphina rushed over. “Darling, are you alright? It’s all my fault. Let’s go to the hospital.” Asher’s eyes were dark with a self-mocking pain. A person’s first instinct never lies. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. A deep, cold sorrow enveloped him. He felt like he was submerged in ice water, shivering uncontrollably. He turned and walked out of the room. A second later, the door was thrown open again. “Darling, let me take you to the hospital! Julian was just closer, and I was holding the bottle! I never would have let you get hurt!” Asher looked at her and laughed, a hollow, empty sound. “Is that so? Don’t bother explaining. Seraphina, let’s get a divorce.” 3. “You’re in love with Julian, aren’t you? Why?” Asher couldn’t understand. Was he destined to repeat this nightmare? Last life, Elara loved Julian. This life, Seraphina loved Julian. Was there no escaping this cycle of pain? He pressed his hand to the gushing wound on his arm. “Just because I grabbed Julian’s arm, you want to divorce me? I don’t love him! How could I? He’s a married man, and so am I!” Seraphina’s explanation was a frantic tumble of words. “Let’s just go to the hospital, okay?” Asher’s hand was ice-cold. He was shivering violently. “Seraphina! Do you even remember my birthday? You’re not even trying to hide it anymore, are you?” Her eyes widened in realization. She’d forgotten. “Because you care more about Julian, my birthday doesn’t matter! Seraphina, he’s a married man! You’re a massive celebrity! What do you think will happen if the two of you end up on the cover of every tabloid? Do you have any idea what the breach of contract fees on your endorsement deals will be? Everything you’ve worked for will be gone!” She licked her dry lips. “I know, but we’re just friends. I remembered his birthday because he sent me an invitation weeks ago. I’ve just been so busy with work…” Asher turned his head, wiping a tear from his eye. “The personal shopper said you ordered his gift two months ago. It was a limited edition. You had them fly it in from Paris.” “Whether you’re just friends or not, you know the truth in your heart.” The room began to spin. Without another word, he collapsed. As he fell, someone rushed forward and caught him. “Asher!” a voice cried out. Her hand was sticky with his blood. Then, everything went black. He woke up to a bright room. “You’re awake. Are you feeling any discomfort?” a nurse asked, adjusting his IV drip. Asher glanced at Seraphina, who was dozing in a chair by the window. She woke with a start and rushed to his bedside, her face flushed, wringing her hands. “You’re awake.” Asher coughed, turning his head away from her. All he could see was the image of her from his past life—terrified, alone, decaying. The doctors had told him then that she’d been diagnosed with severe depression two years prior. “The divorce papers,” he said, his voice raspy. “I’ll have my lawyer draft them. You can ask for whatever you want.” The morning sun filtered through the leaves outside the window, dappling the room in a soft light. He raised his heavily bandaged arm to block it. “Why? Why are you talking about divorce again?” She’d thought he was joking last night. “You can’t just throw that word around!” “The rainy night,” he said, his voice cold. “I heard you and Julian. You only married me to get to him. Something about three years. Something about a broken promise. I heard everything, Seraphina.” She stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. “How could you have heard? Were you testing me this whole time?” Her fingers grew cold. Her dress strap slipped off her shoulder. Tears began to stream down her face. “But you helped me so much. My career… I owe it all to you. We can’t get divorced. Your father… isn’t he pushing for a grandchild? Asher, let’s have a baby.” “The doctors said it would be difficult for me to conceive, but we could try IVF!” Asher closed his eyes in despair. “No,” he sighed. Then his voice rose, filled with a pained fury. “NO! IVF? Do you have any idea what that would do to you? Seraphina, just get out. I don’t want to see you again.” “Asher, are you really determined to do this? I admitted I made a promise to Julian, but you’re a good man! You’ve been so good to me!” “Get out,” he repeated, his voice like steel. “Asher, I am not agreeing to a divorce!” she declared. He just stared at her, a storm of emotions raging in his eyes. Her phone buzzed, and she finally left. Asher leaned back against the pillows, drenched in sweat. He called his lawyer. “Draft the divorce papers. And don’t hide it from my father.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “Is this regarding Mrs. Pei?” “Yes. Settle the property division. Anything in her name, she keeps.” He had just hung up when the door opened again. It was Elara. He and Elara were both orphans, survivors of the same foster care system. He remembered her as a quiet, smiling girl who endured the other children’s taunts without complaint. He remembered the day he found her crying, her small face streaked with dirt and tears. They were the same, abandoned and bullied. He would never forget the day she’d stood in the sun and refused a wealthy family’s adoption offer. “No, I don’t want to go. I’m not leaving yet.” Her smile was like the spring breeze on a lake. They had been chosen by two different families on the same day. The night before they left, she had crept into his room, crying. “I don’t want to leave you, Asher. Will we ever see each other again?” He had promised her they would. Two lifetimes, and it felt like they were always just missing each other. He watched her walk in with a fruit basket and a bouquet of flowers, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. “Are you feeling better? Thank you, for last night. If it weren’t for you…” “I would have done it for anyone,” he said coolly. She just smiled her gentle smile. “Still, thank you.” He looked at her, his eyes filled with a universe of complicated emotions. “Why did you marry Julian?” She was quiet for a moment. “He saved my life. I had nothing to offer him in return, so he asked me to marry him.” “On the George Washington Bridge? A mugger snatched your purse and shoved you, and you almost went over the railing.” Her body went rigid. “How did you know that?” How did Julian know she would be on that bridge, at that exact time? There was only one explanation. Had Julian been reborn, too? Asher dismissed the thought. Impossible. “It was all over the news,” he lied. “Oh, right. It all happened so fast. I should have told you.” He remembered being quarantined in the hospital with a high fever as a teenager. He’d woken several times to see Elara there, asleep in a chair by his bed, her face tear-stained, completely unafraid of catching whatever he had. That memory was why, for years, he had forgiven her for everything. 4. Asher’s arm was healing slowly. Most of his work was moved to the hospital. One day, his assistant was sighed dramatically every few minutes. “What is it?” Asher finally asked. “Mr. Pei… there’s something I think you should know.” “Then don’t say it.” “Mr. Pei, your wife… she’s started the IVF process. She’s checked into the hospital.” “What? That’s insane! Which room?” “316.” It was a VIP suite, one floor below his. A nurse tried to stop him, but he brushed past her. “I’m her husband!” He threw the door open, and the sight before him made him want to faint. “Seraphina! Are you insane? Are you really going to throw everything away for that man?” Her dignity, her career, her health—she was sacrificing it all. It wasn’t hatred he felt, but a profound, agonizing pity. “Stop this! Stop it right now! Seraphina, you’re gambling with your life! What has Julian done to you?” Love was a terrifying, maddening thing. “I can’t stop. It’s the last step. Asher, please, just forgive me.” He collapsed onto the sofa. “Seraphina, if you could just remember your past, you would never love him.” If she could remember how he had imprisoned her, beaten her, used her. “He’ll be good to me this time. Asher, I just want a child of my own. Please, let me have this.” He laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Fine. I’ll let you have this. I’ll let you have him.” He stumbled out of the room. In the hallway, he ran into Julian, who was returning with a cup of hot water, smelling of stale smoke. Asher snapped. He lunged, his hands closing around Julian’s throat. “I’m going to kill you! What did you do to her?” Julian just smiled, even as Asher’s fists rained down on him. Asher’s wound reopened, blood soaking through his bandages. It took two security guards to pull them apart. “Julian, you have a wife! Why are you doing this?” Julian spat out a mouthful of blood and grinned. “What are you going to do about it?” A nurse intervened. “Mr. Pei, you need to have your arm looked at.” Before he could say more, the System’s voice cut in. [Congratulations, Host. You have unlocked the “Difficult Labor” storyline.] *Another one about Seraphina.* He gave her room one last, long look and went back upstairs. The fight set his recovery back by another ten days. He didn’t even know when Seraphina was discharged. The divorce papers arrived; he signed them and had his assistant deliver them to her personally. After that, he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Outside, the world was exploding. Seraphina was living with Julian in a downtown loft, their every move documented by paparazzi. They were photographed holding hands at the farmer’s market, kissing in the park. The photos would appear online and then be swiftly taken down. Seraphina didn’t seem to care. One day, Julian’s mother showed up at the loft. She was a frail woman with short, graying hair and glasses. “Mom? What are you doing here?” Julian asked, his body tense. His mother ignored him, her eyes fixated on the single queen-sized bed in the apartment. “The tabloids were right,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “It’s true.” She suddenly lunged at Seraphina, her hand connecting with a loud crack. “You have a family! How could you do something so shameless? Did you seduce my son?” Seraphina stumbled back, a red handprint blooming on her cheek. “I’m carrying Julian’s child!” she cried out. Julian tried to stop her, but it was too late. “Mom, listen to me, Seraphina—my mother has a history of mental illness, you can’t provoke her like this!” “I’m not provoking her! It’s the truth!” His mother stared at Seraphina’s stomach. “A child?” Her eyes turned a terrifying, bloodshot red. She snatched a fruit knife from the counter and plunged it into Seraphina’s abdomen. “This child is an abomination! It can’t be born!” she screamed, stabbing again and again. Seraphina was too shocked to even scream. She stared down at her stomach, at the sticky, wet warmth spreading across her hands. Two days. She had only known she was pregnant for two days. Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed. “Seraphina!” Julian screamed, finally snapping out of his shock. He pushed his mother away and fell to his knees beside Seraphina, pressing his hands to the wounds. He fumbled for his phone and called 911. His mother, looking at her blood-soaked hands, let out a piercing shriek and fainted. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Seraphina’s face was a deathly blue. Asher, who had been on his way out, saw the paramedics wheeling her in and froze. “Make way!” “Get the blood bank on the line, massive hemorrhaging! And prep for an emergency D&C, the fetus is gone!” Every word was a poisoned blade in Asher’s heart. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall. He saw Julian trailing behind the gurney, his face a mask of horror, and lunged at him. “What did you do?” In the last life, it had been Elara who had been wheeled in, covered in blood. Julian looked at him, his eyes empty. “Is this inevitable? Is there no escaping it?” Asher’s mind reeled. The storyline had changed. The System was silent. “Escaping what? Your fate of having women die for you?” Julian’s head snapped up. “What did you say?” “Last life, it was my wife your mother stabbed. This life, it’s my wife again!” “You were reborn, too?” The air crackled between them. It was a dual rebirth. “Since you were given a second chance,” Asher said, his voice raw with pain, “why didn’t you leave her alone? If you love Elara, why did you have to drag Seraphina into this? What do you want, Julian? Money? Was her death in the last life not enough for you?” The red light above the operating room door stayed on all night. Julian’s mother was sedated and moved to a psychiatric ward. Her Alzheimer’s had progressed; she had already forgotten the life she had just taken. When the surgeon finally came out, he had grim news. “We saved her, but the baby is gone. And… she’ll never be able to carry a child again. Not even with IVF.” Asher stood by the railing, watching, muttering to himself. *Julian was reborn, too.* It all made sense now. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the recovery room. “My baby! Julian, give me back my baby!” Seraphina was hysterical, slapping him, tearing the IV from her arm. Her eyes were hollow, filled with a terrifying, numb despair. “The nurse said I can’t have children anymore. Not ever.” “The baby is gone, Seraphina,” Julian said, his patience wearing thin. “Are you going to lose me, too?” “When are you divorcing Elara?” she shot back. “Were all your promises lies?” “I didn’t want this to happen! I didn’t know my mother would be there! If you hadn’t told her you were pregnant, she wouldn’t have snapped!” The accusation was a physical blow. Seraphina clutched her chest, doubling over in pain. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” Julian stormed out. Asher had his discharge papers processed. He went to Seraphina’s room, intending to get the signed divorce papers, but she was asleep, sedated and still. He left without a word. He packed his bags and called his father. “Dad, don’t worry about the rumors online. Don’t say anything. I’ll handle it when I get back from the foundation project.” “Go,” his father said. He thought it was all finally over. 5. Two days later, Seraphina was back at work. “Money is the only thing that matters now,” she told her agent. That morning, her eyelids had been twitching. A bad omen. After a taping, her agent approached her, his face grim. “I have some news. Don’t panic.” “What is it?” “Asher Pei is dead. He committed suicide.” She laughed. “That’s not possible.” “It’s true. It was instant. He drove his car off a cliff.” Her phone was blowing up. The headline was everywhere: “Sole Heir to Sterling Fortune Dies by Suicide.” The police had confirmed it. The rumors started immediately: his wife had cheated, she was pregnant with another man’s child. The most outrageous rumors are often the truth. “Didn’t someone see Seraphina Wilde covered in blood at the hospital a few weeks ago?” “It’s true. He was a billionaire. He must have been betrayed.” She didn’t care about the rumors. All she could hear was that he was dead. Really dead. She raced to the scene. The police had cordoned off the area. Rescue teams were searching the ocean below, but they couldn’t even find a body. His supercar was parked at the cliff’s edge, hazard lights blinking. It was clearly a suicide. Her hands trembled. She had driven him to this. The online hate was relentless. Her fans turned on Julian, demanding he be blacklisted. He lost his job and went into hiding. Seraphina completely fell apart. “This can’t be happening!” she wailed, curled into a ball in the corner of her apartment. Her agent brought a doctor. “Give her a sedative. Let her sleep.” She didn’t resist. She was so, so tired. When Asher saw the news, he was already in the small mountain village in Vermont. The air was clean, the scenery beautiful. The locals welcomed their new project director with a potluck dinner. Afterward, he scrolled through the news on his phone: Seraphina swarmed by paparazzi, Seraphina weeping at the cliff’s edge. He watched it all with a blank expression and then put his phone away. [Congratulations, Host. Ultimate objective achieved. The rest is up to you.] Asher smiled. “Thank you, System.” He had told himself he would not repeat the mistakes of the past.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385531”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After I was laid off and became a stay-at-home mom, my husband, Kevin, implemented what he called a “Marriage Performance Plan.” I only got my living allowance if I hit all my KPIs. Cooking three meals a day, every day of the month, got me $500. A full deep-clean of the house, four times a month, was worth $200. Laundry was piece-rate: ten cents per item for the machine, fifty cents if I hand-washed it. He even put sex on the payroll. Ten times a month was the target. Hitting that quota got me another $500. As for taking care of our son, Leo, or dealing with his parents? That was my “duty.” Unpaid labor, not part of the plan. For Leo’s sake, I put up with it. I told myself I’d just stick it out until he was old enough for preschool, then I’d find a job. But then, one afternoon, I took a few hours to go see my mom in the hospital. She was sick. For that, Kevin docked my entire month’s pay. “Your family are outsiders now, Sarah,” he said, his voice cold and clinical. “You used your time to take care of your mother. That’s a serious outflow of labor, a waste of my family’s resources.” He gave me two options. “Either have your mother pay me the market rate for a caregiver for those three hours, or you forfeit this month’s entire performance bonus.” The moment the words left his mouth, I snapped. I threw my canvas tote bag right at his head. “Are you even human? That’s my MOTHER!” I screamed. “When I had Leo, she was the one at the hospital for three days straight, barely sleeping, helping me. She was the one who cooked and cleaned for me during my entire postpartum recovery.” “And your mother?” I jabbed a finger at him. “Brenda showed up on day one with a bag of potatoes from her garden, still covered in dirt, and then vanished. You didn’t call my mom an ‘outsider’ then, did you?” Kevin shifted uncomfortably. “She was just doing that to get a gift. Good thing I’m smart. I gave her a fifty-dollar gift card and sent her on her way. Nobody pulls one over on me. And what’s wrong with potatoes? You ate them, didn’t you? It’s the thought that counts. You’re always so petty.” He shoved past me, grabbed my purse, and yanked out my wallet. I had $45 in there. Forty of it was the allowance he’d given me so far this month. The other five bucks I’d scraped together from every corner of this house—returning cans, selling an old textbook on eBay. Ever since Leo was born nine months ago, I’d sold off nearly everything that was personally mine. I hadn’t even bought my mom a bottle of juice at the hospital today. The jeans I was wearing were a faded pair from college. Even the tote bag I’d just thrown at him was a freebie from a baby expo. Kevin, without blinking, pulled the two twenty-dollar bills out and threw the remaining five dollars at my face. The singles fluttered to the floor. “Always complaining you don’t have enough money. What’s this, then?” he sneered. “See? I’m too good to you. You’ve lost all perspective. I don’t care what you do, but either your mom pays me the caregiver fee, or it’s coming out of your allowance.” He slammed the door on his way out. The noise woke Leo, who started wailing. I rushed into his room, scooped him up, and just held him, both of us crying together. How the hell did my life end up like this? 2 Kevin and I were college sweethearts. First everything for both of us. We got married a year after graduation. Less than three months later, I was pregnant. He had just landed a great job at a big tech firm—stable, six-figure salary. I was stuck in a dead-end admin job making barely enough to cover my student loans. To make things worse, doctors found an issue with my uterus; they said that if I terminated this first pregnancy, I might not be able to have kids later. So, Kevin made the offer: I’d quit my job to have the baby, and he’d be the provider. He played the part so well back then, like our sweet college romance had never ended. He’d come home from work every day with snacks for me or some little toy he thought the baby would like. He’d listen patiently as I cried about my changing body. I was so naive. I thought I’d found a good man, that my life was set. That beautiful illusion shattered the second our son was born. I’ll never forget it. I was wheeled out of the delivery room, exhausted and sore, only to hear Kevin arguing with my mother about the epidural, which cost $2,000. “She’s the one who wanted it, so why am I paying?” he was saying. “Whoever asks for it pays for it. That’s your bill.” “Look, women have been giving birth for centuries without drugs. It’s all in your head, just a bunch of whining!” The look on his face, so twisted and ugly, is burned into my memory. My mom, seeing the tears in my eyes, just quietly paid the bill herself. Later that night, as she was helping me mix formula for Leo, I saw her wiping her own eyes. That was the moment I truly understood that old saying: “A man will keep up the act until the baby is born.” It was devastatingly true. 3 After I finally got Leo back to sleep, I counted the five dollars I had left. I felt sick. Leo was down to his last two diapers. His onesies were all too small, the fabric stretched and thin. Winter was coming, and he didn’t have a single warm outfit. Kevin’s logic was, “We’re in the Northeast. The heat is on. He won’t freeze. He’ll be fine.” But in the early morning chill, even I shivered under the blankets. A baby couldn’t just “be fine.” Most of Leo’s clothes were gifts from relatives who visited when he was born. As soon as I was out of the postpartum fog, Kevin laid out his “Performance Plan.” “The baby’s formula is my responsibility, of course,” he’d declared. “But diapers? Just use cloth ones. You can wash them. And clothes? Kids grow too fast. It’s a waste of money. Shots? You’re his mother. You can’t expect a free ride for everything. I’m giving you an allowance, aren’t I? You pay for it. He calls you ‘mom,’ after all.” He was so damn proud of his system. “Besides the thousand-dollar base pay,” he’d explained with a smirk, “the laundry is uncapped. If you’re diligent and wash more clothes, you can earn yourself some pocket money.” The reality was even worse. With no one to watch Leo, I was trapped. So I followed his rules, telling myself it was temporary. Then, his mother Brenda, who’d been a ghost for months, decided to move in, citing her right to see her grandbaby. She became my new supervisor, nickel-and-diming my allowance. The soup’s too salty? Dock five bucks. Didn’t take the trash out fast enough? Dock two bucks. I even paid for her prescriptions out of my own pocket, and when I asked Kevin for the money back, he just said, “Dealing with my parents is your duty.” That $500 for “full attendance” rarely came in full. And I still had to listen to Brenda’s constant digs about me being a gold-digger, a bad wife who would go to hell for “earning” money from her own husband. As for the ridiculous sex clause? After giving birth, the thought of being intimate with him made my skin crawl. Just lying next to him felt wrong. But for that full bonus, I’d hold my breath, close my eyes, and slide into his bed. And what did he do? “Are you even a woman anymore?” he’d said once, pushing me away in disgust. “What are all these stretch marks? I’m gonna be sick. Sarah, could you be any more disgusting? Get out. I’m not into… that.” I completely lost it. I grabbed a pillow and started beating him with it. The commotion brought Brenda into our room. She didn’t even have a shirt on. “What a tramp!” she shrieked, defending her son. “You’re throwing a fit because he doesn’t want to sleep with you? You’ve already had one kid, haven’t you had enough? Is that all you think about, you little slut?” Her voice got louder. “My son works hard all day, and you, you succubus, are trying to drain him dry! If you’re that desperate, go find a hairbrush. You pull a stunt like this again, and I’ll beat you senseless!” Humiliation and rage washed over me. I wasn’t thinking. I just ran to the balcony and climbed over the railing. Kevin, suddenly terrified, lunged and pulled me back. He was shaking. He fumbled in his wallet, pulled out fifty dollars, and threw it at me. “Here, take it! Is it worth dying over?” he stammered. “You’ve scared the baby. Are you happy now? Go check on him!” That night, clutching my son and that fifty-dollar bill, I felt a despair so deep it was suffocating. A voice in my head kept repeating: I’m worth less than a prostitute. I’m worth less than a prostitute… After my suicide attempt, Kevin grudgingly agreed to just give me the $500 for that “duty” each month without my having to perform. When we were in bed, he’d just turn his back to me in disgust. Honestly, it was a relief. After a long day, at least my nights were my own. 4 Shaking off the memory, I picked up the tote bag from the floor. Something heavy was inside. I looked, and my breath caught. It was a thick envelope of cash and a note from my mom. My darling girl, please forgive me for not being there for you during this hard time. It breaks my heart. But your father and I know that the only way we can be a real safety net for you and Leo is to keep our jobs and get to our retirement. I hope you know you can tell us anything. You don’t have to carry this alone. We’re a family. You are the most precious thing to us, and no matter what you decide to do, we will always, always support you. I immediately called her. The second I heard her voice, I started sobbing. “Mom… Dad… Mom…” I choked out the whole story, everything that had been happening. They cried with me, just saying my name over and over. My mom, weak as she was, tried to get out of her hospital bed. “That’s it. We’re done. My daughter is not living like this another day. I’m bringing you home, Sarah.” “Mom, calm down,” I cried. “What about Leo? If I leave, what happens to him? They’ll destroy him. He’s my baby, Mom. I carried him for nine months. If I divorce Kevin, I’ll never get custody. I can’t leave him in that house of monsters.” My mom’s voice was hysterical. “But you’re my baby too!” Just then, Brenda came waltzing back in from wherever she’d been all morning. Brenda was a bulldozer with no moral compass. If she heard my parents telling me to leave her son, all hell would break loose. I quickly whispered my goodbyes and hung up. But it was too late. Brenda lunged, snatching the envelope of cash—two thousand dollars—from my hand. “Aha! I knew it! You’re stealing from me!” she shrieked. Without another word, she grabbed my hair and started dragging me toward the front door, yelling for the whole building to hear. “Everyone, come and see! The daughter-in-law in 3B is a thief! She’s stealing from her own mother-in-law! Is there no justice in the world?” “This was two thousand dollars I had tucked under my mattress for medical bills! Sarah, don’t you have a conscience?” Our apartment building was old, the walls were thin. Neighbors started poking their heads out. I ripped my hair from her grasp. “You’re lying! This is from my mother! The note is right here!” But Brenda didn’t do logic. She planted her hands on her hips and doubled down. “Oh, please! A piece of paper and a pen? You and your parents cooked this up to steal my money? Not happening! That money is mine! I have the serial numbers memorized! You’re a thief!” She threw herself on the floor, wailing. “Oh, the injustice! This thief in my own house is trying to steal my life savings!” A few of the older women who were friends with Brenda immediately started chiming in, scolding me. “Sarah, and to think your parents are educated people. What kind of upbringing is that?” “Any family with a daughter-in-law like you is cursed! I heard she couldn’t even wait a month after giving birth to jump on her husband. And she makes him pay her to do chores! Tsk, tsk.” It was obvious Brenda had been poisoning the well for months. The looks I got from my neighbors turned from curiosity to contempt. That was it. The rage I’d been swallowing all day exploded. I did exactly what she did. I grabbed her by the hair, dragged her back into her bedroom, and flipped her mattress. There, tucked neatly underneath, was another envelope with two thousand dollars, untouched. One of the other young moms in the building, someone I was friendly with, spoke up immediately. “See? Sarah’s innocent. Her money is right here. What is wrong with you, attacking your own daughter-in-law like that? You’re just cruel.” Brenda didn’t even blush. “I made a mistake,” she said, her voice steady. “I had four thousand dollars here. She stole half of it!” But she’d just been screaming about two thousand. The lie was too obvious. The crowd of neighbors went silent. A few of the other moms started muttering about what a horrible person she was. Seeing her support crumble, Brenda’s eyes landed on Kevin, who had just walked in. She grabbed him like a life raft. “Son, tell them! They don’t believe me! Tell them you gave me four thousand dollars and your wife stole half of it, didn’t she? I’m old, my memory is bad, but you remember, don’t you?” I looked at Kevin, my heart sinking. The proof was right there. I’d just talked to my parents on the phone. Surely, he couldn’t be this blind, this cruel. But he was. Kevin hesitated, then mumbled, “Yeah, fine, I gave it to her. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make a big deal about it. If you have a problem with me giving my parents money, just say so. You don’t have to get your own parents to lie for you.” “You… you haven’t even seen your parents in weeks! How could they give you cash?” “Just give the money back, Sarah,” he sighed, refusing to meet my eyes. “This is embarrassing.” And just like that, a wire in my brain snapped. With Kevin’s testimony, my fate was sealed in the eyes of our neighbors. I was officially the thief. The few friendly moms I knew went quiet. My phone buzzed. They had already removed me from the building’s group chat. Brenda’s cronies, however, were energized. “Kevin, you can’t let her get away with this! If you don’t teach her a lesson now, she’ll walk all over you and your parents.” “If that were my wife, I’d have taken a belt to her by now. Brenda is too soft on her.” “You gotta be firm with women like that, Kevin. Show her who’s boss.” “Honestly, I’d just divorce her. You’re young, you’ve got a good job. You could find a nice girl, never been married before. My niece just graduated from college. She’s sweet, respectful, and she paid her own way through school!” The crowd started to disperse, their drama fix satisfied. I was left in the middle of the room, surrounded by my accusers. 5 Spurred on by the crowd, Kevin raised his hand to slap me. The last of my sanity fled. I lunged for the fruit bowl on the counter, grabbed a paring knife, and aimed it at him. “You hit me,” I hissed, my voice shaking. “You just try it. I will kill all of you. I swear to God, I will kill you.” “This life is over! I’m done!” That stopped him cold. He quickly shooed the remaining busybodies out the door. When we were alone, he grabbed Leo from his crib and held him up like a shield. “Okay, okay, calm down. I was just trying to save face for my mom. It wasn’t a big deal.” “The baby’s crying. Go take care of him.” “And put the knife down. You look like a psycho.” He said it all while keeping our son firmly between us, terrified I might actually lunge at him. And in that moment, I saw it with perfect clarity. This man didn’t love our son. He didn’t love anyone. He only loved himself. The fight went out of me. I dropped the knife, snatched Leo from his arms, and went to our room to pack. There was no life worse than this. Even if I couldn’t get custody in a divorce right now, I could damn well take my son and run. Kevin stood in the doorway. “Where do you think you’re taking my son?” Brenda snorted from the living room, pulling him back. “Where do you think? Back to mommy and daddy. Let her go. What are you worried about? Leo is your son. Blood is thicker than water. So what if she takes him? They’ll have to pay to raise our grandkid for us. You’ll save a fortune!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385530”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

01 I was scrolling through a Reddit thread: 【What’s the most surprisingly wholesome thing you’ve ever done for love?】 A comment from a user with a familiar avatar caught my eye: 【My girlfriend loves to… play with my backdoor. I was always worried about the smell, so I started secretly spraying my wife’s perfume back there before we’d meet up…】 I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just quietly went to my bathroom and poured a bottle of concentrated capsaicin extract into that perfume bottle. There. Now my wholesome husband could feel the heat, too. When I first saw that top-voted comment, my world stopped. It wasn’t just the shocking content. It was the avatar for the user, “AgainstTheCurrent.” It was a photo of two hands, fingers intertwined. The man’s thumb had a faint scar on it. The position, the shape, the size—it was identical to my husband Leo’s. When our daughter, Chloe, was two, she was a little daredevil. One day she tried to climb the TV stand and came tumbling down, bringing a vase with her. Without a second thought, Leo dove underneath her, breaking her fall. A shard of porcelain sliced deep into his thumb. I remember him gritting his teeth through the pain, but smiling, calling it his “dad medal.” I stared at that scar on the screen, a desperate hope flickering in my chest. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. The world is full of people who look alike. A similar scar isn’t impossible. My heart hammered against my ribs. With a trembling hand, I clicked on “AgainstTheCurrent”’s profile. It was empty. No posts, no history. But I wasn’t giving up. When it comes to a cheating husband, every woman becomes Sherlock Holmes. I clicked on his saved posts. My brow furrowed. 【10 Ways to be a 10/10 Boyfriend. Tag your man!】 【Advanced Kegel Exercises for Men: Liftoff in One Week.】 【Do Men Hit a Wall at 40? How to Fight Aging.】 【Style Upgrades That Make an Older Guy Look Younger.】 The more I read, the more certain I became. This had to be Leo. His behavior had been so strange lately. This is a man who used to think moisturizer was a scam, but now he was sneaking into my side of the vanity to use my skincare products. He’d worn the same style of button-down shirt for a decade, but now he was suddenly into fashion blogs and had even changed his hairstyle. Just a few days ago, he’d asked me out of the blue, “Honey, do I seem old to you?” I’d laughed. “You know what they say, men are like fine wine. You’re just hitting your peak.” He didn’t laugh back. He was completely serious, asking me about cosmetic procedures, where to get hair plugs, what treatments could make him look younger. “What’s with the sudden interest in all this?” I’d asked, confused. “It’s for work,” he’d said. “The company’s developing a new men’s cosmetic line. They’re making us do market research.” And I’d believed him. Looking at these saved posts now, it all clicked into place. When a man suddenly becomes terrified of aging, it usually means one thing. He’s fallen for a much younger woman. And he’s scared he can’t keep up. 02 I opened “AgainstTheCurrent”’s follow list. Among the handful of mutual follows, one username immediately stood out: “SweetDreamsAlways.” The IP address was the same as his. I clicked on her profile. The sickeningly sweet stench of a new romance hit me like a physical blow. Her page was full of posts. Each one made my stomach churn. 【Little moments: He’s in a serious meeting, but under the table, he’s secretly tracing circles on my palm. I give him a look, and he pretends he’s innocent! After the meeting, he made me stay behind to “organize the notes”… then locked the door and demanded a hug as punishment for ignoring him. The older they get, the needier they are~】 【Does anyone else get this? The jealous older man is the cutest thing! I was just chatting with a coworker for a few minutes today, and he got so pouty. Pulled me right into his office… 🙈】 【What’s it like dating a ‘dad’ type? Answer: Getting spoiled like a little girl! We were at a business dinner, and while all these executives were talking about million-dollar deals, he remembered to order me a plate of sliders with extra cheese! He spent the whole time making small talk with clients while piling food onto my plate. The client finally laughed and said, ‘Looks like you brought your kid to dinner!’】 【Hehe, who else’s almost-40-year-old boyfriend has this much energy? After a few drinks at a work event, he was all over me, whining about how soft I was… and then in the car… let’s just say a thousand words are missing here…】 I scrolled numbly, my vision blurring. Finally, I found it. The post about the perfume. 【My fanfiction dreams have come true! I can’t believe my super serious, conservative older man would do this for me… I’m crying 😭… He said he was worried I wouldn’t like his natural scent, so he makes sure to get all fragrant for me before we meet… That kind of careful, gentle love just gets me right in the feels!】 “AgainstTheCurrent” had liked every single post. Fighting back nausea, I scoured her entire account, including the comments, searching for any clue to her identity. Nothing. No pictures of her face, no personal information. Just an endless stream of nauseating flirtation. But based on her references to “the office,” “business dinners,” and “coworkers,” I was almost certain of one thing. If “AgainstTheCurrent” was Leo, then this woman was his colleague. Her tone was childish, her posts desperate to show the world how she was being spoiled by an older man. She was young. Definitely young. My mind raced, cycling through every young woman in Leo’s department. He was the Director of Marketing. He had a whole team of young, ambitious women working under him. Any one of them could be her. As my thoughts devolved into chaos, I heard a key turn in the front door. Leo was home. 03 Leo walked in humming a cheesy love song that was all over TikTok, a smile playing on his lips. He looked happy. Genuinely happy. I hadn’t seen him like that in a long time. He walked toward me, and a faint, familiar scent hit my nose. It was the gardenia perfume I’d just opened a few days ago. I shoved down the storm brewing inside me and kept my face neutral. “Hey, hon. No working late tonight?” He pulled a bouquet of roses from behind his back. “Honey, did you forget? It’s our anniversary!” Then, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he produced a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a delicate diamond bracelet. “Do you like it? I picked it out just for you.” I didn’t look at the flowers or the bracelet. I just stared straight into his eyes. “That’s funny. Fifteen years of marriage, and this is the first time you’ve remembered our anniversary. Why the sudden effort…” I paused, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Unless you did something you’re not supposed to, and this is your way of buying my silence?” The smile on Leo’s face froze. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by defensive anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” His voice shot up, as if a higher volume could mask his guilt. “I do something nice for you, I try to surprise you, and this is the thanks I get? You’re always so suspicious! Fine, don’t take it!” He slammed the jewelry box down on the coffee table with a loud thwack. I watched him calmly. “You’re overreacting. Did I hit a nerve?” “You’re unbelievable! I can’t even talk to you!” Leo’s eyes darted around the room, refusing to meet mine. He practically fled, grabbing his pajamas from the armchair. “I’m taking a shower!” That guilty back was all the confirmation I needed. Soon, the sound of running water filled the apartment. I walked quickly into our bedroom. His phone was sitting on the nightstand. I picked it up, my fingers flying as I entered the familiar password. I scanned his messages, checking every female colleague. Nothing but dry, work-related conversations. No terms of endearment, no flirty emojis. I checked his Amazon history, his Uber Eats orders. Nothing. How is that possible? For a second, I doubted myself. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe “AgainstTheCurrent” isn’t him after all. The sound of the shower turned off. Time was up. I quickly put the phone back where I found it and returned to the living room couch, my mind racing. 04 It was late. Beside me, Leo’s steady breathing filled the dark room. I stared at the ceiling, wide awake. I replayed the last few months in my head. We were high school sweethearts, married right after college. Our daughter, Chloe, was twelve now. Fifteen years. We were the model couple in our friend group, the ones people pointed to as proof that true love existed. Leo’s life was an open book. His world consisted of work, me, and Chloe. He had no female friends to speak of. His phone password was my birthday. His lock screen was a picture of me and Chloe. I knew the passwords to all his bank accounts. He never hid anything from me, and I never felt the need to check. Until last year, when he was promoted to Director of Marketing. Suddenly, late nights and business trips became the norm. But he was always transparent, telling me his schedule in advance, sharing his location, and sending pictures from his hotel room. He’d even bring back little souvenirs for Chloe. If it hadn’t been for that avatar, the word “cheating” would have never crossed my mind in connection with Leo. But there was no “if.” The scar was the same. The perfume was the same. The IP address was the same. I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. This was not a coincidence. Luckily, I had a spy on the inside. 05 The next morning, I texted Cassie, asking if she wanted to grab lunch at the cafe downstairs from her office building. She agreed immediately. Cassie was the daughter of Leo’s childhood best friend, Dave. Our families were close; we’d even bought houses in the same neighborhood. Dave was a few years older than Leo but had married young. Cassie, a senior in college, was stressing about finding an internship. Leo had pulled some strings and gotten her a position at his company. I’d practically watched her grow up. I arrived at the cafe early. A few minutes later, Cassie came jogging in, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was wearing a simple white sundress, her high ponytail bouncing as she moved. She radiated youth. “Auntie! Sorry, have you been waiting long?” Her eyes lit up when she saw the food I’d already ordered. “Wow! Short rib tacos and truffle fries! My favorites! You’re the best!” She grabbed a fry, popped it in her mouth, and fanned her tongue. “Ooh, hot, hot!” I managed a weak smile. “Take your time, no one’s going to steal it. How’s the internship going? Are you settling in okay?” She made a face, complaining through a mouthful of food. “Ugh, don’t even ask. The company just landed a huge new client, and everyone is going crazy. We’re working overtime every single day. Uncle Leo is the busiest of all. I haven’t had a proper lunch break in days…” My heart sank. Was it possible he really was just busy with work? Was I just being paranoid? Cassie took a long sip of her iced tea. “So, Auntie, what’s up? You wanted to see me about something?” I hesitated, then lowered my voice. “Cassie, I wanted to ask you… at the office… have you noticed Leo getting close to any of the other women? Especially one of the younger ones?” She tilted her head, putting on a show of deep thought. After a few seconds, she shook her head firmly. “Nope! Uncle Leo is super serious at work. He’s always got his game face on. Honestly, everyone’s a little scared of him. No one would dare get too close.” She saw the worried look on my face and seemed to guess what I was thinking. “Auntie, you’re not thinking that Uncle Leo is…” She didn’t say the word, but we both knew. She rushed to reassure me. “That’s impossible! He’s famous in the office for being a devoted husband. He’s always talking about ‘my wife’ and ‘my daughter.’ All the other women are so jealous of you!” Looking at her innocent, earnest face, I couldn’t bring myself to mention the Reddit post. I forced a laugh and made an excuse. “Oh, it’s nothing. He’s just been acting a little different lately. I was just curious.” Cassie patted her chest dramatically. “Don’t you worry, Auntie. You’ve got me watching him for you! I won’t let any hussy get within ten feet of Uncle Leo!” Her confident declaration eased some of my tension. I gave her a grateful smile. “Okay. Thanks, Cassie. I’d appreciate you keeping an eye out.” 06 After we finished eating, Cassie glanced at her phone. “Oops, break’s almost over. I’ve gotta run, Auntie!” I nodded and reached for my purse. And in that split second, disaster struck. As Cassie turned to leave, a waiter carrying a tray rushed past her. She didn’t see him. CRASH! With a startled yelp, the entire glass of orange juice on his tray went flying, soaking the front of her white dress. The waiter, pale with shock, stammered apologies while I grabbed napkins, trying to help her clean up the mess. But as my fingers brushed against her collarbone, I froze. Around her neck was a necklace. The pendant was a unique design of two interlocking rings, studded with tiny diamonds. That design… I would never, ever mistake it. It was an exact match to the bracelet Leo had given me the night before.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385529”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My best friend, Maya, was on the phone for the tenth time this month, her voice a panicked whisper. My own stomach was in knots. “Just tell him I’m at your place, okay? Do not, under any circumstances, let him know I’m on a date. My brother will literally kill me.” “Got it, got it,” I promised. Maya’s family was old-school strict. Dating before you were practically middle-aged was a no-go, and her parents had deputized her older brother as her official watchdog. So, every time Maya snuck out with her boyfriend, I became the designated alibi. The second she hung up, a new call popped up on my screen. Her brother. My hand shook as I answered. “Hello?” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Maya said she was hanging out at your place. You two together right now?” The man’s voice on the other end was a lazy drawl, laced with a hint of amusement. “Yep! She’s right here,” I said instantly. “Is that so? Funny, I’ve been trying to call you both for a few minutes, and both your lines were busy. Someone might think you were cooking up a story you didn’t want me to hear.” Maya’s brother was, as always, way too sharp. But this wasn’t my first rodeo. I had a system. I pinched my thigh, hard, and forced a little wobble into my voice. “Well, if you don’t trust me, Ethan, maybe you shouldn’t bother calling at all. It feels like whatever I say, you’ll just think I’m lying.” “No, wait—what? Why are you crying? I didn’t say I don’t trust you. It’s just, my sister, she’s a little… sneaky.” He sounded completely flustered, his confidence evaporating. Perfect. To seal the deal, I grabbed my tablet and played the audio file Maya had recorded for just this occasion. “Ethan, I told you I was at Chloe’s house! What kind of man makes my best friend cry?” Maya’s voice blasted from the speaker. That sent him into a full-blown panic. “Don’t cry, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have doubted you…” He started apologizing profusely, and a second later, my phone buzzed with a notification. Venmo: Ethan Shen sent you $5,000. Memo: For the emotional distress. Maya’s brother ran his own company. He was ridiculously rich and ridiculously generous. This meant he bought it. My tears vanished instantly. “Thank you, Ethan!” I chirped sweetly. Then I shot Maya a text with a single GIF: a cat giving a thumbs-up. Mission accomplished. 2 Maya’s reply was immediate: 【I love you, Chloe! You’re the best!】 It was followed by a series of her own generous Venmo payments. Like brother, like sister. To make the performance truly convincing, after her date, Maya had me meet her at the gate of her family’s mansion to stage a dramatic farewell. “Chloe, I can’t believe you have to leave already,” she wailed, clinging to my arm. “I’m going to miss you so much.” Her eyes were wide and watery. The girl deserved an Oscar. “I know, but you have to go home, and I have to go home. It’s a cruel, cruel world,” I declared loudly, projecting my voice toward the house where I knew Ethan was listening. “This is the worst!” she sobbed. Just as we were reaching the climax of our performance, the heavy front door swung open. A pair of shiny leather dress shoes stepped out, attached to a pair of impossibly long legs. “Are you done yet, Maya?” the man’s voice called out, laced with impatience. At the sound of her brother’s voice, Maya’s fake sobs intensified. “He’s calling me in. I have to go, Chloe. Goodbye!” I nodded, squeezing out a few fake tears of my own. Her brother, Ethan, walked over and held out a tissue. Maya reached for it. “Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you to be so—” Before she could finish, he angled the tissue toward me. “It’s not for you,” he told his sister flatly, his eyes on me. “It’s for our guest.” I was so surprised I just waved my hands. “Oh, no, I’m fine.” Maya rolled her eyes. “Seriously, bro? Could you play favorites any harder?” “It’s not favoritism, it’s called being a good host. We can’t have guests crying on our doorstep.” “Right, right. Your ‘hosting’ skills,” Maya muttered. Ethan was about to say something else, but his phone rang. He shot Maya a warning look before walking away to take the call. Maya stuck her tongue out at his back. “Control freak.” Seeing him leave, I figured the show was over. But as I turned to go, Maya grabbed my arm. “Chloe, I just had the best idea. You have to hear this.” 3 Maya pointed me toward Ethan, who was leaning against his car, talking on the phone. “Is my brother hot or is he hot?” she asked. My eyes automatically followed her gaze. Even in profile, with his sharp jawline and cool demeanor, he was undeniably attractive. I swallowed hard. “He’s hot,” I admitted. “So,” she said, a wicked glint in her eye, “what would you think about dating him? If you were his girlfriend, he’d be too busy with you to police my love life. Plus, he’s rich, he’s six-foot-three, he has an eight-pack…” She launched into a full sales pitch. I hesitated. “I mean, he’s a total catch, but—” But it wasn’t up to me. A guy like that could have anyone. I was just… me. Seeing my hesitation, Maya’s face fell. “You’re right. He’s a total dork. He doesn’t deserve my sweet, amazing bestie. You’re way too good for him.” “No, that’s not it!” I tried to explain. She had it completely backward. It wasn’t that I was too good for him; it was the other way around. But she cut me off, her eyes lighting up. “Wait, you’re into him? Oh my god, you could be my sister-in-law! We’d be family! We could see each other every day! This is perfect!” I’ll admit, the thought was tempting. I’m a total bestie-holic. The idea of us both getting married someday and drifting apart was my worst nightmare. But if we were family… The idea took root. “Okay,” I said, my heart starting to race. “But you have to ask him if he’d even be interested.” If he was, then I was in. 4 Maya wanted to call Ethan right then and there, but he was busy with work calls. So, she insisted I stay for dinner and we could ask him in person when he got back. It seemed like a big enough deal that an in-person conversation was better anyway. Her parents were on a trip, so it was just the two of us in the massive house. “Chloe, do you know why my parents have the ‘no dating before thirty’ rule?” she asked as we set the table. “Why?” I’d always been curious but never wanted to pry. She leaned in conspiratorially. “Because everyone in my family is a hopeless romantic. When we fall, we fall hard and for life. They’re terrified I’ll pick the wrong guy, so they want me to be older and wiser before I make that choice.” Oh. That was actually… really sweet. I had always thought it was some bizarre, controlling family rule, but it was coming from a place of love. Just as we were about to eat, Ethan came home. “Bro, just in time for dinner!” Maya said cheerfully. “Are you sick?” Ethan eyed his sister’s friendly demeanor with deep suspicion. “Just spit it out. And stop smiling like that, it’s creepy.” Maya rolled her eyes. “I wanted to set you up with someone. Do you want to meet her? She’s—” “Nope.” The single word, sharp and immediate, cut her off. My heart, which had been fluttering with nervous anticipation, dropped into my stomach. I’d expected to be rejected, but not that fast. “Oh, you’re here too?” Ethan’s voice, now laced with surprise, broke through my thoughts. He’d just finished changing his shoes and had only just noticed me sitting at the table. “Yeah,” I mumbled, feeling a hot blush creep up my neck. I suddenly wanted to be anywhere else. “Actually, Maya, I should probably head home. Now that your brother’s back, I feel like I’m intruding.” Maya knew I was making an excuse. “Don’t be silly, you’re not intruding! I invited you. Who cares what my jerk of a brother thinks? Don’t go.” To my surprise, Ethan chimed in. “She’s right about one thing. You’re not an outsider. Stay for dinner.” So I stayed, awkwardly. Maya, ever persistent, wouldn’t let it go. “Why did you say no so fast? You don’t even know who I was going to suggest. She’s amazing, she’s so—” “Doesn’t matter how amazing she is,” Ethan said, his voice losing its lazy edge and taking on a serious tone. “I’m not interested.” “Why?” Maya pressed. Ethan looked up from his plate, his gaze meeting his sister’s. “Because I already have someone I like. So even if you tried to set me up with a supermodel, I wouldn’t even look at her.” 5 Hearing that, Maya finally dropped it. After dinner, she walked me to the door, looking dejected. “Ugh, I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he liked someone. I was so excited for us to be family.” Me too. I was more disappointed than I wanted to admit. My mood was in the gutter for days. The only thing that finally dragged me out of my funk was a new event in my favorite online game. I hadn’t even logged on all week. The moment I was online, a message popped up from a gaming friend. It was from HideBehindMe, the guy I always played with. He was insanely good. 【Haven’t seen you on in a few days. Everything okay?】 I typed back: 【Not really. Feeling kind of down.】 I was a daily player, and we always teamed up. My absence was noticeable. 【Why? What’s wrong?】 I hesitated, then decided to vent. 【Met a guy I liked, but he’s not into me.】 His reply was instant. 【What a moron. If it were me, I’d have said yes in a heartbeat.】 【Huh?】 【Ahem. I mean, he’s an idiot. You’re awesome. It’s his loss, big time.】 His earnest attempt to cheer me up actually worked. A little warmth spread through my chest. A moment later, a notification popped up. He had gifted me all the new skins from the event. The very ones I had logged on to get. 【Don’t waste your time being sad over some loser. Anything else you want, just let me know.】 My gaming buddy was the best. My spirits lifted completely. 【Thanks! I’m fully recharged and ready to go!】 6 After a few rounds, I logged off. Maya’s birthday party was that afternoon, and I needed to get ready. Just as I was deciding what to wear, she called. “Chloe! I texted you the address for the party. See you there!” The venue was a huge, elegant ballroom packed with people who all looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine. I didn’t know a soul and was starting to feel seriously out of place when I heard my name. “Chloe! Over here!” Maya ran over and gave me a huge hug. “I’ve been waiting for you! See the dessert tables? I made sure they stocked all of your favorites. And you’re getting the first slice of my cake, no arguments!” Her infectious energy immediately put me at ease. I handed her the gift I’d brought—a bottle of perfume she’d been wanting for months. “Happy birthday!” Her face lit up. “Oh my god, how did you know? I love it! You’re the best!” She leaned in and whispered, “Okay, so the thing with my brother didn’t work out, but as compensation, I’ve invited a ton of single, successful guys tonight. Take your pick.” I hesitated, but she looked so determined to make me happy that I couldn’t say no. “Okay.” “Come on,” she said, pulling me toward a group of guys. “I’ll introduce you.” “Introduce what?” a low voice asked from behind us. Maya didn’t even turn around. “My best friend to a decent guy, obviously.” “Good luck with that, considering the guys you know.” Maya finally stopped and spun around. It was her brother. “What’s that supposed to mean? My friends are quality guys.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385528”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My grandmother refused to close her eyes, her breath rattling in her chest. She made me swear a solemn oath right there on her deathbed. On my wedding day, I had to be out of my house before 4 AM and the ceremony had to be complete by 7 AM. Otherwise, the groom’s entire family would befall a terrible disaster. My grandma had been a seer her whole life, a woman whose predictions never missed the mark. Through my tears, I promised. I told my fiancé, Ryan, that even if it was just for my sake, he had to make sure the wedding party arrived on time. He swore he would. But on the morning of the wedding, the street outside was silent. The limousines were nowhere to be found. My mom called his family, and my future mother-in-law’s cold laughter crackled through the speaker. “What’s the rush? My son isn’t the one who made the oath!” “You want him to pick her up? Fine. Add another $50,000 to the dowry.” “Otherwise, the deal’s off!” The sound of firecrackers and cheerful laughter still echoed from the street below my window. Friends and family, some having traveled across the country, had arrived the night before just to make sure I could leave for my wedding before the 4 AM deadline. Hearing his mother’s words, a hot rage flooded through me. I ripped the decorative pins from my hair. “Mom, I’m not marrying him.” My mom rushed over, pressing my hands down. “Sweetheart, don’t talk crazy. On your wedding day? You can’t just call it off.” She sighed, her voice softening. “You’re pregnant. That’s why they think they have you cornered. Look at your belly.” Pregnant? What baby? I stared down at my stomach. It was soft, a little pudgy, the result of many late-night snacks. Nothing out of the ordinary. I looked up at my mom, confused. “Mom, what are you talking about?” She gave me a slightly exasperated look. “That dinner we had with Ryan’s mother? You ran to the bathroom to throw up halfway through. You didn’t see the look in her eyes after that. Pure calculation. I could practically see the dollar signs.” A vague memory surfaced. We had met with Ryan’s parents to finalize the wedding plans. The night before, I’d gone out for barbecue and had way too much. My acid reflux was acting up, and I’d felt nauseous all through dinner. So that was it. That’s why his mother’s attitude had completely changed when I got back from the restroom. And to make it worse, I remembered complaining to Ryan that my period was late. She thought I was pregnant. And my own mother, seeing the same signs, had just accepted their outrageous demands. 2 “Honey, maybe we should just give them the fifty thousand,” my mom pleaded. “You have to think about your grandmother’s warning.” “And no matter what his family is doing, you and Ryan have been together for years. He’s a good kid, aside from being a little cheap. We can’t be responsible for a curse on their whole family.” I knew she was right, but I couldn’t swallow the injustice. It wasn’t about the money. My family could afford fifty thousand, or even five million. My dad had told me that whatever dowry Ryan’s family offered, he would match it a hundred times over as my wedding gift, a nest egg for my future. I had tried to hint to Ryan that a larger dowry, even a symbolic one like $8,888 for good luck, would be appreciated. He had scoffed at the idea. “Dowries are such an old-fashioned, superstitious tradition,” he’d said. “Besides, your parents are just going to give the money to your cousin, right? A daughter’s dowry never really stays with her. It’s better if that money goes straight into our new life together. Don’t forget, I put your name on the house, baby.” I was furious. But I was bound by a promise to my dad not to reveal our family’s true financial situation to Ryan before the wedding. In a fit of anger, I’d told him I didn’t want a dowry at all. And now, his family was using this manufactured crisis to extort money from us. I didn’t know if Ryan was in on it, but the memory of him promising me he would honor my grandmother’s last wish made my heart ache. All our friends and family were here. They all knew about the timeline my grandmother had set. They had all made arrangements to be here, some traveling for days. And Ryan, the groom, was the only one missing. My phone rang. It was him. 3 His tone was the complete opposite of his mother’s, filled with urgency and concern. “Baby, don’t listen to my mom. She’s just talking crazy.” “We got held up on the way, but I’m almost there.” “I swear, I’ll get you in the car before your grandmother’s deadline. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The anger in my chest subsided. His mother might be a snake, but at least Ryan was on my side. His heart was in the right place. My voice softened. “When will you be here? All our relatives are waiting. If you don’t get here soon, we’ll run out of time.” “Get ready,” he said, his voice firm. “I’m close. I’m going to marry you in style.” I could hear muffled noises in the background. “Ryan, man, when are we leaving? The drivers can’t just park here. Why are we waiting for…” Before I could hear the rest, he hung up. My mom sighed. “At this rate, we’ll have to skip all the fun door games the bridesmaids planned.” My cousin Lily piped up. “But Clara spent three months planning those! All those fun little games will go to waste. And she spent a fortune on the extra photographers…” My mom glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “The money is nothing,” she whispered. “If your grandmother’s spirit is truly angered, no amount of money could save the Zhao family.” 4 Lily’s eyes widened. “Was Grandma really that powerful?” “You grew up overseas, so you don’t know,” my mom explained. “Around here, everyone was terrified of your grandmother. Not because our family had money, but because she was a well-known seer.” “Years ago, before our family made its fortune, one of our relatives struck it rich. He brought his new, young wife back to the old town to visit, bringing gifts for everyone. He wanted to show off.” “Everyone wished them well, but when he came to our house, your grandmother took the expensive gifts—bird’s nest soup, ginseng, all of it—and threw the entire box out the door.” “She pointed at him and cursed him. ‘You think you can buy my blessing with this cheap trash after you abandoned the wife who helped you build your fortune? May you be struck by lightning and die alone! May your family fall to ruin!’” “The man was furious and swore he’d never step foot in our house again. The whole town gossiped about how cruel your grandmother was.” “Until…” my mom trailed off, a strange look on her face. “Until what?” Lily urged. “Auntie, don’t leave me hanging!” “Less than six months later, he was dead. Struck by lightning while using an outhouse in the countryside. They found him face down in a septic tank, his body half-eaten by maggots. It turned out the ‘new wife’ was a prostitute, and he had left his first wife for her. Every word your grandmother said came true. People whispered that she had cast a spell on him, all because he disrespected her.” My mom lowered her voice even more. “We can’t let that happen to Ryan’s family.” 5 A chill ran down my spine. I glanced at the clock. 3:20 AM. Still no sign of Ryan. The wedding ceremony itself was a long, complicated process. If he delayed any longer, we’d never make it. I knew my grandma was… eccentric, but I never realized her power was this terrifying. I grabbed my phone and sent Ryan a text. “Where are you? It’s getting really late. Please hurry! We can’t miss the deadline.” Five minutes later, he replied. “Can you stop rushing me? I’ve been up since yesterday getting ready. Do you think I’m not tired? If you’re so worried, just come wait downstairs. The car will get there when it gets there, and we can just leave.” My hands started to shake. My mom saw my face change. “What is it, honey?” Her heart wasn’t strong. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I locked my phone and forced a smile. “Nothing, Mom. Ryan said there’s a bit of traffic.” But inside, my mind was racing. How could he say that to me? A bride, in her wedding dress, waiting on the curb for her own wedding car? Was I that desperate? Was I so worthless that I had to beg him to marry me? All my excitement, all my anticipation for this day, turned to ash in my mouth. I had spent six months planning every single detail of this wedding, pulling all-nighters to make sure everything was perfect. And this was my reward? I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall. The clock on my phone lit up: 3:40 AM. Twenty minutes left. 6 Relatives were starting to whisper, asking when the groom would arrive. I didn’t hesitate. I sent Ryan another text. “If you can’t make it, let’s just cancel. We can go our separate ways.” After all these years, I couldn’t knowingly push him into a disaster. If we canceled the wedding, surely my grandmother’s curse wouldn’t come to pass. He called me immediately. His voice was completely different from his text. “Honey, I was just stressed. Don’t take it to heart. The wedding cars are just a mile away, but the drivers are on strike. They’re saying it’s too early and they haven’t eaten, and they won’t move until they’re paid in full. Can you… can you transfer me that 20k your mom gave you?” “The second the money hits my account, I’ll be there in five minutes, and we can have our beautiful wedding. But if we delay any longer… I can’t say what might happen.” He was talking about the $20,000 my mom had given me as a personal gift, which he had happened to see. My mom, overhearing, gently nudged me. “Baby, twenty thousand is nothing to us. Just send it to him. I don’t care about the money. I just want you to be happy and safe.” I looked at the faces of my friends and family, all waiting expectantly. I took a deep breath and gave in. I transferred the money. A kissing emoji popped up from him immediately. “Wait for me, my sweet wife. I’m on my way.” I sent back a simple “ok” and turned off my phone, my stomach churning. Now that he had the money, surely there wouldn’t be any more problems. 7 Five minutes later, the sound of car horns blared from downstairs. Lily ran up, her face bright with excitement. “Clara! They’re here! Lock the door!” I pulled Lily and my other cousin, Jake, aside. “We don’t have much time. Don’t make the door games too hard on him, okay? I’ll give you both a big gift later.” “Don’t worry, sis,” Lily said with a grin. “We know what to do.” A moment later, Ryan’s cheerful voice called from the other side of the door. “Honey, open up, or I’m kicking the door in!” Lily played along, calling through the door, “To marry my cousin, you have to answer a few questions first, future brother-in-law!” The next sound was a deafening CRASH. The bedroom door flew off its hinges and slammed into Lily, who fell to the ground with a cry of pain. The heavy wooden door landed on her leg, and her face went white. I shot to my feet. “What is the meaning of this? Is this how you pick up a bride?” A chorus of laughter came from the hallway. “Look what you did, you made the bride angry!” “Hahaha, who knew a mansion would have such a cheap door?” Lily, despite the fact that her foot was already swelling, grabbed the hem of my dress. “Clara, I’m fine. Don’t let this ruin your big day. It doesn’t even hurt.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385527”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I’m a decade older than Julian Vance. The first time I saw him, he was a teenager in rags, fighting a stray dog for scraps in an alley. His eyes, fixed on me, were like a wolf’s. Fierce. Wild. I took him in. I sculpted him from nothing. In ten years, Julian went from a nameless beggar to the most sought-after CEO in New York City. I always considered him my most perfect creation. Until the day a young woman blocked my car, her hand resting smugly on her stomach. She held up a recorder and pressed play. “Julian, who do you love more? Me, or that old hag?” Then, a voice I knew better than my own: “She’s just some old woman who’s past her prime. All these years, the thing I’ve hated most is that high-and-mighty look on her face.” I smiled. It seemed the years of success had made Julian forget the days he spent groveling at my feet like a dog. The next day, a gift-wrapped box containing a bloody, stillborn fetus was delivered to his office. The man, his eyes red-rimmed, pressed the barrel of a gun to my forehead. “Victoria,” he gritted out. I sipped my tea, unbothered. “It seems, Mr. Vance, you’ve forgotten what I’m capable of.” 2 Julian’s face was a mask of fury. “You think I won’t pull the trigger?” He wasn’t the scrawny boy I’d found anymore. Years of walking on the razor’s edge of the corporate world had given him an aura of command. I just smiled and shook my head. “If I were you, I’d be done with the empty threats by now.” He tensed. From behind him, a faint noise came from the floor-to-ceiling windows. He spun around, and the color drained from his face. The little tramp, Chloe, was bound by her hands, dangling seventy-two stories above the streets of Manhattan. Her white dress billowed in the wind, the city a dizzying abyss below her. “I’d be careful if I were you,” I said calmly, the gun still pressed to my skin. “After all, if your hand slips, I die… and your little girlfriend becomes a pancake on the sidewalk.” “One body… oh, wait. Just the one life now, isn’t it?” The girl’s panicked sobs echoed from outside. “Julian, save me!” Julian’s eyes were bloodshot. He clicked off the safety. “Victoria, you wouldn’t dare.” My bodyguards instantly surrounded him, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. I waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone, out.” Then, I pulled a stiletto dagger from my sleeve and, without looking, plunged it into his abdomen. He let out a muffled grunt, but the gun at my forehead only pressed harder. “Does it feel good?” I murmured, my voice like a lover’s whisper. His face was a stone mask. “Are you satisfied? Let her go. Chloe is different from you. She’s just an innocent girl.” Julian’s men arrived and quickly rescued her. I never intended to actually harm her. Watching him hold the girl, whispering soothing words as if she were a priceless, fragile treasure, a wave of boredom washed over me. He used to hold me that way. After a rival’s attack had cost me our child, and with it, my ability to ever conceive again. She was a girl, already formed. We had named her Summer. Julian had a private chapel built for her, commissioning a gilded statue in her image. “Victoria,” he’d said, “our daughter will have a peaceful life next time.” He wanted a constant stream of prayers to build her good karma. I once asked him why he did it. His face was unshaven, but his voice was firm. “Because Summer is the only child I will ever have.” Now, I glanced at the gift box on his desk. You broke your promise, Julian. But don’t worry. I’ll help you keep it. Chloe, having cried her fill, glared at me with swollen, hateful eyes. “Julian, it was her! That bitch killed our baby!” Julian’s expression hardened. He stroked the girl’s hair, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’re out of line.” Chloe’s sobs caught in her throat. She didn’t know. After losing Summer, no one in our circle ever dared to mention the word ‘child’ around us. It was a wound that never healed. She was just a clueless girl, crying her heart out. Julian scooped her up as she fainted and shouldered past me. “Victoria,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I won’t forget this.” 3 I didn’t expect his revenge to come so swiftly. I was stroking the cat on my lap, listening to my assistant’s report with an air of detached boredom. “Mr. Vance outbid us for the South Side development, paying double the market value.” “Mr. Vance has been meeting with shareholders, buying up stock.” “Mr. Vance… demolished the chapel built for Miss Summer.” My hand clenched. The cat yelped and fell silent, cowering in my lap. “Say that again,” I said, my face a blank canvas. My assistant swallowed hard. “He demolished the chapel, ma’am. He said he’s building… building an amusement park for the other woman. Construction started this morning.” CRASH! The teacup in my hand hit the far wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. “I’ll handle this immediately,” my assistant said, bowing his head. I held up a hand. “No. I’ll go myself.” 4 When I arrived, half of the chapel was already rubble. Chloe was holding a balloon, happily directing the demolition crew. “Clear that area out! And over here… Julian, I want a carousel right here!” Julian stood beside her, a gentle smile on his face. To any outsider, they looked like the perfect couple. If only they weren’t destroying my daughter’s memorial. I stepped out of the car. Someone spotted me and started to speak, but froze when they saw the pistol I pulled from my coat. Chloe turned. “Ms. Blackwell…” I raised the gun and fired. The balloon in her hand exploded. “Ah!” she shrieked, diving into Julian’s arms. “Are you insane?!” Julian roared. I said nothing, striding toward them. I racked the slide, chambering another round, and fired again into the air. The chaos on the site ceased instantly. Everyone stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost. “Get out,” I said. Julian scowled. “Victoria.” “GET OUT!” I screamed. It had been years since anyone had pushed me to this point of losing control. No one moved. But Chloe, safe in Julian’s embrace, lifted her head, her eyes full of defiance. “Ms. Blackwell, why let the dead hoard so much space? It’s the living that matter, isn’t it?” At her words, Julian pulled her behind him, shielding her from my aim. He was afraid. Afraid I’d hurt his precious girl. “Victoria,” Julian said, his voice cold. “Summer is gone. We need to move on. Maybe… maybe it was for the best that she was never born.” My hand, clutching the trigger, began to tremble. “What did you just say, Julian?” His eyes held a flicker of something I hadn’t seen before: triumphant cruelty. “You were the one who sinned so much in your life, Victoria. Your hands are dirty. That’s why you couldn’t keep her.” He was talking about the blood I’d spilled to claw my way to the top. “Chloe is different,” he continued. “She’s clean. She’s pure. Summer’s soul was willing to be reborn through her. But you… you lost the right to be a mother forever.” He knew exactly where to twist the knife. “Go on, pull the trigger,” he goaded me. “Do it in front of Summer’s grave. Let her see what a monster her mother truly is.” My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t aim. My assistant rushed to my side, but I pushed him away. “I’m fine.” I’m fine, Summer. Mommy’s fine. Mommy is so sorry. I’m taking you home now. The chapel’s caretaker emerged with a simple, polished wooden box and placed it in my hands. I clutched it to my chest, just as I had clutched my daughter’s lifeless body on that storm-swept night, my own screams lost in the wind. If she had lived, she would be calling me ‘Mommy’ by now. As I staggered away, Julian called out. “Victoria, I won’t harm Summer’s memory. You can leave her here. This will be a place of joy soon.” Chloe chimed in. “That’s right, Ms. Blackwell! When Julian and I have our baby, she can be the big sister, watching over her little brother or sister from beneath the playground.” I ignored them. Julian stepped toward me, but my bodyguards leveled their guns at his chest. My voice was a raw whisper. “The first thing I ever taught you, Julian, was to have no attachments.” “I always thought you were a poor student. I was wrong.” “As of now, you’ve graduated.” This was war.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385526”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 It’s been three years since my parents died. My aunt Lynn brought me to New York City to find my fiancé. His name is Jason Kang, the younger son of the Kang family, owners of the tech giant, Sterling Innovations. He’s one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. To win his affection, I studied ballet, ikebana, and oil painting. I was told I was a clumsy imitation, a poor copy of a more refined woman. One afternoon, Aunt Lynn and I were out shopping for the holidays when I ran into Jessica Thorne. We exchanged heated words, which quickly escalated into a full-blown brawl. Just as we were pulling each other’s hair, Jason appeared. Without a word, he slapped me across the face. When my aunt saw the red mark on my cheek, she was furious. She went straight to the old patriarch of the Kang family, Jason’s grandfather. The old man sighed. “I have another grandson. He is a good man, handsome and kind, but he is burdened by a chronic illness. However, he is the one who will inherit Sterling Innovations.” “I wonder, Miss Hayes, if you would consider him instead?” I rushed home, my face burning. Aunt Lynn was in the kitchen, brewing a pear and ginger tea for her cough. Mr. Kang had sent over a crate of expensive imported fruits after hearing she was unwell. “Did you get everything you needed, dear?” she asked. I held back my tears and tried to slip past her into my room. “You should see that Jessica Thorne,” Aunt Lynn said, not noticing my distress. “She’s always knitting sweaters and making little good luck charms for her fiancé. So devoted.” I didn’t want to hear it, but she continued. “You need to learn from her. Learn how to capture a man’s heart.” My own heart felt like a lead weight in my chest, but I just nodded. “I will, Aunt Lynn.” “You’re too reserved, Chloe. A woman needs to have a little charm, a little spark, to keep a man interested. I don’t want you to end up alone…” My heart felt like it was pickling in vinegar. The tears were about to overflow. I fled to my room and locked the door before I finally let myself cry. Out on the street, Jessica and I had only exchanged a few words before she lunged at me. As we scuffled on the cold pavement, she’d sneered, “You’re just some charity case from the countryside. You think because your parents did the Kangs a favor, you can do whatever you want?” “You’ve spent all these years trying to become a lady, but has Jason ever looked at you twice? You’re just a cheap copy. You will never marry into the Kang family.” She had a fistful of my hair, and I had a grip on her coat. That’s when Jason had shown up, on his way back from a business meeting. “Who do you think you are, bullying people like this?” he’d snarled, his words a slap before his hand even connected with my face. Jessica had looked at me with pure triumph. The whispers of the crowd, the sting on my cheek—it was all too much. That slap had shattered what little was left of my pride. My feelings for him, carefully nurtured for years, began to wither. “You’re just an orphan nobody wants,” he’d continued, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve been living off my family’s charity, acting like you own the place. And now you’re picking fights in public? You’re pathetic.” Before he could finish, I swung my own hand and sent his head snapping to the side. Acting like I own the place? So that’s what he thought of me. All those years of trying to be worthy of him, wasted. A bitter cold settled in my bones. His friends stared, stunned into silence. I walked away, not looking back, and didn’t let the tears fall until I was blocks away. For the past year, Jason had made his disdain for me clear. He was always comparing me to his assistant, a woman named Sarah Jenkins. He said Sarah was beautiful, and though she came from a poor background, she was accomplished and capable. He called her a rose blooming amongst thorns, captivating and fragrant. I was so desperate that I went to Sarah and asked her what Jason liked. She smiled, her eyes appraising me. “Jason has very particular tastes. He likes a woman who is not just beautiful, but also intelligent.” “Intelligent?” I repeated, my voice small. “The kind of woman who is good at everything.” I stared at the floor. All the things I had learned felt like shallow party tricks. In his eyes, I was just a pretender, a clown showing off my half-baked talents. Through the glass wall of his office, I saw Jason laughing, leaning against a table while Sarah arranged a bouquet of flowers. She was exquisite, her movements graceful. The arrangement was stunning. I felt a familiar pang of inadequacy. Together, they looked like a perfect couple. Jason glanced up and caught my eye, a mocking smile on his lips. I looked away, my cheeks burning. Determined to win his approval, I threw myself into my lessons with a new fervor. I took up ballroom dancing. My body was stiff, but I practiced until my feet bled, believing that persistence would pay off. At a family gala, I waited until the very end to perform. When I finally took the stage, I moved with a grace I didn’t know I possessed. I felt like a bird soaring over the ocean. Jason was the first to applaud. After that, things changed. He started responding to my texts immediately. He listened when I spoke. The effort was paying off, but it came at a price. My feet were in constant pain, and the inside of my thighs were raw from hours of practice. Aunt Lynn tended to my injuries, her eyes shining with pride. “You’re finally getting his attention, Chloe. Mr. Kang may be fond of you, but in a family like that, a woman needs her husband’s love to survive.” I knew she was right. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it felt like a hollow victory. One day, I was leaving the dance studio and saw Jason outside his office building, talking to Sarah. I heard him say, “She’s just a clueless little fool, trying to be something she’s not. She’s not worth a single strand of your hair.” 2 I feigned illness and didn’t leave my room for days. Mr. Kang, hearing I was unwell, sent over a host of expensive supplements and remedies. Aunt Lynn hovered over me, convinced I was seriously ill. But no medicine could cure a broken heart. I felt like a beggar who’d had her last ragged coat stripped from her, leaving her naked and exposed. My mother used to say that when you’re sad, you should do something meaningful to distract yourself. I picked up the embroidery I had been working on and lost myself in the rhythm of the needle. After a few days, the handprint on my cheek finally faded. I knew I had to face the world again. The next morning, I woke to a world covered in snow. Through the window, I saw Sarah Jenkins standing outside, a vision in a green wool coat. She smiled when she saw me, her eyes curving into bright crescents. I let her in. After a few pleasantries, she looked down, a guilty expression on her face. “Chloe, I heard about what happened the other day. Please don’t take it to heart.” I managed a weak smile. “It has nothing to do with you, Sarah. You don’t need to apologize for him.” I added, “But thank you for your concern.” “I’ve already told Jason off,” she said, her voice full of indignation. “How could he do that to you, his own fiancée? He’s heartless.” I didn’t want to talk about it. But she continued, oblivious. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately with a big deal at work. You have to try to be more understanding.” “It’s strange, though,” she mused, “he’s always so polite and charming to everyone else. It’s only with you that he…” She trailed off, finally noticing the pained look on my face. “Oh, listen to me, making you sad all over again.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small jar of face cream. Her smile was back, dimples appearing in her cheeks. “This is from Jason.” I took it, a flicker of hope in my heart. “Well, Jason gave it to me, and I’m giving a little to you, so it’s like it’s from him,” she clarified. Something felt wrong. Why was she so insistent on emphasizing her closeness with him? My hand, holding the cream, froze. “What’s wrong? Don’t worry, it’s amazing. It gets rid of any scar. Jason is always telling me that a woman’s skin should be flawless.” I shook my head and gently pushed the cream back into her hand. “I’m fine. The mark will be gone in a few days. You should keep it.” She looked disappointed but didn’t press the issue. After chatting for a while longer, she finally left. I watched her go, her words a heavy weight on my chest. As I was about to close the door, Aunt Lynn appeared beside me. She gently touched my face. “What’s wrong, my dear?” 3 After leaving my house, Sarah didn’t go straight back to the office. She wandered for a bit, then finally headed to Sterling Innovations. Jason was in a heated negotiation, fighting for the best terms for his company. When he saw Sarah return, his eyes lit up with anticipation. The moment the meeting ended, he rushed over to her. “What did she say?” Sarah hesitated, a flicker of resentment in her eyes. “She said… she doesn’t need your fake concern, or your charity.” Jason looked like he’d been struck by lightning. He slumped against the wall, his shoulders sagging. “Did she really say that?” Sarah pressed the face cream into his hand. “Why are you doing this to yourself? She doesn’t care about you. You deserve better.” He wasn’t listening. “Was she hurt badly?” Sarah’s heart ached with jealousy. “No. She’ll be fine in a few days.” “Good,” he whispered, relieved. “That’s good.” “I told her you didn’t mean it,” Sarah said, her voice rising in frustration. “I told her this cream was for her, but she refused to take it. She’s not a good person, Jason. She’s just petty and vindictive…” Her voice faded into the background. Jason clenched his fist, his mind replaying the scene on the street. How could he have hit her? How could he have said those things? It had all started at a dinner party a few weeks ago. Someone had brought up my family, the once-great Hayes family, now fallen on hard times. They started talking about me, about my looks. Jason had felt a surge of pride but said nothing. The conversation had quickly turned inappropriate. “Beauty is just skin deep,” Sarah had interjected. “A woman who only cares about landing a rich husband, who uses a man’s affection to get what she wants, can never be truly respectable.” The men at the table had laughed and agreed, praising Sarah for her beauty and her brains. “But the Hayes girl is more than just a pretty face,” another man had said. “She’s an accomplished artist. And her embroidery is exquisite. My sister commissioned a piece from her, and it was a masterpiece.” Jason’s heart had swelled with pride again. But then, someone else had chimed in. “But her character is questionable. I’ve heard she’s arrogant and looks down on everyone.” Jason’s pride had turned to doubt. He had started to wonder. Is Chloe really like that? When he saw me fighting with Jessica, he had assumed the worst. He thought a slap would be a wake-up call, that I would understand he was just trying to help me be a better person. Now, knowing the truth—that Jessica had provoked me—he was drowning in regret. The snow was falling heavily outside. I was lying in bed when I saw a figure approaching through the blizzard. It was Jason, holding an umbrella and carrying a pile of gifts. I turned away, not wanting to see him. The doorbell rang. I ignored it. A few minutes later, it rang again. I finally got up and opened the door. He was gone, but the gifts were piled on the doorstep. On top was a small card with three words written on it: “I was wrong.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. If apologies could fix everything, there wouldn’t be so many broken hearts in the world. Jason walked aimlessly through the snow-covered streets. He ran into Sarah, who immediately took his arm. “Are you still thinking about her? Jason, she’s not worth it. You’ve been so good to her, and she treats you like dirt.” Her words only made him feel worse. But then she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you. I’ll help you win her back.” His eyes lit up. “Sarah, you’re the best.” He felt a glimmer of hope. But the image that haunted him was my face after he’d slapped me, my eyes filled with tears and disbelief. He had to make it right. 4 I finally told Aunt Lynn everything. She listened in silence, her expression grave. When I finished, she reached out and stroked my cheek. “My poor Chloe. You’ve suffered so much.” Her eyes filled with tears. For the first time in days, I felt a sense of relief. “Come on,” she said, her voice firm. “We’re telling Mr. Kang.” “No, Aunt Lynn. This is between me and Jason. We shouldn’t bother his grandfather.” “Why not? It’s his grandson. He needs to take responsibility. Are you just going to let this go?” “I have to marry him,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “If I make a big deal out of this, it will only make things worse. Besides,” I added, forcing a smile, “I slapped him back. We’re even.” She looked at me, her eyes full of worry. “If he treats you this badly now, how will he treat you after you’re married?” Her words were a dagger to my heart. We were at a stalemate when there was a knock at the door. It was one of Mr. Kang’s assistants. “Miss Hayes, Mr. Jason is leaving on a business trip. Mr. Kang would like you to see him off.” Aunt Lynn’s face was a mask of disapproval. We went to the Kang mansion. The old man was giving Jason some last-minute instructions. When he saw me, his face broke into a warm smile. “You two young people have a chat.” Jason looked at me nervously. “Chloe, I’ll be gone for a few months. But you’ll wait for me, right?” He was afraid I’d find someone else. I met his gaze, my own eyes cold. “Why would I wait for you?” He looked down, ashamed. “I know I messed up. It was just… the rumors. I got confused. It was my fault.” Just then, my aunt’s voice, clear and strong, came from the hallway. “We would like to call off the engagement. My niece is too good for your family.” I was stunned. Aunt Lynn, who had been so invested in this marriage, was the one ending it. She had always been my staunchest supporter, my mother’s sister who had raised me as her own. She wanted me to have a good life, a happy marriage. But she had seen that this was not it. When we stepped out of the room, Mr. Kang was furious. He kicked Jason hard in the shin. “You worthless fool!” He then turned to me, his eyes full of sympathy. “My dear child, I am so sorry. This is all Jason’s fault.” Jason was kneeling on the floor. “Father, I was wrong.” Mr. Kang ignored him and turned to my aunt. “Lynn, must you do this? Can we not talk it over?” “My Chloe is not a piece of property,” my aunt said, her voice shaking with emotion. “She is a human being. And your grandson has treated her with nothing but disrespect. That is not how you treat someone you love.” 5 Her words were a revelation. Sarah’s comment about Jason treating me differently than anyone else suddenly made sense. He was always so charming to others, but so cruel to me. It was because he saw me as his possession. When I failed to meet his expectations, he punished me. In that moment, any lingering affection I had for him vanished. I looked at him as if he were a stranger. Mr. Kang was still trying to salvage the situation. “Chloe,” he said, his voice gentle. “Do you still have feelings for Jason?” “I did,” I answered honestly. “But his actions have worn away any affection I had for him. I feel nothing for him now. You can’t force love, Mr. Kang.” Jason looked devastated. He tugged on his grandfather’s sleeve, but the old man ignored him. “If you don’t love him, then I can’t force you.” He sighed, a tired, old man. “But I have another grandson. He is a good man, handsome and kind, but he is burdened by a chronic illness. However, he is the one who will inherit Sterling Innovations.” “I wonder, Chloe, if you would consider him instead?” The engagement to Jason was not officially broken. Mr. Kang’s plea, and my own wavering resolve, left things in limbo. Without the protection of the Kang family, my own family’s business, which was just starting to recover, would be vulnerable. And then there was the matter of a certain wealthy heir who had taken an unwelcome interest in me. He was married, but that didn’t stop him from harassing me. He would follow me, his smile predatory. “You think the Kangs can protect you forever?” One day, I finally snapped and told him to leave me alone. He grabbed me. Just as I was starting to despair, two of the Kang family’s bodyguards appeared and beat him senseless. “How did you know I was here?” I asked them, shaken. “Mr. Kang asked us to keep an eye on you,” one of them replied. I owed the old man. The Kang family had been nothing but kind to me. To refuse his offer now would seem ungrateful. But I knew there was still a chance to break free. “I don’t know,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Would your other grandson even want to marry me?” Mr. Kang’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385525”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My desk mate, Tiffany, is basically a princess. On the last day of school before summer break, she asked me, “Should I go to Paris or Tokyo for the next three weeks?” I asked her, “Should I go back to my grandma’s in Idaho to dig potatoes or detassel corn? Eight hours a day, two hundred bucks, cash.” Tiffany, in a fit of pity, offered me a gig. She said her cousin, also a rising high school senior, had a serious gaming addiction. Apparently, he was desperate for someone to discipline him, to literally beat the addiction out of him. He wanted to hire a tutor who could get physical. The pay? Two grand a day, room and board included. Tiffany even thoughtfully provided me with a starter kit: a ruler, a riding crop, and a thick leather belt. I followed the address to a mansion in the hills. I rang the bell for what felt like forever before the door finally opened. A handsome guy with bleached blond hair scowled at me. “You’re a girl?” I slapped him across the face. His artfully arranged bangs flipped to the other side. “Don’t be sexist,” I said sweetly. “Respect women.” He was stunned. “Did you just hit me?” I gave him a deep, formal bow. “My apologies. Tiffany told me this is how you like it.” He stared at me for a solid ten seconds, his eyes darting away. A slow blush crept up his neck. “Damn it,” he muttered. “How did she know I…” He cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. “F-fine, come in.” 2 He led me up to a room on the third floor. It was a gamer’s paradise, with multiple massive screens and a glowing, transparent PC tower. I’d never seen anything like it. “So,” I asked, “shall we begin?” He plopped into a gaming chair. “You can use that setup,” he said, pointing to an identical station next to his. “How are your gaming skills?” he asked, putting on his headset. “Tiffany said you’re a high-rank player, that you could carry me… whoa, what the hell?! Why did my screen go black?” I emerged from under the desk. “Because I unplugged your power cord.” “What is wrong with you?!” I pulled the ruler from my back pocket and gave his butt a sharp whack. “If you swear again,” I said with a smile, “I’ll use this on your mouth.” He yelped, clutching his rear and then covering his mouth. “Who are you? What did Tiffany send you here for?” “My name is Chloe,” I said. “I’m here to tutor you.” His rebellious streak flared up. “I told her to find me a gaming partner! Not a damn tutor!” He tried to bolt, but I slammed him against the door and locked it. He struggled, and I pressed my body against his back to hold him in place. He suddenly went still, his breathing becoming heavy. “What… what are you doing?” I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear. “Studying, of course.” For some reason, all the fight went out of him. Maybe I’m just good at handling things. I’ve wrestled pigs at my grandma’s, after all. In the dimly lit room, I asked him, “What’s your name?” The tough guy was all bravado. He trembled slightly. “L-Liam.” 3 Liam called his cousin. Her phone was off. “You can go home,” he said. “I don’t need a tutor.” “I can’t,” I replied. “I’ve already been paid.” He pulled out his phone. “How much did she give you?” “Thirty grand.” He immediately tried to Venmo me. “I’ll give you a hundred grand to get out of my house right now.” I declined the payment and confiscated his phone. I took the leather belt from my waist, tied his hands behind his back, and pushed him into the chair. I opened a textbook and started the lesson. He refused to cooperate, standing up to leave. I pushed him back down. He stood up again. I slapped him, hard. “Sit down,” I said, my voice ice cold. He let out a soft gasp. Still, he wouldn’t sit. I grabbed the riding crop. “Do I have to hurt you to make you happy?” I snapped it against his legs. “Does this feel good? Huh? You’re just asking for it!” One of the hits must have stung because he actually tried to fight back, raising his fists in a weak imitation of a boxer. “Meow meow combo punch!” He was definitely trying to provoke me, wanting me to hit harder. So I did. The crop whistled through the air. CRACK! “Ow! I was just kidding!” he yelped, clutching his head. Finally, blushing, he sat down. When I opened the door three hours later, a middle-aged woman was standing there. Liam, still tied up, looked mortified. “Mom…” His mom looked from him to me, a little flustered. “Are you two… playing?” “No,” I said. “I’m the tutor Tiffany sent.” She was shocked. “He’s actually studying?” “For three hours straight,” I confirmed. She handed me a set of keys. “Then you’re in charge now, Miss Chloe.” Liam was still defiant. “Who said I wanted to study?!” His mom pulled out her phone and showed us his April Fool’s Day post: [Hiring a hitman to hold a knife to my throat and make me study. Must not actually kill me.] She gave him a knowing look. “Don’t be difficult, Liam. Tiffany’s terrified of you. She would never do this unless you told her to.” Liam: “!!” 4 It turned out Liam and I went to the same school. We could study together after classes. We were in his study until dark, and he finally threw down his pen. “I’m completely drained… I have nothing left to give…” He said he had to use the restroom. I untied him and escorted him to the door. When he came out, he was blushing, begging me not to stand guard next time. The pressure was too much. After dinner, we went to his home gym. He worked out his frustration on the weights, then threw the barbell down on a towel. I walked over, lifted one end with a single hand, and pulled the towel out. I’d been doing farm work since I was a kid; lifting heavy things was second nature. What’s he making such a fuss about? This is easy. I turned around and saw him staring at me, his jaw on the floor. He suddenly announced he was done working out and wanted to go study. 5 Liam was actually pretty smart, so I didn’t push him too hard. I let him go to bed at midnight. I was asleep in the guest room when the security alarm went off. Liam had made a run for it. His mom was grabbing the car keys to go after him, but I stopped her. We checked the security cameras and saw him sneak into a storage closet. I stomped down the stairs loudly and flicked on the light in the closet. “Are you hiding?” I sang out in a creepy voice. “Ready or not, here I come! Where is our little boy hiding…?” I dramatically checked behind the curtains, then under a table. I flung open the main cabinet door. “Aha! Found you!” Liam, a six-foot-plus guy, was curled into a tiny ball, trembling. “You’re terrifying!” I dragged him out. “Why are you hiding? Isn’t studying fun? You learned over 100 new vocabulary words today!” “You’re force-feeding me!” he wailed. “I can’t take any more!” I pointed to his head. “But your brain is begging for more. It wants me to push it to its absolute limit.” “This is insane! You’re going to break me!” “Don’t struggle,” I said with a smile, dangling the shiny silver handcuffs his mom had given me. “If you run again, I’ll lock you in the basement and we’ll study until you don’t know what day it is.” Liam: “!!!” 6 The next morning, Liam was up early, reviewing vocabulary. But his motivation was low. I brought in a pet rat. Liam, who was terrified of rodents, shot upright. “Get that thing away from me!” “But he’s so cute,” I cooed, dangling the rat in front of his face. “Okay, 200 words. For every one you get wrong, I’m putting him down your pants and tying the drawstring.” “You’re a psycho!” he screamed, tied to his chair and unable to escape. “Keep yelling, and I’ll do it right now.” The rat’s tail brushed his arm, and he shrieked. “Okay, okay! I’ll do it! I’ll study!” I put the rat back in its cage. “Good boy.” Later, during a quiz, he got stuck. “The word for ‘sensitive’ is…” “Uh…” I reached for the cage. “SENSITIVE!” he yelled. The adrenaline was a powerful study aid. After a few hours of this, he passed out from exhaustion. 7 The next morning, at 5 AM, he refused to get out of bed. I leaned over him, whispering like a demon. “Still lying there, your majesty? As you should. You are the king, after all.” He opened his eyes. His hands and feet were tied to the bedposts. I started layering wet paper towels on his face. “You just rest. Your humble servant will be back later.” Liam: “!!!” From then on, his alarm would go off at 5 AM, and he’d spring out of bed like a jack-in-the-box. He became a model student. All he did was study, eat, and use the bathroom. His obedience was almost suspicious. Then I caught him using the smart fridge’s screen to text his friends. They had a whole system worked out with emojis. Friend: 👐 (game) + 🎮 (on)? Liam: 🐔 (what) + 💧(time)? Friend: 🌙 (tonight) + 👌 (three). Liam: 6785753 (our usual spot). That night, a shadow crept into my room and stole the keys from my nightstand. It disabled the alarm, snuck out the back, and hopped a fence into a waiting yellow Lamborghini. “Bro, you’re free!” his friend cried, hugging him. “Shut up and log on!” Liam hissed. I appeared in front of the car’s headlights, a ghostly smile on my face. “Going somewhere, darling?” The screams from inside the car were epic. 8 My bodyguards threw Liam back into his room. He was huddled on the bed, shaking. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to play one game!” I grabbed a fistful of his bleached hair. “And here I was, thinking you were actually starting to love learning. But you were just thinking about that stupid game the whole time, you little cheater!” He seemed to… enjoy being yelled at. He swallowed hard. “W-what are you going to do to me?” “What am I going to do?” I said, my voice dripping with menace. “I’m going to destroy it. I’m going to make you watch as I take your precious game and humiliate it. Then you’ll know what true suffering is.” I held up his phone. He panicked. “What are you doing with my phone?!” “Keep yelling, and I’ll post your browser history.” Liam: “…” I kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel. “Oh, and by the way, I’m going to take your account, download a bunch of dating sims, and spam all your friends with notifications. I’ll change your algorithm so all you see are thirst traps of shirtless guys. You can even watch the screen recordings of me playing, if you want. See how your precious account moans for me…” “NO!” he begged, his eyes wide with horror. “I’ll do anything! I’ll study, I swear! Just don’t do that to my account!” I let out my best evil villain laugh. “I don’t want to torture you, darling. But you just won’t behave.” “I’ll be good! I promise!” he cried, a crazed look in his eyes. “Every problem you assign, I’ll do it! Every chapter you highlight, I’ll memorize it!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385524”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel