My grandfather raised me on scraps, pulling me from the refuse of the world. I knew the bitter taste of poverty all too well. To marry into wealth, I armed myself with designer shopping bags bought from eBay and rented luxury purses for five dollars a day. My days were spent drifting through art galleries, my nights curled up in the waiting areas of five-star hotels. After six months of playing the part of a phantom heiress, a man finally approached me. It was him. The one I’d seen in Forbes last month: Michael Astor, the scion of a New York dynasty. I offered him a business card. Vivian Sterling. A painter signed with the Galerie Saint-Victor in Paris, and curator of the Sterling Gallery. He raised an eyebrow, then beckoned the gallery’s curator over. “Have this piece delivered to Miss Sterling’s home.” The painting Michael pointed to was marked at two million dollars. But before I could even process my elation, comments started scrolling across my vision, like a phantom social media feed only I could see. “The wannabe socialite is on the scene! I can’t wait to see the real heroine expose her.” “Go on, keep up the act! Serves her right for trying to seduce the male lead. She’ll learn her lesson once Michael ships her off to some grimy nightclub in Eastern Europe!” … After dinner with Michael, we were walking to the parking garage when we passed a massive Chanel display window. The soft glow of the lights caressed the latest season’s collection, and for a moment, it captured my entire soul. I turned my head, my feet halting. “Thank you for dinner,” I said, my voice pulling me back to reality. “My treat next time.” My gaze fell upon Michael, his hair slicked back, his face framed by thin, gold-rimmed glasses. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I was worried it might not be to your taste.” I faced him, walking backward slowly with my hands behind my back. “Oh, I used to go there all the time in Europe. After moving back to the States, I often found myself missing those days. I was surprised to see they’d opened a location here, so I had to bring you.” The phantom comments went wild with mockery. 【She spins lies so effortlessly! Europe? She only moved to New York last year. She doesn’t even have a passport!】 【The male lead is so gullible! She couldn’t afford a real Michelin-star place, so she took him to this prix-fixe joint. The whole meal barely cost her a hundred bucks!】 【Just wait, girls. Let’s see what other tall tales this gold digger can cook up!】 “Now I remember,” Michael said, a smile playing on his lips. “A friend took me to their flagship in Paris once. The line was a mile long, and by the time we got in, they were sold out of their signature beef and truffle burger. Thanks to you, I finally got to make up for a regret that’s haunted me for eight years.” We shared a knowing smile. He offered me his arm, and I slipped mine through it. Half an hour later, his car pulled up to a luxury high-rise on the Upper East Side. A doorman stepped forward, blocking our way. “Key card, please.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I fumbled through my handbag. After a long moment, the doorman’s patience wore thin. “Ma’am, this is a private residence. If you’re not a resident, you need to leave.” I shot Michael an embarrassed smile. “I can just get out here.” His gaze shifted from me to the doorman, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “What’s wrong with your security? You don’t even recognize your own residents?” “He must be new,” I stammered, “still learning the faces. It’s been a long night, thank you for everything. I can walk from here.” I reached for the door handle, but Michael locked it with a soft click. He turned to the doorman, his voice carrying an edge of authority. “Her name is Vivian Sterling. She’s a resident. I’m giving you three minutes to verify that, or you can be sure I’ll be filing a formal complaint.” The doorman eyed me warily before muttering into his walkie-talkie. 【Is she getting exposed this quickly?】 【Of course she is. The smallest unit in this building is 1,500 square feet and costs over ten million. No way she can afford that!】 【You have to admit, the girl’s got nerve. She’s got the Astor heir completely fooled!】 Sensing the moment was right, I pulled the key card from my coat pocket and flashed it at the doorman through the window. “My apologies,” I said smoothly. “I forgot I’d slipped it in my coat.” The doorman breathed a sigh of relief, offering me a respectful nod before waving us through. The car stopped in front of one of the towers, and Michael came around to open my door. “There’s an art gala next week,” he said as I stepped out. “Eleanor Davenport will be there. She’s also an alum of the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. You two would be classmates, in a way. I’m sure you’d have plenty to talk about. Would you like to go?” The threat of my lies unraveling set off alarm bells in my head. I made a vague excuse about checking my schedule with my assistant and managed to deflect. Back in my apartment, I opened my laptop and searched for everything I could find on Eleanor Davenport. Wife of the powerful Davenport family. Her father was a renowned literary figure from the early 20th century, her mother a famous attorney. She was accepted into the oil painting program at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris at sixteen and married into a family that held Washington’s economic strings at twenty-four. She was the real deal—the pinnacle of high society, the woman everyone wanted to impress. To her, a fraud like me would be as obvious as a cheap knock-off. One wrong word, and my entire facade would crumble. The room was dark. I stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, lighting a cigarette. When the cherry died out, I texted Michael back, confirming my attendance at the gala. The reason was simple. Money. After just three dates with Michael, I was already up nearly two million dollars. First, he gave me that two-million-dollar painting, which I discreetly sold for 1.8 million. Then, he gifted me a diamond bracelet, which I pawned for another two hundred thousand. The very apartment I was standing in was a temporary rental, paid for with Michael’s money. The phantom comments were right. I was a fake, a gold digger. Because I was terrified of being poor. I grew up an orphan, found in a dumpster by my grandfather, who raised me by collecting cans and scrap metal. I wore ill-fitting clothes and shoes pulled from the trash, and ate expired bread from grocery store dumpsters. My entire life, poverty had been a magnet for cruelty. If something went missing at school, I was always the first suspect. “Your grandfather even picks up old socks from the trash. Why wouldn’t you steal money?” “So we were wrong last time. That just makes it more likely you did it this time!” That was bad enough, but it got worse. As I hit puberty, my body began to change. The rumors changed with it. “Twenty bucks gets you a night with Vivian. Buy her a coffee in the morning and she’ll let you touch whatever you want. See how big her chest is? That’s how she paid for it.” Once, while I was waiting for a bus, a man pulled over. “You’re starting young, aren’t you? Hope you don’t have anything nasty.” If I was going to be harassed anyway, why not take control and aim for a rich man? So I came to New York, pooled all my money, and reinvented myself as a European-educated socialite. Even if the comments said I’d end up trafficked, so what? To me, there is nothing in this world more terrifying than poverty. Right now, whatever Michael’s motives were for inviting me, if I could actually connect with Eleanor Davenport, even the scraps from her table could set me up for life. Opportunity and risk always go hand in hand. You just have to be prepared. I spent the next three days studying Eleanor Davenport. She hated lilies but loved sandalwood. Her favorite artist was Séraphine Louis, her favorite classical piece Chopin’s Polonaises. By the time the gala arrived, I was ready. Mrs. Davenport gave a brief opening speech but spent the rest of the evening sitting alone in a corner, listening to the music. Several society wives attempted to approach her, only to be deterred by her formidable aura. I moved through the room on Michael’s arm, feeling the fiery glares of debutantes and heiresses. 【Here we go! The first showdown between the real heroine and the wannabe!】 【Ugh, this faker’s act is making me sick. Heroine, please crush her!】 【Our girl Bianca is the real deal! Once she gets Mrs. Davenport’s attention, this imposter is toast!】 As the comments scrolled, a woman dripping in jewels glided toward us, a champagne flute in her hand. “Michael, darling, you came to New York and didn’t even call me?” Her eyes flickered over to me. “And who is this? I don’t believe we’ve met. Which family’s darling might you be?” “This is Vivian Sterling,” Michael said smoothly. “She’s just returned from Europe. She’s a painter.” “Vivian, this is Bianca Vanderbilt, of Vanderbilt Corp. Bianca is very involved in philanthropy. You were saying you wanted to organize a charity exhibition? Perhaps you two could discuss it.” Bianca looked me up and down with a smirk. “Studied in Europe, you say? Which school?” “The École des Beaux-Arts in Paris.” She sniffed dismissively. “Well then, let’s hear some French!” Michael frowned. “Bianca, don’t be ridiculous.” “It’s alright,” I said, cutting Michael off with a gentle touch. I smiled and offered a few pleasantries in fluent, practiced French. Bianca seemed taken aback. “Wow, you’re actually good!” “Vivian is brilliant,” Michael added. “Her work has won numerous international awards.” “Then I’ll have to learn a thing or two from Miss Sterling!” Even though I was prepared, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my palm under Bianca’s sharp gaze. The awards were fabrications, easily disproven with a single search. I needed to escape. I made a quick excuse and slipped away. But when I came out of the restroom, Bianca was waiting for me. “Let’s drop the act,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “What’s your game, pretending to be a socialite to get close to Michael? Is it his money or his name you’re after?” I clenched my trembling hands into fists. “Miss Vanderbilt, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Your dress can’t be more than three grand, can it? You’re the most cheaply dressed woman here tonight.” “Let me give you a reality check. Michael came to New York to be set up with me. You and he are from different worlds. Stop dreaming. The poor should stick with the poor.” She pulled a wad of cash from her clutch and threw it at my feet. “I had my driver get cash just for this. Take it and get out. Don’t make me expose you in front of him.” 【YESSS, our heroine is so badass!】 【Look at the faker’s face! She looks like she just swallowed a fly. Hilarious!】 【Am I the only one who feels a little bad for her? She hasn’t stolen anything. Michael gave her all those gifts willingly. Does she really deserve this?】 【Are you serious? She’s a gold-digging liar! She deserves to be shamed!】 I picked up the money from the floor and walked back into the ballroom in a daze. The chatter around me felt like a power drill boring into my skull. Why? Why were they born with silver spoons while I had to be looked down upon for my humble origins? We were all human, but even a lifetime of my effort couldn’t get me to their starting line. Is it a crime to be poor? Is it a crime to want money? My eyes found Bianca, who was now fawning over Eleanor Davenport, obsequiously pouring her a cup of tea. Mrs. Davenport, however, looked bored, her face cold as she scrolled through her phone. I let out a bitter laugh, downed my champagne in one gulp, and strode toward them. Perhaps I was moving too fast. I stumbled, bumping into a waiter carrying a tray of red wine. The crimson liquid splashed all over my pristine white gown. Gasps erupted around me. The commotion finally drew Mrs. Davenport’s attention; she turned her head with mild curiosity. The waiter’s face was beet red as he stammered apologies. I touched the stain on my dress, then looked up at the event manager nearby. “Could you possibly bring me some chocolate sauce and a silver foil pen?” I dabbed the chocolate sauce around the edges of the wine stain, blending it softly, then used the silver pen to sketch delicate petals. Thank God for all those online art courses I’d taken to maintain my painter persona. The result was surprisingly decent. “Look at that,” someone whispered. “Her style… it’s a bit like Séraphine Louis!” “You’re right! It does have a hint of Séraphine!” Guests started to gather, murmuring praise. I turned my body slightly toward Mrs. Davenport. When I saw the hint of a smile on her face, I knew I had won. Just as I’d planned, ten minutes later, I was sitting across from Eleanor Davenport. “Causing a scene with a wine stain to get my attention,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “How very creative.” Before I could reply, Bianca materialized out of nowhere.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385396”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My wife and I have a wild side. One night, on a whim, we decided to do some role-playing at an exclusive nightclub. She was kneeling between my legs, her voluptuous figure in a French maid outfit brushing against my thighs. “Oh, sir,” she cooed, “won’t you take pity on me? Take me home?” Just then, a man pointed a finger at my wife and shouted, “I thought I had my pick of the models here. I want that one!” I quickly tried to explain. “Sir, you misunderstand, this is my—” He cut me off. “What do you mean, yours? She’s with me tonight. Get lost.” A staff member pulled me aside, whispering urgently, “That’s Preston Vance, the Vance family heir. I hear Isabelle Hawthorne, the Hawthorne heiress, is chasing after him. We can’t afford to cross him. Just let him have her. We’ll set you up with someone even better.” I looked at Isabelle. Her eyes were welling up with tears, and her lip trembled. “I didn’t do anything, darling,” she whispered, perfectly in character. … Isabelle and I had just wrapped up a major project at our company and were looking forward to a long, relaxing holiday weekend. Who could have predicted this? The man, Preston, was now berating a server. “Didn’t I tell you to bring any new talent to me first?” Then his gaze, slick with avarice, landed back on Isabelle. “Now this one… what a pretty face. And that body…” Isabelle quickly draped my suit jacket over her maid outfit, looking at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Sir, I don’t want to go with him. Please, you have to protect me.” She even ducked behind me for effect. I had to suppress a groan. She was really getting into this. We’ve always shared a taste for the theatrical—doctor and patient, boss and secretary, cop and criminal… no scenario was off-limits. I just never thought we’d be so convincing that someone would actually mistake us. Isabelle and I exchanged a look. I cleared my throat. “My good sir,” I began, “I believe I was here first. There’s a certain etiquette to these things. Besides, the young lady clearly isn’t interested in your company. Perhaps after I’ve had my fun…” Isabelle pinched me hard from behind. Preston tossed his head back, his voice dripping with contempt. “Who the hell do you think you are? In Miami, if a coin drops from the sky, it lands in a Vance’s pocket. Got it? I don’t care. She’s serving me tonight.” With that, he pulled out a thick wad of cash and slapped it across Isabelle’s face. A red welt immediately appeared on her cheek. “Come with me, sweetheart,” he sneered. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll triple it.” Isabelle’s expression darkened for a split second. No one, besides me, had ever dared to be so insolent to her. Her knuckles turned white—a telltale sign she was about to lose her temper. I was afraid she’d blow our cover. We’d agreed to keep a low profile on this trip, bringing nothing that would identify us, just wanting to enjoy some time alone. If the paparazzi caught Isabelle Hawthorne, the sole heiress to the Hawthorne global empire, in a sexy maid outfit at a nightclub, her father’s blood pressure would skyrocket. I quickly stepped in front of her, stroking her hair soothingly. Before I could speak, Preston shoved me hard. “Get lost, you little punk, before I make you disappear from Miami by morning. Bodyguards! Throw him out. I’m having this woman tonight.” The onlookers seemed unfazed, whispering among themselves. “Damn, that guy must be from out of town. Trying to steal a girl from Preston Vance? He’s got a death wish.” “He’s finished. The Vances run this city. He won’t see the sunrise tomorrow.” My mind raced. The Vances of Miami? I was aware of them, but I didn’t recall their influence being quite so absolute. “I’d like to see you try,” I said, my voice low and cold, stopping the advancing bodyguards in their tracks. It was a tone accustomed to command, and for a moment, the large men hesitated. Preston just laughed, more arrogant than ever. He reached out and tipped Isabelle’s chin up. “Fine, I won’t touch him,” he purred. “You spend the night with me. You please me, and I’ll let him go. Otherwise… well, you know what happens.” Isabelle’s face was glacial. She jerked her head away, but that only seemed to fuel Preston’s desire to conquer her. He blew a ring of smoke in her face. “A spicy one, are we? Does your family know you do this for a living?” My lips twitched. If they knew, all hell would break loose. Playing the hero, I stepped between them again. “Who are you? She’s the top girl here. You’ll have to get in line.” Preston looked outraged, as if I’d uttered the highest form of blasphemy. He reached to pull Isabelle toward him. She let out a theatrical gasp, as if truly terrified. “Sir, save me!” We were both deep in the performance now. I swept my arm out, pulling Isabelle into my embrace. “I’d like to see anyone try and take her from me tonight.” Preston was practically hyperventilating with rage. He snapped at the club manager. “Find out when she was hired. How can she be so insubordinate?” The manager returned a moment later, looking flustered. “Sir… it appears she doesn’t work for us.” Preston smirked. “Well, she does now.” He grew more animated, barking orders at the manager. “Since she’s not on your payroll, sign her up. Take her for training. Teach her properly how to please her master.” The manager wiped sweat from his brow, bowing obsequiously as he produced a file. I glanced at it. It was a detailed profile of Preston Vance’s… particular sexual preferences and favorite positions. The content was so graphic I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. “Mr. Vance,” I said dryly, “you certainly know yourself well.” Isabelle, looking disgusted, snatched the paper, tore it to shreds, and threw it in the trash. “Mr. Vance, I have no interest in knowing any of that.” She muttered a curse in French, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. I glanced at my watch. We were scheduled to attend a financial summit later tonight. There was no more time to play games with this fool. Opting for the path of least resistance, I decided to tell him the truth. “Mr. Vance, we’re husband and wife. We’re just tourists here, and what you saw was just a bit of private fun between us.” Preston scoffed. “Spare me the bullshit. I don’t care what your relationship is. I saw her, I want her. There’s never been a woman I couldn’t have.” His threats were so empty they were almost laughable. “Mr. Vance, this is kidnapping. There are security cameras everywhere. Are you not afraid of us calling the police?” At the mention of the police, he became even more brazen. “Go ahead. Even if they show up, you think they’ll take your side?” He gestured to his bodyguards, who moved to pull us apart. He had the manager shove another document at my wife, then grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head down to look at it. “Study up,” he hissed. “We’ll be putting this to practice tonight. Ditch this pathetic loser and stick with me. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied every single night. But you know the rules—no drama in front of the Hawthorne heiress. You know how she’s dying to be with me.” A sudden, intense chill emanated from Isabelle. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes like chips of ice. “Satisfied every night? That sounds interesting. I just wonder, Mr. Vance, if you’ll live long enough to enjoy it.” Preston was taken aback, his hand instinctively loosening its grip on her hair. He even took a half-step back. I poked his arm, my face a mask of curiosity. “Mr. Vance, are you referring to Isabelle Hawthorne, from the Hawthorne family?” He snapped back to his senses, his confidence returning. He puffed out his chest. “Of course. Look, this is the token of her love she gave me.” I followed his gaze. A sapphire ring the size of a robin’s egg glittered on a chain around his neck, looking almost identical to the one on my own finger. He noticed my ring and sneered. “Your fake is pretty convincing. But I hate it when people copy my things.” A vicious look entered his eyes. He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. Isabelle struggled against the bodyguards holding her, but they were professionals. Two more guards pinned me as Preston crudely ripped the ring from my finger and tossed it into a nearby drain grate. I slowly raised my hand, rubbing the red marks on my wrist, a cold smile playing on my lips. That ring was custom-designed by Isabelle herself. She’d gone through more than a dozen sketches to finalize the design. The flawless blue sapphire at its center was one she’d acquired at auction for an eight-figure sum. I never took it off unless absolutely necessary. But some people just love to stare down the barrel of a gun. I sighed. “Mr. Vance, you couldn’t afford to replace that ring if you sold your entire family’s company.” Preston’s smile widened. “It’s just a knockoff, you peasant. Tell her to stay, and I’ll toss you a couple hundred for your trouble.” Isabelle stopped struggling, her eyes fixed in disbelief on the drain. That ring was a symbol of our love. She’d get upset if I even took it off to shower. Preston chuckled, picking up a glass of red wine and pouring it over Isabelle’s head. “Imagine, someone imitating the ring my Isabelle gave me. That’s the limit of your pathetic world.” “Stop looking for it. Be my woman, and I’ll buy you a hundred real gemstone rings.” Isabelle looked up, her eyes blazing with a crimson fury. She slapped the glass from his hand. I had never seen her lose her composure like this. “I don’t know who this ‘Hawthorne heiress’ you speak of is,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “But I am the sole heir to the Hawthorne family.” Preston just laughed, his eyes roaming over her wine-soaked dress. “Alright, sweetheart, anyone can pretend to be a Hawthorne. You must hate me, right? Why don’t you take it out on me in bed?” Then, another thought seemed to strike him. He ordered his men to tie her up. “I only want children born from Hawthorne blood. To prevent any accidents, you’re going to have a little procedure done right now. A sterilization.” Isabelle’s voice was low, steady, and colder than death. “Mr. Vance, I’ll warn you one last time. I am Isabelle Hawthorne. You should let us go. Now.” Preston waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, sure, whatever you say.” He grabbed her hand and forced her thumbprint onto a binding contract. “There. Black and white. You’re mine now. Try to break it, and you’ll be paying a hefty penalty.” Isabelle radiated pure frustration. “Mr. Vance, the Vance Corporation has been struggling to innovate for years, hasn’t it? Does your father really let you run wild like this?” Preston’s eyebrow shot up. “So what? The Hawthorne heiress and I are practically engaged. My father will definitely secure her investment at the summit tonight.” Isabelle laughed, a chilling sound. “I imagine the summit is in complete chaos right about now.” I glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. “What do we do now?” I asked her in French. She shook her head, her voice devoid of emotion. “The gala can’t start without us. The guests will be arriving soon. I’ve already given instructions. Someone will be here for us shortly.” I checked my watch. We really had to go. It wouldn’t do to keep our guests waiting. We truly had no more time to waste on this madman. Preston’s shrill voice interrupted us as he yanked Isabelle’s head around. “What gibberish are you two speaking?” I mustered my remaining patience. “Mr. Vance, we’re in a hurry. There are a lot of people waiting for our investment at the Miami Gala. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” He looked at me like I was insane. “Are you crazy? The Hawthorne family is hosting the financial summit tonight. You can lie to me, but don’t start believing your own delusions. You really think you’re Isabelle Hawthorne?” They bound Isabelle and put tape over her mouth, preparing to drag her to a back-alley clinic for the procedure. I pulled out my phone, quickly snapped a photo, and sent it to a group chat. “Anyone want to claim their lost puppy? The gala is delayed. Isabelle is currently… indisposed.” Before I could get a reply, Preston slapped the phone from my hand. It shattered on the floor. “You little piece of trash,” he sneered. “Calling for backup? Not even God can help you now. Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of her from now on.” He started to lead Isabelle away, pausing to pat his hands together with satisfaction and shoot me a triumphant look. “Once she’s been… cleaned up, she’ll be all mine.” My expression didn’t change. “Preston Vance,” I repeated, “she is the sole heir of the Hawthorne family. If a single hair on her head is harmed, the Hawthornes will not let you go.” He laughed contemptuously. “Still talking tough. You’ve got a death wish, impersonating the Hawthorne heiress.” I looked him straight in the eye. “You should let us go now. Our people are about to arrive.” Preston roared with laughter. “You just can’t stop pretending, can you? Were you two born in a dumpster? Because you’re full of trash.” At that exact moment, a series of crisp, coordinated footsteps echoed from the entrance. Everyone turned to look. A phalanx of men in black custom-tailored suits appeared as if from nowhere, swiftly securing every exit in the corridor. Someone in the crowd gasped. “Oh my god, isn’t that the Hawthorne security detail? I’ve only ever seen them in the news.” “That’s them! Look at the crest on their jackets. That’s the elite team that only serves the core members of the Hawthorne family.” Preston was startled at first, but then his face broke into a massive, triumphant grin. He waved at the imposing woman being escorted at the center of the detail. “Darling, I’m over here! Quick, get rid of this troublesome man for me.” The woman’s face froze in confusion. “Preston? What are you doing here?” Then, another cry went up from the crowd. Outside, a fleet of hundreds of luxury cars was pulling up, a river of polished chrome and tinted windows. A helicopter was descending onto the rooftop. It was every single VIP guest scheduled to attend the gala. After all, everyone wanted to see who was audacious enough to delay the Hawthornes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385395”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Coming home late from work, I found my apartment building on fire. I immediately started rushing upstairs. A couple from the floor below grabbed me, their faces streaked with tears. “Our daughter is still up there!” the woman cried, pleading. “Please, you have to save her!” I ran to my apartment, grabbed my dog, and carried him back downstairs. When they saw me, the couple rushed forward. “Where’s our daughter?” I just looked at them coldly. “I went back for my dog.” They stared in disbelief. “You saved a dog… instead of our daughter?” “That’s right.” 1 The two words left my lips, calm and matter-of-fact, and a sudden silence fell over the crowd. My neighbor, Mark, was a mess of shock and fury. He stared at me, looking as if he couldn’t hear or couldn’t comprehend, at a total loss for words. His wife, Brenda, was the first to snap. Her voice became a shrill shriek. “What did you just say? Are you even human? That’s my daughter’s life in there! And you saved a filthy animal?” She sobbed and cursed, trying to lunge at me, but was held back by bystanders. The venom in her eyes could have burned me alive. I set down Max, my German Shepherd, and met Mark’s gaze. “She’s your daughter. Why didn’t you bring her with you when you ran for your life? Now you’re expecting a stranger to do it?” His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. Mark’s gaze fell on my dog, and his anger flared anew. “But you already went up there! That’s a human life! You couldn’t have just grabbed her on your way out? Is your heart made of stone?” His words ignited the surrounding crowd. Murmurs turned into open condemnation. “That’s just cold-blooded…” “A dog is important, sure, but you can’t compare it to a child.” “She was already there! What would it have cost her to help? She’s a monster!” I ignored them all, stroking the top of Max’s head. “To me, my dog is my family. In a fire, I save my family. What’s wrong with that?” I looked at Mark, his face a mask of rage, and added pointedly, “As for other people’s family… who’s to say they really needed me to save them?” Mark’s pupils constricted. Brenda’s wails grew louder, sobs wracking her body as she repeated, “My daughter, my poor daughter… how can this be happening?” Her heartbroken cries swayed the crowd. A middle-aged man shouted, “Lady, if he won’t do it, I will!” A few people started toward the building, but I took a step to the side, blocking the entrance with Max at my heel. A low, menacing growl rumbled in Max’s chest. The sight of his powerful German Shepherd frame and sharp, focused eyes stopped the would-be rescuers in their tracks. “Get out of the way! Are you insane?” the man in the lead roared, his face turning beet red. “There’s a child’s life at stake!” “What is wrong with you? You won’t save her, and you won’t let anyone else either?” an older woman chimed in, her voice shrill with contempt. The crowd was a powder keg, their accusations and curses threatening to swallow me whole. I just said one thing. “Wait for the fire department.” Someone tried to get around me, but Max shifted his position, his growl deepening into a terrifying snarl. He bared his teeth, and the man froze. “The state of the fire is unknown,” I said flatly. “You have no idea what’s going on in there. Rushing in like this—are you trying to help, or are you trying to get yourselves killed?” My calm logic only fanned the flames of their fury. “We can’t just stand here and watch a child burn!” “She’s worth more than your damn dog!” “It’ll be too late by the time the firefighters get here!” I repeated myself, my voice unwavering. “I said, wait for the fire department.” My cold, unyielding attitude completely enraged them, but Max’s presence kept them at bay. Then, someone turned to the pale-faced couple. “Mark, Brenda, did you two have some kind of fight with her before this? Why is she targeting you like this?” Brenda looked up, her eyes swimming in tears. “I swear on my life, we’ve barely even spoken to her! A nod in the hallway is the most we’ve ever exchanged! My… my daughter loves animals. She saw her walking the dog once and even gave the dog a piece of her own candy! Such a sweet, kind little girl…” Her voice broke, and she dissolved into tears again, the very picture of a grieving mother. Her words struck a chord, and the crowd’s glares intensified. Listening to her, I remembered the image of a small, shy girl holding out a piece of hard candy. The way she’d looked at Max, her eyes had been shining. I nodded slowly. “That’s right. Before tonight’s fire, we had no history. And I admit, I ate the candy your daughter gave me. It was very sweet.” My admission stunned everyone into silence. Mark shrieked, “You knew that, and you still acted like such a monster? You’ll get what’s coming to you! Now get out of the way! Let this kind man go save my daughter!” He pointed at the man who had first volunteered. I looked at the man, who was flexing his hands, ready to go. “I’ll ask again,” I said coldly. “As her parents, why aren’t you the ones going in?” Under the glare of dozens of eyes, Mark’s face went white. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He glanced around frantically, then suddenly clutched his stomach and doubled over with a loud groan. “Oh, my stomach! The pain is killing me… must be the stress.” Brenda reacted instantly, rushing to support him. “Honey! What’s wrong? Don’t scare me! We’re going through enough already…” The two of them became a tableau of tragic, star-crossed lovers. Their performance reignited the crowd’s sympathy. “Take it easy, Mark, your health is what’s important!” “He must be sick with worry over his little girl!” I gently patted Max’s head to quiet him, my gaze fixed on the street beyond the couple. I could faintly hear the wail of sirens. They heard it too. Mark and Brenda exchanged a look of sheer panic. Brenda moved with lightning speed, throwing herself at the feet of the man who’d wanted to be a hero. “Sir, please!” she shrieked. “Kind sir, please! The fire trucks will be too late! You have to go now! My daughter is on the eighth floor! Please, there’s no time!” Mark, grimacing through his “pain,” straightened up and yelled to the crowd, “Everyone, please help us! Drag this crazy woman and her beast away! Let this man go save our daughter! We can’t just let her die! We’re begging you!” Spurred by his words and the sight of Brenda groveling on the ground, a few young men clenched their jaws and started toward me. Someone even picked up a rock from the ground, trying to intimidate the growling Max. “All of you, stop right there!” My sharp command froze them in place. “Mark, Brenda! You claim to be so desperate to save your daughter, so why haven’t you taken a single step toward that building since this fire started?” “You’d rather stand out here crying, kneeling, and faking illnesses to send a stranger to their death than run in there to save your own flesh and blood?” “The fire department is here! Professional help is seconds away! Yet you’re pushing, like you have a death wish for someone, forcing a neighbor who knows nothing into the heart of the blaze at its most dangerous point?” My voice turned to ice. “Are you desperate to save your daughter… or are you desperate to destroy something inside that apartment? Or maybe… you’re afraid of what the firefighters might find if they go up there?” The neighbors who’d been ready to attack me stopped dead, their faces shifting to confusion and suspicion. They were right. From the very beginning, the parents’ behavior had been completely bizarre. I saw the color drain from Mark’s face, sweat pouring down his temples. A vicious glint appeared in his eyes. He yanked Brenda close and whispered something urgently in her ear. At first, she shook her head in terror, but under his murderous glare, she gave a sharp, decisive nod. Mark immediately turned back to the crowd. “Fine! We’ll go! My body’s failing me, so my wife will go! Is that good enough for you? She’ll go up and get our daughter herself! You can’t stop her now, can you?” The crowd murmured their agreement. “Yeah, it’s only right for the mother to go.” “Now you have nothing to say, right? Let her pass!” With everyone watching, I had no reason to stop a mother from saving her own child. I silently pulled Max to the side, clearing a path, but my eyes were locked on Brenda. She took a deep breath, avoiding my gaze, and rushed head-down into the smoke-filled stairwell. The screech of fire truck brakes echoed behind me. Firefighters swarmed out, efficiently laying out hoses. The captain, a man I’ll call Miller, immediately found the building manager. “What’s the situation? How many people are confirmed trapped inside?” The manager, wiping sweat from his brow, stammered, “Based on our records, apartment 8B, the Miller family, has a young daughter who should be home. Oh, and just now, just a second ago, the girl’s mother ran up to get her!” Before he could finish, a figure stumbled out of the building’s entrance. It was Brenda. She had gone in and come back with astonishing speed, with barely a smudge of soot on her. She wore a mask of forced relief, waving her hands frantically at Captain Miller and the manager. “Sorry, false alarm!” she said, her voice rushed. “My mistake! Sir, Manager, I’m so sorry! I was in such a panic, I got confused! My daughter went to her grandmother’s this afternoon! She’s not in there. The building is empty!” The manager stared. “She’s gone? So you’re confirming, there’s no one left inside?” “No one! Definitely no one!” Brenda repeated, her eyes darting around, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. This sudden reversal left everyone completely bewildered. The mother who had been sobbing, kneeling, and begging for her daughter’s life was now casually saying the girl had been gone all along. “She’s lying!” I shouted. “Captain Miller, she’s lying! I saw her daughter in that apartment with my own eyes! She was in and out of the eighth floor in less than two minutes. There’s no way she even went up there!” Mark jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. “I already told you, no one is in there! What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just let it go?” Brenda caught on immediately, turning on the waterworks again. “Officer, you be the judge! I was terrified, and halfway up I remembered she wasn’t home! But this woman… she went up and only saved her dog! She wouldn’t save my daughter! When this kind man and other neighbors tried to help, she set her dog on them! Now I’m telling you my daughter is safe, and she’s still spewing these lies! Is she just trying to cause trouble for us?” Her words reignited the crowd’s anger. “Exactly! The mother said she’s not there. What’s her problem?” “She must be some kind of psychopath, getting off on other people’s misery.” “The firefighters are here! Stop causing trouble!” I repeated my claim. “Your daughter was lying on the floor. I saw her.” At this, a young firefighter couldn’t hold back. He looked at me sternly. “Ma’am, if you’re certain you saw a little girl in there, why didn’t you rescue her at the time?” I looked straight at him. “It wasn’t necessary. I had to save my dog.” A wave of shock and disgust rolled through the crowd. Even the experienced Captain Miller frowned deeply. “She’s a lunatic! A complete sociopath!” “Someone should lock her up!” “Call the cops! Someone call the cops and have her arrested!” a man yelled furiously. Amid the calls for my head, I nodded calmly. “Good idea.” My voice was terrifyingly serene. “Thank you for the reminder. That’s exactly what I was about to do.” I pulled out my phone. “No! Don’t call the police!” Mark screamed, his voice cracking. Brenda lunged for my phone, but a ferocious roar from Max sent her stumbling back. She waved her hands frantically at the firefighters and the crowd. “No, don’t! She’s… she’s just not well, a little delusional! There’s no need to call the police, it’s a waste of resources! It’s nothing, just a neighborhood dispute!” The look in Captain Miller’s eyes changed completely. He raised a hand to silence Brenda. His professional instincts were screaming that something was very, very wrong. He gestured to the young firefighter who had questioned me. “Kenny! Get up to 8B, now. Check it out.” Without hesitation, I dialed 911. When I hung up, Mark and Brenda were ashen-faced, their bodies trembling uncontrollably with a fear that seemed to come from their very bones. Captain Miller’s gaze swept over the three of us. Experience told him exactly what to do. He spoke into his radio, his voice firm. “Kenny! I want you on the eighth floor, east unit, now! Pay close attention to the scene. Search every corner, especially anywhere a person could be hidden!” Kenny, mask in place, charged into the building. “Captain!” Kenny’s voice crackled over the radio. “Found her. Living room of 8B.” Everyone held their breath. “What’s her condition?” Miller demanded. “Assess and report, now!” There was a pause, and then Kenny’s voice, tight with emotion. “Captain… the little girl shows no vital signs.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385394”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 As the head chef, I didn’t think it was a big deal to skip chopping vegetables for one day. The general manager, however, saw it differently. He flew into a rage and threatened to fire me on the spot. I told him he’d need the owner’s approval for that. He just sneered. “I’m the general manager. What’s the big deal about firing a slacker head chef? When I say you’re out, you’re out!” I took off my chef’s hat and dialed my wife’s number. “I’m about to be fired. Did you know?” … “I know,” she said, her voice strained. “But I told them it was a… a staffing adjustment. They must have misunderstood.” I hung up. It was clear. This arrogant manager was acting on her orders. He watched me end the call, a smug, triumphant look on his face. “What’s the matter? The owner not on your side this time? If I were you, I’d just crawl out of here with my tail between my legs.” “How dare you speak to him like that?” Before I could say a word, one of my apprentices stepped forward, and the others quickly followed. “Our master is the head chef! His job is to oversee the kitchen, not do prep work! What do you know about it? Who do you think you are, talking to him like that?” “Yeah! What the hell do you know? Can you even cook?” The manager’s face darkened as he looked at the young, defiant chefs. “Shut up! Who gave you permission to speak? Bunch of troublemakers, forming your little gang. You’re lucky I’m not firing all of you! You think you can stand up to me?” “You—!” My youngest apprentice started to surge forward again. I grabbed his arm, shaking my head at his wounded expression. “It’s fine,” I told all of them. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t do anything rash.” The front-of-house manager, a smarmy yes-man who always had a smile on his face, stepped up. He wasn’t as harsh as the GM, but he loved to kick a man when he was down. “Come on, Leo,” he said soothingly. “There are other fish in the sea. Besides, we all got here because of the owner, right? When you’ve fallen out of favor, you just have to accept it.” “Is that so?” I shot back. “How did you get here?” He had always been beneath me, and now he was reveling in my downfall. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped, his friendly mask dropping. I stood tall, meeting everyone’s gaze, and took a long look around the kitchen where I had worked for five years. “Let’s be clear,” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “The Phoenix Court is what it is today because of me. And I’m telling you all right now, when I walk out that door, this restaurant is finished.” My apprentices murmured their agreement behind me. The GM and the front-of-house manager just laughed, a long, derisive sound. “Leo, you’ve got a big ego,” the GM sneered. “Let me tell you something. The Phoenix Court won’t miss you one bit. The owner made this decision, and I’m sure she has her reasons.” “Does she?” I muttered. If my wife, anette, truly had her own reasons, she wouldn’t have made me head chef in the first place. The restaurant’s success was built entirely on my reputation. But now, it was clear she was just a shortsighted businesswoman with no real vision. Even if she was my wife. As the tension in the kitchen reached a breaking point, a man walked in, a wide smile on his face, completely unfazed by the hostile atmosphere. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I’m Victor, the new head chef replacing Leo. I’m sure you all know who I am.” I had to laugh. Of course, I knew him. An old acquaintance. Victor had been a guest chef at The Phoenix Court a few times for special banquets, mostly handling Western dishes. We had collaborated, briefly. Everyone present knew him, but no one expected him to be my replacement. I looked him up and down. “Well, well, Chef Victor. A French-trained chef taking over the hottest Chinese restaurant on the block. Aren’t you brave?” My apprentices snickered behind me. “What’s a Western chef doing here? Does he even know how to use a cleaver?” “Exactly. He probably can’t even do a decorative cut, and he’s the head chef.” Victor’s face hardened. “Leo, it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. This is the owner’s decision. She wants to move away from traditional Chinese cuisine and create a global, fusion menu.” He paused, lifting his chin at me. “Your style is old news. And when she tells you to get lost, you get lost.” “Is that right?” I scoffed. “Are you so eager to say all that because it’s what the owner really wants, or is it because of your old flame? You know the truth.” My smile vanished, and the air in the room grew heavy. Victor’s face paled. He was Annette’s first love. Five years ago, The Phoenix Court was failing. Annette’s grandfather, a proud old man, had called on an old army buddy for a favor—my grandfather, the heir to a line of imperial chefs. My grandfather was too old to help, so he sent me instead. To seal the deal, Annette’s grandfather had even arranged for us to be married. Annette and Victor were forced to break up. I heard she’d fought it for a while, but when I asked her if she wanted to back out, she didn’t seem to have any regrets. In fact, she seemed willing. I thought she had moved on, so I agreed to try and build a life with her. But looking at them now, it was obvious. Their flame had never died. And I was utterly disappointed in Annette. Five years in the same bed… even without love, there should have been some affection. But she had cast me aside without a second thought. I looked at Victor. “Are you sure you want this job?” Before he could answer, Annette herself swept into the kitchen, dressed in a designer trench coat and high heels. She went straight to Victor and took his arm, a faint smile on her red lips. “I’m sure,” she said. Before I could speak, she continued, her voice defiant. “I heard what you said from the hallway, Leo. Since you know, there’s no point in hiding it. I’m still in love with Victor. I was never in love with you.” I saw the managers’ faces light up with schadenfreude. “Marrying you was just a way to save the restaurant,” Annette went on. “As the eldest daughter of the family, my duty is done. Now I have the right to pursue my own happiness.” I was so stunned by her brazenness that I started to laugh, a harsh, angry sound. My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles cracked. “Fine,” I said. “Does your grandfather know about you pursuing your happiness?” Annette flinched, but her bravado returned. “My grandfather is old. He doesn’t involve himself in the business anymore. Don’t you dare use him to threaten me, Leo. I can make my own decisions now.” “Alright, didn’t you hear the owner?” the GM chimed in. “She said get lost!” “Just go, Leo,” the other manager added with a sneer. “Why keep fighting for something that was never yours? Don’t be pathetic.” Just as I was about to lose my temper, Victor spoke, his voice dripping with triumph. “Leo, you were nothing but a dog to the family. Now that you’re no longer useful, of course they’re going to kick you out.” “What did you say?” I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar. Before anyone could react, my fist connected with his jaw. Victor cried out in pain. Annette screamed, grabbing my wrist. “Leo! What are you doing? Are you insane? This is not your place to cause trouble!” I turned to look at the woman I had spent five years of my life with. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. She had stood by and said nothing while everyone else insulted me, but the moment Victor took one punch, she was full of concern. “Let him go! What is wrong with you? Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” she shrieked. I suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I released my grip on Victor, my voice hoarse. “Annette, I’m asking you one last time. In all these five years, did you ever have any feelings for me at all?” She rushed to Victor’s side, fussing over him. He wiped a trickle of blood from his nose and started toward me. “Who the hell do you think you are? Just a used-up mutt getting arrogant!” “Victor, stop!” Annette knew my temper. She knew if he came at me again, I wouldn’t hold back. She pulled him back, then looked at me, her face set. “That’s right, Leo. I never loved you.” And just like that, the fire inside me died out. I was completely and utterly done. “Fine.” I ripped the chef’s emblem off my uniform and threw it in the trash. “I’ll see you at the courthouse tomorrow. You two can have each other.” A wave of triumph washed over their faces. They looked like they were on top of the world. I was filled with a cold rage. My apprentices were furious. “Why, Master? Why should you be the one to leave when they’re the ones sneaking around?” “Master, if you go, I’m going with you!” Annette’s face soured as she watched them. “What is this, a rebellion? Don’t you forget who signs your paychecks!” Her threat did nothing. If anything, it made them angrier. I just laughed at her inability to command their respect. “It’s alright, everyone,” I said to my apprentices. “Don’t be rash. You have families to support. Thank you for everything. I hope we’ll have a chance to work together again someday. The world is a small place.” A few of them, the ones I was closest to, had tears in their eyes. I had trained them all myself over the past five years. “Are you done with the goodbyes?” the GM barked. “Get out! Before I throw you out myself!” My apprentices looked furious, but they were powerless. They could only watch as I walked out, the sound of Annette’s and her cronies’ laughter following me. I gathered my things and walked out the main entrance. I looked back at the sign one last time. I knew I was done with The Phoenix Court forever. We rose together, and we would fall together. I’d like to see how long Annette could keep the place running without me. The next day, Annette and Victor met me at the courthouse to finalize the divorce. She was dressed to the nines, her face perfectly made up. I was much calmer than I had been the day before. The process was quick and smooth. We walked out of the building without a word and went our separate ways. That same day, Annette held a grand welcoming ceremony for Victor. “A warm welcome to the new head chef of The Phoenix Court! We promise better dishes and more impeccable service in the future. We invite all our valued customers, new and old, to hold us to it!” I saw the video, saw her gushing over Victor and making her empty promises. I just smirked and turned it off. That night, Victor sent me a picture of a hotel room key card, along with a taunting voice message. “Admit it, Leo. You lost.” I didn’t reply. I took a screenshot, then blocked both of them. What Annette didn’t know was that while she was celebrating, my phone had been ringing off the hook. Calls from every major Chinese restaurant in the country, all offering me the position of head chef. I turned them all down. I had my own plans, and they were already in motion. Two weeks later, Annette and Victor stormed into my new establishment, their faces contorted with rage. “Leo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385393”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 After eighteen years as a Watson, a boy showed up on our doorstep claiming to be the family’s true heir. He threw himself in front of the car, his fists clenched, his face a mask of raw resentment. Every word he spat was an accusation: I was the imposter, the one who had stolen the life that should have been his. After the DNA tests came back, my own brother, Liam—who had never looked at me with anything but disdain—latched onto him instantly. The two of them became a tag team of torment, united in their mission to make my life a living hell. In my last life, their scheming worked perfectly. Framed and disgraced, I was cast out of the Watson family by the fury of my own father. Even when I went to live with my supposed birth family, the Bells, their eyes followed me with a cold disgust, as if my very presence was a stain. To make matters worse, Draco Bell—the “real” heir—sent thugs to torment me again and again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ended that miserable existence with a final, desperate leap from the roof of a skyscraper. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that fateful day, with Draco blocking the car. Seeing the undisguised hatred burning in his eyes, I paused, then spoke slowly and clearly. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we all get a DNA test?” … “What the hell do you mean?” Draco’s face flushed with fury, his voice thick with accusation. “Are you calling me a liar? Or are you just refusing to admit that I’m the one who belongs in this family!” Beside me, Liam was lounging in his seat, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t even look up as he muttered, “What a drag. We come out for a drive and find out Ethan’s an imposter.” I just shrugged, turning my gaze to the man in the driver’s seat. “Father, a DNA test for everyone is the cleanest way forward. It’s better for all of us. After all, machines don’t lie.” My father was silent for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. “Ethan’s right. You and this… Draco, will both be tested when we get to the hospital.” With his approval secured, I said nothing more. I just shifted closer to my mother, making room for Draco to get in the car. I knew the truth: Father was the one who really called the shots. No matter how shocked my mother was, no matter how much her heart might bleed for this sudden “long-lost son,” she would always defer to him. Draco scrambled up from the pavement, clutching the hem of his shirt, and pulled the car door open. His clothes were faded from countless washes and smudged with dust, the look of someone who’d been fighting for survival his whole life. My mother’s eyes flickered over his disheveled appearance, and she instinctively frowned, inching closer to the window. At the hospital, when it was time for the blood draw, Draco tried to play the part of a pitiable victim to win our mother’s sympathy. But he didn’t understand. The Watsons were a family of old money and immaculate reputation. My mother, raised in a world of privilege and refinement, had never encountered this kind of raw poverty up close. Before his identity was confirmed, all she felt was distaste, not pity. “Ethan Watson!” Draco hissed, glaring at me. Then he puffed out his chest, affecting an air of arrogance. “Just wait until those results come back. You’ll see what I do to you then.” I didn’t respond, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. I was betting everything on a single, wild chance—that I was also a true Watson, and that the child swapped at birth by Draco’s mother wasn’t me at all. In my past life, something had always felt wrong. After being sent to the Bells, I’d worked hard. I never complained about the rural squalor, even helping with farm chores and fixing their machinery. But nothing I did could change the way they looked at me. At first, I thought they resented me for being cast out of the Watson family, penniless and disgraced. But one night, the father, drunk and belligerent, screamed at me, “At least it was you who came back!” before his wife frantically clamped a hand over his mouth. That was when I knew something was terribly wrong. I tried to go back and investigate, but Draco had people who made sure I never left that backwater county. This time, even if I was wrong, I had to take the gamble. The hospital was one of Father’s investments, so the results were fast-tracked. What should have taken days was ready in less than an hour. Draco practically vibrated with anticipation. “Doctor, what does it say?” The doctor, holding the report, looked directly at my father. “Mr. Watson, the results confirm that Draco Bell is, indeed, your and Mrs. Watson’s biological son.” Draco shot me a look of pure triumph before his expression melted into one of theatrical anguish as he turned to my mother. “Dad… Mom… I finally found you.” Her cold facade softened. She reached out and patted his shoulder, her voice choked with emotion. “My dear boy. You’ve suffered so much.” Liam shoved me aside, rushing to Draco’s side. “So you’re my real brother! I knew it! I felt a connection the moment I saw you. Not like with Ethan.” My father’s face remained a stony mask, but I could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. I stood my ground, my voice steady as I addressed the doctor. “And the other report?” Draco’s head whipped around. “It’s already been proven I’m a Watson. His report doesn’t matter.” He started to move from my mother’s side to intercept, but the doctor was faster, placing both reports into my father’s hands. “This report,” the doctor announced, “shows that Mr. Ethan Watson is also your and Mrs. Watson’s biological son.” “What? Impossible! You must have made a mistake!” Draco’s face contorted into a snarl, his shriek echoing down the sterile hallway. My father scanned the papers, his brow furrowed. “What does this mean?” “Mr. Watson, the equipment you funded for this lab is state-of-the-art. There is no possibility of error,” the doctor stated firmly. “Both young men are your sons.” “Ethan Watson! Did you bribe the doctor?!” The pitiable act vanished completely. Draco lunged, his hands reaching for my collar. I feigned panic, looking to my father. “Father, I didn’t… You know I wouldn’t dare.” My father’s face hardened. “Stop this spectacle. You are not in a street brawl.” Chastened, Draco’s grip loosened. I took the opportunity to stumble back a step, making it look as though I’d nearly fallen. “Ethan has always been a good boy,” Father said, his voice a low warning. “He’s always been at the top of his class. He wouldn’t do something like this.” I lowered my head, smoothing the wrinkles on my collar. I knew my father’s obsession: the Watson family’s reputation. He would never tolerate a public scene. Draco, still not giving up, muttered, “Mom only had two children. If I’m the real son, and Ethan is too… does that mean Liam isn’t?” He had voiced the very thought simmering in my own mind. I seized the opening. “Perhaps we should test Liam as well.” “Are you insane, Ethan?” Liam finally exploded, jumping to his feet. “Just because you got lucky and turned out to be a real son, you’re going to point fingers at me? Draco is your age, not mine!” I met his furious gaze. “We’re only a year apart.” Liam scoffed. “Who would be stupid enough to swap a baby and get the age wrong?” But my father wasn’t listening to his excuses. A businessman never ignores a potential risk. He looked at the doctor and commanded, “Draw his blood.” Watching Liam, yelping and struggling as the doctor dragged him away for the test, I felt a dark, satisfying thrill. So, Liam, you finally get to see what it feels like. During the wait, Draco clung to our mother, playing the part of a sweet, docile son. I sat beside Father, maintaining my usual quiet composure. This time, Liam was the one pacing frantically, his agitated footsteps echoing down the hall and grating on everyone’s nerves. Finally, the doctor opened the door. “What’s the verdict?!” Liam shot forward, nearly snatching the report from the doctor’s hand before remembering years of etiquette training and forcing himself to maintain a shred of dignity. “Mr. Watson,” the doctor said, his gaze grave. “Mr. Liam Watson is not your and Mrs. Watson’s biological son.” The words hung in the air. All the color drained from Liam’s face. He staggered, nearly collapsing on the spot. My mother turned sheet-white, grabbing the back of a chair to keep from fainting. I quickly moved to her side, rubbing her back to help her breathe. Father stared at the report, then turned a glacial gaze on the doctor. “No one outside of this room is to know what happened here today. Do you understand? If a word of this gets out, you won’t have a job to come back to.” The doctor, sweating profusely, nodded vigorously. “Yes, Mr. Watson. Of course.” Back home, the silence was suffocating. Father dismissed the staff to their quarters, leaving the five of us sitting in the study, the air thick with an unbearable tension. It was Father who finally broke it. “Tomorrow, I’m holding a press conference. We’ll release the official reports and state that we had twins, and one was stolen at birth. Draco will be officially registered as a Watson.” It was the exact same plan as my last life. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but withered under Father’s icy glare. Liam didn’t dare protest. Even knowing he wasn’t blood, Father would still acknowledge him to save face. He had no leverage to argue. “Ethan and Liam have done well in school, and their graduation parties have already been held. The Watson name cannot be tarnished. Remember this: you will present a united front in public. No infighting.” We all nodded silently. As we were leaving, Father called me back. “Ethan, you’re the older brother. Draco is new to this life and will need time to adjust. Look after him. Teach him the family rules.” I nodded. “I understand, Father.” “And Liam,” he continued, his voice heavy. “He may not be your biological brother, but for years, we have groomed him to be the heir to Watson Corporation. The world knows him as such. You are to support him. Do you understand me?” I answered with deference, but my heart felt like a block of ice. Father had always favored Liam, anointing him the successor long ago. In my past life, when I was deemed the fake, he discarded me without a second thought. Now, knowing Liam is the imposter, he protects him without hesitation, all for the sake of reputation. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t disappoint my trust in you, Ethan.” The press conference caused a predictable uproar. Father had somehow managed to have Liam’s DNA report altered; the official announcement presented three reports showing that all three of us were his children. Any rumors that tried to surface were swiftly crushed. He would not tolerate anything that threatened the family or the corporation’s prestige. Draco Bell officially became Draco Watson. Though Father had publicly accepted Liam, the fear and humiliation of the discovery curdled into resentment directed at me. Sometimes I’d pass his room late at night and hear him muttering, “This is all Ethan’s fault. If he’d just accepted he was the fake, I’d still be the golden boy of the Watson family, not living in constant fear of being exposed.” Draco wasn’t any better. When I tried to teach him the etiquette of being a Watson, as Father had instructed, he refused to learn, instead just glaring at me with eyes full of hate. “We’re both his real sons, so why was I the one who got taken? If I’d grown up here, I wouldn’t need you to teach me any of this!” I never argued. I just made sure to leave the door open during these “lessons,” so the passing servants could hear every word of his bitter complaints. Soon, the whispers about him among the staff started to grow. Fueled by their shared animosity toward me, Draco and Liam formed an alliance. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. To make me miserable, they were willing to stomach their mutual dislike and work together. Their first move came quickly. I was just heading downstairs for breakfast when Draco blocked the top of the grand staircase. “Brother,” he began, dressed in an immaculate suit but wearing a wounded expression, “I know I’m slow, and I’ll never be as good as you. Please don’t be angry with me.” I didn’t want to get into it with him. I just nodded and tried to step around him. But before I could, he let out a piercing scream and threw himself down the stairs. By the time I processed what was happening, he was crumpled at the bottom, clutching his arm and crying out in pain. My parents rushed out at the sound of the commotion, only to see me standing calmly at the top of the stairs. “Ethan! How could you push Draco? He’s your brother!” Liam immediately jumped in, playing his part, painting me as the vicious older brother who couldn’t stand the competition. Father’s brow furrowed. He was about to order my punishment when I spoke first. “Father, there are security cameras in the hallway.” Liam froze. He’d forgotten. When he was a child, he’d nearly gotten lost playing hide-and-seek with the maids, and Father had installed cameras everywhere except the bedrooms. The color drained from Draco’s face. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “It was my fault. I fell. It had nothing to do with my brother.” Father played back the footage for everyone to see. It clearly showed that I hadn’t touched Draco; he had thrown himself. “Be more careful next time,” was all Father said. “Yes, Father,” Draco mumbled, his head bowed in shame. After that, their schemes became more frequent and more vicious. One day they’d be slandering me to my parents, the next they’d orchestrate some petty humiliation. It was a constant barrage of childish nonsense, and frankly, I was getting tired of it. I didn’t come back to this life to waste my time on their pathetic games. Finally, I reached my limit. Using the excuse of bringing him a bottle of wine, I walked into Draco’s room and locked the door behind me. “What—what do you want?” He scrambled backward like a cornered animal, grabbing a pillow to use as a shield. “I’m going to scream!” I sighed, setting the wine on his nightstand and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Draco, I know you hate me. It’s understandable. If I were the one who’d been taken, you wouldn’t have had to suffer for all those years.” A flicker of genuine pain crossed his face. He looked down, his voice raspy. “What are you trying to say?” I offered a soft smile and reached for his hand, my voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you ever stopped to think why the Bells would swap their child with a Watson? Wasn’t it so their own flesh and blood could live a life of luxury?” “So it doesn’t matter if it was you or me who was taken. All that mattered to them was that their child made it into the wealthy family.” Draco looked up, his eyes full of suspicion. “Even if you’re right, I can’t forgive you.” I squeezed his hand tighter. “You don’t have to forgive me. I just don’t want to see you get played for a fool. Did you know? Even though Liam isn’t a real Watson, Father still plans to give him the entire Watson Corporation.” Draco’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s impossible!” He almost shouted, then clamped a hand over his mouth. I pulled out my phone and played the audio I’d recorded. “This is what Father told me when he kept me back that day.” As he listened, Draco’s face grew darker and darker. “Father is a traditionalist,” I continued, pressing my advantage. “He’s obsessed with appearances. He’s already announced Liam as the heir, and he won’t go back on his word. I’ve been in this house for eighteen years; I know how he thinks. The biggest threat to you and me… is Liam.” “Without that outsider in the way, the Watson fortune will fall to us. And whether it’s you or me who gets it in the end, it’s better than it going to him, right?” A cruel light entered Draco’s eyes. He started muttering, “Yes… you’re right. You and I are better than that bastard Liam.” His voice grew manic, his expression wild. “I’m going to ruin him. I’m going to make sure he leaves this family in utter disgrace!” I’ve always believed the best way to destroy someone isn’t to do it yourself, but to let them walk into their own abyss. Draco, however, was too crude for such subtleties. His plans were laughably naive. If I wasn’t secretly paving the way for him, he’d never get what he wanted. It was a bitter irony that in my previous life, I was the one who fell for his childish traps. Seeing the raw ambition churning in his eyes, I added one more piece of advice. “A word of warning, though. Petty squabbles inside this house won’t accomplish anything.” I paused for effect. “Do you know how Father handles his business rivals?” Draco shook his head. “He destroys their reputations. He leaks their private scandals to the press, watches their stock plummet, and listens as the public tears them apart. And all the while, he sits back, pretending to be disappointed, earning the public’s trust.” I looked him straight in the eye. “It’s a dirty tactic. But it works.” A flicker of interest crossed his face, quickly followed by suspicion. “Are you planning to do that to me?” I shook my head, my expression turning sorrowful. “Father always favored Liam. Now that you’re back, he’ll favor you to make up for the eighteen years you lost. I’ve always been the one who mattered least.” Seeing the smug satisfaction on his face, I delivered the final line. “Honestly, all I want is for you to leave me a small place in this world after you take over Watson Corp. I know I could never compete with Liam. And I can’t compete with you, either.” Draco smiled, a genuine, satisfied smile. “Don’t worry, brother. Once I have Father’s approval, I’ll take care of you.” Hearing his promise, I lowered my head to hide the cold, triumphant curve of my lips. Under the guise of “seeing the world,” Draco convinced Liam to start taking him out. When they came to me, asking me to cover for them with Father, I feigned hesitation before finally agreeing. “Just don’t get into any trouble. I’ll handle Father.” That was all it took to open Pandora’s box. They started going out more and more. Draco would secretly report to me that he only asked Liam to take him to fancy restaurants; the clubs, the gaming cafes—that was all Liam’s idea. Soon, Liam was going out even when Draco stayed home, always surrounded by a new crew of slick, sycophantic hangers-on—men I had secretly introduced him to. He even blew millions of Father’s money on donations to a female live-streamer. I pretended to know nothing. Draco didn’t stop him, occasionally even covering for him when he didn’t come home at night. When my mother asked, Draco would just say, “Liam knows his limits, Mom. He won’t do anything reckless. Don’t worry.” In less than three months, Liam’s eyes grew dull and glazed. He’d packed on so much weight that even Father barely recognized him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385392”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On Black Friday, a package arrived from my husband, Adrian. Inside was a risqué set of lingerie. At the exact same moment, lines of text began to shimmer into view before my eyes, like comments on a livestream. [Here we go! The classic “mistaken gift” plot point! Next, the original wife is gonna throw a fit, the male lead will be disgusted, and the gentle secretary will swoop in to save the day, leveling up their relationship!] [This cannon fodder wife is so dumb and vicious. She deserves to be divorced!] [Get to the divorce already! I can’t wait to see the main couple get together!] I looked down at the box in my hands, then immediately listed it on eBay. For the title, I wrote: “Brand new, gift from husband, wrong size. For the one it’s meant for.” A second later, the comments exploded. [WTF??? This chick isn’t following the script!] … My name is Sophie Sterling. For three years, I’ve been what everyone sees as a stay-at-home wife. But as of today, I have a new identity: the villainous, disposable first wife in a trashy billionaire romance novel. And these transparent comments scrolling past my eyes? They’re the “reader reviews” from another world. I calmly snapped a photo of the size S black lace lingerie. I even adjusted the lighting. No filter needed; it was genuine silk, and the quality spoke for itself. On the eBay listing, I typed in the price: $9.99. Selling a five-figure piece of designer lingerie for less than ten bucks was a special kind of insult, delivered with a shrug. [Holy crap! $9.99! Is she insane? That’s a limited edition piece from Serafina!] [What do you know? This is a power move! No, wait, this is a psycho move! Shouldn’t a normal woman be storming his office with this and slapping the other woman in the face?] [This character’s thought process is a total enigma. Confirmed.] Ping. My phone chimed. The item had been sold instantly. I glanced at the decisive buyer’s profile, feeling a flicker of amusement, and tapped “confirm shipment.” The click of the electronic lock sounded from the foyer. Adrian was home. He was the picture of corporate power in a tailored charcoal suit, his tall frame and chiseled features radiating a cool detachment. My husband of three years, and the male lead of this novel. The comments erupted with excitement. [The male lead is home! He’s home! The showdown is about to begin!] [Fight! Fight! I live for this drama!] Adrian shrugged off his suit jacket, handing it to a passing housekeeper. His gaze fell on me, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “You got the package?” he asked, his tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. “I did,” I nodded. His eyes scanned the empty coffee table, and a flicker of something—nervousness?—crossed his face. [He’s nervous! He’s looking for the lingerie! He’s scared!] [Throw it in his face, Sophie! Do something!] The comments were more frantic than I was. I lifted the glass of lukewarm water from the table and took a slow sip. “Oh, you mean the lingerie? The size was wrong. I sold it.” Adrian’s expression froze. He had probably imagined I would cry, scream, or hurl hysterical accusations at him. The one thing he clearly hadn’t anticipated was that I would simply sell it. “You sold it?” His voice dropped ten degrees. [He’s pissed! He’s finally pissed! Now we’re getting to the good part!] [I told you this Sophie was an idiot. Now she’s really done it. Get ready to be kicked to the curb.] I met his icy gaze with a look of pure innocence. “Yes. It seemed like a waste to just let it sit there. Why? Was there… some special meaning behind it?” Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. His eyes were dark pools as he stared at me. After a long moment, he bit out the words, “Don’t start any trouble.” With that, he turned and went straight up to his second-floor study, skipping dinner entirely. I watched him go, the smile on my face widening. Trouble? No. I was just starting to live. The next day, while I was tinkering in my small home studio, my phone rang. It was Adrian’s secretary, Luna White. The female lead of the book. [Here comes the angelic heroine! Ugh, listen to that syrupy, fake voice.] [Don’t talk trash about Luna! She’s a sweet, kind angel!] On the other end of the line, Luna’s voice was exactly as described—soft and cloying, laced with the perfect amount of concern. “Mrs. Spall, hello, this is Luna. Mr. Spall has an upset stomach today and barely touched his breakfast. Did… did you two have an argument?” I put the phone on speaker, continuing to adjust my livestreaming equipment as I replied nonchalantly, “No, not at all. Just a little tiff between husband and wife. Nothing that lasts the night.” Luna seemed to choke for a second, then her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s good… Mrs. Spall, please don’t misunderstand. Mr. Spall didn’t mean it. That gift yesterday, actually… I was the one who asked him to order it for me. I must have entered the wrong address by mistake. I’m so sorry for all the trouble.” [Wow! Our Luna is so kind! She’s even helping the male lead cover his tracks!] [If this Sophie has any sense, she’ll take the olive branch. Too bad she’s a moron.] “Oh? Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “So you were the one who bought it, Ms. White.” “Yes, yes, that’s right,” Luna said quickly. I let out a soft laugh, my tone suddenly becoming much warmer. “Oh, that’s such a shame! I saw it was the wrong size and listed it on eBay yesterday. If I’d known it was yours, I would have just sent it over to you directly.” A strange, strained silence fell on the other end of the line. I could almost picture the constipated look on her pure, innocent face. [Pfft! She sold it! Hahahaha, watch the perfect heroine squirm!] [Nice one, Sophie! She might be an idiot, but that was an accidental bullseye!] After a long pause, Luna finally found her voice. “It’s… it’s fine,” she said stiffly. “Please don’t worry about it.” “How could I not?” I insisted, my enthusiasm unwavering. “Tell you what, send me the link. I’ll buy you a new one, as a little apology gift from me to you. Oh, and make sure you pick the right size this time! Size S. I’ve made a note of it.” I put a special emphasis on “Size S” and the overly familiar tone. This time, Luna couldn’t even pretend. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Spall is calling for me,” she said hastily, and hung up. I set my phone down and smiled at the perfectly adjusted camera. The game had just begun. I opened the streaming app and registered a new account with the ID “Sophie’s Hidden Gems.” No promotion, no announcement. I just started my first-ever livestream. [What’s this idiot up to now? Livestreaming? What’s she gonna stream, herself crying?] [Probably trying to get sympathy so the internet will trash the male lead. Then she’ll beg him to take her back. I know the playbook.] The stream was dead. A few random viewers algorithmically pushed my way, and the unsupportive comments scrolling before my eyes. I ignored them and smiled professionally at the camera. “Hi everyone, I’m Sophie. For my first stream today, I’m offering a special welcome deal.” I held up the item next to me, a beautifully packaged gift box. “This is a hidden gem I found recently—an aromatherapy diffuser. The scent is Snowy Pine, perfect for the bedroom in winter. It’s great for helping you sleep.” [Lame. Who’s gonna buy a stupid diffuser?] [Who does she think she is? Some top-tier influencer?] Ignoring the mockery, I continued my pitch. “This diffuser uses all-natural essential oils, so the ingredients are completely safe. But more importantly, the story behind the brand is really touching…” I spent ten minutes telling the story of the brand’s founder. The viewer count crept from single to double digits. “For today’s debut special, this diffuser, which normally retails for $299, is available in my stream for $99 with free shipping. I only have one hundred in stock. I’m making the link live… now.” As I finished speaking, the shopping cart icon at the bottom of the screen lit up. The comments continued to jeer. [$99? Is she desperate for cash?] [I’ll bet you a bag of chips she doesn’t sell a single one.] The next second, a system notification flashed across the screen: [This item is sold out.] The comments froze. [???] [One hundred units? Gone instantly? Is this stream haunted?] Seeing the cleared inventory, I couldn’t suppress a smile. Of course, these weren’t real customers. They were shills I’d hired in adSpall. Business is war, and for the first battle, you have to project overwhelming force. [Fake! It’s gotta be fake! I knew a housewife couldn’t pull this off!] [Yep! This is all a ploy to trick the male lead into thinking she’s some kind of big shot. So pathetic!] The comments convicted me of being a vain, fraudulent loser. I ended the stream and stretched. My phone buzzed. It was Adrian’s mother, my mother-in-law, Eleanor Spall. I answered, but before I could speak, her shrill, venomous voice shot through the phone. “Sophie! What new drama are you stirring up now! I’m telling you, you’ve dragged the Spall family name through the mud!” [Ooh, the evil mother-in-law has arrived! Sophie is so dead!] [Tear her apart, Eleanor! This woman needs to be taught a lesson!] I held the phone away from my ear and pretended to clean it. “Mom, what was that? The signal’s bad, I can’t hear you.” “Don’t you play dumb with me!” Eleanor’s voice got even louder. “Luna told me everything! Not only did you pick a fight with Adrian, but you sold that poor girl’s belongings! How can you be so malicious!” “Oh,” I said flatly. “So you’re calling to condemn me?” My calm tone seemed to stun her. She sputtered, “Sophie! Don’t you forget your place! Who do you think gave you the life you have today? Without Adrian, you’re nothing! I’m warning you, apologize to Luna this instant, then go beg Adrian for forgiveness. If you don’t, you can get out of this family!” Listening to her hysterical shrieking, my gaze turned to ice. For three years, for Adrian, for this family, I gave up my career and my friends. I traded my ambitions for an apron. I thought I could earn their respect, their love. But in the end, to him and his family, I was nothing more than a possession they could scold and discard at will. [Cry! Beg for forgiveness! Don’t you love the male lead?] [Why isn’t she saying anything? Did the yelling break her brain?] I took a deep breath. When I spoke again, my voice was perfectly calm. “You’re right, Mom.” Eleanor was stunned into silence, likely shocked by my sudden obedience. [She caved already? How boring.] “I shouldn’t have sold Ms. White’s things,” I continued. “And I certainly shouldn’t have made Adrian angry. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Without waiting for her to respond, I hung up. Then, I blocked her number. Take care of it? Of course. Just not in the way they expected. I opened my laptop, logged into a long-dormant email account, and sent a message to my assistant. “Set up a meeting with Leo Hayes at Starlight Entertainment. Tell him I have a business proposal.” With that done, I checked my streaming dashboard. First stream: peak viewership 128, total sales $9,900. Not a spectacular number, but just enough to get the platform’s attention. Sure enough, a call came through from someone claiming to be a platform manager, asking if I was interested in a contract and offering to boost my traffic. I politely declined. I wasn’t interested in traffic someone else gave me. I was interested in creating it. For the next few days, I streamed for two hours every day like clockwork. I sold a random assortment of items, from cheap snacks to mid-range skincare. And without fail, every single item sold out the instant it was listed. My stream became something of a legend on the platform. A streamer with fewer than a thousand followers was pulling in sales numbers that rivaled the top channels. [These numbers are so obviously fake. Why isn’t the platform doing anything?] [I’ve already reported her. Streamers who fake their data should be banned!] [What is she even trying to accomplish? What’s the point of this fake success?] The comments were completely baffled. Adrian finally noticed my “little hobby.” He came home for dinner for the first time in ages. At the table, he tossed his phone in front of me. The screen showed my stream’s homepage. “Sophie, do you think this is funny?” His face was dark, his eyes filled with scorn. “A housewife playing influencer? If you’re not embarrassed, I am.” I slowly swallowed my food and dabbed my lips with a napkin. “It’s my prerogative.” “Your prerogative?” Adrian sneered. “To fake orders, scam people, and make a fool of yourself online? Sophie, this is your last warning. Shut down the stream. I don’t want to see this pathetic garbage ever again.” His tone was dripping with condescension, as if my efforts were nothing more than a childish tantrum. [The male lead is finally laying down the law! So commanding!] [Just apologize, Sophie. Don’t push him any further.] I set down my fork and looked up at him. “And if I don’t?” Adrian’s gaze turned glacial. “Then you’ll find out.” The next day, as I was preparing to go live, I discovered that the bank account linked to my streaming platform had been frozen. Not only that, the credit limit on all of my personal cards had been reduced to zero. This was Adrian’s move. He thought that by cutting off my money, he could clip my wings and force me back into his cage. [Hahaha, nice one! He should have done this ages ago!] [Let’s see her fake her sales now! No money, no power! Checkmate!] The comments were gloating. But watching the mockery scroll by, I didn’t feel a single spark of anger. Because this was the moment I had been waiting for. I opened Twitter and, using my long-standing personal account, “Sophie Sterling,” I posted for the first time in years. “Cash flow issues. Tonight at 8 PM, I’m going live to talk about my ‘soon-to-be-ex-husband’.” Attached were two images: a photo of our marriage certificate, and a screenshot of my frozen bank account. The post was a bombshell. Adrian Spall was the golden boy of the city’s business world—young, brilliant, handsome, and the subject of countless magazine covers. But me, “Mrs. Spall,” had always been carefully shielded from the public eye. My Twitter account was instantly swarmed. #AdrianSpallMarried #WhoIsMrsSpall #AdrianSpallFreezesWifesAssets The three hashtags shot to the top of the trending list, a bright red “VIRAL” icon blazing next to them. Adrian’s call came at the exact moment the story blew up. His voice was tight with barely suppressed fury. “Sophie! Are you insane? Delete that tweet right now!” I laughed softly, my tone lazy. “Mr. Spall, it’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?” I could hear his ragged breathing on the other end, mixed with Luna’s anxious murmuring: “Mr. Spall, please don’t be angry, I’m sure she didn’t mean to…” “Sophie,” Adrian’s voice came again, a tremor in it he couldn’t hide. “What do you want?” What did I want? I looked at the rapidly climbing number of RSVPs for my upcoming stream and smiled. I watched the “reader” comments fly by in a panic. [She’s crazy! This woman is completely nuts! This is mutual destruction!] [Why am I… kind of excited for this?] I spoke clearly into my phone. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Spall. 8 PM. My stream. Let’s settle our accounts in front of the entire country.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385391”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My husband’s mistress was dead. Raped and murdered. That same afternoon, my husband and I were taken to the police station. I honestly didn’t know he was having an affair. If it weren’t for this murder case, I might have stayed in the dark forever. To eliminate suspects, the police fingerprinted both of us and questioned our whereabouts during the time of death. The victim was Melissa Bradley, 28, an office worker. She was killed around 11 PM on the night of July 30th, 2019. Cause of death: her carotid artery was severed by a sharp object, leading to fatal blood loss. That meant today was the third day since her death. 1 Only three days had passed, so the timeline was still fresh in my mind. I clearly remembered my husband was with me the entire night, sleeping soundly beside me. Naturally, I told the police the truth. My husband and I were questioned in separate rooms. I was interviewed by a man and a woman. The man, Detective Miller, was about thirty and the deputy head of the Homicide Division. The woman, Detective Evans, was in her late twenties and strikingly beautiful. They probably saw the red rims of my eyes—a pregnant woman who had just discovered her husband’s infidelity—and worried I was on the verge of a breakdown. Their questions were gentle. Detective Evans, in particular, looked at me with kind eyes. “Mrs. Reed,” she began softly, “I need you to think very carefully. Are you absolutely certain your husband never left the house on the night of the murder? Is it possible he snuck out while you were asleep?” Her question caught me off guard. I considered it for a moment. “Detective, ever since I got pregnant, I’ve been sleeping very heavily. I go to bed early every night. All I can say for sure is that my husband was there when I fell asleep, and he was there when I woke up.” The two detectives exchanged a look. Curiosity got the better of me. “Detective, in a rape case, can’t you collect DNA from the victim’s body? If you suspect my husband, you could just run a test.” Even as I said it, I was thinking, they were already having an affair. Why would he need to rape her? The killer can’t be my husband. Detective Evans shook her head. “The killer was clever. No viable evidence was left behind. It’s making the investigation… complicated.” “Oh,” was all I could say. She then asked how far along I was. I told her a little over four months. She smiled and glanced at my stomach. “You’re showing quite a bit. It could be twins.” She then offered some comforting words, reminding me that pregnant women are prone to emotional swings and that I should try not to dwell on things, to just go home and take care of myself. I was genuinely touched by her kindness. After a bit more small talk, I was allowed to leave. I thought my husband would be coming home with me, but Detective Miller informed me that they needed him for further cooperation. He couldn’t leave just yet. With no other choice, I went home alone. When I got back to our apartment complex, I learned from a neighbor that several officers had been there. They had reviewed the building’s security footage and asked our neighbors if they’d heard our door open or close between 9 PM and midnight on July 30th. When I asked what she’d told them, my neighbor said she hadn’t heard a thing and had reported as much. Her words were a great relief. I assumed my husband would be spending the night at the station. He didn’t answer his phone when I called. But to my surprise, just after I’d had dinner and gone to bed, he came home. He was as cold and distant as ever. I started to get up to heat up some food for him, but he stopped me. “Honey,” I asked, “I called you earlier. Why didn’t you pick up?” “The police took my phone,” he said flatly. “They need to copy my chat logs and call records.” The thought of all the sweet nothings he’d whispered to that woman on his phone made my stomach turn. But then I thought of the baby in my belly and forced it down. The woman was dead. What was the point of fighting over it now? But I was wrong. Just because I was willing to let it go didn’t mean others were. I had just drifted off to sleep when a violent, suffocating pressure on my throat jolted me awake. My eyes flew open to see my husband, his face contorted with madness, strangling me with all his might. He was trying to kill me. 2 I struggled wildly, pushing at his unyielding arms as I choked out the words. “Na… Nathan… I’m… I’m pregnant with your child… Are you… really going to kill us both?” At the last second, my words broke through his rage. He slowly released his grip, but his hands shot to my shoulders, pinning me to the bed. His eyes were bloodshot, blazing with fury. “Laura,” he roared, his voice a raw wound, “tell me the truth! Did you have Melissa killed?” His violent outburst terrified me. I shook my head frantically, stammering, “Nathan, you’re… you’re wrong. I would never do something like that.” “Hmph. Is that so?” he sneered. “You’d better hope I don’t find out it was you. Because if I do, I’ll kill you with my own two hands.” With one last venomous glare, my husband got out of bed and left the room. He didn’t come back that night. I tossed and turned, his furious face burned into my mind. I didn’t fall into a fitful sleep until the sky began to lighten. I was woken again, this time by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. After listening for a moment and realizing no one was going to answer it, I dragged myself out of bed and headed downstairs. But as I descended the staircase, the scene in the living room made me scream. My husband. Nathan. He was slumped motionless on the sofa. And on the floor at his feet was a vast, dark pool of blood. He had cut his wrists. A bloody scalpel lay discarded on the coffee table. The horrifying image sent another scream tearing from my throat. I couldn’t look again. It was too gruesome. My body went limp, and I collapsed onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably. The doorbell kept ringing, growing more urgent after my screams. I wanted to answer it, but I had no strength left. All I could do was sit there on the cold floor and sob. I don’t know how much time passed before the door was forced open. Detective Evans and Detective Miller rushed in, followed by two uniformed officers. They all froze at the sight of my husband. Miller immediately called for the medical examiner, while Evans rushed to my side, helping me to my feet. The ME arrived quickly. The preliminary finding was suicide, with the time of death estimated around 2 AM. It hadn’t been a peaceful end. His face was twisted in a grimace, as if he’d witnessed something terrible in his final moments. Detective Miller told me that my husband was Melissa Bradley’s killer. I couldn’t believe it, but he said the evidence was conclusive. They had pulled the security footage from both our building and Melissa’s. Though Nathan had managed to avoid the blind spots in our building, he wasn’t as familiar with Melissa’s complex. A camera had captured a clear shot of him there at 10 PM on the night of the murder. It seemed impossible. Miller went on to explain that they’d found text messages on Nathan’s phone where he and Melissa had arranged to meet. Their initial theory was that he’d killed himself out of guilt and fear of being caught. The news was a physical blow. I sank to the floor, my body shaking like a leaf in a storm. They took my husband’s body away for a full autopsy. Our home was now a crime scene, the entire living room cordoned off with yellow tape. That dark stain on the rug made my stomach churn every time I looked at it. After taking my statement, Detective Evans was deeply sympathetic. She put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Laura,” she asked in a low voice, “I see bruises on your neck. Did Nathan abuse you?” Her question reminded me of the previous night’s attack. I wiped my tears and whispered, “I confronted him about the affair last night. He… he got angry and lost control.” Detective Evans listened, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she said, “The neck is a vital area. He was trying to kill you. Why didn’t you call the police?” 3 Her words startled me. I took a deep breath, my hand instinctively going to my throat. “Detective, he was my husband. The father of my child.” Seeing my response, she dropped the subject. As they prepared to leave, she suggested I stay at a nearby hotel if I was afraid to be in the house alone. She gave me her card and told me to call if I needed anything. I nodded and watched them go. I grew up in the countryside, and my parents were still there, miles away. Nathan’s parents lived out of state. We had both found jobs here after college and bought our house together. It was a big house, over two thousand square feet. Now, it was just me. The thought was so overwhelming that I could barely breathe. I went upstairs, packed a small bag, and checked into a nearby hotel. After a small meal, I took out the bank cards I’d found in Nathan’s wallet. I called the automated banking service for each one. To my shock, I discovered he had over half a million dollars in savings. I never knew his PINs. But recently, I had intentionally asked him to take me shopping for baby supplies. Each time he paid, I discreetly watched him enter his code. I gambled that, like most people, he used the same PIN for everything to avoid forgetting it. I was right. I got it on the first try. Since becoming pregnant, I’d suffered from severe morning sickness and had to quit my job as a makeup artist at a photo studio. Nathan had always been guarded about his finances, giving me a meager five hundred dollars a month for living expenses. It was a constant source of resentment for me. I put the cards away, feeling drained and exhausted. I lay down on the bed and fell asleep almost instantly, only to be plunged into a nightmare. I dreamt I was paralyzed in bed, unable to move, while Melissa Bradley and my husband, Nathan, stood over me, their faces twisted into sinister grins. Together, they reached out and wrapped their icy hands around my neck. I woke with a start, my heart pounding. It was just a dream. My throat was parched. As I reached for a glass of water, my phone, lying on the nightstand, buzzed. It was Detective Evans. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I took a deep breath before answering. She asked which hotel I was staying at, saying she had a few more questions. I gave her the name. About thirty minutes later, she arrived, this time alone. I let her into the room. She smiled politely. “Ms. Reed, your husband’s death appears to be a suicide, but the autopsy revealed a significant amount of estazolam in his system. Quite a high dose, in fact. Did he suffer from any related medical conditions?” “Estazolam?” I repeated, racking my brain. “Oh, the sleeping medication. Yes, my husband had insomnia. He’d take a couple of pills when he couldn’t sleep.” “Is that so? Because the amount found in his system was equivalent to at least five pills, not two. How do you explain that?” At her words, I smiled. 4 It was a smile uglier than tears. With a sigh, I said, “Detective, put yourself in his shoes for a moment. Your mistress is suddenly dead, murdered in such a brutal way. Could you sleep soundly? If you already had insomnia, wouldn’t you take a higher dose just to escape the torment?” My explanation left her speechless. After a moment, she looked at me with a strange, searching expression. “Ms. Reed, I expected you to be distraught and overwhelmed by your husband’s death. I did not expect your first priority to be checking his bank account balances.” Her words hit me like a slap. She continued, “Our background check shows that your husband’s parents are still alive. Now that their only son is dead, don’t you think you should inform them?” “His parents are elderly. I haven’t figured out how to break the news yet. And I’m pregnant. I’ll need money to raise this child. I have to plan for the future. Detective, you police certainly involve yourselves in a lot of things.” My tone was sharp and unapologetic. Detective Evans seemed taken aback by the steel in my voice, so contrary to my fragile appearance. She gave an awkward laugh and apologized. Before she left, she casually mentioned something else. A security camera on the building across from our house had been malfunctioning. Due to a wiring issue, the camera had, at some point, shifted its angle and was now aimed directly at our living room window, capturing a partial view of the inside. She gave me another one of those meaningful smiles and left. Her words kept me awake all night. Sure enough, the next day, Detective Evans called again. She asked me to come down to the station, saying there was a new development in my husband’s case. My heart pounding with anxiety, I went. They led me straight to an interrogation room. Once again, it was Detective Evans and Detective Miller. I sat in silence, waiting for them to speak first. Detective Miller played a video on the large screen behind him. It showed a woman in a traditional silk qipao. The image was blurry, but her face was visible. Her long, dark hair was a tangled mess, framing her face in a way that was genuinely terrifying. She looked like a ghost. In the video, she slowly descended a staircase, walked to a window, and pulled the curtains shut. Then, the screen went black. I watched, confused. Although the footage was grainy, I recognized the living room. It was ours. “Detectives,” I asked, bewildered, “who is that woman? What is she doing in my house?” They exchanged a smile. “Ms. Reed,” Evans said, “on the night your husband died, you were the only other person in the house. Are you telling us that woman isn’t you?” “But that’s not me,” I said, my voice rising in anger. “It might not look like you at first,” Miller chimed in. “But with some white makeup and a deliberately ghoulish look, it’s not impossible.” “I’m pregnant. The person in that video is not pregnant.” My statement made them look at each other, unable to argue. Seeing this, Evans said decisively, “The woman in the video does bear a striking resemblance to the deceased, Melissa Bradley. But we don’t believe in ghosts. Laura, would you mind letting me see your stomach?” Her request made me laugh, a bitter, angry sound. “So now you think I’m faking my pregnancy?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385390”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The wedding rehearsal was in full swing when my fiancée, Ava, suddenly gagged and covered her mouth. Her adopted brother, Alan, his face a mask of panic, swept her into his arms and rushed her to the hospital. Half an hour later, my phone rang. “I’m pregnant.” Joy surged through me, but her next words were delivered with a terrifying calm. “It’s Alan’s… He’d just been dumped that night, shivering from the cold rain. I was just trying to keep him warm, I swear, I never thought…” “We have to keep this from Mom and Dad. He’ll move in to take care of me, and we’ll figure it out after the baby is born.” “Postpone the wedding for a year. You handle the guests, make the apologies.” My throat tightened, a knot of concrete lodging itself there. I couldn’t force out a single word. She continued, her voice devoid of emotion, “And you need to quit your job. Right now. I can’t risk any stress these next few months, and Alan’s career is taking off. He can’t be distracted.” A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. “Alright then.” She hung up, seemingly satisfied. But what she didn’t know was the bet I’d made with someone else. If I wasn’t married by thirty, I’d marry her. And today, of all days, was my thirtieth birthday. … Perhaps my calm was too unnatural. Three seconds after she hung up, Ava called back. “Richard, I’m sorry. I know this is my fault. But you have to believe me, I only see him as a brother. The baby was a complete accident.” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Right. Such deep brotherly love. Keeping each other warm right into bed. How touching.” The line went silent for a beat, then she sighed, a sound heavy with manufactured weariness. “I understand if you’re angry. Yell at me, hit me, I don’t care. But Alan’s an orphan. Even though Mom and Dad adopted him and treat him like their own son, the family would never accept this. They’d throw him out on the street.” “So, I need you to claim the baby as yours. It’s perfect, actually. You’ll be home from your job, so no one will ever suspect it isn’t yours.” I tilted my head back, forcing the heat from my eyes. My voice was a dry rasp. “Ava… let’s just not get married.” “Not get married?” A few seconds of stunned silence, then her voice exploded in my ear. “Richard, are you kidding me?! You’re the one who’s been begging me to set a date for months, going on about how we’ve been together for five years!” “Everyone in our circle knows you’re my fiancé! Do you think marriage is some kind of game? When did you become so childish, Richard?” I could picture her perfectly, brows furrowed in that familiar, condescending way. Her next words were a threat, just as I expected. “Listen to me, Mr. Reid, I’m only going to ask you this once. Are you really calling off this wedding?!” My fingers clenched around my phone, the plastic groaning in protest. A bitter smile touched my lips. “Yeah. I’m done with you, Ava.” She scoffed. “I don’t have time for your little tantrums. Do whatever you want.” The line went dead. I stood alone in the center of the grand ballroom, under the weight of a hundred shocked stares. With a single, sharp tug, I ripped the boutonnière from my lapel and ran. Ava’s parents moved to block my path, her father striking first. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Richard? Just because her brother took her to the hospital, you’re going to ruin this wedding? Make the Sterlings a laughingstock in front of hundreds of guests?” Ava’s mother added with a disdainful sniff, “I always said you weren’t right for her. The Sterlings have a legacy, a name that means something. The Reids? You’re just new money. It was never a match.” “But my daughter insisted, so what could I do? And now look at the mess you’ve made!” Her father sneered. “Fine! Call it off! Better now than later, before that temper of yours tarnishes the Sterling name for good.” The fault was entirely Ava’s, yet here they were, painting me as the villain. I clutched the crushed flower in my fist, my fingertips trembling. “It was your daughter who canceled the wedding. As for the reason… you should ask her. It’s too humiliating for me to say.” Hearing it was Ava’s decision only made them bolder. “Even if she did, you’re the groom! You don’t just run off without a word! You should be on that stage, apologizing to our guests!” “What did your parents teach you? You have no grasp of basic decency. How could you ever be a son-in-law to this family?” I took a deep, steadying breath. “I’m not marrying Ava. Now, if you’ll excuse me, please get out of my way.” “You!” Their faces contorted with shock, clearly unprepared for such defiance from the normally placid man they knew. I didn’t spare them another glance, striding past them toward the dressing room. “You ill-mannered brat!” Ava’s mother shrieked at my back. Someone was already waiting for me inside. The couture gown she wore hugged her flawless figure perfectly. As she turned, the light caught the soft curve of her cheek, but the dark circles under her eyes told a story of sleepless nights. She saw me and glided forward, that familiar, sweet smile playing on her lips. I looked away. “I thought a certain someone swore they’d never set foot at my wedding.” She leaned in close, her warm breath ghosting over my ear. In that instant, our eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the stubborn girl from ten years ago. “Richard Reid, a bet’s a bet.” I pressed my lips together, silent. Panic flashed in her eyes. “You didn’t forget, did you?!” “I don’t care! We’re getting married in three days. If you don’t show up…” She paused, taking a breath as if steeling herself. “I’ll show up at your house and drag you to the courthouse myself!” Before I could refuse, she spun around and darted out of the room. A real laugh, genuine this time, bubbled up from my chest. That idiot. Of course, I remembered the bet. Our families had been friends forever. We grew up together, too close to ever be lovers. Ten years ago, she confessed her feelings, and I told her we were better off as friends. The look of hurt on her face had prompted her to make a wild bet. I never thought I’d lose. I had just changed out of my tuxedo when a picture from Ava landed on my phone. A mountain of my belongings was piled up on the curb in front of our villa, dumped like trash. But it was the wedding quilt my mother had handmade that stabbed me in the heart. My mom, who had never touched a needle in her life, had spent three months hunched over it, her fingers dotted with pinpricks of blood. The intricate patterns of intertwined swans, embroidered in vibrant silk, were now sullied, screaming at me from inside a cheap, clear plastic bag. 「Come get your junk. Now.」 「If you don’t, I’m having the housekeeper trash it.」 I stared at the screen, a chill seeping into my fingertips. She knew exactly how to twist the knife. I could leave everything else, but not that quilt. 「Fine. I’m on my way.」 The night before the wedding, Mom had pressed it into my hands, her eyes shining. “Be happy for a lifetime, my son.” But when I arrived, the curb was empty. It had only been half an hour. I told her I was coming. Was she that desperate to be rid of me? Rage ignited in my gut. I shoved the front door open and stormed inside. The scene before me plunged me into an icy abyss. Ava was perched on the edge of the dining table while Alan knelt before her. His hands were on her waist, his cheek pressed against her swollen belly, a look of tender adoration on his face that was like a physical blow. “Ava,” Alan murmured, his voice soft. “The baby just kicked me.” A smile I’d never seen before graced Ava’s lips, a look so soft it could turn to water. “So feisty. Just like you were as a boy. I hope he gets your eyes.” Alan’s lips curved in a gentle smile. Ava leaned down and brushed a kiss across his mouth, her tone suddenly laced with guilt. “Are you sure you want to leave after the baby is born? You could… you could stay. To help me with him. A child needs his real father.” Alan pressed a finger to her lips, shaking his head. “Ava, if I stay, what about Richard?” At the mention of my name, Ava flinched, her expression darkening. “Him? This ‘breakup’ is just a tantrum. Once the baby’s here, he’ll come crawling back, begging to help. He comes from a family of sharks. All they see is the bottom line. Where’s the dignity in that?” “Have you forgotten how he chased after me? The way he groveled? It makes me sick just thinking about it.” Silent tears tracked down my cheeks. My brave confession, the one that had taken all my courage, had disgusted her for all these years. The Sterlings were the most prestigious family in the city’s art scene, and Ava was its youngest star, a master of modern art. Five years ago, she came to my father with a portfolio, seeking investors for the new Sterling Arts Foundation. Dad was utterly charmed and introduced us. It was love at first sight for me. I shamelessly begged her to teach me how to paint. She’d pointed a brush at me, exasperated. “You’re hopeless! Zero talent!” I just grinned. “Then be my girlfriend. We’ll complement each other.” Her eyes flickered to Alan, who was sketching quietly nearby. She suddenly grabbed my hand, a self-mocking smile on her face. “Fine.” Overjoyed, I’d pulled her into a hug, completely missing Alan storming out of the room or the way her body went rigid in my arms. Only now did I understand. Her heart had always belonged to Alan. No wonder she never taught me to paint again, never even let me into her studio. A bitter taste filled my mouth. I was about to turn and leave, but I couldn’t forget my mother’s quilt. “Richard!” Ava’s head snapped up, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “What are you doing, lurking in the doorway like a creep? I threw your things out. Having second thoughts already?” I dug my nails into my palm. “The quilt. Give it back.” She blinked, her expression turning colder. “Some old blanket? What would I want with that?” “My mother made it,” I said, my voice starting to shake. “Give it back, and I’ll leave.” Seeing the tears welling in my eyes, she frowned. “You’re crying? Are you insane? Over a stupid blanket?” “YES!” I roared, the tears finally breaking free. Ava ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. She opened her mouth to say something, but Alan spoke first, a sudden realization dawning on his face. “Richard, please don’t yell at Ava. I had the maid put your things in the guest room.” As he spoke, he gently caressed her stomach, his own eyes reddening. “Richard, can’t you stay? If it’s because of the baby… I can… I can ask Ava to get rid of it. His existence was a mistake. Neither of you wants him…” His voice broke, and he dissolved into racking sobs. “DON’T YOU DARE!” Ava’s voice was a raw, uncontrolled shriek. She collapsed into Alan’s arms, glaring at me with pure venom. “He can leave, but he is not touching my child! You and this baby are all I have now!” “Richard, if that’s why you came, then get the hell out of my house!” I let out a cold laugh and stalked toward the guest room. The quilt was tossed on the floor, stained with grime and dotted with cigarette burns. The beautiful embroidered swans were now a filthy, unrecognizable mess. My finger trembled as I pointed at it. “Alan. Explain.” He shrank back timidly. “I-I didn’t mean to. I thought it was just… trash.” He bent to pick it up. “Don’t be angry, Richard. I’ll wash it for you.” But before he could touch it, Ava lunged, shoving me with all her might. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the bedframe. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes, followed by the warm trickle of blood down my temple. “Don’t touch it, Alan! Don’t dirty your hands!” I didn’t make a sound, just looked at Ava, a ghost of a smile on my face. I needed to see, once and for all, if she had a heart. She stood with her arm around Alan, her eyes filled with an all-consuming loathing. “How much? I’ll pay you for it! I’m begging you, just stop. Stop torturing me and my brother with this insignificant piece of cloth. Does it make you feel powerful?” A gaping hole opened in my chest. She’d always been distant, but she had never looked at me with such hate. She must despise me now. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore. Why was I still here, just to be an object of her disgust? I gave up. The quilt was ruined. I didn’t want it anymore. And this ruined woman… I didn’t want her either. I pushed myself to my feet. “Ava, I don’t need your money.” As I turned to leave, she grabbed my arm, a flicker of something like regret in her eyes. “You’re upset today. Go back to your parents’ place for a few days to cool off. I’ll come get you in three days.” I shook her hand off and walked out of the house that was never truly my home. … Back at my parents’ house, I explained the whole sordid affair. My mother let out a long sigh of relief. “Son, I’m thanking my lucky stars! What if you’d only found this out after you were married? What would you have done?” “And the Sterlings have the nerve to look down on us for being business people, for having the ‘stench of money.’ Look at the shameless filth their ‘cultured’ family produced!” My father sighed. “Let’s not talk about it. It’s hard enough on Richard as it is. I’ve already told my assistant to pull all our funding from the Sterling Arts Foundation. The Reids are done with the Sterlings.” I was about to bring up Chloe when my mother suddenly said, “Oh, that’s right. Chloe stopped by today. She even brought her dowry.” She pulled a velvet box from a drawer. “That girl certainly doesn’t waste any time.” Inside was a pair of antique jade pendants, a family heirloom. It was then that it truly hit me. Chloe was serious about the wedding in three days. Later that night, a message from Alan popped up on my phone. 「Richard, please come back.」 「I’ll move out. I’ll convince Ava to end the pregnancy.」 「You two have been together for five years. You can’t let me ruin that. I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life.」 I stared at the screen and scoffed. If he wanted to play games, he could play them with his sister. I typed back two words: 「Do you.」 Then, I blocked his number. With that done, I leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, a hollow feeling echoing in my chest. My phone buzzed again. A video call from Chloe. “Richard,” she said, her eyes sparkling on the screen. “Make a heart with your hands for me.” I blinked. “Why all of a sudden…” A heart? How corny. “I don’t care,” she pouted, leaning closer to the camera. “Do it now.” Her childish expression made me smile. I quickly flashed a heart sign, feeling goosebumps rise on my own skin. She immediately clutched her chest and closed her eyes in an exaggerated swoon. When she opened them again, she winked. My heart skipped a beat. “Look outside. A gift in return.” She smiled, and the call ended. Suddenly, the night sky outside my window erupted in light. Hundreds of drones formed a twinkling heart, which then morphed into a line of text: 「HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RICHARD」 Tears blurred my vision. With all the drama today, I’d completely forgotten my own birthday. But she remembered. It was a little cheesy, but her sincerity was real, and I loved it. Ava, on the other hand… every year for my birthday, she’d simply write “Happy Birthday” in her elegant script. She never even signed my name. “My art has collectible value,” she would always explain. “If I put your name on it, its value decreases.” This year, she’d just said, “I’m too busy with the wedding. No time.” But this “busy” wedding planning? I was the one who visited twenty different bridal shops to find her dress. I was the one who compared over thirty quotes from different venues. I was the one who stayed up all night handwriting three hundred invitations. The only thing she participated in was a five-minute fitting for her main gown, and she spent the entire time checking her watch. The signs were all there. She never loved me. A sharp pain seized my heart, and I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. I’d cried enough today. On my birthday, at least, I could afford myself a little dignity. The buzz of my phone woke me from a deep sleep. I groggily answered it. Ava’s voice, raw with panic, screamed through the speaker. “Richard, get to the hospital right now! Something’s happened to Alan!” I shot up in bed, instantly awake. Were his texts for real? Without even changing, I bolted out the door in my pajamas and slippers. When I burst into the hospital room, I found Alan propped up comfortably against the pillows while Ava tenderly peeled an apple for him. They looked like a picture of domestic bliss, while I stood there, one slipper half-off, looking like a complete fool. The moment she saw me, Ava flew into a rage, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the bedside. “Kneel for my brother!” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. Before I could process her words, a brutal kick landed on the back of my knee. My kneecap slammed into the hard linoleum floor, a searing pain shooting up my leg, paralyzing me. “Ava! Are you crazy?” I glared up at her. Her eyes were burning with a terrifying fury. “He slit his wrist! He almost died! Don’t you dare call me crazy, right now I want to kill you!” Right on cue, Alan began to sob. “Ava, I sent Richard a message to apologize, and he blocked me. He must hate me so much… He never wants to see me again. What’s the point of me even living…” As much as I despised him, I didn’t want a death on my conscience. I quickly scanned him. On his wrist was a thin, half-centimeter scratch, already scabbed over with antiseptic. This was his suicide attempt? A wave of bleak despair washed over me. I twisted my lips into a grimace. “Ava, if I’d come tomorrow, would the wound have healed completely?” She exploded. “Richard! How can you be so cruel? If I hadn’t found him in time… Do you have any idea what happens when someone loses that much blood?” Love really is blind. A tiny scratch had sent her into a panic, yet she was completely oblivious to the blood matting the hair on my own forehead. She must love him to death. My heart felt like it was sinking, weighed down by a stone. I gritted my teeth and said nothing. My silence seemed to enrage her further. She shoved the fruit knife at me, her voice dripping with venom. “Since you think it’s no big deal, then give yourself the same cut. See how it feels. You owe my brother that!” I stared at her in disbelief. This was the woman I had loved unconditionally for five years. In that single moment, my heart turned to ice. Fine. One cut. Then my debt to her would be paid. Lowering my eyes to hide the tears, I picked up the knife and drew it lightly across my wrist. Alan let out a theatrical gasp. I struggled to my feet and held my arm out for Ava to see. “Is this enough?” Blood dripped steadily onto the floor. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she shot my arm a look of disgust before turning to comfort the “traumatized” Alan, muttering under her breath. “Who told you to cut so deep? You’re hopelessly stupid.” I laughed without a sound and stumbled toward the door. Her voice followed me, cold and commanding. “Richard, you stay at your parents’ house and think about what you’ve done! I’ll come get you in three days.” I laughed so hard the tears finally fell. Ava, we are never, ever seeing each other again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385389”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Returning early from abroad to surprise my sister Nina, I found the house empty. Then I spotted a piece of her dress through the bars of a locked dog cage by the garden gate. Fumbling with the latch, I flung the door open to find Nina curled into a ball inside the cramped, one-square-meter doghouse. “Why are you sleeping here?” I asked, stunned. “Come out; I brought your favorite cream puffs.” “No! Cream puffs are for the Master. Puppies aren’t worthy. Puppies only eat kibble,” she frantically shook her head. My stepmother Brenda’s voice slithered from behind. “Nina finds school too hard. She says being a dog is more comfortable. It was her idea to live here.” I turned. Brenda, heavily pregnant, wore the two halves of the Vance family crest around her neck – the symbol of our family’s power, belonging to Nina and me. Noticing my gaze, she patted her belly with a smirk. “It’s a boy. So I get Nina’s half of the crest, and yours too.” A dark smile touched my lips. She didn’t know our father had married in and lost the ability to have children the year Nina was born. 1 The second daughter of the Vance family, who should have been living a life of pampered luxury, was chained in the yard like an animal. The sight of the iron chain around my sister’s neck sent a blade of ice through my heart. No wonder she hadn’t contacted me once in the three years I’d been away. Every time I asked my father, he’d brush me off, saying her studies were too demanding. Nina’s bedroom had long been taken over. The villa had been redecorated, every trace of my mother’s presence erased. I helped Nina out of the cage, brushing the dust from her clothes. The dress she wore was one I’d given her three years ago. It was now tattered and torn, barely covering her. I took off my own jacket and draped it over her small shoulders. “Brenda, you dare treat the daughter of the Vance family like this? Do you have a death wish?” “Is that any way to talk to your mother!” My father, Mark, appeared behind Brenda, flanked by a group of men I didn’t recognize. Their eyes raked over me, dripping with malice. “My mother is dead,” I snapped. “That thing is nothing.” “Sloane! Brenda is my wife, which makes her your mother and the lady of this house! Apologize to her this instant, or you are no longer my daughter!” “A backwoods housekeeper who slept her way into this house is worthy of being my mother? And you, Mark, have you forgotten whose name this family carries?” My mother was the 75th Matriarch of the Azure Syndicate, a woman who commanded respect in every circle, legal and illicit. She held the Azure Crest, the key to commanding eight thousand chapters across the continent. A woman born to rule, who had, for some inexplicable reason, fallen for a man like my father. She had threatened her own life to get her family’s approval for him to marry in. My sister and I both took our mother’s name, Vance. My mother split her Azure Crest in two, giving one half to me and the other to Nina, warning us never to use its power unless absolutely necessary. Then, a sudden illness took her from us. My father claimed a young child needed a mother’s care and brought his childhood sweetheart from his backwater hometown to “help.” “When I agreed to let Brenda in this house, it was as a nanny, not as its mistress!” Mark’s hand cracked across my face. “I’m in charge now! If you don’t like it, you can get the hell out!” I clutched my stinging cheek. “Don’t you forget, you’re living in a villa my mother bought before she ever met you. This is Vance property. If anyone’s getting out, it’s you and her!” “I’ve been too soft on you!” He raised his hand again, but Brenda stopped him with a sickeningly sweet display of concern. “That’s enough, darling. She’s just a child, she doesn’t know any better. I won’t hold it against her.” She turned her saccharine smile on me. “Sloane, dear, it’s not that I’ve been cruel to your sister. She’s the one who finds school too tiring. She wants to live like a dog.” “Of course, I didn’t want her living in a kennel. She threw terrible tantrums about it.” “She went on a hunger strike when I refused. I had no choice but to let her have her way. If you don’t believe me, ask your father. Or ask Nina herself.” Mark snorted. “Nina is a disgrace. She’d rather be a dog than go to school. A child with no ambition is no daughter of mine!” Nina tugged on my sleeve, her voice a dry rasp. “Sister, I don’t like school. I like being a dog. I like the kennel.” “I’m a puppy. Woof, woof.” “You are not a dog! You are a human being!” My eyes swept the grounds. None of the old staff were here. The butler, the maids, the bodyguards—all replaced with these hostile strangers who watched me like vultures. “I don’t care what happened before. But I’m back now, and my sister will not be your pet!” Brenda’s fake smile never wavered. “Well then, Sloane, perhaps you should be the one to discipline her from now on. We certainly can’t.” She picked up a rubber ball from the ground and tossed it across the lawn. Instantly, Nina dropped to all fours and scrambled after it. She snatched the ball with her teeth and trotted back, dropping it into Brenda’s outstretched hand. Brenda threw it again. As Nina started to chase it, I grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. “Nina! You are a person, not a dog! You walk on two legs! You hold things with your hands! Promise me, you won’t act like a dog anymore, okay?” Nina just shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. “No, I’m a puppy. I like being a puppy.” Brenda laughed, a loud, ugly sound, dangling the ball in her hand. “Want to play again?” Nina’s tongue lolled out, and she panted excitedly. “Yes! Yes!” “ENOUGH!” I rounded on Mark. “Mom told you to take care of Nina before she died. This is how you take care of her!” He just shrugged. “It’s not my fault if she has no self-respect.” “Get the key and take that chain off her neck!” No one moved. I glared at the staff. “Are you all deaf!” “Go get the key,” Brenda said calmly, and only then did someone move. It was clear I held no authority here. The moment the chain was unlocked, Nina was overcome with panic. She hunched over, trying to crawl back into the kennel. “I don’t live in the house! I’m a puppy! I have to stay in the cage!” I wrapped my arms around her. “Nina, don’t be afraid. I’m taking you to a doctor right now.” There was no time to even change her clothes. I rushed her to the hospital. The examination revealed a horror story. Beyond the severe psychological trauma, her body was a canvas of abuse. Clusters of old and new injuries covered her chest and back, conveniently hidden by her clothes. The doctor said she’d been whipped and beaten with rods. There were large, scarred-over burns. Several ribs had been broken and healed improperly. There was even evidence of trauma to her skull. Listening to the doctor’s detached report, I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. These people were monsters. I held Nina close. “It’s okay, Nina. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. No one will ever hurt you again.” When we returned to the villa, Brenda was waiting, her pregnant belly leading the way. “Sloane, dear. Your half of the Azure Crest. It’s on you, isn’t it?” My luggage was in the living room, torn open and its contents strewn across the floor. “Who gave you permission to touch my things!” “Sloane,” my father said, “give your mother your half of the crest. She’s carrying your little brother. The family business will be his to inherit now.” I laughed in his face. “The Azure Syndicate values bloodline above all else. Only the Vance line can lead it. And you think the bastard in her belly is worthy of even being considered a successor?” Mark’s face turned a sickly green. “How dare you! That is your brother, not a bastard!” “She knows the truth.” Brenda leaned against Mark, her voice trembling with manufactured hurt. “Your father is the only man I’ve ever been with. How could you say such a vile thing?” “Apologize to your mother!” Mark roared. I ignored him, pulling Nina with me toward the stairs. He continued to shout at my back. “After your mother went to all the trouble of having your room specially prepared! She even got your favorite fruits! Is this how you repay her?” I got Nina inside my room and slammed the door, locking him out. I could hear him yelling for the guards to drag me out, but Brenda’s sickly-sweet voice eventually calmed him down. I gave Nina a bath, dressed her in fresh clothes, and sat with her until she finally drifted off to sleep. Only then did I allow myself to rest. My own team would arrive tomorrow. And then, we would settle this. I drifted into a restless sleep, waking with a jolt in the dead of night. Nina was gone. Panic seized me. I threw off the covers and ran out of the room. I found her in the dining room, kneeling on the floor, serving breakfast to Brenda’s nephew. Chad saw me and sneered. “My aunt said Nina’s mine to marry. She was born to serve me.” “Good puppy,” he said, spitting a half-chewed piece of toast onto the floor. “Here’s a treat for you.” Nina immediately bent down to pick it up with her mouth. Chad roared with laughter. “You’ll even eat my leftovers! You really are a dog!” He stood up and climbed onto Nina’s back. “Run, puppy! Run fast and I’ll give you another treat!” And so, my sister crawled on all fours, carrying him around the room. “Faster! Are you trying to starve? Any slower and you won’t even get kibble!” Nina picked up her pace. Chad pulled a few pieces of dog food from his pocket and tossed them ahead of her. She scrambled to eat them. “Stupid mutt, all you think about is food!” I had seen enough. I stormed forward and sent him flying off Nina’s back with a single, brutal kick. Chad hit the floor with a heavy thud. He scrambled to his feet, screaming, “You bitch! You dare hit me!” “Guards! Tie her up!” “Who dares!” I pulled Nina into my arms, shielding her. “Chad, get on your knees and apologize to my sister right now, and I might consider letting you live. Otherwise, don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” “Oh, listen to you! You think this is still your mother’s house?” he sneered. “This family is run by my uncle now! The Azure Syndicate is his! Who the hell do you think you are?” “Grab her!” The guards swarmed us, pinning me and Nina to the floor. Brenda rushed over, playing the peacemaker. “Sloane, my nephew is just spoiled. He means no harm, he was just playing with Nina.” “Here,” she said, her voice dropping. “You give me the crest, and I’ll make him apologize.” “You want the crest? In your dreams!” Her mask of civility finally shattered. “You ungrateful bitch! Fine! Search her! The crest has to be on her!” “There you are,” I said with a cold smile. “I was getting sick of your fake smile anyway.” “Hmph. You little slut. If you were as obedient as your sister, I might have let you stay, be a dog by my side. But you’re too wild. I can’t control you. Looks like we’ll have to send you off to one of our ‘re-education’ camps in the East to learn some manners.” “You wouldn’t dare!” “Once I have the full crest, the entire Syndicate is mine. What wouldn’t I dare?” “Ma’am, I found it!” a guard shouted. He handed my half of the crest to Brenda. Her eyes lit up with a feverish greed. She took her half from around her neck and clicked them together. “Finally! The Azure Syndicate is mine! An empire spanning the continent, endless wealth… it’s all mine!” I let out a cold laugh. “You have a trinket. Don’t you think you’re celebrating a little early?” “The Azure Crest can command all eight thousand chapters! With this, I am the new Matriarch!” “You aren’t worthy.” “Still talking tough when you’re about to die! Take her and Nina away! Send them to the camps!” I glanced at my watch. They should be here by now. As if on cue, a squad of black-clad figures swarmed into the villa, surrounding it completely. In a blur of motion, they neutralized the guards holding us and formed a protective circle around me and Nina. Brenda, who had never seen anything like this, shrieked and hid behind her remaining men. “Who are you people!” “This is the Azure Syndicate’s Praetorian Guard.” “The Syndicate’s men! Excellent!” Brenda held up the united crest. “I have the Azure Crest! I am your new leader!” “Now, on my command, seize Sloane and Nina Vance!” The black-clad guards didn’t move a muscle. Brenda grew frantic. “Are you all blind? This is the genuine Azure Crest!” The lead guard stepped forward and handed me an envelope. “Miss Vance. We have what you requested.” I took it and held it out to Mark. “Dad. Take a look.” He took it suspiciously. Brenda immediately crowded in to look over his shoulder. He opened the envelope. The contents made their faces drain of all color.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385388”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The fourth time Devon broke up with me, his eyes were glued to another girl’s tear-streaked Instagram story. “Just play along,” he said, his voice low. “She has a weak heart. Can’t handle any stress.” I touched the faded mark on my ring finger where a promise once lived and watched him, my lips pressed into a thin line. He broke up with me every time he found a new target. That way, he said, it wasn’t cheating. His friend snickered. “You really letting her go, Jules? Thea’s been your little shadow since you were kids.” Devon scoffed, cutting a piece of steak and holding it to my lips like I was a pet. “My Thea’s the most obedient girl in the world, aren’t you?” I swallowed the steak, along with the bitter taste in my mouth, and nodded. As I turned away, I heard him make a bet, his voice dripping with confidence. “Give it three days. She’ll be back, hugging her pillow and begging me to take her back.” My phone felt hot in my palm. A new message had just come in. 【Thea, can’t you just let me be there for you?】 I wiped the corner of my mouth, erasing the last trace of pepper sauce, and typed a single word. 【Okay.】 1 The moment the message sent, my phone rang. Every head in the room, including Devon’s, turned to me. Before I could even answer, his friend let out a derisive laugh. “Whoa, I didn’t even know she had a phone. I thought our little Thea, with her social anxiety and all, just stayed locked up in her tower.” “No joke, man. If I hadn’t heard that ringer, I would’ve sworn her only hobby was staring at the front door, waiting for Devon to come home.” “Oh, shit. Then she must’ve seen my comment on Devon’s post about Lana’s ballet performance. The one where I said you two were soulmates. Hope we didn’t hurt your feelings, Thea.” The table erupted in laughter. I stood there, clutching my phone, feeling small and helpless. When he’d had his laugh, Devon tapped his wine glass with a silver fork. “Alright, that’s enough. You keep bullying my Thea like that, and you’ll have to deal with me.” “Right, right. Devon loves his girl the most.” “He may play the field, but Thea’s the one who’s always there.” Their mocking eyes darted toward me, each glance a physical sting. A cold dread washed over me, and I turned to flee. Devon’s hand shot out, grabbing my arm. His other hand went to my neck, yanking off the silver chain I always wore. “Lana loves vintage things. You don’t mind if I let her borrow this for a bit, do you?” His fingernail dug into the half-healed burn on my skin. I’d gotten it two days ago, making soup for him. He didn’t notice the slight wince of pain, just gave me a roguish, charming grin. I looked down at the locket in his palm. Tucked inside was a tiny, folded note he’d written for me on my eighteenth birthday. 【Thea is my life. I love Thea.】 He had given me the chain itself when I was fifteen, on a night of flash floods. He’d carried me on his back out of our collapsing apartment building, and later, he found the chain to soothe my frayed nerves. It was all his, really. What right did I have to say no? “Be my guest.” His friend burst out laughing again. “She’s always so agreeable. You’re a lucky man, Devon.” The air grew thick, suffocating. I wrenched my arm free and ran. I could still hear their booming laughter as the private dining room door swung shut behind me. The call had disconnected. A string of texts followed. 【Thea?】 【What happened? Why aren’t you answering?】 I slid down the cool hallway wall, tears blurring my vision. But I bit my lip, hard. I refused to cry for him again. The “Lana” they were talking about was Lana Thorne, a dance major still in college. Three months ago, Devon had been an honored guest at his alma mater’s centennial celebration. He’d seen her and been instantly captivated. He pursued her relentlessly, showering her with designer bags and luxury cars. He even gave her our promise token. It was a simple red cord bracelet I had braided myself, staying up for a week straight. I had even gone to a special retreat in the mountains to get the thread, hoping to imbue it with blessings. For years, even as it faded, he had never taken it off. But this time, he gave my heart away so easily. Last night, Lana had finally agreed to be with him, on one condition: she wouldn’t be the other woman. So, Devon broke up with me. Again. He swore it was just to fool the girl, that his heart belonged only to me. I had tolerated his cheating, his distractions, a thousand times before. But this time, I was really letting go. My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out. 【Thea? Answer me, please. Don’t make me worry.】 I took a deep breath, composing myself, and typed. 【Elias, I’m ready for a home now.】 Elias’s call came through instantly. I could imagine his excitement, and I knew that in the heat of the moment, people do impulsive things. So I let it ring and sent him a text instead. 【Focus on your business trip. Securing that new equipment for the hospital is too important. No mistakes.】 His reply was instantaneous. 【Yes, ma’am! Counting the seconds until I’m back. Wait for me!】 I let out a small, watery laugh, and the tears I’d been holding back fell like broken pearls. After the “breakup,” I didn’t go back to the house I shared with Devon. I checked into a hotel. Sleep didn’t come easy. In my dreams, Devon flickered between an angel and a demon. We were childhood sweethearts, our families equals in business. Our parents had always planned for us to marry. We fell in love for real when we were older. But then, a cruel twist of fate—a car accident that stole my parents and sent my family’s business into a nosedive. Even though Devon and I had already had our engagement party and set a wedding date, his parents suddenly refused to acknowledge me. But back then, Devon was completely devoted. He fought with his parents, determined to be with me. But after my parents’ death, I shut down. I couldn’t bear to be around anyone. A deep depression set in, and I developed a crippling social anxiety that often left me mute in front of strangers. Devon stayed by my side through it all, his constant presence a lifeline, always trying to make me smile. I was so moved. I thought I would follow him to the end of the earth. Halfway through the dream, the scene shifted violently. Devon had his arm around a new girl, a canary in a golden cage, and he was backing me into a corner, his words sharp and humiliating. His parents burst in, screaming at me, calling me shameless. I woke up with a gasp, heart pounding, drenched in sweat. Outside, a storm raged, thunder shaking the windows. I touched my forehead; it was burning. My phone’s notification light was blinking. It was Lana. A series of risqué selfies, taken in the bed I shared with Devon. I threw the phone aside and curled up under the covers. I don’t know how long I was out, but the ringing of my phone woke me again. It was Elias. “Thea, I miss you so much. I still have another week here…” His voice was a deep, magnetic hum that made me smile. But when I tried to answer, a hoarse croak came out, startling us both. I didn’t want him to worry. I lied and said I just had a small cold and had already made a doctor’s appointment. He sighed in relief, then fussed over me for a few more minutes before hanging up. Worried he might call the hospital to check, I dragged myself out of bed and called a cab. By the time I ran into the emergency room, I was soaked. Before my number was even called, a group of immaculately dressed young women cornered me in the hallway. They held up their phones, live-streaming. “Hey everyone, we’re Lana’s girl squad, and you’re not going to believe who we found! This is the home-wrecker who’s trying to steal Lana’s man!” “We’re here today to pay our respects! Smash that like button, everyone! Let’s get this home-wrecker trending!” They shoved and pushed me. I shrank against the wall, clutching my wet clothes, struggling to breathe. “Get a good look at her, people! Keep your men away from this viper!” One of them grabbed my chin, forcing my face into the camera. I tried to push them away, biting my lip in humiliation. “You bitch! How dare you fight back? We’re not saying anything that isn’t true!” “Lana’s too nice to deal with you herself, so we’ll teach you a lesson for her!” My shirt ripped. I tried desperately to cover myself, shaking my head wildly. I looked around for help, but the onlookers just watched, captivated by the drama. Just as despair set in, Devon appeared. He was backlit by the hospital lights, a savior striding toward me. A wave of relief and sorrow washed over me. “Devon…” I choked out, my voice thick with tears. “Help me…” He shot me a look of pure venom, then rushed past me to shield Lana, who was standing off to the side, silently crying. “Thea, did you have to follow her here? She just had heart surgery!” The taste of blood filled my mouth, sharper and more bitter than the day his mother had slapped me. I curled into a ball against the wall, my body shaking uncontrollably. “Devon, I don’t feel well. Can you take me to see the doctor?” Lana murmured, leaning against him. Perhaps because I was so silent, Devon finally deigned to look at me. The moment his eyes met mine, Lana clutched her chest and collapsed into his arms. His attention snapped back to her. He scooped her up and strode toward the examination room, his face etched with worry. As he carried her away, Lana glanced over his shoulder and gave me a triumphant smirk. Her friends followed, chins held high. The show was over. The crowd dispersed. All I could hear was the drumming of the rain. Staring out at the storm, my mind drifted back to when I was eighteen. Devon, covered in blood, had carried me on his back to this very clinic. He was so exhausted his lips were white, and he stumbled several times, but he never loosened his grip, whispering softly in my ear. “Don’t be afraid, Thea. I stabbed the guy who hurt you. I’m here. No one will ever hurt you again.” His young back wasn’t broad, but it was my entire world, my sanctuary. I had clung to him, my voice a faint whisper in reply. We made it to the clinic, and he collapsed before I did. The doctor checked me over. “You just have some scrapes. Your boyfriend, on the other hand… he has multiple stab wounds. The one on his side is serious. He’s lucky you got here when you did.” The boy who would have died for me was now protecting another woman, spewing poison at me. The image of him carrying her away shattered the memory of the boy who had once carried me. I lowered my head, no longer wanting to watch. In my heart, I said goodbye to him, and to the girl I used to be. My number was called. As I approached the examination room, I saw that the doctor on duty was a good friend of Elias’s. The thought of my pathetic state getting back to Elias was unbearable. I covered my face and fled. Outside, the storm still raged. I took a cab back to the hotel, stripped off my wet clothes, and tried to bring my fever down with a cool cloth. The phone on the bathroom counter lit up. It was Devon. “Thea, where the hell are you? How did you even know Lana had a follow-up appointment today? If I hadn’t gotten there in time, you would have bullied her into another heart attack!” I didn’t argue. I just hung up. A second later, a notification popped up. A new post from Devon. 【A new beginning.】 The picture was of him and Lana kissing. Around her delicate, white neck was my silver chain. I liked the post. Then I unfollowed him. A message from Elias came through immediately. 【Thea, you lied to me. I called the hospital. My colleague said you never checked in. How are you feeling?】 A warmth spread through my chest. I typed and deleted several messages before finally settling on one. 【I’m fine now. Just took some fever reducer and feeling a little sleepy. Focus on your work. Don’t worry about me.】 The phone went quiet. I smiled. Elias was always so considerate. The future head of the prestigious Thorne Medical Group, a man worth billions, yet he always listened to me. I had Devon to thank for meeting Elias. If it hadn’t been for his constant cheating, his endless breakups for other women, the crushing weight of it all wouldn’t have driven me to seek therapy. And I never would have met Dr. Elias Thorne. He was a top psychiatrist, yet he chose to see patients at his family’s private clinic out of a genuine desire to help. At first, it was just a professional relationship. He was my confidant, the one person I could talk to about the emptiness in my life. He was the only person I could talk to. As time went on, my visits became more frequent, my condition worse. Elias was baffled. In his entire career, he’d never had a patient who deteriorated under his care. It made him focus on me even more, and somewhere along the way, his professional concern blossomed into something deeper. I had rejected his advances at first. But after Devon’s latest, most public betrayal, I finally saw things clearly. I accepted Elias. I waited until the sky cleared before I went back to the house. I just wanted to pack my things and leave, but when I put my key in the lock, it wouldn’t turn. The lock had been changed. I stood there for a moment, stunned, and pulled out my phone to call Devon. But then the door swung open. Devon’s mother stood in the entryway, flanked by a team of maids, looking at me with disdain. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. The trash my son finally threw out. What are you doing back here? Trying to steal something while he’s not home?” My hands twisted the hem of my shirt. “Mrs. Vance, I just…” “Shut up!” She cut me off with a wave of her hand and gestured to the maids. “Throw her things out.” My suitcases were tossed out onto the muddy lawn. My most prized possession, a sketchbook, landed in a puddle. Every page was filled with drawings of Devon. I had been learning to draw for ten years, all for him. But he was ashamed of my “pathetic little hobby,” and he never let me tell anyone about it. Even when a well-known art critic saw some of my sketches online and offered to mentor me, Devon had belittled my talent until I gave up the opportunity. I bit my lip and knelt to rescue my drawings. As I picked up the soaked book, a piece of paper fell out from between the pages. A letter, in Elias’s elegant script. “Thea’s eyes are like shattered stars.” I must have brought the sketchbook to one of my sessions. I had no idea when he’d slipped it in. The tears came, hot and fast. Devon’s mother stood over me, her voice dripping with contempt. “What are you crying for? So unlucky! The Vance family took care of you for ten years. That’s more than enough charity. Now get lost!” She shoved me, grabbing my arm and trying to drag me away. I clutched the letter, letting the mud stain my clothes, my skin, my everything. On the third day after our “breakup,” Devon called. “Thea. Have you learned your lesson?” His voice was scolding. I said nothing. After a long, tense silence, he chuckled. “You’re still the same. So jealous. You can’t stand to see me with any other girl. I told you, I was just having a little fun. I would have come back to you when I was done. Did you have to be so vicious and go after Lana?” A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to scream, to defend myself, but the words wouldn’t come. “Forget it. It’s pointless trying to reason with you. Since you refuse to change, you can keep reflecting on your mistakes. When you finally realize you were wrong, I’ll come back.” The line went dead. I let out a bitter laugh and blocked his number. I had missed three days of work. I went to the Vance Corporation building during my lunch break to resign. But before I could even speak to my manager, the head of HR found me. She slapped a termination notice on my desk. “Mr. Vance said to give you this when you showed up,” she sneered. My colleagues, who should have been at lunch, were all at their desks, watching the show. Their stares felt like physical blows, and I found it hard to breathe again. I scrambled to pack my things, desperate to escape. Just then, a delivery man walked in. “A Miss Thea Collins? I have a delivery for you.” He placed a massive bouquet of fiery red roses in my arms. I found the small card tucked inside. 【Thea, a friend of mine needs an illustrator for her gallery. The job is yours whenever you’re ready.】 It was from Elias. My boring clerical job had been Devon’s idea. I hated it, but I did it to make him happy. None of my colleagues liked me, but I gritted my teeth and did my work. But Elias… he always told me to just be myself. With his encouragement, the contemptuous stares of my colleagues didn’t seem to hurt so much. I put the flowers down and swept everything off my desk—pens, papers, pictures, everything—into the trash can. Including a framed photo of me and Devon. The HR manager’s jaw dropped. I picked up the roses and walked out without a backward glance. I was about to call Elias to thank him when my phone rang. It was Devon, from a new number. He was screaming. “Thea! Lana just collapsed and was rushed to the hospital! What did you do to her this time?!” Staring at the unfamiliar number, I found my voice. “Devon, if you have a problem with your eyes, go see a doctor. Stop using me as your punching bag. We are broken up.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385387”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel