The night I won my first Oscar, a gossip blog dropped a grainy video of me from years ago, heavily pregnant. The press room erupted. Every reporter was shouting the same question: “Ms. Jiang, who is the father of your child?” I glanced over at Liam Foster, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. It was the first time I had ever seen the famously stoic and composed mogul lose his cool in public. I turned back to the reporters and smiled into the blinding flash of cameras. “I don’t have a child.” The day Liam left me for his childhood sweetheart, he sealed our fate. There would never be anything between us again. 1 Before I even stepped out of the limo, my publicist, Dana, was giving me the riot act. “If you see Ashley Vance, you walk the other way. We are not having a repeat of last year’s drama.” It was an open secret that Ashley’s benefactor was Liam. The Foster family practically owned Hollywood. There was a crude saying that made the rounds in the industry: Want to be a star? Sleep with a Foster. As crass as it was, it was true. Every woman linked to Liam had seen her career skyrocket. Except for me. I was the only one who had publicly dated him and ended up nearly blacklisted. All because I had offended his precious childhood friend. For the past six years, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much critical acclaim my performances received, I never won. Nomination after nomination, always the bridesmaid. The constant disappointment had sanded down all my rough edges. I started avoiding any project Ashley was attached to, turning down scripts I loved with the excuse of “scheduling conflicts.” Maybe my silent surrender finally paid off. Or maybe, with her and Liam’s wedding on the horizon, she didn’t want the bad press. Whatever the reason, this year, they’d deigned to let an award slip through their fingers and into my hands. When Dana got the news, she nearly cried. “Kara,” she’d said, her voice thick with emotion, “the hard times are finally over.” Liam was finally letting me go. I knew, even though our breakup was his fault, that I could never win a fight against him. I had surrendered a long time ago. 2 The moment Dana finished warning me about Ashley, Ashley herself appeared, inviting me to walk the red carpet with her. The old flame and the new fiancée of the most powerful man in Hollywood, standing side-by-side. It was a PR goldmine. I knew she was doing it to humiliate me. It wasn’t just about her status as Liam’s new woman. It was also because we were both wearing dresses by the same designer. Hers was from the latest couture collection. Mine was a loaner from last season. I could already picture the headlines, the brutal fashion blogs, the snarky comments from her fans and my haters, calling me a “has-been.” But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t there to compete with her wardrobe. And I certainly had no illusions about winning Liam back. If she wanted to be the star, I would be the quiet, tasteful backdrop. Apparently, my compliance bored her. She leaned in, her voice a low whisper. “Did you know Liam is coming tonight?” I didn’t. The day we broke up, we had severed all ties. But my stride faltered at the mention of his name. She noticed. A smirk played on her lips. “Don’t get your hopes up. He’s here for me.” “I know.” Although the Fosters were a Hollywood dynasty, Liam himself had always shunned industry events. Even when we were together, at the height of our supposed love story, he’d never once attended an awards show for me. “We’re getting married soon,” she added. I nodded and turned to her, forcing a sincere smile. “I wish you both all the happiness.” My meekness seemed to drain the fun out of it for her. As soon as we were off the carpet, she disappeared, probably to find him. I posed for the photographers and answered a few vapid questions. To their credit, none of them mentioned Liam. Our relationship had been a whirlwind, but its end was a PR disaster. Liam, the man who controlled everything, had found out he was single from a trending topic on Twitter. I was the one who announced it. In an interview, when a reporter asked about our future plans, I had looked straight into the camera and said, calmly, “We’ve broken up.” No warning, no explanation. 3 Liam had called me once after that. He didn’t ask why. He didn’t apologize or try to explain. He just asked, “Are you sure about this?” I’d whispered, “Yes.” He was silent for a beat, then hung up. I had expected him to be furious. He was used to getting his way. For me to dump him, and for him to find out about it with the rest of the world… it was the ultimate humiliation. The hashtag #LiamGetsDumped trended for three days straight. He never had it taken down. My own studio tried, but it would reappear minutes later. It wasn’t about his embarrassment; it was a warning to me. And sure enough, my career hit a brick wall. Six years. Six years until his anger cooled, until he was ready to marry someone else. The memories were a haze. The presenter had to call my name twice before I snapped out of it. The applause was thunderous. Through the crowd, I saw Ashley in the front row. The seat beside her was empty, reserved for Liam. He wasn’t here yet. Good. But as I stepped onto the stage to give my acceptance speech, I looked out, and there he was. Sitting right next to her, looking devastatingly handsome. He was even more formidable now, his presence colder, more imposing. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger. I steadied myself and began my speech. 4 Halfway through, a murmur rippled through the audience. It was more than a whisper; it was the sound of a collective gasp, a scandal breaking in real time. A notorious gossip blogger had just posted a grainy video of me, taken six years ago, shortly after my breakup with Liam. I was visibly pregnant. I had dropped out of a major film back then, disappearing from the public eye for a full year. The video was from a security camera in the lobby of my old apartment building. I had forgotten to wear a mask that day. My face was perfectly clear. As I walked off stage, clutching my award, Dana and my assistant rushed to form a human shield, but it was too late. The press swarmed me, a chaotic frenzy of flashing lights and outstretched microphones. “Kara, who is the father?” “Was it Liam Foster’s baby?” “Where is the child now?” They were all shouting the same question. I was trapped. Across the room, Liam sat untouched, a circle of empty space around him like an invisible force field. If we were still together, maybe they would have been kinder. I saw the raw shock on his face, the way his fingers dug into the armrest of his chair. He knew who the father was. And for the first time, the unflappable Liam Foster looked utterly lost. I didn’t look at him. I looked at the reporters, and I smiled. “I don’t have a child.” 5 No Oscar winner has ever made an exit as pathetic as mine. My dress was torn, I’d lost an earring in the chaos. It felt less like a victory march and more like a refugee fleeing a war zone. “What the hell was that?” Dana demanded once we were safely in the car. “You have a kid? Liam’s kid? Where is he?” The questions came too fast. I didn’t know which one to answer. This was a new team. They only knew the public version of my history with Liam. They thought I’d disappeared for a year to mend a broken heart. Dana’s mind was already racing. “If Liam comes looking for his kid, this is your chance! You can get back together with him. You’ll be set for life.” I shook my head. “Don’t tell me you’re going to piss him off again!” she shrieked. “There is no child,” I said quietly. There was, once. But not anymore. She didn’t believe me. “Kara, look,” my assistant said, holding out her phone. “Are they already dragging you online?” Dana snarled, snatching the phone. Her expression shifted. “What… what is this?” There were no negative stories. No embarrassing photos from my chaotic exit. Nothing. It was Liam. He could crush a person with a single phone call. He could also protect them just as easily. “So you really don’t have the kid?” Dana asked, looking stressed. “Then what are you going to tell him?” Why did I have to tell him anything? He didn’t love me. And he was about to marry someone else. 6 I knew he would come for me. He had to. But I didn’t expect him to be waiting at the foot of my building. In the dim light of the streetlamp, his tall, lean figure looked just as it had six years ago. Back then, he would have opened his arms for me to run into. Now, he just stood there, a cold, imposing statue. “Be smart about this, Kara,” Dana warned as I got out of the car. “You’ve worked too hard to throw it all away now.” I nodded and walked toward him. My steps were even, as if I were meeting an old acquaintance. But my heart was pounding. Because I had loved him. So much that when the earthquake hit, when he left me behind without a second thought to find Ashley, I had almost lost the will to live. He knew why I dumped him. He just never cared enough to explain. He let me suffer for six years as punishment for embarrassing him. “Mr. Foster,” I said, my voice even. He frowned. “I always preferred it when you called me Liam.” I smiled, a sad, distant thing. “Ashley said you’re getting married soon. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Congratulations.” “Do you think I can get married now?” he asked, his voice rough. Even if Ashley was willing to be a stepmother, her family would never allow it now. I had, once again, ruined his plans. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Where is the child?” 7 He finally got to the point. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” he demanded. Because I didn’t know at first. And when I did, we were already over. “I didn’t want to complicate things with you and Ashley.” He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You hid it for six years, and it still blew up in our faces. Did that make it any less complicated?” “I’m sorry,” I repeated, the only words I seemed to have left. He asked again, his voice dangerously low. “Where. Is. The. Child?” “There is no child,” I said. From the moment I saw the two pink lines, I knew I wouldn’t keep it. A man who didn’t love me would never love my child. And I wasn’t going to be a single mother. A flicker of something—pain? regret?—crossed his face. It was the first real emotion I’d seen from him all night. Did he care about the child we never had? Or was it possible that, once, he had cared a little bit about me?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385436”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It was late. I was alone, scrolling through Wattpad, and settled on a steamy story titled My Roommate is My Best Friend’s Boyfriend. The writing was good, the smut was top-tier, but the further I read, the more unsettling it became. The description of the male lead… Why did it sound exactly like my boyfriend? 1. 6’1″, thin lips, a lecturer at his alma mater. Allergic to nuts, with a small red mole just under his left collarbone… Could it really be a coincidence? My throat tightened. I kept scrolling. 【…he pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room, his fingers expertly unbuttoning my shirt. The city lights blazed outside, blurring the figures of people walking on the street below. The thrill of being caught, the sheer risk of it, only seemed to make him harder, rougher.】 Another long, explicit passage followed. My heart skipped a beat. Ethan’s new apartment, the one he was so proud of, had a massive floor-to-ceiling window. He’d taken me to see it a few months ago when it was just an empty space. The setting sun had spilled across the river, catching in his smiling eyes. He’d held me from behind, his voice soft in my ear. “I know how much you love a good view. Once you finish your master’s and move in, we can sit here every night and watch the city light up.” I frowned. Could the man in this story really be Ethan? I read more carefully, but as I did, a sense of absurdity started to push back against my initial panic. The male lead in the story was wild, aggressive, whispering filthy things in the heroine’s ear. My Ethan was gentle, reserved, with an almost old-fashioned shyness. The few times he’d tried to say something even remotely flirty, he’d been the one to blush first. How could that man be the same one pinning a girl against a window for the whole world to see? Ethan was moderately well-known on campus. A handsome young lecturer was bound to attract attention. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that someone was using him as a muse for their fantasy. Besides, I only had two best friends. One was studying abroad in Berlin, and the other had graduated and was a lesbian. I trusted them both completely. I let out a long breath, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. Maybe I was just being paranoid. 2. Even though my gut told me it was impossible, I read the rest of the chapters. The plot was simple. The heroine, a college student, moves out of her dorm after a fight with her roommate. She finds a new place, only to discover that her landlord and new roommate is a man—her best friend’s boyfriend. They both agree to keep it a secret. But living together, just the two of them, day in and day out… sparks were bound to fly. After the boyfriend has a fight with his girlfriend (the heroine’s best friend), the heroine comforts him. They drink, and the long-suppressed tension finally explodes. The heroine discovers that beneath his gentle, scholarly exterior, her best friend’s boyfriend has a completely different side. From there, the story was a non-stop smut-fest. My fingers, acting on their own, scrolled past the last chapter and into the comment section. A reader had posted: This feels so real, omg. Is the male lead based on a real person? Can’t wait for the next update! The author had replied to that comment just two minutes ago. Let’s just say… my inspiration is very close by. 😉 He just wore me out, I’m exhausted! We’re going to bed now, I’ll update tomorrow! Goodnight! xoxo I stared at that comment for a long time. My logical brain was screaming that it was a coincidence, that I was overthinking it. But I opened my chat with Ethan anyway. I typed: Are you asleep? The thirty seconds I waited for a reply felt like an eternity. The only sound in the dark, quiet room was the frantic thumping of my own heart. My screen lit up. 3. Ethan: Just finished some work. About to head to bed. Why are you still up? You know you need your sleep. His reply was as prompt and caring as always. On any other night, it would have made my heart melt. Tonight, it felt like a slap in the face. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. Impulse took over. I had to know. I had to see for myself. Words could lie. His apartment couldn’t. My fingers flew across the screen, moving faster than my thoughts. I opened the Uber app. Set destination. Request ride. Confirm. A long moment passed. I picked up my phone again and texted Ethan. Suddenly really miss you. I don’t have class tomorrow. I’m coming over. Is that okay? The second the message sent, my phone started ringing. The screen glowed with his name: Ethan. I immediately declined the call. A new text from him popped up. It’s almost 1 AM. I don’t want you coming over by yourself this late. Be a good girl. I’ll come pick you up first thing in the morning, okay? I replied: No. I want to see you now. I’m already in the Uber. After sending the text, I took two steps forward. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on, illuminating my pale face. I was already standing right outside his door. 4. I didn’t knock. If the one-in-a-million chance was true, what would bursting in accomplish, other than showing my hand? I turned and slipped into the fire stairwell at the end of the hall. From this angle, I had a perfect view of his front door. A few minutes later, the door creaked open a few inches. Not all the way, as if the person inside was cautiously checking the hall. A man’s voice, hushed and urgent, drifted out. “Hurry up.” Then, a girl stepped out. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. She pouted. “Do I really have to go? Can’t I stay a little longer? She’s still in the car, right?” Ethan’s voice was cold, hard, completely stripped of the warmth I was used to. It was the voice of a stranger. “Go home. Now. Don’t make me say it again.” “She could be here any minute. She can’t see you. I’ll text you when it’s safe to come back.” The girl seemed intimidated by his tone. She mumbled, “You’re so afraid of her…” “Calla, you know exactly what she means to me.” “And you’re not afraid I won’t come back?” “You will,” Ethan said, his voice certain. The story on Wattpad mentioned that the male lead had stopped charging the heroine rent. But my mind couldn’t focus on that detail. Because I recognized the girl. Calla. My sister. Or, more accurately, the sister I refused to acknowledge. The product of my father’s affair. 5. Ethan and I had only been officially dating for six months, but we’d known each other for over twenty years. We weren’t exactly childhood sweethearts. Our families had been neighbors, living in the same quiet cul-de-sac. My childhood memories were filled with him, a quiet little boy who always trailed after me, sharing his candy, chasing away stray dogs. My mom used to laugh and call him my little guardian angel. My world was small and safe back then. I thought it would last forever. Until Calla and her mother showed up. I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face, the color draining from her cheeks. My happy, carefree childhood had been a lie, eaten away by a secret rot. Calla was only a year younger than me. Which meant that while my mother was pregnant with me, full of hope and excitement, my father was in another woman’s arms, creating another “blessing.” The arguments, the crying, the sound of breaking glass, the prying eyes of the neighbors… that period of my life is a dark, painful blur. My mother was a proud woman. She couldn’t tolerate the betrayal, especially not when the other woman showed up on our doorstep with her child, demanding my mother step aside. In the end, my mother chose divorce. The day we left, it was drizzling. I pressed my face against the car window, looking back. I saw Ethan run out of his house, chasing our car, holding something in his hand. But he disappeared into the rain. That escape didn’t just take my family; it severed my connection to my childhood, to Ethan, to everything I had ever known. My mom and I moved across the country. Calla, and everything associated with her, became a wound I never spoke of, a mark of shame burned into my soul. The next time I saw Ethan was in high school. 6. He was on stage in the auditorium, giving a speech as a student representative. He was tall, confident, poised. I sat in the audience, not daring to believe it was him. But as the crowd was filing out, he spotted me and called out my name. It felt like fate, pulling us back together. The trauma of my childhood had changed me. I was no longer the happy, outgoing girl he knew. But Ethan saw all of it—my fragility, my insecurity, my sharp edges—and he stayed. Year after year, through high school and college, he was there. Finally, I let my guard down. I allowed myself to believe that he truly understood me, that he loved me. I never, ever imagined that his other woman would be Calla. He, more than anyone, knew how much I hated her. Why? When he held her, did he ever think of the helpless little girl I used to be? Of the tears I cried? This wasn’t just cheating. This was a slow, deliberate torture. He had taken my most painful memory and used it to slice away every last bit of my trust. The sensor light in the hallway clicked off, plunging me into darkness. I leaned against the cold wall and listened to the sound of his apartment door locking. The world was silent, but inside my head, the fortress I had built from love and trust was crumbling to dust. 7. My phone screen glowed in the dark. Ethan: Where are you? Should I come get you? I fought to keep my hands from shaking as I typed my reply. I’m suddenly not feeling well, really dizzy. Might have caught a chill. I’m not going to come over, just going to go back to my dorm and rest. He replied instantly: Not feeling well? How bad is it? Where are you right now? Still in the car or back at campus? Don’t move. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to find you right now. Wait for me. His panic felt so real it was almost convincing. I didn’t reply. Less than two minutes later, that door opened again. Ethan was rushing out, a t-shirt thrown on crookedly, his face a mask of genuine concern. He was fumbling to put on a jacket with one hand while holding his phone with the other. Watching him, so flustered and worried, I wanted to laugh. But all I felt was a deep, hollow sadness. Just as the elevator doors were about to open for him, I stepped out from the end of the hall. The stark, white light of the sensor enveloped us both. My voice was low, but in the silent hallway, it was as loud as a gunshot, and it made him freeze, his back rigid. “Ethan.” 8. His hand, halfway into his jacket sleeve, stopped moving. He stared at me, dumbfounded. “Chloe? I thought you were sick.” I ignored his question. “I just saw someone who looked a lot like Calla leaving your apartment.” My voice was flat. “Tell me I was mistaken.” His face went pale. He knew there was no point in lying. After a long moment, he managed to choke out two words. “I’m sorry…” “When did it start?” I asked. He looked down, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Four months ago. That time we had that big fight… she came over to comfort me. I’d been drinking. I thought… I thought she was you. It just… happened.” I closed my eyes. It matched the plot of the story perfectly. The journey from suspicion to certainty, from a flicker of hope to utter despair, had been brutally fast. It hurt, but more than the pain, I felt sick. I suddenly remembered my freshman year of college. Ethan and I had ended up at different schools. We had a stupid fight, and I’d impulsively told him I never wanted to see him again. I was hysterical, screaming cruel things into the phone. Two hours later, my roommate burst into our room, panicked. Ethan had scaled the spiked iron fence around our all-girls dorm. His palms were bleeding, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just stood under my window in the pouring rain all night, his eyes fixed on my room. He was so proud, so arrogant. But in front of me, he had made himself small. He ended up with seven stitches. As the nurse put in his IV, he looked at me, his eyes red-rimmed. “Chloe, I don’t want anyone but you. If you ever say those words to me again, I’ll… I’ll…” He never finished the threat. He just buried his head in my neck and cried, hot tears scalding my skin. He couldn’t live without me. I had been so sure of that. And it was that certainty that made this betrayal so much more pathetic. “Ethan,” I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. “We’re done.” 9. He refused to accept it. He begged. He pleaded. He was about to get on his knees. I didn’t stop him. So he knelt. I knew he was trying to make me feel sorry for him, to make me soften. But even fate wasn’t on his side. As he knelt, his phone slipped out of his pocket and clattered on the floor. The screen lit up with a text notification. I snatched it up before he could. The words on the screen were bright and damning. Calla: Is she gone yet? I miss you. We didn’t get to finish earlier… Can you just tell her to go home so I can come back and play? 😘 I let out a cold laugh and threw the phone at him. It bounced off his chest with a dull thud. “You both make me sick.” I turned and walked away. He scrambled to his feet, desperate. “Chloe, wait, let me explain—” I spun around and spat the words at him. “Don’t you dare touch me with the same hands you touched her with!” The pure disgust in my eyes finally broke him. He froze, not daring to take another step. I walked into the elevator without looking back. As the doors slid shut, his figure disappeared from my sight, once and for all.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385435”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was scrolling through a forum online when a headline caught my eye: 【What do you do when your boss wants your wife?】 The top-voted comment was pure filth: 【Easy. Drop something in her drink. Let him have his fun. She won’t remember a thing in the morning.】 It was so disgusting I flagged the post. Then, that evening, my husband wrapped his arms around me. “Honey,” he whispered into my hair. “I was thinking of having my boss over for dinner this weekend. Would that be okay?” 1 The words buzzed in my skull, a low, angry hum. What were the odds? I forced myself to swallow, to push my heart back down from my throat where it was trying to escape. I leaned back slightly to look at my husband, Ethan, and knitted my brows. “Why here? Can’t you just take him to a restaurant?” Ethan’s arms tightened around my waist, his tone a smooth, reasonable balm. “Babe, I’m on the shortlist for the director position. This is the final push. Being seen out in public could look like I’m trying too hard, you know? A colleague might see, and it could get weird. At home, it’s private. We can actually talk.” He nuzzled my neck. “Besides, Rich has had every five-star meal you can imagine. He keeps talking about wanting something authentic, a real home-cooked meal. And your cooking? I have complete faith in you, honey.” He pulled away just enough to look me in the eyes, his own earnest and wide. “This dinner… it’s basically an audition. A test. Rich is huge on family, on stability. If he sees how happy we are, how solid our marriage is, that director role is as good as mine.” When I just pursed my lips, not answering, Ethan held up a single finger. “Babe. The annual salary for this job starts with this number.” My eyes widened. “Three hundred thousand?” A smug, satisfied smile spread across his face. “And that’s before bonuses and stock options. Lily, with that money, we could pay off the mortgage in a few years. We could finally start talking seriously about having a baby.” I felt a crack in my resolve. He was right. We had just bought this house, and the mortgage was an anchor around our necks. Every month, our paychecks came in and went straight to the bank. We were scraping by, the dream of starting a family pushed further and further into the future. If he got this promotion, we could finally breathe. I stared hard into Ethan’s eyes, searching for a flicker, a single tell that something was wrong. “Just Mr. Hayes? No one else?” Ethan’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. I’m not an idiot. Why would I share a chance to get this close to the boss with anyone else?” He frowned then, a look of genuine confusion clouding his features. “Lily, what’s wrong? You’ve always been my biggest supporter when it comes to my career.” His expression was flawless. The words were perfectly logical. Was I being paranoid? Was that disgusting forum post just a horrible, sickening coincidence? I dropped my gaze, my voice still laced with a thread of unease. “Ethan… I just… I get a weird vibe from him. The way he looked at me at the company Christmas party last year… it was slimy. It made my skin crawl.” The first and only time I’d met Richard Hayes, he had held my hand for a beat too long, his eyes dragging from my face down to my shoes and back up again. I’d had a nightmare about it that night. Ethan let out a sharp laugh, a pfft of air, and reached out to pinch my cheek playfully. “Oh, honey, you’re overthinking it! His wife, Brenda, is famously terrifying. He wouldn’t dare step out of line. She’d have his balls in a vise.” He puffed out his chest, making a mock-ferocious face. “And you’ve got me here! If he tried anything, even looked at you the wrong way, I’d be the first one to smash a bottle over his head.” He finished by kissing my forehead, his voice softening. “Okay? Stop worrying. We’ve both got work tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.” He rolled over, and within minutes, his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep. But my mind was a churning sea of anxiety. The vile words from that forum post kept washing up on the shore of my consciousness, each one more toxic than the last. I lay awake until the digital clock on the nightstand read 2:17 AM. Certain that Ethan was deep in sleep, I carefully reached for his phone, plugged into its charger on his side of the bed. The passcode was our anniversary. It opened on the first try. I took a deep, shaky breath and tapped on the web browser icon. The search history was a punch to the gut. The words seared themselves into my retinas: 【Colorless odorless drops soluble in alcohol fast metabolism】 【How to make someone disoriented and confused】 【Best products for memory gaps after a party】 … And there, at the very top, was the last search. Time-stamped just three hours ago. 【‘Sweet Compliance’ drops are they really undetectable?】 2 A polar chill flooded my veins, seeping into my bones. My fingers trembled as I navigated to the private forum he’d been on earlier. It was no surprise. The original poster was Ethan. He was even a member of a group chat called 【The Winners’ Circle – Resource Sharing】. Inside, he was a prolific contributor, his username a simple, anonymous number:【0】. 【0】: Hey guys, that stuff… is it really as good as you say? She wakes up and remembers nothing? No drama? 【OldDogNewTricks】: Relax, man. I’ve been there. I’ll DM you a link. Get it discreetly, put it in her wine. She’ll just think she blacked out from drinking too much. 【SharingIsCaring】: @0 Bro, I used it on my wife. Me and a few buddies had a six-hour train on her. She woke up thinking it was all me, told me it was the best night of her life. Now she’s making me steak and smoothies every day to ‘keep my strength up’! 【0】: This stuff… how long do the effects last? A few days? 【SharingIsCaring】: A few days? Jesus, dude, you trying to break her? You’d have to up the dose. Last time I used half a vial, we partied for three straight days. It was epic. 【0】: That’s perfect. My boss, see, he has some… specific tastes. Likes to get pretty rough. I wasn’t sure how to keep him happy, but this sounds like it’ll do the trick. 【OldDogNewTricks】: @0 Dude, first time, take it easy. You want this to be a recurring thing, right? Don’t wear out the merchandise on the first go. 【0】: I know, I know. But the boss already has his own supply ready. He specifically told me he’s coming over this weekend. What am I supposed to do? But my wife does yoga, she’s pretty flexible. I’m sure she can handle it, right? 【OldDogNewTricks】: A yoga girl? Holy shit! I’m officially jealous of your boss. Think of all the positions! Bro, you gotta share the video with us after. For educational purposes. The messages that followed descended into even more depraved territory. A wave of nausea roiled in my stomach. I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit right there in the bed. My proper, gentle, loving husband was, in secret, a monster. 3 According to their chat, he’d already gotten his hands on “the good stuff” today. I slid out of bed, my feet silent on the hardwood floor, and went to his briefcase by the door. In a hidden pocket in the lining, my fingers closed around a small glass vial. I held it up to the faint moonlight filtering through the window. The label was stark white with two words: 【Sweet Compliance】. I took the vial into the bathroom, uncapped it, and carefully poured the entire contents into an old, empty bottle of nail polish remover. Then I rinsed the original vial again and again with hot water, making sure not a single molecule remained. Finally, I refilled the small vial with tap water, dried it meticulously, and placed it back in the hidden pocket of his briefcase. When I slipped back into bed, Ethan was still dead to the world, blissfully unaware, even grinding his teeth softly in his sleep. Looking at his face, so placid and innocent, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. CRACK! The sound of my open palm connecting with his cheek was sharp and loud in the silent room. Ethan jolted awake, sputtering, a hand flying to his face. He blinked at me, dazed and groggy. “Lily! What the hell? Why did you hit me?!” I didn’t answer. I rolled over, facing away from him, and began to breathe deeply and evenly, mimicking sleep, as if it had been nothing more than an unconscious spasm in a dream. He mumbled in confusion for a few moments. “Having a nightmare?” He rubbed his cheek, but the pull of sleep was too strong. He rolled back over, cursed something unintelligible under his breath, and was snoring again within a minute. A slow, cold smile spread across my lips in the darkness. Ethan. You want to please your perverted boss so badly? Fine. You can be the one to offer up your body. 4 The weekend arrived, right on schedule. Richard Hayes showed up at our door holding two bottles of Macallan 18. You’d think Ethan was the boss he was trying to impress. The second he stepped inside, his eyes glued themselves to me, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. The dress I was wearing had been Ethan’s choice. Tight. Low-cut. Black lace. It hugged every curve, leaving little to the imagination. His exact words had been: “Honey, if you look stunning, it makes me look good.” Hearing him say it, knowing what I knew now, a bitter laugh rose in my throat. He wasn’t just showing me off. He was serving me up like a prize on a platter. But I didn’t let a hint of my revulsion show. I smiled sweetly and told him I’d even done my makeup just for the occasion. After a few minutes of strained small talk, I excused myself to the kitchen to finish dinner. I looked at the vial of clear liquid in my hand. The one I’d refilled with water. Could this stuff really be as potent as those animals in the forum claimed? I didn’t believe it. So, I took the real vial, the one I’d hidden, and poured the entire thing, every last drop, into the bowl of chicken soup I’d prepared specifically for Ethan. Let’s have my husband be the guinea pig. 5 I carried the soup out to the living room, my smile perfectly placid. “Ethan, Rich. I made my special ginseng chicken soup. I let it simmer for hours. It’s great for your vitality. Have some to start, the rest of the food will be out in a minute.” Neither man suspected a thing. They took the bowls eagerly and drank them down. After I brought the last dish to the table, I sat down and found a glass of white wine waiting for me. I raised an eyebrow at Ethan, my voice full of feigned reluctance. “Honey, you know I’m a lightweight. Maybe I should skip it?” Richard Hayes’s face immediately darkened. The air in the room grew heavy. Ethan nudged me nervously under the table, his voice a harsh whisper. “Lily! Rich poured that for you himself. Just have a little. Don’t be rude!” Seeing him so desperate to push me, to trade me for his own ambition, filled me with a disgust so profound it was almost dizzying. I sighed, a perfect portrait of reluctant compliance, and under the eager, watchful eyes of both men, I picked up the glass. I drained it and set the empty glass back on the table. I saw a flash of triumphant glee exchanged between them. The game had begun. As the meal progressed and more wine was poured, Richard reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a small bottle and shook a few small, blue, diamond-shaped pills into his palm. I timed my expression of mild confusion perfectly. He didn’t miss a beat, his tone casual. “Ah, these are just some imported liver-support tablets. Gotta protect yourself when you’re drinking, you know.” He offered a few to Ethan. “You should have some, Ethan. They work wonders.” Ethan took them without hesitation and swallowed them with a gulp of wine. Then, Richard deliberately extended his hand toward me, the blue pills resting in his sweaty palm. “Lily, how about you? They’re very good for you.” I shook my head. “No, thank you, Mr. Hayes. I’m fine.” He didn’t push, just chuckled and popped the pills into his own mouth. I knew exactly what they were. Viagra. They were leaving nothing to chance. A double-barreled approach to ensure my complete submission. The rest of the dinner became a relentless campaign to get me drunk. To make me drink more, they had to drink more, matching me glass for glass. Suddenly, Richard slumped forward, his face planting right onto the table with a thud. Ethan wasn’t doing much better. He swayed in his chair, blinking at me through a drunken haze. “Honey… I think… I think Rich has had too much. It’s not safe for him to drive home. Can we… can we just let him crash in the guest room tonight?” I pressed a hand to my forehead, acting dizzier than I was, and nodded slowly. “Okay… My head is spinning. I think… I think I need to go lie down…” I stumbled as I stood up and made my way toward our bedroom. The moment before I closed the door, I caught a glimpse of them in the reflection of a picture frame on the wall. They made eye contact, a shared look of smug satisfaction. Their plan was working perfectly. They just didn’t know who the real predator was.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385434”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Back in college, I “bought” a boyfriend. The deal was simple: be with me, and I’d cover his family’s medical bills. For four years, the brilliant, broke scholar swallowed his pride and stayed by my side. Then, my family went bankrupt. When I broke up with him, he was as cold as ever. He didn’t say a single word to ask me to stay. Years later, I was working as a cocktail waitress in a high-end lounge to pay off my debts. He had become a tech mogul, with the former campus belle on his arm. He asked me, “Do you regret it?” “No.” “Well, I do.” 1 After all these years since graduation, I never imagined I would run into Damian Sterling like this. As I served the fruit platter, I kept my head down, praying he wouldn’t see my face. Vanessa Croft sat beside him. The prodigy and the beauty—a perfect match. “Waitress,” Damian called out to me. “Slice the orange.” I turned my back to him, my hands beginning to tremble as I sliced the fruit into neat crescents. A long time ago, when oranges were my favorite thing in the world, Damian would always cut them for me. He had a surgeon’s precision, each slice a perfect, uniform thickness. Back then, I thought it was a gesture of love. Only later did I realize it was just a habit. His mind would wander to a thousand different things as he performed the simple task, but never, not once, to me. Four years. It felt like half a lifetime. Somehow, the conversation in the private room drifted to college romances. Someone piped up, “I heard Mr. Sterling had a girlfriend for all four years of college.” My hand faltered. Damian just hummed in acknowledgment. “Wow, four years. That’s your entire college experience. How romantic.” Damian didn’t respond, and an awkward silence fell over the group. The guest, trying to fill the void, pressed on, “Four years is a long time. She must have been unforgettable, right?” The silence stretched, thick and heavy. After what felt like an eternity, Damian let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “Hardly.” 2 “Honestly, it’s a miracle Damian doesn’t despise her,” Vanessa explained with an effortless grace, saving the conversation. “Damian and I went to the same university. You have no idea… ugh, I felt so bad for him back then. If his ex hadn’t been in the way, do you really think it would have taken us this long to get together?” “Of course! Vanessa, you’re a huge star now. No matter how great his ex was, could she ever compare to you?” The mood in the room instantly lifted. I tugged the brim of my cap lower, desperate to just disappear. The fruit knife slipped, slicing my finger. A sharp hiss of pain escaped my lips, drawing the attention of the table. “What’s wrong with you?” Vanessa complained, her voice sharp with annoyance. “Can’t you even cut a piece of fruit?” “I’m so sorry. I’ll get you a fresh platter.” I snatched the plate, ready to flee. “Wait.” Damian’s voice stopped me in my tracks. Each word was slow, deliberate. “Turn around.” 3 My feet felt nailed to the floor. One second. Two. My manager, sensing trouble, rushed over. “My apologies, everyone. She’s new, still learning the ropes. The fruit platters are on the house tonight.” She shot me a pointed look. “What are you waiting for? Go get a new one!” It was the escape I needed. Later, my manager, a kind woman named Sarah, pulled me aside. “You need to be quicker on your feet next time,” she said gently. “We were all new once. But a complaint from that room, and you’d be working tonight for free.” “Thank you, Sarah.” “Don’t mention it. Just be extra careful with the VIP room. They’re all heavy hitters, especially the youngest, most handsome one in the middle. He’s the founder of a huge tech startup. He’s not someone we can afford to cross.” “Sarah… I’m a little shaken up. Could you possibly take the new platter in for me?” “Sure thing.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. If there was one person in the world who had already crossed Damian Sterling beyond forgiveness, it had to be me. I was the ex he was talking about. The one it was a miracle he didn’t despise. 4 I still remember him so clearly from our freshman year. Damian Sterling, standing amongst the sea of new students in his faded, worn-out clothes, a world apart from everyone else. He was visibly poor, but he was also visibly proud, carrying himself with a straight-backed dignity that money couldn’t buy. I loved the cool, quiet timber of his voice. I loved the way his eyelids would lower when he looked at me. He was desperate for money, but the financial aid he was counting on was snatched away by a legacy student with connections. So, after a night class, I cornered him, grabbing his hand like a predator. “Damian, I like you. Be my boyfriend. I’m loaded, we can share my allowance. Hell, I’ll even pay you for every kiss if I have to.” Of course, he refused. But my life up to that point had been a gilded path of yeses. I didn’t understand the meaning of defeat. The more he pushed me away, the tighter I clung. The breaking point came when his grandfather, the man who had raised him, fell critically ill. Without a second thought, I paid the mountain of medical bills. Damian finally surrendered. In my blissful ignorance, I thought I’d saved him. It took me a long time to understand the truth. I had won him, but in doing so, I had broken his spirit. Even after we were together, he worked relentlessly, taking on every part-time job he could find to pay for his own expenses. He barely touched my money, but things only got worse. Whispers started circulating on campus. They said Damian had sold himself for money. His classmates looked at him differently. They gave him ugly nicknames. I remained hopelessly optimistic and naive. I’d squeeze his hand and say, “Don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous.” … I lived in my own ivory tower, completely oblivious to the solitary war Damian was fighting. Senior year, my family went bankrupt. I didn’t tell him. I just called him to meet me and said, “Let’s break up.” “Why?” “I’m bored of you.” “Okay.” And just like that, it was over. I imagine he must have been happy, finally free. The day we broke up, I snapped my SIM card, deleted my social media, and boarded a train to a different city to start working off my family’s debt. I only returned three months ago. Damian looked like he was doing more than okay. He was always a genius, the kind who made the rest of the department look like children. In just four years, he’d become a tech mogul worthy of a business magazine cover. And Vanessa Croft, our old campus belle who’d become a celebrity in her junior year… I never expected them to end up together. Good for them. It’s for the best. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing down the bitter ache. At 4 a.m., my shift was finally over. I was the last to leave. A coworker, thinking the building was empty, had already shut off the main lights and the elevators. I jabbed at the elevator button in frustration, hoping to bring it back to life. “You should probably call someone.” Damian’s voice echoed from the darkness behind me. 5 I froze, then mechanically called my coworker. The elevator whirred back to life. Damian and I stood in the cramped space, the silence deafening. “You guys work this late?” he asked, his tone casual. “We leave after the last guest is gone.” “Is the pay good here?” “It’s alright.” I kept my head down, the cap hiding my face. He didn’t seem to recognize me. He chatted idly for a moment, then glanced at his watch. “This elevator is painfully slow. My girlfriend is probably getting impatient. She’s very clingy, you know. Loves to be doted on.” My heart clenched. He was talking about Vanessa. “What about you?” he continued. “You get off this late, doesn’t your boyfriend come pick you up?” “I live close by.” The elevator dinged. The second the doors opened, I bolted. But Damian, who had been so calm just moments before, finally snapped. “What are you running from?” he growled, his voice dangerously low. “Where do you think you can run to, Elara?” “Was it fun? Just vanishing off the face of the earth?” 6 Damian advanced on me, closing the distance between us. He was still the boy from my memories, but the youthful edges had hardened into a restrained, mature intensity. “New number, deleted accounts… not even our old professors could find you. You’re really something else, Elara.” I slowly lifted my head, meeting his gaze. “You must have… used your connections to find out, right? That my family went bankrupt, that my father is still buried in debt…” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I was speechless. “Was it too much for your pride, Miss Vance? Too embarrassing to admit you’d fallen?” “No—” Before I could finish, Vanessa walked over. “Oh my god? Elara! It really is you!” She was even more beautiful than in college, polished to perfection from head to toe. “It’s been forever! Everyone from our class has been looking for you. Where have you been for the last four years?” “I moved down south.” “No wonder,” Vanessa said, her eyes scanning my uniform, then landing on my coat with feigned surprise. “Elara, isn’t that the down jacket you bought in junior year? The filling is coming out. Are you still wearing this?” I used to be the kind of person who threw clothes out after one season. Her question was a deliberate jab, meant to humiliate me. But I was numb to it now. “It’s not broken. It still works.” Vanessa’s expression softened into one of pity. “Are you having a hard time? You should have just said something! We’re old classmates, we can help.” She pulled a credit card from her purse. “Here, take this. Don’t worry about paying me back.” “Thank you, but I don’t need it.” I looked from her to Damian, a quiet smile on my face. “I’m getting married soon. You should both come.” The words hung in the air. I saw the shock register on Damian’s face, his entire demeanor freezing over. 7 The lounge was just my night job; I had a day job to get to. On Monday, a major potential client came into the office. My coworkers were gossiping. “I heard this guy is a genius. Apparently, he created his entire system just to find someone.” “Really? Who?” “His ex-girlfriend, I think.” A prickle of unease ran down my spine. A very bad feeling. “Did he find her?” “No idea. The system isn’t even fully launched yet, but investors are pouring money into it. The potential is massive. That’s why our boss is so desperate to partner with him.” I gathered the presentation materials. As I approached the conference room, I heard Damian’s voice. “Regarding the partnership, I’m going to need more time to consider.” I pushed the door open and placed the files on the table. Damian’s eyes, sharp and intense, locked onto mine. “What are you doing here?” “I work here.” This was my main job. My boss looked between us, curious. “Elara, you know Mr. Sterling?” I chose my words carefully. “We’ve met.” “Just met?” Damian’s voice was laced with a familiar anger. What was he so angry about? He was the one who walked away without a second glance when I broke up with him. He pointed at me. “Mr. Davis, I’ll sign the contract on one condition. I want Elara Vance assigned as my project assistant.” My boss agreed instantly, not even giving me a chance to object. They talked all day. At five o’clock, I packed my bag to leave. Damian blocked my path. “Where do you think you’re going? I haven’t dismissed you.” “Mr. Sterling, I can’t work overtime today. I have to be somewhere.” “Where?” “I have to go deliver for DoorDash.” Damian stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. 8 I used to be so spoiled I wouldn’t even touch a takeout container. For four years of college, Damian had been the one delivering food after class. His dinner was often just a free meal box from the delivery company. I found him once, in a cramped break room, huddled with a group of other couriers, shoveling rice from a flimsy box. “Damian, why are you eating this? It’s not sanitary,” I’d said. He’d looked deeply uncomfortable. “Does it matter?” “Come on. Let’s go get steak.” I dragged him to a new high-end steakhouse where a single meal cost over a hundred dollars. He stood outside for a long time, silently taking off his delivery uniform before stepping inside. After my family’s fall from grace, I finally understood the humiliation he must have felt that day. Just like I was feeling now. It started to snow. The ground was slick, and I wiped out, sending the customer’s food spilling across the pavement. I called to explain, but he just screamed at me. “Stop making excuses! Late is late!” My scraped palm throbbed in the biting cold, but I ignored it, repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. Suddenly, Damian was there, lifting my delivery bike. I don’t know how long he’d been watching. I instinctively hid my injured hand behind my back. “Don’t hide it,” he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes rimmed with red. “Go wash it.” “I have to deliver this first.” “Get in the car. I’ll take you.” The customer lived on the first floor. When I handed him the remade order, he muttered, “Damn, even people in Porsches are doing DoorDash now?” I had to get to my next order. “Stop,” Damian said. “Don’t do any more deliveries tonight.” “I can’t. I haven’t made nearly enough.” “Then I’ll buy your time.” “What?” A notification pinged on my phone. A new order, assigned directly by him. “I’m buying the rest of your night,” he said. 9 Damian drove me to his apartment. I stood in the entryway, refusing to go any further. “Vanessa will be angry.” “You have time to worry about other people?” he shot back. “Look at yourself. You’re a mess.” Besides the scrape on my hand, I was covered in dirty, melted snow. “And another thing, Elara,” he said, gesturing around the pristine, minimalist space. “Does this look like a woman has ever been here?” “You don’t live together?” “I’ve never been with her. Not really.” He tossed a contract onto the coffee table. “She came to me six months ago and proposed a deal. She didn’t want to get cornered by sleazy producers, so she asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend. In return, she helps me handle difficult clients.” He paused, as if worried I wouldn’t understand. “Some clients think the best way to do business is by sending women to my hotel room. It’s a headache. Vanessa acts as a buffer.” The contract spelled it out clearly: a professional arrangement, no interference in each other’s private lives. Damian took my hand and began cleaning the wound. I saw a row of unopened boxes on a shelf. A line of luxury hand creams. It was the brand I used to love. He had the entire collection. “I asked your coworkers about you today,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You even said you were single at a team dinner last week. Elara, you were lying to me, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t.” “Then show me a picture. Of you and this man.” “We haven’t taken any.” “You? The girl who documents everything? You don’t have a single picture with your new love?” “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll take one next time and send it to you.” A bitter laugh escaped Damian’s lips. He suddenly leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sofa on either side of me, trapping me. The heat from his body radiated through my sweater. “I bought your time, Elara. You know what that means, don’t you?” “I’ll refund you. Damian, I’m serious, I’m getting married.” His hand trailed down my arm, his fingers stopping at my wrist. “Getting married, but still wearing a bracelet your ex gave you? Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385433”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Three years after our wedding, my pilot husband, Vernon, had stood me up at City Hall eighteen times. The first time, his female apprentice was on a test flight. I waited at the courthouse all day. The second time, he got a call from her, made a sharp U-turn, and left me on the side of the road. After that, it became a pattern. Every time we scheduled a day to get our marriage license, something would “happen” to his apprentice. Eventually, I decided to leave him. But when I boarded the plane to Paris, he chased me across the world, a man unhinged. 01 We’d had a wedding three years ago, but Vernon had never made it legal. Today was a milestone: his one-thousandth successful flight. It was also the seventeenth time he had promised we would finally get our marriage license. But at his celebration dinner, while his direct supervisor was pressuring me to drink, Vernon was busy trading bites of food and feeding sips of wine to his apprentice, Serena. I was fighting a high fever, drinking until I was about to pass out, and he didn’t even glance my way. I could see the pity in our colleagues’ eyes. It was painfully obvious to everyone who I was doing this for. When the dinner finally ended, Vernon, who was supposed to drive us straight to City Hall, bailed on me once again. He pulled the car up to the restaurant entrance, then held up a hand to stop me from getting in. “Serena drank too much for me tonight. I’m taking her home,” he said, his tone clipped. “You can just grab a cab.” He didn’t stop there. “We probably won’t make it to the courthouse this afternoon. We’ll do it another day.” Without waiting for my reaction, he got out, walked around the car, and gently helped his apprentice into the passenger seat. Eight years together, three years of a supposed marriage. This was the seventeenth time Vernon had postponed our life together for Serena. Normally, this would be my cue to break down, to scream and cry, to demand to know who his real wife was, who had just spent the entire evening taking metaphorical bullets for him. But this time, I just smiled faintly. “Okay. Drive safe.” Vernon flinched, surprised by my calm reaction, but his face quickly hardened back into its usual indifference. “I’ll pick up a gift for you on my way home tonight to make it up to you.” He slid into the driver’s seat and sped off, but not before carefully rolling up the passenger-side window, shielding his drunk apprentice from the wind. He used to hate the smell of alcohol in his car. Any time I took a drink for him, he would lower the convertible top, even in the dead of winter. He certainly never would have rolled the window up. I realize now it was never about the smell. It was just about the person in the car. The midday Atlanta heat was suffocating, making sweat bead on my skin, but my heart felt like a block of ice. I took a deep breath and tucked the marriage license application back into my purse. I knew then that it was time to let go of our eight years together. 02 That afternoon, I went straight back to the office and handed my supervisor my resignation letter. “Does Vernon know you’re leaving?” he asked, shocked. After all, I had been the airline’s top-rated flight attendant for seven consecutive years. My future here was bright. I offered a sad smile. “I’ll tell him tonight. Not that he’ll care.” “I just don’t get it,” he sighed, his voice full of regret. “You two pioneered new routes together, won ‘Best Crew’ awards. Three years ago, even the CEO came to your wedding. Everyone was so envious of you both, but now…” He was right. Those were beautiful memories. But memories were all they were. There was no going back. It was after ten by the time I got home from the office. The house was dark and silent. Empty. Then my phone screen lit up. A notification from Serena’s latest post, where she had pointedly tagged me. “Thanks to my amazing mentor for spending the whole afternoon with me! To pay you back, I’m taking you to the Coldplay concert tomorrow! So excited ~” I knew then that Vernon wouldn’t be coming home, despite his promise. This had happened more times than I could count over the past three years. I made some instant ramen and opened my laptop. My inbox was filled with offers from more than a dozen international airlines. My cursor hovered over the email from Air France, and without a second thought, I clicked ‘Accept.’ Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris, departing in two days. Five years ago, on a flight to Paris, Vernon had faced the worst crisis of his career. Since that day, the word “Paris” had become taboo. He refused to fly there, and he made sure I never did either. Paris it is, Vernon, I thought. This way, we’ll never have to see each other again. 03 The next morning, I woke up and started packing. I was halfway through when Vernon walked in, wearing a crisp pink shirt. A heavy cloud of rose perfume followed him through the door. The scent hit me, and I froze. He used to despise perfume. Because of him, I hadn’t worn a single drop in years. I’d even thrown out my entire treasured collection. It was clear now. He didn’t hate perfume. He just hated it on me. He saw my suitcases and stopped short. “Serena took a long time to sober up last night. I got a hotel room instead of coming home,” he offered, a flicker of something in his eyes. I looked up at him, surprised. It was the first time in three years he’d bothered to explain himself. I just nodded, saying nothing. He walked over to me, his eyes on my bags. “Packing for a flight?” “Something like that,” I said. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. “I have to run an errand today,” he said, his relief palpable. “I just came back to grab something. I won’t be staying for lunch.” “Okay.” I didn’t look up, just kept folding clothes. I had planned to tell him I’d quit during lunch, to finally put an end to our eight years. It seemed I wouldn’t get the chance. Vernon grabbed a red gift bag from the closet, picked up his jacket from the hook by the door, and rushed out. CRASH! As the front door clicked shut, the photo frame that had hung there for eight years suddenly crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. I looked over at the mess of splintered glass. It was a picture of Vernon and me at our first concert together, our hands clasped, faces beaming with joy. He had promised me that day that no matter how busy he got, we would go to a concert together every single year. He’d forgotten all about that promise the moment Serena became his apprentice. The only sound in the empty room was the ticking of the clock. After a long silence, I swept up the shards of glass and threw the smiling photo, along with the last vestiges of my broken heart, into the trash. 04 That evening, exhausted after finishing my packing, I was lying in bed when my best friend called. “What the hell is wrong with Vernon? This is too much, Chloe! Look at his story! He’s all over Serena, that little fox.” Her voice was vibrating with rage. “You’re not even divorced yet! How could he do this?” I opened my phone. The first story on my feed was Serena’s. In the photo, she was wearing a Van Cleef & Arpels clover necklace. In her hands was the red gift bag Vernon had come home to get that morning. So that’s what it was for. A concert gift for Serena. Her caption read: “Three years since we met, and I’m so lucky to have you. Happy third anniversary, Vernon! ♡” And then it hit me. Three years? Yes. Today was also my third wedding anniversary with Vernon. An anniversary we had never once celebrated. An anniversary I had completely forgotten myself. I let out a long breath. “He doesn’t need a divorce, Jessica,” I said quietly. “We never got the license.” “What?” “You’ve been married for three years, and he never legally married you?” Her shriek nearly deafened me. Yes. Three years since the wedding. And seventeen times he had stood me up at the courthouse. 05 Vernon came home at eleven, unusually early for him. He took off his jacket and turned to hang it on the hook behind the door. He froze, his hand hovering in mid-air, staring at the empty space where our photo used to be. “Where’s our picture?” he asked, a strange panic in his voice as he walked into the bedroom, still holding his jacket. “It fell. It broke.” He glanced at the trash can by the door and saw the broken glass. A look of relief washed over his face. He tossed his jacket aside and produced a shopping bag with an LV box inside. “I didn’t get a chance to give you your gift yesterday,” he said. “And since today is our third wedding anniversary… this is for you. Happy anniversary.” He placed the bag on the bed. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him. After three years, he actually remembered our anniversary? But then I saw the receipt peeking out of the bag. The purchase time was from half an hour ago. He must have seen Serena’s post and been reminded, picking up a gift on his way home. He didn’t know I already owned two of this exact same bag. I just stared at him, silent. “Oh, right,” he started, his tone shifting. “The annual airline awards are coming up. I was wondering if you’d consider stepping down this year? Serena’s been in the industry for three years now, and her biggest dream is to win Best Flight Attendant, just like you. You’ve won it so many years in a row… maybe you could let her have it this year?” He stumbled over the words, avoiding my eyes. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. So, this last-minute gift came with a price tag after all. “Fine,” I said calmly. Not just this year. Next year, the year after that… I would never compete with her for another award. Because after tonight, I would be gone. “You… you agree?” My quick acceptance seemed to throw him off. He kept stealing glances at me from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t leave it alone. “I mean, she’s my apprentice, you’re her mentor’s wife. It’s only right,” he said, as if trying to convince himself. “By the way, I’m not flying tomorrow. Let’s go to the courthouse in the morning and get the license.” I said nothing. He seemed to remember my packing. His voice softened. “Oh, I almost forgot. You have a flight tomorrow, don’t you? What time?” “Three in the afternoon.” I looked at him, steeling myself to use this last chance to tell him I was leaving. But before I could speak, his phone rang. It was Serena. Her high-pitched, whiny voice drifted through the phone. She’d gotten her period and didn’t have any pads. She needed Vernon’s help. He hung up and looked at me, a guilty expression on his face. “Uh… Serena has a bit of an emergency. She’s all alone and can’t handle it. I should probably go over there.” For the first time, his voice held a trace of a question, as if seeking my permission. I swallowed the words I was about to say and forced a smile. “It’s fine. You should go.” Relief washed over his face. He stood up immediately. “A three o’clock flight gives you plenty of time,” he said as he walked to the door. “Tomorrow, ten AM. We’ll get the license. I promise, this time, no matter what happens, I’ll be there.” A bitter smile touched my lips. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to break up with him face-to-face. The next morning, I packed my last bag. I didn’t go to the courthouse. I went straight to the airport. By noon, I still hadn’t received a single call from Vernon asking why I hadn’t shown up. It wasn’t until I was boarding my flight that a message from him finally came through: “Hey, sorry. Serena wasn’t feeling well this morning, I just got back from taking her to the hospital. We missed our appointment. As soon as you get back from your trip, I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing.” I read the message, my heart a placid lake. Of course. The eighteenth time was a no-show, too. “Don’t bother, Vernon,” I typed back. “I’ve resigned. I’m on my way to Paris. After today, we will never see each other again.” I sent the message and prepared to turn off my phone. But a second later, the chat window, which had been silent for so long, began to vibrate uncontrollably.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385432”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was transmigrated into a novel as the wicked villainess. But I never did a single wicked thing. Not only did I become friends with the heroine, but I also married the gentle second male lead. I truly believed I was happy. Until I found my husband’s diary. It turned out he was reborn. His years of tenderness were nothing but a performance, all to prevent me from hurting the woman he truly loved. 1 I held the positive pregnancy test in my hand, my other hand resting on my stomach, on the tiny life growing inside me. An unprecedented sense of peace settled over me. I had lived in this world for thirteen years, but in this moment, I finally felt anchored, truly and completely bound to this life. I arrived in this world after my own death, transmigrated into the body of the novel’s villainess who shared my name, a woman infamous for her cruelty. But I considered myself lucky. I had arrived before the story’s main plot began, before I could commit any of the terrible acts against the hero and heroine. In fact, the heroine’s bright and cheerful personality drew me in, and we became the best of friends, sharing everything. I acted as her personal love guru, encouraging her to chase her own happiness. I watched her fall in love with the male lead, stood by her side as her maid of honor, and saw her marry the man of her dreams. She was the second person I wanted to share my good news with. The first, of course, was my husband. My husband, Patrick East, was originally the novel’s gentle second male lead, the one who always protected the heroine from the shadows. But perhaps my presence created a butterfly effect, because he never became her silent guardian. Instead, he turned all of his attention, all of his affection, onto me. After thirteen years together, I felt so deeply and genuinely loved that I married him without a second thought. And now, our little family was about to welcome a new life. I couldn’t wait to tell him. 2 I decided against just telling him outright. It would be more fun to let him discover it himself. I slipped into his study and sat down in his chair. Opening a drawer to hide the test, my eyes fell on an old, worn notebook tucked away beneath a stack of neat files. It was out of place, its corner peeking out as if forgotten in a hurry. I carefully picked it up, a small, amused smile on my face. The cover was a faded, girlish design from our school days. It was old, but the curled edges and yellowed pages told me it was opened often. We never had secrets between us, so I opened it without hesitation. On the title page, in elegant, handwritten script, were two words: Forever Love. A blush crept up my cheeks. Could this be a book of love letters he’d written for me? I took out the pregnancy test, planning to slip it between the pages—my own precious love letter to him. I turned to the first page, my heart full. And then, the world stopped. My eternal love, Stella. Stella. The heroine of the novel. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stared at the words, a thick wad of cotton stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe. My fingers trembled, but with a self-destructive compulsion, I turned the pages, one after another, reading every single word. It wasn’t a diary. It was a collection of unsent love letters, and they all said the same thing: Patrick East loved Stella. A desperate, unrequited love. He was reborn. He had always loved Stella. And every bit of care, every moment of affection he had ever shown me, was a lie. An act. He had to keep me close, to watch me at all times, to eliminate any possibility of me hurting the woman he cherished. The joy of my pregnancy vanished, replaced by a bitterness that consumed my heart. In all these thirteen years, I had never once wanted to harm Stella. But in this moment, I was jealous of her. So fiercely, painfully jealous. Jealous that a small act of kindness she once showed him was enough to earn a man’s undying, obsessive love for over a decade—a love so profound he would sacrifice his own life, tying himself to the “wicked villainess” just to ensure her happiness. I don’t know how long I sat there, a storm of grief and despair raging inside me, until the world around me felt like a terrifying, hollow dream. 3 Exhaustion finally claimed me, and I fell asleep on the sofa. I didn’t wake until Patrick came home. He reeked of alcohol, stumbling as he walked. “Honey, I’m home…” he slurred, smiling at me. “Sorry, I had a work dinner. I’m late.” I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes and played the part of the dutiful wife. I helped him up, loosened his tie, and undid the top button of his shirt. “Thanks, honey. You’re the best.” His words were perfunctory. If he had been paying any attention at all, he would have seen the raw, swollen redness of my eyes. But perhaps this hollow performance had become second nature to him. I guided him to our bed, helped him out of his clothes, and was about to get a warm cloth to wipe his face when he spoke. The alcohol had lowered his defenses, and in his drowsy state, the truth spilled from his lips. “Stella…” My entire body went rigid. I must have misheard. I stared at him, my nails digging into my palms. “Stella,” he whispered again. The word was a cruel confirmation. In a moment of masochistic madness, I leaned closer, my voice a soft imitation of hers. “Patrick?” His hand shot out, gripping mine tightly. His eyes, hazy with drink, were filled with a raw, unguarded tenderness. “Stella,” he breathed, “as long as you’re happy, everything I’ve done is worth it.” That one sentence locked me back inside the cage of his deceit. I couldn’t breathe. The room spun around me. I scrambled out of the bedroom, running from the man I thought I knew, from the lie I had been living. The love I had thrown myself into, heart and soul, was nothing but a joke from the very beginning. 4 My sleep was a battlefield of nightmares. The original villainess’s deeds played out in my mind on a horrifying loop. Cathy bullying the heroine. Cathy hiring thugs to assault her. Cathy using her family’s power to crush her… In the dream, the villainess turned, and her face was mine—twisted with a rage so vile it terrified me. The dream fast-forwarded. The hero and the second male lead, now powerful men, came for their revenge. Patrick stared at me, his eyes as cold and empty as if he were looking at a piece of trash. “You love ruining people’s lives so much,” his dream-self sneered. “Let’s see how you like it.” I died in that dream, violated and broken, my body tossed onto a filthy garbage heap. “No!” I screamed myself awake. My eyes shot open to see Patrick looking down at me, his face etched with concern. The image of his gentle expression overlapped with the brutal cruelty from my dream, and a violent shiver racked my body. He was tucking a blanket around me. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you sleeping out here? You’ll catch a cold.” He sat on the edge of the sofa. “Are you mad at me for drinking last night? I’m sorry, the client was really important.” I just shook my head, too shrouded in fear and exhaustion to speak. We didn’t have a guest room. Patrick had sworn he would never do anything to make me kick him out of our bed. And even if he did, he’d said, he would sleep on the floor beside me. Now I realized the truth. There was no escape. No space that was just mine. He was always watching. He didn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil. He just frowned, his voice a pathetic whine. “My head is killing me, honey. Where’s the hangover soup?” “I forgot,” I said flatly. The truth was, I hadn’t made any. Patrick came from a modest background; I was the heiress. He had always been driven, insisting he had to earn my father’s respect on his own merits. He refused my family’s help, started his own company, and nearly drank himself into a stomach ulcer closing deals in the early years. Because I loved him, because I was his wife, I cared for him. I found remedies for his hangovers, stayed up all night with him, doing everything I could to ease his suffering. If I didn’t know the truth, I would still be that devoted wife. But his diary had revealed his true motive. [Cathy used her family’s power to hurt Stella. I cannot let her have even the slightest chance of doing it again. I must build my own power in the business world, enough to stand against her father. If they try to harm Stella like they did in the last life, I will make the entire family pay a painful price!] All his hard work, his relentless ambition—it was all to protect his real love. 5 “Honey, what’s wrong today? You look pale. Are you feeling unwell? Let me take you to the doctor.” I stared at the man before me, wondering if there was a single shred of sincerity in his concern. I was about to confront him, to lay everything bare, when my phone rang. The caller ID flashed in big letters: STELLA. Before I could move, Patrick snatched the phone and handed it to me, his eyes urging me to answer. I numbly pressed the button. Stella’s cheerful voice filled the silence. “Cathy, sweetie! You didn’t forget about the art exhibit today, did you?” “I remember.” “Great! Let’s meet at the cafe in front of the gallery. Leo’s dropping me off on his way to work.” “Okay.” I hung up. Before I could say a word, Patrick spoke. “You have plans with Stella today? Let me drive you.” “You don’t have to. Your office isn’t on the way.” He stroked my cheek, his touch meant to be affectionate. “Silly girl, anywhere you’re going is on my way. Go on, get changed.” He stood up and went to the bedroom to get ready, a lightness in his step. Of course he was happy. He was going to see the woman he loved. And he had conveniently forgotten his earlier suggestion to take me to the doctor. In Patrick’s world, nothing was more important than Stella. 6 When Patrick dropped me off at the cafe, Stella was already there, sipping a frappuccino. She handed me a glass of warm milk, her smile bright. Patrick turned to me, his voice gentle. “You shouldn’t have too many cold drinks. It’s bad for you, especially during your period. You’re not a kid anymore.” Stella giggled. “Wow, look at you two, being all lovey-dovey right in front of me.” Patrick smiled back at her, adding smoothly, “That goes for you too. Less cold drinks!” All that preamble, just for a chance to say one caring word to her. The warm milk in my hands felt like it was scalding my skin. I wasn’t the one who liked cold drinks. The concern he was offering had never been for me. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re such a nag. I don’t know how Cathy puts up with you,” Stella teased. Patrick just smiled, then turned back to me. “I’ll pick you two up for lunch. I remember you said you wanted to try that new Spanish place downtown.” Once you start looking for the lies, you realize how clumsy the actor is. I wasn’t the one who wanted to try the Spanish restaurant. Stella was. But I had been blinded by love, and he had been committed to his role. Now that the truth was out, I saw how I had been living with my eyes wide shut. Stella linked her arm through mine. “Okay, okay, you can go now. Don’t interrupt our girls’ time.” She pulled me toward the gallery entrance, chattering excitedly. “Cathy, I can’t wait to see the new exhibit…” I glanced back over my shoulder. Patrick was still standing there. His gaze was sharp, analytical, watching our every move. The moment our eyes met, his expression shifted instantly, melting into one of deep, adoring affection. A perfect performance. Patrick, I thought, aren’t you tired?

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385431”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day before my arranged marriage to Joey Vance, the scion of New York’s elite, my sister was reborn. She ran to our parents, crying and screaming that she wanted to call off the engagement. Just as I was about to ask what was going on, a stream of comments flashed before my eyes: 【Wait, how did the female lead get reborn? Author, explain yourself! This can’t be right.】 【This is a dark romance! It’s supposed to be a ‘she runs, he chases’ story. If she doesn’t marry him, what am I even reading?】 【Chill, everyone. Maybe a second chance is good. The heroine loves her freedom. Imagine a life where your food is flown in on private jets, your clothes are all custom-made, and your billionaire husband even dictates the brand of your toothpaste. A life with no struggle, no hardship… how could she possibly endure such a thing?!】 My eyes lit up. I was ready to volunteer as tribute. She couldn’t endure it? I sure as hell could. 1 I was pretty sure my sister, Eleanor, had been reborn. There was no other explanation for it. Just yesterday, she was blushing and showing off her engagement ring. Now, after a single night’s sleep, she was wailing and trying to back out of the deal of a lifetime. In the living room, she was pleading with our parents, tears streaming down her face. She claimed that Joey Vance, the golden boy of New York society, was a possessive, controlling monster behind his gentlemanly facade. This was news to all of us, considering she’d never even met the man. Just as I was about to speak, the comments appeared again: 【Seriously, why did the main character get a do-over?】 【This is a dark romance! The whole point is the possessive male lead! If she doesn’t marry him, the plot is dead!】 【Hey, don’t get so worked up. A choice is a choice. The heroine values her freedom. A life where your groceries are flown in daily, your wardrobe is haute couture, and your husband micromanages every little thing… a future of effortless luxury with no challenges? What a nightmare for her!】 My eyes practically glowed. This world was insane. I didn’t love freedom. That so-called nightmare was the ultimate goal for a socially anxious lazybones like me. But the insanity didn’t stop there. My parents, their faces etched with concern, helped Eleanor up. They declared that they would break the betrothal, arranged since our childhood. They were willing to risk bankruptcy and the wrath of New York’s entire upper crust to protect their daughter’s freedom. Hello? Weren’t they forgetting someone? Had they never heard of the old sister-swap trope? I watched as my father’s trembling hand reached for his phone. I dropped to my knees with a thud. “Dad! Mom! If Eleanor doesn’t want to, I’ll marry him! Is that okay?” The living room fell silent for two long seconds. My mother grabbed my father’s arm. “Oh, honey, we forgot about Lynn! She’s willing to go! This is perfect. Don’t make the call yet, dear. The original agreement never specified which of our daughters it had to be.” My father let out a huge sigh of relief and put his phone down. And just like that, everyone was happy. 2 That night, I was happily packing my things in my little room. The comments continued to scroll by: 【Who is this random side character? How did she just waltz in and steal the female lead’s role?】 【She looks pretty happy about it. Does she really think a life without freedom is so great?】 【Ummm, does anyone else notice the huge difference in how the family treats the two daughters?】 【To the person above, I noticed it in the living room. And look at their rooms. The sister gets the master suite with a private bathroom, and the younger one gets a tiny room converted from the maid’s quarters. It’s blatant favoritism.】 【So what if they’re biased? Our Eleanor is the main character! The whole world should be biased in her favor.】 I ignored the bickering and continued to neatly fold my clothes. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Eleanor stood in the doorway, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “Are you really going to take my place and get engaged to Joey?” My stomach dropped. She wasn’t having second thoughts, was she? “Well… should I not go then?” I asked tentatively. Eleanor didn’t answer, biting her lip. “Joey is a terrifying man. You have no idea. He’s so ruthless in business that he’s driven people to their deaths.” Business deals didn’t have much to do with me. “But does he hit people? Does he make them do chores?” Eleanor stared at me, then shook her head with a bitter smile. “It’s ten times worse than that.” My heart clenched. “He’ll monitor your social life,” she continued, “and control your every move!” Oh. Is that all? Phew, no problem then. Social life? I was a low-energy introvert. I hated socializing. Going out? I was a homebody. Leaving the house was my personal kryptonite. Seeing my visible relief, Eleanor looked confused and was about to say more. I quickly cut her off, claiming I was tired, and closed the door. My whole life, if anything ever went wrong for her, our parents would blame me. I was terrified of her. Now, finally, I had a chance to escape it all. 3 The next day, our entire family boarded a private jet to New York. Of course, we couldn’t afford it. The flight was chartered by the Vance family. The engagement ceremony was held in a lavishly decorated ballroom. In the bridal suite, I met the legendary Joey Vance for the first time. All I can say is… damn. I thought, with the way Eleanor described him, he’d be average-looking at best. I never imagined he’d be this tall, elegant, and impossibly handsome. I had hit the absolute jackpot. During the ceremony, he took my hand and gave me a warm smile. “Let’s go, my fiancée.” My heart hammered against my ribs. The comments went wild: 【I can’t breathe, he’s so hot. I volunteer to possess the fiancée for just five minutes.】 【OMG, did you hear how he stressed the word ‘my’? I’m melting.】 【What are you all shipping? Didn’t you see Eleanor in the audience? She’s about to cry. This was supposed to be her engagement ceremony.】 【Person above, are you dense? She’s the one who gave it up!】 After the ceremony, my sister dragged our parents over to say goodbye. She even reached out to shake Joey’s hand. I immediately intercepted, grabbing her hand myself. “Thank you so much, sis! I’ll remember everything you said. My fiancé will, too!” Joey glanced at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Eleanor bit her lip, looking both resentful and relieved at the same time. 4 That evening, Joey took me back to the Vance family mansion. Staring at the enormous bedroom with its panoramic views and private balcony, I asked hesitantly, “Is this really for me?” When he nodded, I almost cried. But the real surprise was yet to come. Seeing how much I liked it, Joey immediately instructed his butler to draw up a contract to transfer the mansion’s deed into my name. Happiness had struck so suddenly it felt like a dream. “You’re really giving me the mansion, too?” Joey leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “As long as you never leave me, everything I have is yours.” I immediately swore an oath to the heavens, ready to bow down and worship my new benefactor. The comments reappeared: 【There it is. That’s my kind of deliciously dark, possessive vibe~】 【I’m not jealous at all. She may have gotten a multi-million dollar mansion, but she lost her precious freedom. sobs】 【No, why does she get everything? All of Joey’s things should belong to Eleanor! This side character needs to know her place. She’s so shameless.】 【Okay, person above, I’m gonna have to fight you.】 After signing the contract, I drifted off into the most blissful sleep of my life. Sometime in the night, half-awake, I felt a burning gaze watching me from the bedside. 5 Maybe it was because the engagement had gone so smoothly, but I let my guard down. When I woke up the next morning, I found that my luggage had been taken away by the staff. Just as my mind started spinning with dramatic scenarios of high-society power plays, a maid came to ask me to the dressing room. Joey was waiting for me there. It was less a dressing room and more of a luxury boutique, twice the size of my family’s living room. Rows upon rows of clothes and handbags were arranged by color. The thought of a future where my tears of joy would be designer, too, made me chuckle out loud. “What are you laughing at?” Joey had appeared silently beside me, holding a dress. I waved my hand dismissively. “Are all these clothes for me?” He looked down at me, his eyes dark and intense. “I had all of these brought in last night, tailored to your measurements… I imagined you in every single one of them. From now on, only I will decide what you wear. Is that alright?” His words made my eyes burn. I quickly lowered my head. The comments started exploding. 【Here we go! In the original novel, the heroine Eleanor flipped out at this line, called him a psycho, and their relationship went downhill, making him even more possessive.】 【The original book was just angst for the sake of angst. He doesn’t mean it maliciously. He just wants to express that they belong to each other.】 【OMG, look! Lynn’s reaction is even stronger! She looks like she’s crying from anger! Joey thinks she hates him; his whole expression has changed!】 Reading that, I snapped my head up. My eyes met Joey’s dark, stormy gaze. 6 I snapped my head up, my eyes meeting Joey’s stormy gaze. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the light in his eyes dimming as a terrifying pressure filled the room. 【Oh no, oh no, why is she crying? He’s definitely going to think she finds him creepy too.】 【For the love of God, explain yourself! You said you were into this! Don’t blow it now!】 【Is she faking it? Pretending to go along with it so she can escape later? Clever girl.】 Seeing Joey’s hurt but stoic expression, my heart ached. I wasn’t crying because I was angry! I was crying because I was touched! I grabbed his hand, my eyes welling with tears as I looked up at him. “I… I’m just so moved.” “No one… no one has ever been this good to me before.” “My parents only ever had eyes for my sister. I always wore her hand-me-downs. My room was a converted maid’s quarters. Even my name, Lynn, was chosen because Eleanor means ‘shining light.’ They wanted me to be plain, quiet, so I wouldn’t compete with her.” “I’ve never had so many beautiful clothes. I never dreamed someone would do all this for me overnight.” The more I spoke, the more emotional I got, tears streaming down my face. “Joey, you’re too good to me. I’m afraid this is all a dream.” Joey was stunned. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. His touch was light, tentative, as if he were afraid I might break. “So… you don’t hate me for controlling you?” I shook my head so hard it was a blur. “No! Not at all! Please, by all means, control me to death!” The darkness in Joey’s eyes vanished, replaced by a smile that he couldn’t contain. He pulled me into a fierce hug, resting his chin on my head and letting out a contented sigh. “Lynn, you’re wonderful.” 【??? I did not see this coming.】 【Holy crap, she hit him with the reverse-uno psychology. She just fried his circuits.】 【This is what I call a pro move! Ladies, take notes! When a possessive billionaire tries his controlling nonsense, don’t fight back. Cry and tell him he’s too good to you and you can’t handle it!】 【Person above, got my notepad out. I’ll use this in my next life.】 The days that followed were pure bliss. I’d wake up whenever I wanted. Joey would have already left for work, but my breakfast was always hot, with dozens of options to choose from. After eating, I’d curl up in the home theater or spend hours in the game room. In the afternoon, professional beauticians and masseuses would come to the house. Every evening, Joey would be home right on time for dinner. He was exactly as my sister had described, “monitoring” my social life. He bought me a new phone and, right in front of me, registered his own fingerprint. “From now on, I can check your phone whenever I want.” I nodded obediently. “Of course. The passcode is your birthday.” He paused for a second, then leaned down and kissed my forehead, a smile in his voice. “Good girl.” 【AAAAAAH, I’m dead, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!】 【Lynn: I have no social life. Check my phone? You’ll be checking my grocery list.】 【LMAO, I bet she has less than twenty contacts, and ten of them are food delivery bots and brand newsletters.】 The comments were spot on. My only social interaction was with my mother. Our chats were simple. Mom: 【Lynn, dear, how are you? Is Joey treating you well?】 Me: 【He’s great.】 Mom: 【That’s good to hear. Your sister has been in a bit of a funk lately. Could you ask Joey to introduce her to someone nice? She sacrificed so much for you.】 I almost snorted at the word “sacrificed.” I handed the phone directly to Joey. “Here. My mom wants you to find my sister a boyfriend.” Joey took the phone and scrolled for a few seconds, his brow furrowing. “Have they always treated you like this?” “Pretty much,” I shrugged. “I’m used to it.” He didn’t say anything. He just took my phone and blocked both of my parents’ numbers. Then he looked up at me, his eyes serious. “From now on, I’m your family.” “I want you to rely only on me. Okay?” What else could I say? I launched myself at him like a tiger, tackling him onto the sofa. “Okay!” I yelled, overcome with emotion. “You’re my one and only family! My one and only… daddy!” Joey: “…” 【BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!】 【’Daddy’? Lynn, what is going on in that head of yours?】 【Joey: I thought you were my wife, but you see me as your father? We’ve got a problem here!】 7 The days passed, and Joey and I grew closer. I realized he wasn’t a monster at all. His so-called “control” was more like a clumsy, awkward form of caring. He didn’t want me going out because he thought the world was dangerous and was afraid I’d get hurt. So every time I did go out (dragged by him), I was flanked by eight bodyguards. The procession looked like a royal visit. He controlled my diet because I had a sensitive stomach and was a picky eater. So he hired a team of nutritionists and chefs to create an endless variety of delicious, healthy meals for me. After a month, my face was noticeably rounder. As for controlling what I wore… Looking at the acres of designer clothes, bags, and shoes in my closet, all I could say was, “Please, sir, may I have some more?” One day, I was lounging on the sofa, eating cherries that had been flown in that morning, when Joey handed me an invitation. “There’s a charity gala tonight. I need you to come with me.” I frowned. “Do I have to?” I despised social events. They were noisy, exhausting, and required a lot of fake smiling. Joey pinched my cheek. “You have to. This one is important. A lot of my business partners will be there.” “Please? For me?” he added softly. With him putting it like that, I reluctantly agreed. That evening, wearing a stunning, star-dusted gown Joey had chosen for me, I arrived at the gala on his arm. We were a striking couple, and we immediately drew the attention of the entire room. I shrank back, feeling a little self-conscious. Joey noticed and whispered in my ear, “Don’t be afraid. Just stay by my side.” He introduced me to a few important people, and all I had to do was smile, nod, and look pretty. Just as I was plotting my escape to the dessert table, an unwelcome guest appeared. My sister, Eleanor. She was wearing an elegant white gown, her makeup flawless. Beside her stood a gentle, scholarly-looking man. When she saw me, a flash of jealousy and resentment crossed her face before she masked it with a look of concern. “Lynn, what are you doing here?” Before I could answer, Joey spoke, his voice cool. “She is my fiancée. Where else would she be?” Eleanor’s face paled, and she bit her lip. “Joey, I know you’re powerful, but you can’t do this to Lynn! She’s still young! You shouldn’t keep her locked up like a bird in a gilded cage!” 【Whoa, the heroine is here! And she brought the second male lead with her!】 【That guy has to be Mike from the original novel, right? The soulful artist who represents freedom.】 【Here we go, the classic showdown. The sister has arrived with ‘Freedom’ to rescue the ‘imprisoned’ sibling.】 I looked at Eleanor’s self-righteous expression and had to stifle a laugh. “Sis, I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” “I’m doing great. See?” I pinched the new chub on my cheek. “I’ve even gained weight.” The man beside Eleanor, Mike, frowned at me. “Miss, material wealth does not equal spiritual fulfillment. A free soul is something no amount of money can buy.” I blinked. “But I don’t need a free soul. I just need a free-flowing bank account.” Mike: “…” Eleanor’s face flushed with anger. “Lynn! How can you be so shameless? Has he brainwashed you?” She reached out to grab me. Joey’s expression hardened. He moved me behind him, his cold eyes fixed on them. “Miss Eleanor, please have some self-respect.” “And my fiancée’s name is not for you to speak.” His possessiveness was on full display. Eleanor flinched, stepping back as if struck. Her eyes turned red. “Joey, don’t go too far! Lynn is my sister!” “The moment she agreed to take your place, she became my wife, and mine alone,” Joey replied, his voice like ice. People around us started whispering and pointing. I sighed in annoyance. They had completely ruined my night. And I hadn’t even gotten to the mini cheesecakes yet. I tugged on Joey’s sleeve. “I’m hungry. Can we go get something to eat?” Joey looked down at me, the frost in his eyes melting instantly. He nodded. “Of course.” And just like that, as if no one else existed, he led me to the buffet. He left Eleanor and Mike standing there, their faces a mixture of shock and fury. 【LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO!】 【Well played! Nothing is more important than food!】 【Eleanor: I prepared a 300-word speech to save you. Lynn: K, but cake first.】 【Mike: The soul and freedom. Lynn: Cherries and steak. She’s on another level, people.】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385430”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My fiancée fell for the underprivileged student I was sponsoring. To prove her devotion, she defied her family and marched into my home to break off our engagement. My father was furious. My mother nearly fainted. Overnight, I became the laughingstock of our social circle. What no one knew was that we held a family meeting that very night. Everyone was unnervingly calm, analyzing the situation from every angle. My father took a sip of his tea. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Go abroad for a few years. It’s a strategic retreat.” My mother’s expression was placid. “Reinvent yourself. He’s playing the part of the tragic, sensitive soul. You become the one that got away.” I smiled. “In that case, I think I’ll start with a bout of depression.” 1 On the day I returned, my friends threw me a welcome-home party. The private room was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Then, the door opened, and the jovial atmosphere froze. It was my ex-fiancée, Amelia, and her new boyfriend. I turned my head and met a pair of familiar, cool eyes. Amelia’s gaze lingered on me a moment too long, and the man behind her, a man named Ethan, began to look increasingly uncomfortable. Everyone exchanged nervous glances, some discreetly watching my reaction. After a brief, stunned silence, I casually gestured for them to join us. “You’re here. Have a seat.” I acted as if the ugly fallout from three years ago had never happened. A complex emotion flickered across Amelia’s face. She seemed to want to say something but ultimately just gave a quiet acknowledgment. Ethan sat beside her, his smile strained, a desperate attempt at nonchalance that failed to hide his stiffness. The unspoken tension was thick. The glances thrown his way were laced with scorn. I had pulled this man out of poverty, paid for his education, and in return, he had stolen my fiancée. Who could respect a backstabber like that? In the years I had been away, my family’s business had skyrocketed, quietly beginning to eclipse even Amelia’s powerful family, the Suttons. The social climbers in the room, whether out of a desire to defend my honor or for their own strategic reasons, collectively ostracized Ethan. He was treated like a ghost at the table. He looked to Amelia for support, but she, uncharacteristically, remained silent. I could feel her eyes on me, a mixture of curiosity and assessment. Even in the dim light of the room, Ethan’s face was a pale, tight mask of anxiety. I savored the moment before raising my glass, ostensibly to rescue him. “You two are late. Three shots as a penalty, no objections, right?” I said smoothly. “Don’t even think about skipping out. It’s the rule.” The others, after a moment of surprise, quickly played along. “That’s right! Liam’s back today. Don’t be a buzzkill!” Amelia said nothing, just downed the three shots with a clean, decisive motion. She turned the glass upside down, not a single drop remaining. Our eyes met, and in that moment, it felt like an apology for what had happened three years ago. I smiled faintly and turned to Ethan. He picked up his glass, his lips twitching into a forced smile, but he couldn’t meet my gaze. When I tried to clink my glass with his, he flinched as if I were a monster, the glass slipping from his trembling hand and shattering on the floor. That was the last straw for some of the others. “Seriously, Amelia, what’s with your boyfriend?” one of them snapped. “Liam is being a bigger man about this, and he’s the one acting all offended? Did he come here just to ruin the mood?” Amelia shot him a look, her lips tightening with annoyance, but she still defended him. “Ethan didn’t mean it. Just drop it.” Ethan mumbled an apology, his head bowed, his face a grim shade of grey, looking as if he were the one who had been wronged. One of my friends, whose family had no business ties with the Suttons, was about to lose it. “Oh, that does it—” I stopped him with a calm, friendly smile. “We’re all friends here. It’s not a big deal.” “What happened in the past is in the past. Let’s not bring it up again.” I looked at Amelia and Ethan, then downed my own drink, my eyes conveying a sense of peace and forgiveness. Amelia’s tense expression softened, and a hint of a smile touched her lips. Everyone understood. The hatchet was buried. The atmosphere in the room warmed up again. 2 Later, I stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. Behind me, I heard Amelia’s slightly hoarse voice. “How have you been, these past three years?” The wind rustled through my hair, creating an almost cinematic sense of a long-awaited reunion. I turned and caught the flash of surprise and something more complex in her eyes. “You drank a lot. Is your stomach holding up?” I asked, sidestepping her question to show concern for her. Amelia subconsciously touched her stomach, a flicker of a daze in her expression. She had always had stomach problems and was an incredibly picky eater. It had taken me a year to learn her preferences and create a personalized nutrition plan for her. I used to watch over her meals, my pockets always stocked with her medication and healthy snacks. And yet, I had lost her to the boy who would take her to eat street food. She masked the flicker of emotion, her gaze on me now unreadable. “You don’t hate me?” I shook my head. “It’s all in the past. There was never any irreparable damage between us. Besides, what’s that saying? Even if the deal falls through, the goodwill remains.” Amelia let out a small laugh, and the tension between us eased. “You’ve certainly become more magnanimous,” she teased. I smiled back. “We just weren’t right as a couple. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?” The truth was, after we broke off the engagement, the relationship between our families had become dangerously strained. The past three years had been a cold war of corporate sabotage and bitter rivalry. Now, everyone in our circle knew how fiercely protective my parents were of me and how unstoppable my family’s business had become. The word on the street was: get on Liam’s good side if you can, but whatever you do, don’t get on his bad side. Since my return, my social calendar had been packed with invitations from people I barely knew. What was one more friend? Besides, there was no reason for our families to remain at odds. I suspected Amelia’s presence at my party was a calculated move by her family to smooth things over. The Sutton empire was vast but showing signs of wear. They didn’t need another powerful enemy. Recognizing the olive branch in my words, Amelia’s brow relaxed. She joined me at the railing, and we stood there, one facing the city, the other facing the party, talking about the changes and experiences of the last three years. The dynamic between us, two equals, was surprisingly comfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of a white shirt disappear around a corner. A slow smile spread across my face. The next few months, I thought, were going to be very interesting. 3 After that night, Amelia started contacting me more frequently. She asked for the old nutrition plan, and I gave her all the details, reminding her to take care of herself. On the surface, she feigned annoyance at my fussing, but the warmth in her voice was unmistakable. I didn’t rush into the family business. Instead, I used my free time to revisit old haunts. My social media was filled with pictures of old friends, old places, old memories. Of course, having known Amelia since we were teenagers, a great number of those memories involved her. I’m pretty sure she was stalking my feed. She was always the first to like and comment. The principal really did go bald, didn’t he? Is that the same orange cat we used to feed? He still hasn’t graduated? I remember we tied a red ribbon on that old tree and made a wish. You never would tell me what you wished for. I would reply to the harmless comments and ignore the ones that crossed the line. One day, a new pop star went on a live stream and started trashing classic songs. He called one of my favorites “creepy.” That night, I posted the song on my feed. Minutes later, Amelia called, her voice tight with anger. She wasn’t a fangirl, but she had never missed a concert by this particular singer. That’s how much she loved his music. I listened quietly as she ranted, offering soothing words and agreeing with her. We ended up talking for over an hour. Until I heard Ethan’s voice in the background. “Amelia, are you still working?” She paused but didn’t hang up. Her tone was sharp. “What are you doing in here?” Ethan’s voice rose, laced with accusation. “You’re on the phone with him again, aren’t you?” At that point, I hung up. What came next was their private business. It wasn’t my place to interfere. I hummed the song softly, my eyes on the clock, my fingers tapping a rhythm on the table. Three minutes later, she called back. Her voice was tinged with exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Liam. You got dragged into this.” “It’s fine,” I said calmly. “I know Ethan. He’s a sensitive guy. Just spend more time with him, give him the reassurance he needs.” I paused, then added, “Our past is… complicated. It’s natural for him to be wary of me. Maybe we should keep some distance from now on.” There was a moment of silence, and I caught the flicker of impatience she tried to hide. “Haven’t I given him enough reassurance? He’s the one who’s never satisfied.” After we hung up, I raised an eyebrow. I may have been abroad, but I had kept a close eye on things back home. After the engagement was broken, Amelia had gone on a hunger strike to force her family to accept Ethan. Ethan, in turn, had knelt outside the Sutton mansion for days, begging to see her. The rebellious heiress and the resilient, sensitive soul, fighting for their love. The Suttons finally relented. It was a real-life fairytale, the talk of the town. People would get misty-eyed recounting the story. “Such a moving, epic love!” “Better check if your fiancée has a true love on the side! Make way, make way!” But fairytales end, and real life begins. The business partnership between our families collapsed. The Suttons couldn’t blame their precious daughter, so someone had to take the fall. They started looking at Ethan with contempt, finding fault in everything he did. If he wanted to marry into their family, he had to learn their ways, play the part of the dutiful husband. A career? Not a chance. The pittance he would earn would be an embarrassment. Social events? Don’t even think about it. They wouldn’t have people laughing at them for letting a backstabbing homewrecker marry into the family. Ethan, fresh out of college, had his career ambitions crushed before they could even begin. But Amelia promised to love him forever, so he willingly became the man behind the woman. What was a career compared to being a Sutton in-law? He clung to her, his possessiveness growing. He would get angry at the sight of any other man near her. Once or twice, it might have been cute. But it quickly became suffocating. A love born of hormones and rebellion rarely stands the test of time. I sighed and turned to the other student I sponsored, Nicole. She was now my assistant. “Can you understand his actions?” Nicole’s face was impassive, but a flicker of disgust crossed her features. “I will never understand it. He had a bright future, and he threw it all away for the empty promise of a woman’s love.” “Have Ethan and his family been out of touch for a while?” I asked thoughtfully. Nicole nodded. “I’ll take care of it.” 4 After that phone call, the tentative friendship Amelia and I had rebuilt seemed to crumble. I started ignoring her messages and calls. I deliberately avoided the parties she invited me to. The sudden distance sent Amelia into a panic. She went to Nicole, trying to arrange a meeting with me. Nicole sighed. “You haven’t heard? Someone’s been spreading vicious rumors about Mr. Green online.” “His depression has flared up again. His mother had to have him committed to a private clinic.” Amelia froze, her voice a dry rasp. “What depression?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385429”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

For three years, I was his possession. Then, overnight, my patron went bankrupt. Grayson Hayes left me a parting gift—a substantial sum of money—and then calmly prepared to kill himself. When he faced me, he said, “Don’t… don’t mock me, Thea. And you can go. You’re free.” “No.” I shook my head. “Now, it’s my turn to own you.” 1 The news of Grayson Hayes’s financial collapse spread like wildfire. It had to be true, because his enemies were already circling me like vultures. The quickest way to break a man, after all, is to take his woman. “You’re a sick bastard,” I snarled into the phone at some sleazebag making me a crude offer. “If it itches that bad, maybe you should just cut it off.” Ignoring his indignant sputtering, I smashed the end-call button and blocked the number. A quiet chuckle, exhausted but genuine, came from behind me. Grayson emerged from the entryway and pulled me down onto the sofa, his arms wrapping around me. He sank against me, his head resting heavily in the crook of my neck. “I’ve never seen you lose your temper,” he murmured. “I always thought you were a kitten. Turns out you’ve got claws.” He gave a wry smile. “A shame I figured it out so late. No more chances to see it, I guess.” That was the thing about men like him. Even with nothing left to his name, he could still manage a smile. The air grew thick with unspoken things. “Where’s the card I gave you?” he asked suddenly. “In my purse,” I said. “I put two million in it. Thea,” he said, his voice flat, “just like you always wanted. You’re free.” He said it with half his face cast in shadow, his expression unreadable. It was true, I had craved freedom. But looking back, I don’t think I ever actually planned on leaving him. Life by his side was, in its own twisted way, incredible. The money was endless, the sex was phenomenal, and he was devastatingly handsome. He was just a little… possessive. The ropes, the restraints—it was all part of his world. It hurt, and I’m not a saint, so I’d bite back with a sharp tongue whenever I could get away with it. But now wasn’t the time for venom. “Is it true?” I asked softly. “You’ve really lost everything?” He turned his head away. “Yes.” The word was barely out of his mouth before he added, “Please, don’t mock me. You can go.” The veins on his forearm stood out, stark and blue, like he was fighting a war within himself. I pressed on. “You gave all that money to me. What are you going to do?” My answer was a long, heavy silence. I tossed the dagger I’d found in the bathroom onto the coffee table between us. “Planning on this?” “Thea,” Grayson’s voice dropped, a warning rumble in his chest. “Don’t.” He pushed again, more urgently this time. “You always wanted out, didn’t you? So go. I can’t force you to stay anymore. I don’t have the capital for it.” I leaned back, affecting the same lazy indifference I always had around him, and didn’t answer right away. I can barely remember how pathetic I was when I first met Grayson Hayes. All I know is that I was desperate enough to be considering selling my body to pay off debts when he swept in, slapped a black card on a table, and took me home. I’d heard the whispers about him before then, of course. Civilized monster. A wolf in a designer suit. None of it was flattering. And I did try to escape. More than once. Each time, he dragged me back. He had a GPS tracker bonded to one of my molars. Cameras in my room. The phone and laptop I used were custom-made, his spyware woven into their DNA. He controlled every facet of my life, right down to the flavor of my toothpaste. To him, my struggles were like a kitten batting at a ball of yarn. Amusing. But every act of rebellion came with a punishment. Sometimes I was tied to his grand piano. Other times, strapped to a leather pommel horse. Always in a pose, a position, that he found pleasing. I was forbidden from speaking to any man, or any woman I didn’t already know. If he ever caught me, that person would simply… vanish from my life. For a long time, I was terrified of him. Even now, after our relationship has blurred into something far more complicated, the affection I feel for him is still laced with that old, primal fear. But the heart is an unruly thing. And now… now I might finally have the upper hand. The thought sent a jolt through me. “No,” I repeated, shaking my head as the idea took root and blossomed. “Now, it’s my turn to own you.” 2 “You’re going to…” Grayson hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “How… how exactly do you plan to… own me?” I took a moment to think. Damn. I’d been impulsive. Oh, well. I’d just treat it like I was hiring a very exclusive, very expensive escort. “Thanks to you, I’ve saved a little over the years,” I began, my voice cool and measured. “I also invested in some real estate. If I liquidate everything, and sell off the bags and diamonds you bought me, it should be enough to cover a portion of your debts.” A flicker of something—surprise? admiration?—crossed his face, before his brow furrowed again. “For someone who was being… owned… you have a very clear grasp of your assets.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “Were you always planning your escape?” The air chilled with his words. I instinctively shifted back on the cushion. In a flash, he was off the couch, his hands slamming down on either side of me, trapping me. He loomed over me, his presence as overwhelming as ever. “All this time, thinking about running,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Did you ever once think about—” My breath caught. But then his tone shifted, becoming weary again. “It doesn’t matter. You got your wish. Go, Thea. Before I change my mind.” For the first time in three years, I rolled my eyes at him. I pointed a finger at the video intercom screen. “Do you have time to change your mind? You’ve got a welcoming committee.” The words had barely left my lips when he glanced at the screen, saw the crowd of angry creditors, and suddenly slammed me against the front door. “We’ve never done it with an audience pounding on the door,” he breathed, his voice rough. “Grayson!” I hissed. The movement must have alerted the men outside. Through the security feed, I was forced to watch as their predatory eyes locked onto the camera, trying to pierce through the door. The man responsible for it all was pressed against me, his lips so close to my ear his breath was a hot whisper. “You can scream loud, if you want. Let them hear you. Maybe they’ll break down the door and kill me.” Ignoring my protests, Grayson pinned my hands behind my back. God, I hated this. I struggled as his fingers went to the buckle of his belt. He paid me no mind, muttering to himself, “I owe them so much money. They’ll probably carve me up, part me out. Sell me for scrap.” Like I gave a damn. “…” I don’t know how much time passed before my wrists were finally free. Furious, I snatched his leather belt and threw it on the floor. One hand on my aching back, I jabbed a finger into his chest. “Don’t you forget who owns who now. I’m your patron! You do as I say.” “And what are your demands…” Grayson’s expression was placid again, all trace of his earlier desperation gone. “…my patron?” “First,” I said, thinking hard. “No suicide.” “Fine.” “And cut the arrogant act.” “…Fine.” I tossed a new debit card onto the table, adopting his old air of casual authority. “This is in my name. It’s everything I’ve saved over the years. Should be around fifty million.” As he stared, stunned, I produced a portfolio of property deeds and several velvet boxes filled with loose diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, complete with authentication certificates. “Cash these in. It’ll be another nine figures, at least.” I placed my hands on my hips, savoring the right to be imperious, a right I’d stolen directly from him. “Use it all to pay off your debts. It should be enough to buy you the right to live, at least.” “…Alright.” Grayson’s eyes scanned the small mountain of wealth. “What do you want from me?” I bristled at his tone. It was as if my grand, dramatic rescue was just another one of his manipulative games. But it didn’t matter. Because showering someone in money felt ridiculously good. “I’m going to have the tracker removed from my tooth,” I said, watching his face carefully. “And then I’m going to have it implanted in you.” Grayson’s gaze lifted to meet mine. That one simple look sent a familiar chill down my spine. Some deep, hidden part of my body, conditioned by years of his random “punishments,” instinctively braced for danger. I channeled every memory of his control over me. “From now on, your every move is dictated by me. You will report to me before you go anywhere. All your electronics will share my passwords—no, they’ll be logged into my accounts. And you are not, under any circumstances, to be around any other women.” “Oh, and one more thing,” I added with precision. “I hate mint toothpaste. Get lemon.” Grayson’s eyes never left my face. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice slow and unreadable. “You’re surprisingly good at this game.” “So,” he continued, his tone impossible to decipher, “are you going to punish me… the way I punished you?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385428”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m the spoiled, delicate side character in a post-apocalyptic novel. To put the hero in his place, I deliberately ruined the food in my hand. “Bad dog,” I sneered. “Lick it clean for your princess.” The hero, his entire body tense with restraint, took my sticky, cream-covered fingers into his hand. [Affection Points +10] I froze. Excuse me? The System in my head shrieked: “You idiot! He LIKED that!” Later, that same hero—a wolf in sheep’s clothing—would have me locked in a gilded cage, punishing me with the kind of passion born from obsession. He’d hold my ankle in his hand, a feral grin on his face. “Harder, Princess. Beg for it.” 1 It’s day three of the end of the world. The stale bread in my mouth tasted like cardboard and despair. I couldn’t swallow another bite. The hero will be back with something better soon, the System soothed in my mind. And get ready. You have a scene coming up. You need to slap him. That’s right. My next line, my next big move, was to slap the male lead. I’d been dropped into a book. One of those gritty, male-led apocalypse fantasies. And I was cast as Scarlett Ashford, the hero’s beautiful, cruel fiancée. The girl who despised him for his low-class origins, who treated him like a dog, and who, in the original story, gets him to break off their engagement before shoving him into a horde of zombies to clear her own path to a more powerful protector. Of course, that’s the moment the hero, Nash Donovan, awakens his ridiculously overpowered Devour ability. It’s the start of his meteoric rise, his journey of revenge and conquest until he becomes a king in the new world order. According to the script, we were still in the early chapters—Nash’s public humiliation phase. He’d just risked his life on a supply run, and the original Scarlett, furious that he hadn’t found her favorite ice cream, gives him a resounding slap. Forced to endure it because of some old debt his family owed mine, Nash was supposed to grit his teeth and deliver that classic, chilling line: “The tables will turn, Scarlett. If it weren’t for what your family did for me, you think you’d still be breathing?” Only now, the one who had to do the slapping was me. The scavenging team trudged back into the villa. As I looked up, my eyes met Nash’s. He was tall, all sharp lines and coiled energy. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Even covered in the grime of the outside world, he stood out from the exhausted group like a panther among house cats. He looked at me with an unnerving chill in his eyes, his thin lips adding a severe edge to his face. Something felt… off. The book described him at this stage as just a regular college kid, not someone who carried this kind of intimidating presence. Now! This is your cue! the System urged. Go humiliate him! Viciously! I screwed up my courage and stepped in front of him, blocking his path to his room. I did my best to glare, channeling all my energy into my almond-shaped eyes, and chirped in my most demanding tone. “Nash. Where’s my gelato?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. He gave me a lazy, dismissive glance. “Didn’t find any.” My right hand twitched, ready for its big moment. But then, he tossed a plastic bag into my arms. “They had these, though. Frozen mochi.” I was completely thrown. This wasn’t in the script. The System frantically flipped through its virtual pages. You were too slow! In the original text, he did bring back the mochi, but the original Scarlett slapped him before he even had a chance to mention it! Improvise! Humiliate him and get those Degradation Points! My mind was a blank slate. To make matters worse, Nash snatched the mochi back and tore open the package. “Whatever,” he scoffed. “Forget it if you can’t handle commoner’s food.” “Who—who said you could insult me with this peasant trash!” The line came to me in a flash of inspiration. I lunged forward, slapped him hard across the face, and crushed the mochi in my fist. The sticky rice and cold cream exploded between my fingers. I lifted my chin, putting every ounce of arrogance I could muster into my voice. “Bad dog,” I spat. “Lick it clean for your princess.” It should have been a perfect performance. Except for one thing. I’m not built for violence. The slap hurt my hand. Nash’s jaw was like a block of granite. My nose scrunched and my eyes immediately welled up, tiny tears of pain clinging to my lashes. From his perspective, it probably looked less like a threat and more like a pout. The living room fell silent. One of Nash’s friends, Liam, finally broke the quiet. “Seriously, Miss Ashford? It’s the apocalypse, not a trip to the mall. Nash almost got his arm torn off by a zombie hiding behind a door trying to find that damn ice cream for you. Even a guy who worships the ground you walk on deserves some dignity…” “I’ll lick it.” Nash’s low voice cut him off. He knelt, taking my hand in his. He positioned himself between my legs, his knee brushing my inner thigh, every muscle in his body pulled taut. He looked for all the world like a man enduring the ultimate shame. But something still felt wrong. Determined to see the humiliation through, I held the pose, letting him hold my hand. Then I felt it. A warm, wet pressure on my fingertips. He wasn’t just licking. He was tasting, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles before he drew the tip of my finger into his mouth. A sharp, deliberate bite followed. Just as he was about to move to my palm, I snatched my hand back with a shudder. “You’re pathetic!” I squeaked, stomping on his foot for good measure. “You can’t even lick properly!” With that parting shot, I fled to my room. Ow, ow, ow! The little teeth marks on my finger throbbed, and no amount of scrubbing would make the red fade. I buried my face in my pillows and had a good, long cry. After a while, I wiped my tears away. “System,” I sniffled. “Did I complete the mission? He looked so humiliated, and he bit me to get back at me. That has to count, right?” The System was silent for a beat. Then, a line of text glowed on my mental screen: [Ding—Affection Points +10] “Huh?” I asked, confused. “What does that mean?” The System exploded. “You idiot!” it screamed. “You didn’t humiliate him. You turned him on!” 2 I was completely baffled. I couldn’t wrap my head around why getting slapped would make Nash happy. Our mission is to DEGRADE him, not to get him off! the System lectured sternly. Next time, you need to be more vicious. Grind him under your heel! My chance came sooner than I expected. At dinner, I stayed in my room, refusing to eat with the others. Soon enough, there was a knock on my door. It was Nash, holding a plate with a steak on it. His apology was delivered with zero sincerity. “Sorry I bit you earlier,” he said, his voice flat. “This was the most expensive frozen steak in the supermarket. For you, Princess.” This was another deviation. In the original story, he just brought her a cup of instant noodles. She’d responded by dumping it over his head, which led to him going to the villa’s pool to wash up, where he’d stumble upon a great fortune. But now… the rich, savory scent of grilled meat filled my room. My stomach rumbled, loud and insistent. Throwing away a perfectly good steak seemed like a criminal waste. My face must have shown my conflict. A soft chuckle escaped him. That did it. My temper flared. “What’s so funny?” I snapped. “You hurt me. You should be on your knees begging for forgiveness!” Nash’s eyes narrowed slightly. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t push it, Scarlett. This isn’t a game. Piss me off, and you wouldn’t survive a single day out here.” He was threatening me. As the hero, he was known for being vindictive. Unfortunately for him, I was the clueless, cruel fiancée. I wasn’t supposed to understand subtext. I tilted my head back, channeling the arrogance of a swan. I gave his knee a petulant kick. “Excuse me? I’m a goddamn Ashford. You and all those other commoners are living in my villa. How dare you be disrespectful!” I leaned in, delivering the final blow. “You owe my family, Nash. You owe us everything.” A sharp hiss escaped him. His body went rigid, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere below my waist, and he clenched his jaw. Oh my god. Seriously? Is that all it takes? He was rattled. He slammed the plate down on my bedside table, turned on his heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. [Degradation Points +10] Success! I had no idea which part of my tirade had hit a nerve, but finally, Nash felt properly humiliated. I was about to dig into my steak with relish when the System let out a piercing shriek. “No, no, no! The plot is going off the rails! His clothes are still clean! If he doesn’t go to the pool, he’ll miss his big opportunity!” “Relax,” I said, swallowing my last bite of beef with a confident smile. I deliberately dripped some of the steak juice onto my pristine white sundress, slipped on my sandals, and padded over to Nash’s room, flinging the door open. “Nash!” I commanded. “Get up. You’re coming with me while I take a bath.” 3 Nash’s room was dark. He had his shirt lifted, revealing a set of perfectly sculpted abs and the sharp V-lines that disappeared into his cargo pants. He was just about to unbuckle his belt when I barged in. His eyebrow twitched violently. “Get out.” I ignored him, pointing a regal finger in his direction. “And my dress is dirty. You’re going to wash it for me. By hand. At the pool.” I smirked. “You’re my fiancé, Nash. Surely you can handle a small task like that, can’t you?” The city’s water supply had been cut off since the apocalypse began. The villa had a reserve of drinking water, but for bathing or laundry, the only option was the large, open-air swimming pool outside. To conserve water, everyone else just made do with sponge baths. But I was the delicate, spoiled side character, wasn’t I? I gloated to the System internally. See? I humiliated him AND I got him to the pool. Pretty smart, right? The System was silent for a moment. …Are you sure you’re not rewarding him? I didn’t understand. A second later, Nash lowered his head, his expression one of perfect submission. “Of course, Princess. Should I wash your underwear as well?” “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” I screeched, feeling like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. After Nash had heated the water for my bath, I shooed him out of the poolside shower area. It wasn’t long before I regretted it. The branches of the trees outside the window scraped against the glass. The single overhead light flickered, the generator struggling. It felt like the opening scene of a horror movie. According to the plot, this is when a mutated zombie was supposed to burst in. Nash would fight it, win, and acquire a Level 3 crystal core, which would unlock the pocket dimension and spiritual spring hidden within his family’s ancestral jade pendant. It was the trump card that allowed him to survive after the original Scarlett pushed him into the zombie horde. Remembering that a zombie was on its way, my body started to tremble. “Nash? Are you out there?” No answer. Then, a guttural roar echoed from outside. I scrambled out of the bathtub in a panic, not even bothering to dry my hair. I threw on a silk nightgown, looking for a corner to hide in. In my haste, I banged my knee hard against a bench, the pain bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I nearly cried out. The foul stench of decay grew stronger. It was right outside the door. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought I might suffocate. Just as my lungs were about to burst, the door opened. Nash walked in, holding a washboard dripping with black zombie blood. He looked completely unfazed. “Princess,” he said, his voice calm. “Your dress is clean.” 4. Systema je to odjelo. The System was stunned. Wait, what happened to my giant, mutated zombie? In the book, Nash barely managed to kill it by using the terrain to his advantage. How did it get one-shotted the second it showed up?! A wave of relief washed over me. I stumbled forward and threw myself into Nash’s arms, burying my face in the solid warmth of his chest. “What took you so long?” I mumbled, my voice thick with tears. I had just bathed, and the scent of my floral body wash filled the air around us. Nash’s Adam’s apple bobbed again, a nervous tick. The bloodlust seemed to drain from his eyes, replaced by something softer. He waited until my sobs subsided before his hand moved to my leg. “How did you hurt your knee?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. I was too embarrassed to admit I’d been scared. I sniffled, trying to maintain my composure. “None of your business. Now carry me back to my room and dry my hair… Ah!” I let out a small gasp as he swept me up into his arms with one arm. I started to struggle, but he tightened his grip around my waist. “Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice husky. “The floor is covered in zombie blood.” I squeezed my eyes shut and went completely still against his shoulder, quiet as a mouse. After the scare, I was physically and emotionally drained. As Nash awkwardly dried my hair with a towel, I drifted off to sleep. My sleep was restless. In my dreams, I sensed Nash trying to leave. I clung to his arm, whimpering, refusing to let go. He made a soft “tsk” sound. The rough pads of his fingers brushed against my cheek. The skin was so soft he couldn’t resist giving it a couple of gentle pinches, leaving faint red marks behind. “So damn delicate,” he muttered. “Such a little coward. Who else is going to put up with you in this world but me?” Nash retrieved a small bottle from his pocket dimension and dabbed the cool liquid—water from the spiritual spring—onto the scrape on my knee. The angry red mark faded, leaving the skin smooth and flawless. The System had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, Nash glanced toward the window and waved his hand. Dozens of thick vines erupted from the ground outside, silently piercing the skulls of a zombie pack that had been drawn to the villa. With his left hand, he gently soothed me back to sleep. With his right, he casually sorted through a handful of crystal cores of various types, absorbing them all. The power of the Devourer was terrifying. The System let out a silent, horrified scream. Holy crap! Don’t tell me the hero was reborn! 5 When I woke up, the System was in full-blown panic mode. The Devour ability is only supposed to awaken AFTER you betray him! His power level is still low, but he’s using it with way too much skill! Something is very, very wrong! I looked into the kitchen, where Nash, wearing an apron, was cooking shrimp porridge for me. The picture of domestic bliss. “He’s still doing everything I say,” I pointed out. “He doesn’t seem like he’s been reborn.” He’s only cooking for you because you were mumbling about wanting shrimp in your sleep last night, the System retorted. And while you were asleep, you were also groping his abs. It was horrifying. A wave of embarrassment washed over me. I did vaguely remember dreaming I was hungry and reaching for something. Honestly, his abs had felt pretty great. “But after Nash awakens his power, isn’t he supposed to be ruthless and vengeful?” I thought back on everything I’d done to him, a growing sense of dread creeping in. “…Why am I not dead yet?” The Degradation meter remained stubbornly at zero. The Affection meter, however, had been steadily climbing. The System fell into a thoughtful silence. Don’t panic. He’s just pretending to be completely obsessed with you. It’s all part of his plan to bide his time. He’s playing the long game! The System advised me to stick to the script. My next mission: steal Nash’s ancestral jade pendant and use it to blackmail him into being my slave. This was going to be impossible. I was so preoccupied that even the delicious shrimp porridge tasted bland. Nash took the half-eaten bowl from me and finished the rest without batting an eye. Then, he casually made the pot disappear back into his pocket dimension. Everyone at the table stared in shock. Nash’s friend, Marco, was practically drooling. “Hey, where’d the porridge go?” Liam asked cautiously, “Nash, man… did you awaken an ability?” Nash gave a noncommittal hum. “Spatial type. I’ve gathered enough supplies. We head for Haven Base after this.” So cool. Such a typical hero move. Except… he had used my spoon! I stared at him, at a loss for words. He finally noticed my gaze. “My apologies, Princess. I forgot to pack extra utensils. You don’t mind that I used yours, do you?” he asked, the picture of innocence. Bullshit! He did it on purpose! the System raged. He couldn’t sleep last night after you felt him up, so he went and cleaned out an entire supermarket! He has everything in that dimension of his! He even cleared all the zombies on the road out of town! “You… you pervert!” I finally managed, my face burning. I announced that I was giving him the silent treatment. My plan was to sneak into his tent tonight, steal the pendant, and then make him suffer. The SUV had a smooth ride, stopping in a clearing on the outskirts of the city just before sunset. Nash and the others set up tents for the night. Since I didn’t have any powers, I got to sleep in the car. The moon was bright, and the sound of snoring already filled the air. I crept out of the car, tiptoeing over to Nash’s tent and quietly unzipping it. His eyes were closed, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He appeared to be fast asleep. “Nash? Are you sleeping?” I whispered close to his ear. When he didn’t respond, I relaxed and reached for the jade pendant around his neck, fumbling for the clasp. I realized too late that it was tied in a knot. A dead knot. I should have brought scissors. I sighed in frustration. My fingertips accidentally brushed against his throat. Instantly, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. In one fluid motion, he flipped me onto my back and pinned me beneath him. “Getting hungry again, Princess?” His eyes were dark with a raw hunger, his gaze locked on my lips. He took my hand and pressed it against his chiseled stomach, guiding it lower with a low, knowing laugh. “Changed your mind about me being a pervert?” 6 The summer night was warm, our clothes thin. I could feel the searing heat of his body as if our skin were pressed together. Flustered and furious, I squirmed beneath him. “Get off of me!” I hissed. The wilderness was quiet, and his ragged breaths sounded deafeningly loud. Even with the tent walls, I knew any loud noise would be heard. I bit my lip and forced myself to stay still. He didn’t let go. His hot breath ghosted over my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “Not satisfied with my abs, Princess?” he murmured, his voice thick. “Or… were you after something else?” My eyes went wide. It was over. It was better for him to think I was a horny teenager than a thief trying to steal his most prized possession. “I… I just wasn’t ready,” I stammered, awkwardly leaning in to press my lips against his. I fully expected him to pull away. In the book, the hero was practically a monk. But the moment my lips touched the corner of his mouth, he froze for a split second before his mouth crashed down on mine. He was like a starving animal, fierce and demanding, his tongue prying my lips apart. He kissed me until my whole body trembled and my jaw ached. Tears welled in my eyes as I weakly tried to push him away. “No… stop. I want to go back.” He didn’t seem to hear me, just grunted against my mouth. Suddenly, I felt something wrap around my ankle. It was thick and rough, and it was trying to slither up under my nightgown. I clung to his shirt, a terrified sob escaping my lips as I started babbling his name incoherently. “Nash, Nash…” He finally stopped, his lips moving to gently kiss the tears from the corner of my eye. “Don’t cry. I’ll be gentle.” “No, it’s—it’s my foot,” I stammered, my body shaking. “There’s something on my foot.” It was too dark to see. Nash covered my eyes with one hand and, with the other, tore away the vine that had wrapped itself around my calf. “It’s nothing. Just a mutated plant,” he soothed, pulling me into his arms and patting my back. “Don’t be scared, Princess. I’ll protect you. Just sleep here tonight.” This new world was terrifying. I nodded tearfully, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, desperate for the feeling of safety. For the sake of my pride, I added in a small, reluctant voice, “But… no more kissing.” Nash’s tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. A long moment passed before a hoarse sound escaped his throat. Exhausted, I didn’t care about the cramped, hard floor of the tent. I closed my eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. In a hazy, dreamlike state, I felt as if I were lying on a soft bed. Someone gently brushed the damp strands of hair from my collarbone and wiped the sweat from my brow with a cool cloth.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385427”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel