After our daughter’s suicide, my husband threw a party with his friends to cheer me up. After a few rounds of drinks, his childhood friend, Misty, suggested we play a game of “Never Have I Ever.” The rules were simple: if you haven’t done the thing someone says, you fold down a finger. The first person to fold down all five fingers loses. Misty went five times in a row. I lost every single round. And in doing so, I finally learned the real reason my daughter was dead. I smiled, saying nothing as I pulled a revolver and a single bullet from my handbag. “Now,” I said. “Let’s play a new game.” 1 It was supposed to be a gathering to help me heal, to comfort me in the suffocating grief of losing my child. That all changed the moment Misty walked in. The door to the private lounge flew open, and she breezed in like a storm. “Sorry I’m late! I’ll down three shots to make up for it!” Without even a glance in my direction, she slid into the booth right next to my husband, Ryan, and draped an arm around his neck. Ryan didn’t push her away. Misty bit the cap off a beer bottle with her teeth, then pressed her lips to his, pouring the entire bottle into his mouth. She tilted her head, her eyes locking with mine over the top of the bottle. “This is how the big boys drink. You don’t mind, do you, Lena?” Our friends exchanged nervous glances. I, his wife, said nothing. I had been a statue since I’d arrived, my hands frozen on the handbag in my lap. My silence seemed to be a relief to the others, who quickly raised their glasses and started challenging Misty to drinking games. A few rounds later, Misty’s cheeks were flushed. She swayed slightly, a sly smile on her face. “You know what? We should play a game.” She held up five fingers. “I’ll say something I’ve done. If you haven’t done it, you fold one finger down. First one with all five fingers down loses and has to take a shot.” Everyone’s interest was piqued. They all held up their hands, a circle of open palms. It was as if they had completely forgotten why we were here in the first place. Misty, as the instigator, went first. She flicked her wrist, showing off a glittering sapphire bracelet. Her voice, sickly sweet, filled the room. “This is a Hawthorne family heirloom. Supposed to be passed down only to the daughter-in-law.” She shot a look at Ryan. “But my Ry-Ry stole it from his mom and gave it to me back in high school! I bet none of you have one of these, right?” The room fell silent. Everyone looked at me, the air thick with embarrassment. I stared at the bracelet, a vague sense of recognition stirring. It took me a long moment to place it. I had once asked Ryan to use a matching photo for our social media profile pictures. He’d refused, and it had turned into a massive fight, one where he’d even threatened to break up. We made up, but we never spoke of it again. The picture he had refused to change, the one he held onto so fiercely, was of a hand wearing that exact sapphire bracelet. I lowered my eyes to the plain gold band on my own ring finger and slowly, deliberately, folded down my thumb. I said nothing. Someone tried to smooth things over. “Come on, Misty, you’re always over at Lena’s place. You two are like sisters. Give us some real secrets!” Misty laughed. “Of course! Lena and I are thick as thieves. I even made her a special turtle soup once! Bet none of you have done that!” A friend immediately jeered. “No way! You, a tomboy, know how to cook?” She lifted her chin smugly. “Tossing a few things in a pot isn’t rocket science. It’s nothing compared to the hard work a man does out in the world.” My mind, rusted and slow, began to turn. After a long moment, my lips parted. “What turtle soup?” I had never had any soup made by Misty. The friends nudged her, teasing. “Aha! You’re cheating just to win!” Misty’s eyes narrowed into a grin. Her voice dropped, but every word was crystal clear. “It was when Lena was three months pregnant with her first. I was just learning to cook, so I made her a special tonic. A wild pheasant and turtle soup.” The moment she spoke, the phantom scent of something thick and cloying filled my nostrils. A sticky, medicinal odor mixed with the metallic tang of blood, piercing the deepest part of my memory. I remembered my first pregnancy. Ryan had brought me a bowl of murky, black liquid, telling me it was good for my health. I’d spooned up a small, hard piece, like a fragment of a shell. Before I could ask what it was, Ryan had snatched it and thrown it in the trash. He held the spoon to my lips. “Misty made this especially for you. Don’t be picky.” I had touched my slightly swelling belly and obediently opened my mouth, finishing the entire bowl. Not a drop was left. That night, a dull ache started in my abdomen. By the time I realized what was happening, blood had soaked through the bedsheets. In the emergency room, the doctor shook his head. He said I’d consumed too many “cooling” foods. The baby was gone. The moment I was off the operating table, my mother-in-law’s hand cracked across my face. She called me a gluttonous, stupid pig who couldn’t even protect her own child. But from the day I found out I was pregnant, I checked the ingredients of every cookie I ate. How could I have been so careless? When I got home from the hospital, I searched the house like a madwoman. I tasted sauces, spices, freezer-burned meat from the back of the fridge, even the water in the toilet tank. I swallowed everything. If I threw it up, I forced it back down. Everyone said I had lost my mind. But I just needed to know. I needed to know what I had eaten that had turned my developing child into a piece of dead flesh. I lifted my eyes and stared at Misty’s triumphant face. And now, I finally understood. It was never about what I ate. It was about who I trusted. 2 Slowly, I raised my hand and folded down a second finger. Misty saw my movement and choked on her drink, then nudged Ryan with her elbow. “Look! Lena’s reacting! You can thank me later!” Ryan just smiled and ruffled her hair, his voice dripping with indulgence. “Go easy on the drinks. You’re always the one with the crazy ideas.” He turned his head slightly, and his voice drifted over, quiet but clear. “If you can actually snap her back to her old self, I’ll owe you one.” My own voice was as flat and cold as a frozen lake. “Continue.” Misty let out a drunken hiccup, her eyes glazed over, her smile widening into a manic grin. “Okay, one time, I swapped out Ryan’s vitamin pills with Viagra!” The booth exploded. “Holy shit, Misty! You’re savage!” “What kind of move is that?!” Ryan froze for a second, then gave a weary smile and tapped her forehead with his finger. “When was this? How do I not remember this?” Misty playfully punched his shoulder, slumping into his arms. “It was at the villa party three years ago! You were complaining to me, remember? You said Lena was pregnant and you were going crazy. I was just trying to help you out!” She winked, her voice rising. “Don’t thank me too much for creating an opportunity for you!” Ryan’s head snapped up. His eyes met mine, and the smile on his face froze. “You’re drunk! Stop talking nonsense!” I lowered my head, my hand instinctively pressing against my lower stomach. The memories flooded back like a hemorrhage, thick and suffocating. Three years ago, in early autumn, I was pregnant with our second child. Overjoyed at this second chance, I agreed when Ryan wanted to throw a party at a rented villa. That day, balloons hanging from the ceiling popped, showering me in a cascade of pink petals. It was a girl. I cried with joy, a joy that was immediately followed by a wave of intense fear. I had learned my lesson. This time, I barely left my bed. I was meticulous about what I ate. I spent my nights online, ordering every adorable baby item I could find, dreaming of my daughter in her tiny dresses. Then Ryan had burst into the room. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged, his skin burning hot. I fought him, screaming, begging him to stop. “My daughter! There’s a baby inside me!” In the chaos and the tearing pain, I thought I heard a tiny, faint cry, as if my daughter was saying goodbye. I was rushed to the hospital again. D&C, induced labor. The feeling of that small life being scraped from my womb. When I woke up, Ryan was sitting by my bed, peeling an apple. “Thank God it was just a girl,” he said. “Don’t worry. The doctor said there was no permanent damage. You can still have more.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I snatched the fruit knife from his hand and lunged, stabbing him with all my strength. Once, twice… I lost count, my arm moving mechanically until someone finally pulled me off him. My mother-in-law’s slap came immediately after, so hard it perforated my eardrum. “It’s a wife’s duty to relieve her husband!” she shrieked. “You can always have another baby! What if my son’s health was at risk?! It’s better than him going out and finding another woman!” Everyone crowded around, telling me to let it go. I couldn’t. All I could think about were the shipping notifications for all the baby things I had ordered. They were useless now. I was useless. I couldn’t even protect my own child. Did my daughter think I was too weak to be her mother? Is that why she left me? But she was kind. She forgave me. A few weeks later, she came back to me, a third miracle inside my womb. This time, I took no chances. I had myself committed to a psychiatric ward, demanding to be placed in a fully padded, isolated room. It was stark white and terrifyingly quiet. But I wasn’t afraid. I could feel her moving inside me. I knew she was still there, keeping me company. On the day she was born, I was delirious, unable to tell sunrise from sunset. Just before I lost consciousness completely, I heard her loud, healthy cry. I wept. All the pent-up anguish, all the terror, came pouring out. I named her Grace. Not because she was a gift from heaven. But because she was a gift from my kind daughter, to her useless, despairing mother. The greatest grace I would ever know. “Wow! Lena’s smiling! She’s actually smiling!” Misty’s shrill voice yanked me from my memories. I subconsciously touched the corner of my mouth. It was true. It was turned upward. Just the thought of Grace could always soothe my fractured soul. Ryan let out a visible sigh of relief, his body sinking into the sofa cushions. Misty clapped her hands in excitement. “You’re definitely going to lose, Lena! The best is yet to come!” 3 Obediently, I folded down my third finger. Misty started to speak again, but Ryan covered her mouth. “She’s had too much to drink. I’m taking her home.” The others eyed my expression and offered weak, placating smiles. But Misty wouldn’t have it. She pried his hand away and yelled, “Nobody’s leaving! I’m not done yet!” She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “We’re all here for Lena today! Haven’t you noticed she hasn’t moved an inch? I’d like to see who dares to be rude enough to leave!” Ryan turned to me, his brow furrowed, his tone laced with blame. “Haven’t you had enough fun yet? Lena, how long do you expect everyone to coddle you?” I clutched my handbag tighter and lifted my head, truly looking at him for the first time all night. “It’s not enough.” Misty triumphantly pinched Ryan’s behind. “See? Now sit down!” Ryan playfully tapped her nose, but his voice softened. “If she’s in a bad mood, just let her be. You’re too soft-hearted, always getting involved.” Misty pouted. “Women are sensitive creatures, you know.” The others looked around awkwardly, saying nothing. Misty deliberately lowered her voice and dropped her next bomb. “Okay, next one! I’ve worn a horror mask while driving on the freeway!” Ryan’s face changed instantly. He instinctively shifted to shield Misty, his eyes darting toward me warily. “She was just playing around that time! It was an accident that she scared Grace.” “And Grace was fine afterward, wasn’t she? Don’t you dare make a big deal out of it again!” Grace… was fine? The memory clawed its way to the surface. Our family was on a road trip with some of Ryan’s friends. In the back seat, Grace was quietly drawing with her crayons. She never cried, never fussed. It was as if she understood my fragile state and never wanted to cause me trouble. Even when she had a fever and threw up, the first words out of her mouth were “I’m sorry.” My Grace was a shy, gentle soul, kind to her very core. I smiled and asked her what she was drawing. She whispered that it was a secret, shyly turning her face to the window. Suddenly, all the color drained from her face. She let out the most bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard. I whipped my head around. In the passenger seat of the car driving parallel to us, a monstrous, grotesque face was pressed against the window, grinning at us. Ryan jerked the steering wheel. The car spun out of control, crashing into the guardrail. The world turned upside down. My head was bleeding, but I fought through the pain, stretching my hand desperately toward the back seat. My Grace, my tiny daughter, was crushed by the mangled seats, contorted into a small ball, looking so much like the embryo she once was in my womb. Her coloring book had fallen into a pool of her blood. On the page, drawn with clumsy, earnest crayon strokes, was the smiling face of a woman. Next to it, she had scrawled, “Mommy.” She was only three years old. And she already knew how to draw her mommy. I smiled, but tears streamed down my face, a sound like a broken accordion wheezing from my throat. The drawing was eventually soaked through with blood and fell apart. And from that day on, my Grace never spoke again. She would hide in her closet, and the slightest sound would make her tremble violently. The doctor who had saved me from the brink so many times just looked at me with deep sorrow and finally said, “As long as she’s alive, that’s what matters.” I never heard my daughter call me “Mommy” again. It was my punishment. A punishment for my stupidity, for never understanding what I had done so wrong that my own daughter couldn’t bear to be near me. My fingernails dug into my palm, and blood trickled through my fingers. Misty’s laughter was a sharp, grating sound. She was snuggled into Ryan’s arms, poking his chest with her finger. “Come on, Ry-Ry, so I gave you all a little scare. Nobody got hurt in the end, right?” “Besides,” she added, “to make it up to her, I even took Grace to a haunted house to help her get over her fears!” 4 I looked at my hand. Only my little finger was left standing. On the back of that finger, I had a tattoo of a little sun Grace had drawn. People say getting a tattoo on your finger is the most painful. That’s not pain. Pain is watching your daughter leap from the roof of a hospital. That is a pain that guts you. The fear, the despair she must have felt. One day, Grace had disappeared. I had searched the entire city like a madwoman. When I finally dragged myself back to the hospital, defeated, I saw her. She was standing between Ryan and Misty, holding both of their hands. The three of them looked like a perfect family. I noticed how pale Grace’s face was. I rushed over and pulled her into a tight hug, terrified I was about to lose her all over again. Misty bent down and stroked Grace’s hair, smiling. “Lena, Grace is talking to you. See? My treatment plan worked.” I numbly touched my deafened right ear, blaming myself for not hearing. Just then, Grace leaned in close to my left ear. I heard a tiny, fragile whisper. “Mommy, I love you.” I looked up at Ryan, my face flooded with astonished joy. He told me Misty had taken her to an amusement park. He said that after their day out, she had started talking again. In that moment, an overwhelming wave of gratitude washed over me. I treated Misty like a sister, even buying her a multi-million-dollar penthouse downtown as a gift. I thought it was a new beginning for Grace. I started the paperwork to have her discharged from the hospital. The day before she was supposed to come home, Grace disappeared again. I was frantic. Then I got a call from the hospital. They said a young girl had fallen from the roof early that morning. They couldn’t save her. I screamed into the phone, demanding to know why they were calling me. They said the girl’s name was Grace. The girl who fell, the girl who died, was my daughter. My daughter. The doctor said extreme terror had caused a complete psychotic break, triggering hallucinations. I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. I collapsed to my knees, banging my head on the floor, repenting. I had been too greedy. The doctor had told me, “As long as she’s alive, that’s what matters.” But I had dared to hope she would call me “Mommy” again. And that single word, “Mommy,” was the last thing my daughter ever gave me. She was gone. I sat up straight and silently folded down my last finger. “Yay! Lena loses! Drink up, drink up!” Misty excitedly pushed a glass of hard liquor in front of me. I ignored it. I stood up and placed the handbag I had been gripping so tightly onto the table. I smiled as I pulled out a revolver. “Now, I’d like to play a different game.” The room fell dead silent. I closed one eye, the barrel of the gun held steady, aimed directly at Misty’s now ashen face. Ryan shot to his feet, his voice cracking with terror. “Lena! Are you insane?! Put the gun down!” I waved the gun slightly, my eyes empty of any warmth. “This was meant for me.” “But now I see it’s much better suited for a game.” The barrel shifted slightly, now pointing right between Ryan’s eyes. “Or perhaps…” I whispered, my voice a silken threat. “You’d like to play?” He froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. He stopped breathing. My voice was a mere breath. “Choose. Him, or you?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384570”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Before my husband, Joe, left for a business trip, he bought me a parrot. It was an early anniversary gift, he said, to make up for not being with me. The first day I had it, the parrot learned to say, “I love you.” The second day, it learned to say, “I love you, Joe.” By the end of the week, it could say the name of every single person in our lives. Except for mine. Then, late one night, the parrot started squawking frantically, over and over again. “Joe loves Clara.” I immediately dialed my husband’s number. “Who is Clara?” There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a manufactured yawn. “Probably the name of its old owner. Why? What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I said, smiling into the phone before hanging up. Then I called the owner of the bird shop and placed an order for one hundred African Grey parrots, all trained to talk. The delivery address was Joe’s office. … The parrots arrived before I did. By the time I got there, the lobby of Hawthorne Industries was already swarming with employees. A slow, meaningful smile spread across my face. I clapped my hands lightly. At the sound, the crowd turned in unison. “This year’s anniversary gift is a parrot,” I announced, my voice carrying across the lobby. “The Executive Assistants can get theirs first. Don’t worry if you don’t get one now, another shipment is on its way.” Compared to the usual boring gift baskets, who wouldn’t want a talking African Grey parrot that cost thousands of dollars? A cheer went up, and a line quickly formed at the reception desk. The young woman at the front desk spotted the parrot perched on my shoulder, her eyes lighting up. “Mrs. Hawthorne, is that your parrot? He’s beautiful!” I smiled and nodded. “He is. Joe gave him to me. He even talks. Want to hear?” The receptionist nodded eagerly, her face alight with anticipation. I snapped my fingers near the parrot’s head. “Joe loves Clara,” it squawked. “Clara loves Joe.” Instantly, the hundred other parrots in the lobby erupted in a cacophony of mimicked chatter. It took a full ten minutes for the noise to die down. I feigned annoyance and flicked the parrot’s head with my finger. The receptionist had been here for years; she was an expert at reading people and understanding office politics. It only took her a second to catch my meaning. She played her part perfectly. “What a coincidence,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry. “The new assistant in the EA pool is named Clara, too.” At her words, the group of assistants instinctively parted, revealing a pale-faced young woman standing in their midst. The moment Clara appeared, the parrot on my shoulder took flight, landing on hers and nuzzling affectionately against her cheek, chirping, “Miss Clara, miss Clara.” I didn’t need to ask any more questions. This was her. The sharp click-clack of my heels on the marble floor seemed to echo the pounding in Clara’s chest. I stopped in front of her. “My husband gave me this bird. Since it seems to like you so much, you can have it.” Before the woman could refuse, Joe’s voice cut through the tension. He had just arrived. “That was a gift for you, Nina. Why would a temp assistant who hasn’t even passed her probation be worthy of it?” Joe wrapped his arm around my waist, and I leaned into his embrace. To any outsider, we were the picture of a loving, powerful couple. But we both knew the truth. We both knew the affection was a lie. I shot a contemptuous glance at Clara, who looked like she was about to burst into tears, her lips white and trembling. I tapped Joe’s chest playfully, my voice a soft reprimand. “Darling, don’t be so harsh. You’re scaring the poor girl.” I turned back to Clara. “The parrot is mine to give. I say it’s yours, so it’s yours.” Joe sighed, as if exasperated by my willfulness, but then he leaned in and placed a tender, proprietary kiss on the corner of my mouth. When he looked up at Clara, however, his eyes were chips of ice. “Since my wife insists, you will accept it. But remember, this is a one-time thing.” Clara looked utterly bewildered. Last night, this man had held her in his arms, whispering sweet nothings. Now, he was a cold stranger. A flash of pure hatred crossed her face as she looked at me. She snatched the parrot from her shoulder and, with a choked sob, slammed it onto the marble floor before turning and running away. The color drained from Joe’s face. He took an instinctive step to follow her, but I grabbed his arm, my grip like steel. “Honey,” I said, my voice sweet, “the parrot is dead.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, forcing his tone to remain calm. “Sweetheart, I have a video conference I’m late for. After my meeting, I’ll take you out myself and we can pick out any gift you want.” But he could see Clara’s retreating figure about to disappear. He dropped the act, yanked his arm from my grasp, and chased after her. I watched them go, my expression unreadable. Then I turned to the receptionist, who was looking at me with a mixture of sympathy and awe. “How would you like a raise?” “So, you’re telling me Clara is a single mother with a five-year-old son?” The young receptionist, Maya, gulped down her bubble tea. “Yes! My best friend is in HR. She told me Clara has a son, but she’s never been married. One time, Clara let it slip that the boy’s father is the CEO of a publicly traded company.” I stirred my coffee, lost in thought. A few weeks ago, I would have never connected this to Joe. We had been through so much together. We started our company right out of college. It sounds simple, but with no family support and no experience, we were drowning. We were constantly exhausted, perpetually broke. We’d shared a single packet of instant noodles for dinner, huddled for warmth under a bridge. Finding vegetables that vendors had thrown out at the market felt like winning the lottery. “Mrs. Hawthorne?” Maya waved a hand in front of my face. I took a sip of my coffee. “Do you know where Clara lives?” The address was familiar. The neighborhood was familiar. Of course it was. It was the modern glass villa I had bought five years ago. At the time, Joe had complained it was too big, too sterile, that it didn’t feel like a home. So, despite how much I loved it, I had given it up, and we had moved into the cozy three-story townhouse he preferred. Now I knew why. He didn’t dislike the villa. He just wanted it for Clara. A bitter laugh escaped me. Joe Hawthorne, what a brilliant schemer. Using my money to house his mistress and his bastard child. A small soccer ball rolled to a stop at my feet. “Ma’am, can you get my ball for me?” I looked up and saw a small boy with a face that was a miniature version of Joe’s. I had prepared myself for this, but seeing him, a wave of raw anger and a sharp, unexpected pang of heartbreak washed over me. The sting of my own nails digging into my palm brought me back to my senses. I forced a gentle smile. “Here you go.” For the next few weeks, I became a ghost. Even Joe started to complain. He wrapped his arms around me from behind one evening, his chin resting on my shoulder. His warm breath on my neck made my skin crawl. “Mr. Hawthorne, about the dinner tonight—” Clara’s voice trailed off as she entered the office and saw me. Her eyes widened in panic, and she instinctively tried to hide her hands behind her back. “That’s a lovely bracelet, Clara,” I said conversationally. “You have excellent taste. Is that a piece from ‘Solitaire’?” “Their jewelry is known for being one-of-a-kind.” I paused, letting my words hang in the air. “It’s funny, it looks quite similar to a custom piece I ordered from them recently.” The double meaning was not lost on anyone in the room. I saw the same flicker of panic on both of their faces and smiled with satisfaction. “Of course,” I added lightly, “my eyes could be deceiving me.” Joe visibly relaxed. I sidestepped his attempt to take my hand. It was time for my performance. A single, perfect tear rolled down my cheek. “Joe, she killed my parrot,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why is she still here? Why haven’t you fired her?” Clara looked horrified, her eyes welling up as she clutched at Joe’s sleeve. He patted her hand reassuringly. “Honey, Clara told me what happened. It wasn’t intentional. She’s allergic to feathers, and she just had a bad reaction.” “Besides,” he continued, “she’s a great employee, and she’s a single mother. You’re such a kind person, Nina. I know you wouldn’t have the heart to fire her, would you?” I looked at him, my face a mask of grievance and injustice. “But I’m not the one who made her a single mother.” I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re so protective of her. What are you, the baby’s daddy?” “Nina, what the hell are you talking about?!” he exploded. I flinched as if struck, my eyes wide with shock. After a long moment, I choked out, “It was just a joke! Why are you so angry?” His darkest secret had been touched, and he lashed out. “You’re being completely irrational!” he snapped. “I’m not coming home for a while. You can stay here and think about what you’ve done.” With that, he walked around me, grabbed his coat, and led Clara out of the office. As they left, Clara shot me a triumphant smirk over her shoulder. The door slammed shut. The mask of the wronged wife fell away, replaced by the cold, imperious glare of a queen.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384569”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was out to dinner with a friend when I saw them: a young couple, obviously head-over-heels in love. As the man meticulously peeled a shrimp for his girlfriend, I couldn’t help but sigh. “I wish my husband still did that for me.” Then he turned his head. Holy crap… it was my husband. It was rare for me to get a night out, a chance to just catch up with my friend, Catherine. The moment we walked into the restaurant, we were hit with a blast of sickeningly sweet affection from a couple at a nearby table. The man was patiently placing food on the woman’s plate, his every move radiating adoration. They were in that blissful, early stage of love. I remembered when my husband, Devin, and I were like that, completely inseparable. But time had worn away the edges of his affection, leaving something dull and routine. If only he could still be this attentive, this caring. I found myself staring, lost in a haze of nostalgia. Then the man turned to the side to throw something away, and I saw his profile. My world stopped. It… it was actually him. My husband. I stood frozen for a beat, then grabbed Catherine’s arm and practically dragged her out of the restaurant. “Lily, what the hell?” Catherine asked, completely bewildered. “We haven’t even eaten yet. What are you doing?” “Nothing, it’s nothing,” I stammered, pulling her toward the street. “I just remembered I left the stove on at home. I’m so sorry, Catherine, we’ll do this another time, I promise.” I cobbled together an excuse and rushed home, throwing myself onto my bed and burying my face in the pillows. The tears I’d been holding back finally came, hot and bitter. Why? Why? Devin and I had been married for three years. His mother was in poor health, and to ensure his career wasn’t affected, I had quit my job to become her full-time caretaker. When she first got sick, we didn’t have enough for her medical bills, so I sold the jewelry and cashed out the stocks my parents had given me as a wedding gift. I met Devin at work. He was the star of the company—handsome, charming, and brilliant. I was… average. But from the moment I saw him, I was completely smitten, utterly hooked. I started pursuing him relentlessly. He turned me down at first. But then he found out that I was the daughter of the company’s main investor, that my job was just a way for me to “experience real life.” Suddenly, he was interested. I was so naive. I thought my sincerity had won him over. My friends all warned me to be careful, but I was too far gone to listen. During our relationship, he was perfect. He showered me with attention and cared for my every need. The little crush I had blossomed into a deep, unwavering devotion. After six months, he proposed. I married him against my parents’ wishes. They saw something in him I refused to, but they couldn’t stop me. They gave in, gifting me a luxury car and a million dollars. Devin couldn’t stop smiling. Not long after the wedding, he told me his mother was sick and needed expensive treatments. His savings weren’t enough. He hoped I could help. Of course, I said yes. It was my duty to help my husband’s family. I gave him every last cent without a second thought. Her condition stabilized, but she needed round-the-clock care. Devin said his career was at a critical stage, and he didn’t trust a hired nurse. He asked if I would stay home and look after her. High on love and a desire to please him, I agreed. I had been her caretaker for three years. I, who had been pampered my whole life, who had never so much as washed a dish, learned to cook, clean, and care for a difficult, thankless patient. All for the sake of a love I thought was real. And this was my reward. Him, out wining and dining another woman. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. If I didn’t ruin him, I’d be disrespecting my own sacrifice. “Lily! What are you doing in there? Why is the door locked?” Devin’s mother started pounding on the bedroom door. I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and opened it. “I thought you were going out to eat with your friend. What happened? Did you come to your senses? Good. I’ve told you, you shouldn’t eat out so much. It’s not clean. Nothing is better than a home-cooked meal.” The old woman droned on and on. It wasn’t about hygiene; it was about control. She couldn’t stand the thought of me enjoying myself. To keep up appearances, Devin had never told her that her medical bills and all our household expenses were paid for with my money. She still thought her son was a brilliant provider, and I was just a housewife who did nothing but spend his hard-earned cash. “Yes, you’re right,” I said, my smile not reaching my eyes. “The food out there is so unsanitary. That’s why I came back. What would you like for dinner? I can go buy groceries.” “I saw a video of someone eating salmon and lobster. That looked good. Let’s have that.” She even pulled up the video on her phone to show me. A young woman was feasting on a massive seafood platter, moaning with pleasure. “Mom,” I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness. “You know, it’s possible I can’t afford that. Your son hasn’t given me any money for groceries. How about we stick to vegetables? They’re green, healthy, and full of nutrients!” She was stunned into silence. Normally, I bought whatever she wanted, no matter the cost. It didn’t matter; my parents were wealthy. But things were different now. Her son had just planted a forest on my head. If he wasn’t going to give me money, she wasn’t going to eat. “How is that possible? Devin makes so much money! Did you spend it all on yourself?” “If you don’t believe me, I can call him and ask. Let’s see how long it takes him to send the money over.” I dialed Devin’s number and put it on speaker. His impatient voice filled the room. “What is it? I told you not to call me unless it’s an emergency. I’m busy.” “Your mother wants seafood for dinner, but I don’t have any money. Can you send some over?” “Didn’t your parents just give you money? Isn’t that enough? We agreed, remember? My salary is for the down payment on the new house.” “Well, I wouldn’t be asking you if I had a choice. My dad’s company is having some cash flow issues, so he’s cut me off for a bit. It’s up to you. But if you don’t send anything, your mother and I will just have to go hungry.” I hung up. The old woman standing next to me was speechless, a look of pure disbelief on her face. The reality that her entire lifestyle was funded by me must have been a bitter pill to swallow. Without another word, she shuffled back to her room, her pride wounded. A moment later, I heard her screaming into her phone. “Devin! You get money into my account right now! Are you trying to starve your own mother?” She was a profoundly selfish woman. She didn’t even care about her own son’s financial strain. As long as she thought I was spending his money, she was happy to bleed him dry. Now that she knew the truth, her only concern was her wounded pride. She chewed him out and then demanded he deposit half his salary into her account every month from now on. Devin was all ego. His grand plan of buying a big house with his own money was nothing but a lie to placate me. His money, I realized, was likely being spent on that other woman. That night, Devin, who was supposed to be on a business trip, came home. “Lily, I know I’ve been neglecting you with work lately. I’m sorry. I brought you a gift.” He took my hand and placed a small box in it. Inside was a simple silver bracelet. A cheap trinket. I feigned delight, putting it on and admiring it for a long time. The old me would have been thrilled with any gift from him. But now, knowing about his affair, everything he did felt disgusting. “Lily, I have to save for the house right now,” he began, his voice smooth and earnest. “I want to give you a better life, so your father can’t look down on me. For now, we’ll still have to rely on your family for our expenses…” So that was it. The gift, the apology—it was all a setup. My father had always looked down on him. I never understood why he had such a strong prejudice against Devin. Now I knew. My father, a man who had seen everything, had probably read him like a book from day one. I was the foolish, disobedient daughter who had refused to listen. Well, my head was clear now. I wouldn’t disappoint my father any longer. “Of course, honey,” I cooed. “But I have one small request. No matter how busy you are, you have to come home more often. We can’t have some vixen outside snatching you away.” I whispered the words into his ear, putting extra venom on the word “vixen.” His face tensed for a second before he forced a smile. Later that night, after he’d fallen asleep, I took his phone. The password had been changed. I hadn’t checked his phone in so long, I had no idea when. Thankfully, he was a heavy sleeper. I used his thumb to unlock it. I opened his messaging apps. He hadn’t deleted the chat history. The other woman’s name was Jenna. He called her “My Jen.” I fought back a wave of nausea and opened their conversation. It was filled with explicit messages and a long history of money transfers, big and small. They had been in contact since before Devin and I even got married. It was as if I was the other woman. Every word was a needle stabbing at my heart. Devin had only agreed to date me for my money. His mother was sick, and he was desperate. I was just a rich fool who had delivered herself to his doorstep. He had played me, married me, and used my money to solve his problems, all while carrying on with his real love. What a brilliant plan. I opened Jenna’s social media feed. The first post was a picture of a new gold bracelet. The receipt was included in the photo. Of course. My cheap silver bracelet was just the free gift that came with her expensive gold one. She loved to post. Every gift from Devin was put on display. I scrolled past the nauseating posts, looking for something useful. And then I found it. In the background of one of her selfies, I recognized a familiar office building. It belonged to a company my father was an investor in, run by a close family friend. My Uncle David. So, that’s where she worked. I put the phone back and smiled. It was time for me to go back to work and “experience real life” again. The next morning, I was out the door before his mother could protest. “Mom, your son has a hard time making ends meet, and my parents have cut me off. If you want to maintain your quality of life, I have to go back to work. Toodles!” I called Uncle David, and he set me up with an easy, low-stress position where I could coast. The moment I walked into the office, I ran right into her. I recognized her instantly. She looked just as plain in real life as she did in her filtered photos. I acted like I didn’t know her, but she definitely knew me. Her face was a mask of disbelief. She couldn’t fathom why I was here. I ignored her, introduced myself to the team, and sat down at my desk, which I had specifically requested be next to hers. I spent the morning just watching her. “Why do you keep staring at me? Don’t you have your own work to do?” she finally snapped. “I’m new,” I said with a sweet smile. “I have to learn, don’t I?” She fell silent, but I could see the guilt in her eyes. Just then, the CEO’s secretary called me over. “Mr. Davies wants to see you.” “Lily, my dear! What wind blew you all the way over here?” Uncle David joked as I entered his office. “I just wanted to help you out, Uncle David,” I replied innocently. “Right. Just try not to cause too much trouble,” he laughed. “Now, what are you really up to?” “Nothing much. Just bored. But I do have a favor to ask. Please don’t tell anyone here about our relationship. And whatever you do… don’t tell my dad I’m here.” “Alright, you little troublemaker. Still full of schemes.” Uncle David and my father were best friends. He’d always wanted a daughter, so he’d spoiled me like his own my entire life. For the next few weeks, I made a point of showing up late every day and doing as little work as possible. I spent most of my time drinking tea in Uncle David’s office. The office rumor mill went into overdrive. Everyone was whispering that I was the boss’s mistress. Jenna, of course, reported all of this to Devin. He started coming home more often. I snuck a look at their chats again. She was painting me as a shameless adulteress, urging him to divorce me immediately. But Devin kept avoiding the subject. I knew why. If he divorced me, his free nanny and personal ATM would be gone. His mother would become his financial burden. “Lily, I heard you’ve been getting close to your boss,” he said one evening as I was putting on my makeup. “Oh? Who told you that? I didn’t know you knew anyone at my company.” “An old classmate of mine works there,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Really? What’s their name? They don’t seem like a very nice person. My boss and I were just discussing work. Why would they twist it into something so ugly?” “You misunderstood. My classmate was just trying to praise you, saying you must be very capable to get the boss’s attention.” “Is that so? Well, who is this classmate? I should thank them for the compliment.” I put down my powder puff and smiled at him. “Ah… we don’t really keep in touch. We just ran into each other. You know what, maybe you should just quit. It’s not like you need the money.” He was trying to change the subject. Fine. I wasn’t ready to expose them yet anyway. The time wasn’t right. “I don’t need the money, but I was bored out of my mind at home. Work is a vacation compared to taking care of your mother.” I applied my lipstick, admiring my reflection. “Maybe you should quit. You can stay home and look after her. I don’t mind being the breadwinner.” “Lily, you’ve changed! You were never like this before!” he said, his voice rising in frustration. He looked like a clown when he was angry. “I haven’t changed at all,” I said coolly. “The one who changed was always you, wasn’t it?” He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. I ignored him, finished getting ready, and left for work.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384568”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I was softly reading a bedtime story to Mr. Hayes’s autistic daughter when his long-lost love burst through the door. Her eyes darted between the two of us, and then she strode forward. Just as I thought she was going to embrace her child, she swung her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “You shameless bitch,” she hissed. “I’m gone for a few years, and you slide right in, sleeping with my husband, stealing my daughter.” “You think because you look a little like me, you can be my replacement? Steal everything that’s mine?” I cupped my stinging cheek, utterly bewildered. A replacement? Me? Wasn’t I just the occupational therapist Mr. Hayes had hired to care for his autistic daughter? … The sharp crack of the slap terrified little Pearl. On the verge of sleep, she let out a piercing wail. My professional instincts took over. I ignored the raving woman in front of me and immediately gathered Pearl into my arms, murmuring soothing words. Pearl had been diagnosed with autism at birth. She formed no attachments, showed no interest in anyone. The only time she seemed to find any comfort was in my arms. It was why her father, Mr. Hayes, paid me a generous salary to be her full-time therapist and caregiver. Under my gentle coaxing, Pearl’s cries gradually subsided. But the woman, ignored and enraged, lunged forward, trying to rip Pearl from my arms. “I carried you for nine months! You’re my daughter! How could you attach yourself to a cheap substitute? I’m your mother!” She was hysterical, almost feral. Autistic children are far more sensitive to emotional turmoil than others, and Pearl, who had just calmed down, began to spiral again. That’s when my patience ran out. Even if this woman was Pearl’s biological mother, Mr. Hayes’s infamous “one that got away,” I couldn’t tolerate this. I shielded Pearl from her grasp and pressed the emergency call button in the room. Within moments, the butler and Mr. Hayes himself rushed in. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice firm and loud, “this woman is trying to harm Pearl.” Instinctively paternal, Elias Hayes rushed to his daughter’s side, placing himself between us and the intruder. But when he saw the woman’s face, his eyes instantly reddened. His voice was a raw, choked whisper. “Seraphina… you’re finally back.” His hands trembling, Elias took Pearl from me and held her out to the woman, Seraphina, wanting her to hold their child. But Seraphina didn’t move. She turned her head away, her face a mask of wounded pride. “I don’t have a daughter who would betray me like this.” Then she rounded on him. “And you! You told me you would love me and only me for the rest of your life!” “I’ve only been gone for six years… and you’ve already replaced me with another woman. One who looks just like me!” Elias looked uncertainly from Seraphina to me, then back again. I couldn’t see the resemblance, other than the fact that we both had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. “You’re still looking at her!” Seraphina shrieked. “If you’re choosing her right in front of my face, then I’m leaving!” With that, she burst into tears and ran for the door. Elias panicked. He shoved Pearl back into my arms and chased after her. I could hear his desperate explanations from the hallway. “Seraphina, darling, wait! Kristin is just a nanny I hired to take care of our daughter.” “She’s not a replacement, I swear. Now that you’re back, we can be a family again. Please?” “Darling…” Half an hour later, Elias led Seraphina back into the room. She shot me a triumphant smirk. “You’re fired.” Before I could say a word, Elias jumped in. “Honey, I just explained this to you! Our daughter can’t be without her.” Seraphina’s face crumpled, the tears returning instantly. “Elias, I don’t blame you. It was my fault. I was selfish to leave you and the baby to go abroad. I don’t blame you for finding a substitute.” “But I’m back now,” she sobbed. “Our daughter needs me. And so do you…” Elias hesitated. He knew Pearl needed me, but he couldn’t bear to lose Seraphina again. He looked at me, his expression torn. “Kristin, why don’t you take the rest of the night off? Go home.” I pointed to my still-red cheek. “Your wife slapped me. That counts as a workplace injury.” Elias tapped a few things on his phone. A notification popped up on mine. He had just transferred the deed to a luxury apartment in the city center into my name. My attitude changed instantly. I handed Pearl back to him and bowed respectfully. “As you wish, sir.” As I left, Seraphina stood with her hands on her hips, puffed up like a victorious rooster. I was too busy dreaming of my new apartment to care. Besides, I hadn’t had a proper rest since I’d started working with Pearl. That night, deep in a dreamless sleep, my phone rang. 2 I groggily assumed it was Mr. Hayes, but when I squinted at the screen, I saw it was my best friend, Amelia. The moment I answered, a tirade of curses assaulted my ear. “Elias Hayes’s wife is a certifiable lunatic!” she yelled. “She calls me in the middle of the night, says Pearl is having an episode and you’re not available, so I have to go over. The second I walk in, she starts bawling about how Elias didn’t just find one replacement for her, but two!” “I go to their house maybe twice a year, and always with you! How the hell did I become a substitute mistress trying to seduce her husband?” “And we look nothing alike! I asked her why she thought I was a substitute, and you know what she said? She said our names both have ‘ia’ at the end! Seraphina, Amelia… I…” I held the phone away from my ear as she unleashed a string of creative insults. Amelia was a leading expert in autism spectrum disorders. She was the one who had recommended me to Elias in the first place. But unlike me, who came from a humble background, Amelia was an heiress from a family even wealthier than the Hayes. “Did she forget I was at her wedding?” Amelia continued, her voice still raised. “She seemed normal enough then. What happened?” “Anyway, I told that crazy bitch where to stick it and left. I just feel so bad for Pearl… When I left, she was just staring into space again. She had made so much progress with you…” Amelia sighed, then her voice grew serious. “Listen, Kristin. The rumor was always that Seraphina left because she couldn’t handle having an autistic child. Elias is going to call you again. But don’t be a pushover. You get involved with crazy like that, you’ll never get out.” Sure enough, half an hour later, my phone rang again. It was Elias. His voice was frayed with exhaustion. “Kristin, I’ll double your salary. Please, come back now. Pearl won’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do.” Ten thousand a month, doubled to twenty. I gritted my teeth, threw on a coat, and rushed out the door. When I arrived at the Hayes mansion, however, I didn’t hear any crying. Instead, I heard Seraphina’s sugary voice. “See, darling? I told you. I’m her mother. Of course she needs me most…” Then she saw me standing in the doorway. Her voice sharpened. “What are you doing here again?” “I knew it! You haven’t given up! You’re still after my husband! But I’m telling you, the original is back, and there’s no room for a cheap copy in this house!” It was three in the morning, and the house was lit up like it was daytime. The entire household staff was lined up in the foyer, bleary-eyed and resentful. After Seraphina’s latest outburst, their expressions of weary contempt were impossible to hide. She saw it. She pointed a trembling finger at the butler. “You! You think she’s going to replace me, don’t you? That’s why you’re sucking up to her!” “You probably told her she was the first woman Elias ever brought home, didn’t you? Playing matchmaker for them!” The butler looked mortified. Everyone knew Elias had a wife and an autistic daughter. Countless female therapists and specialists had been in and out of this house. “First woman”? It was absurd. Seraphina, getting no reaction, turned her wrath on the head housekeeper. “And you! I bet you told them how you’ve never seen Mr. Hayes smile so much, didn’t you?” The housekeeper looked equally baffled. The Hayes Corporation was doing well, and Pearl’s condition had been improving. Of course Elias was smiling more often. The staff were trapped, but I wasn’t. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice cold. “If you called me here in the middle of the night to watch this circus, then I’m afraid I’m leaving.” Elias rubbed his temples, looking utterly drained. “When I called you, Pearl was having a terrible meltdown. But… Seraphina managed to calm her down. She’s asleep now.” “I’m sorry for dragging you out here tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you three… no, five times your overtime rate.” Seraphina clung to his arm, looking at me with a possessive glare, as if to say, you’ll never be me. But when she heard about the five-fold overtime pay, she lost it again. “Elias! That’s our money! I don’t approve—” I wasn’t listening. All I could hear was that Seraphina had calmed her down, and she was asleep. Pearl had always struggled with sleep. It was impossible for her to fall asleep in just a few minutes. I shoved past them and ran to Pearl’s room. I gently shook her. “Pearl, wake up. Wake up.” The child was completely unresponsive. Seraphina followed me in, her voice dripping with scorn. “I know this is hard for you, Kristin. You thought you could use my daughter to manipulate my husband. But as you can see, a mother’s bond is stronger…” I shot up from the bed, grabbed her by the wrist, and roared, “What did you give her?” Startled by my ferocity, she blurted out the truth. “I… I just gave her a few sleeping pills…” 3 My eyes turned bloodshot. “She’s not even six years old! You can’t give her sleeping pills! I thought you were just crazy, but you’re a monster!” Before Seraphina could reply, I scooped Pearl into my arms and ran for the car. “We need to get her to the hospital, now!” Seraphina grabbed Elias’s arm, her own eyes red with tears. “Darling, I just wanted her to get some sleep…” This time, Elias didn’t even look at her. He started the car and sped away. We got to the hospital just in time. They pumped her stomach, and she was out of danger, but she would need to be monitored for a few days. Looking at Pearl’s pale, small face, the dark circles under Elias’s eyes seemed to deepen. He formally apologized to me and begged me to stay at the hospital with Pearl. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “I’ll talk to Seraphina. The child is innocent. Please don’t let our issues affect how you care for her.” He was a man of his word, and another million dollars appeared in my bank account. I was instantly re-energized. “Mr. Hayes, you can count on me. I will treat Pearl as if she were my own daughter.” The next few days at the hospital were surprisingly peaceful. Then Amelia called. “You’re not going to believe this. Elias and Seraphina made up. Apparently, he was going to divorce her, but she threatened to kill herself, so he backed down.” “What did she do that was so bad that even a lovesick fool like him was ready to leave?” I told her about the sleeping pills. Amelia offered another round of colorful curses directed at Seraphina’s entire family tree. “Just be careful,” she warned. “I heard the Hayes are throwing a big party for Pearl’s sixth birthday. It’s supposed to be Seraphina’s official re-entry into society as Mrs. Hayes. And she’s the one planning it.” I figured a simple therapist wouldn’t be invited, so I didn’t think much of it. But on the day of the party, Pearl wouldn’t let go of my hand. After the hospital stay, she had become even more attached to me. “Kristin, please join us,” Elias said. Seraphina, her hand linked with his, gritted her teeth but, for once, didn’t say anything. The party was in full swing, a sea of clinking glasses and polite conversation. I saw Amelia and went over with Pearl in my arms. “It looks like the divorce threat finally knocked some sense into Seraphina…” I hadn’t even finished my sentence when we were grabbed from behind. Three men dressed as waiters brandished fruit knives they’d hidden under a table. One arm locked around my neck, the other held a blade to my throat. The same for Amelia. I was still holding a child. Fortunately, Pearl didn’t seem scared. She just looked around with wide, curious eyes. The sudden violence sent the other guests scattering in panic. Then, Seraphina’s delicate voice cried out, “Darling, save me!” She had been “kidnapped” too? Elias moved against the tide of fleeing guests, his voice calm and steady. “What do you want? Money? A car? A helicopter? Just let them go, and I’ll give you anything.” The lead kidnapper let out a theatrical cackle. “To think the great Elias Hayes would one day be begging me! But I don’t want any of those things. I just want the woman you love most to die.” “You have to choose one of them to live. The other two die.” At his words, Amelia, Elias, and I all frowned. Only Seraphina continued to scream hysterically. “Elias, save me! You promised you would always protect me!” Amelia rolled her eyes. “Wait, if he’s after the woman Elias loves most, why am I here?” “Everyone knows you and Kristin are the substitutes,” the kidnapper sneered. “Let’s see who our Mr. Hayes will choose. The original, or one of the copies? This is going to be so exciting!” Hearing the familiar “substitute” theory, we all instinctively looked at Seraphina. Who else would come up with something so insane? “Elias,” she whimpered, “you don’t believe him, do you?” Before Elias could answer, the kidnapper dragged the knife across my cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “No talking! Choose, Mr. Hayes!” The blade moved to Amelia’s face. “Choose, or this pretty face gets ruined too.” Amelia roared a string of curses at Elias, then threatened, “Elias Hayes, if anything happens to me or Kristin, I will personally see to it that your family goes bankrupt.” Pearl, sensing the rising tension, started to wail. Seraphina was still crying, “Elias, save me!” “Everyone shut up!” the kidnapper yelled. “You have five seconds, Hayes.” “Five.” “Four.” “Three.” “Two.” “One.” “Wait!” Elias yelled. “I choose…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384567”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day my cousin brought his girlfriend home, I was branded a leech. The moment she walked in, she shot me a look of pure disgust. “So, you’re the cousin who’s squatting in my boyfriend’s villa and refuses to leave?” I was utterly baffled. It was true that I lived here. But this villa was my inheritance, left to me by my parents. My name was on the deed. Out of love for my family, I’d had our housekeeper prepare a room for my cousin, Peter, so he could have a foothold while trying to make it on his own. How did him getting a girlfriend suddenly turn me into the penniless relative mooching off his success? 1 When my cousin Peter walked in with his new girlfriend, I was on the veranda, watering my mother’s camellias. The girlfriend, Chloe, was dressed to the nines. From the moment she stepped through the door, her eyes swept across the villa, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she nodded in approval. It wasn’t until she reached the veranda and saw me in my simple loungewear that her brow furrowed in distaste. “So,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain, “you must be the freeloading cousin who’s been sponging off Peter.” I just stared at her, completely blindsided. Peter heard her and came over. Chloe’s expression instantly melted into a saccharine smile. “Peter, darling, aren’t you going to introduce us?” My cousin smiled, oblivious. “Chloe, this is my cousin, Betty. We grew up together. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister in this city.” Chloe crossed her arms, her eyes raking over me in a dismissive once-over. “She’s… cute enough, I suppose. If you can get past the shamelessness.” I looked at Peter, waiting. He finally spoke, though his tone was gentle. “Chloe, don’t joke like that.” But Chloe had no intention of stopping. She pressed her body against my cousin’s, her voice a syrupy-sweet poison. “Oh, I’m not joking! Before I even came here, your friends told me what a kind heart you have, taking in a relative with nowhere else to go. I thought they meant a child, or maybe some poor soul who’d lost a limb. I never imagined a perfectly healthy adult would just… live off someone else. It’s quite an eye-opener.” My voice was ice. “Taking me in? Living off him? Which one of Peter’s friends told you that?” The air in the living room seemed to crystallize. Peter’s brow tightened. “Chloe, who’s been filling your head with this nonsense? Betty is family. She’s the heart of this home. There’s no ‘taking in’ about it.” He added, trying to smooth things over, “Don’t say things like that. You’ll upset her.” Chloe quickly covered her mouth with a theatrical gasp, her eyes, full of mischief, darting towards me. “Oh, Peter, don’t be so serious! I must have misheard. I’ll apologize to Betty, of course.” She paused, her gaze lingering on me. “It’s just that I’ve heard so many people talking. They all say you’re too good for your own good, working so hard to build a life for yourself while also carrying… a burden.” Her eyes swept over me again, her tone becoming a caricature of innocence. “And then seeing Betty today, so young and full of life, but not even working… It just breaks my heart to see you carrying all that weight on your own.” Before I could retort, she was clutching Peter’s arm. “But I’m not the kind of person who can’t accept family. From now on, I won’t listen to gossip.” She turned back to me. “Don’t you worry, Betty. Since Peter said so, I’ll treat you just like a real sister. It’s just one more plate at the table, right?” Chloe was beautiful, and she knew exactly what to say to wrap my cousin around her little finger. But a cold knot of dread was tightening in my stomach. From the moment she walked in, she’d been trying to paint me as a parasite. Her so-called apology was just another way of hammering home the labels of “freeloader” and “burden,” reinforcing the fiction that I was here only by Peter’s charity. My fingers curled into a fist. Yes, we both lived here. But this villa belonged to me. It was a legacy from my parents, along with enough assets to ensure I’d live comfortably for the rest of my life. After their accident, it was my aunt and uncle—Peter’s parents—who had insisted he move to the city to keep me company. It was as much for my sake as it was to give him a chance at a better life. I had agreed out of a sense of family loyalty, cherishing the bond we’d shared for over a decade. And now, because he had a girlfriend, I was suddenly a leech? But it was her first time here. For Peter’s sake, I held my tongue. Dinner was suffocating. Chloe, sensing Peter’s affection for me, spent the entire meal trying to backtrack. She served me food, poured my water, and swore she would respect all of Peter’s decisions. But whenever our eyes met, I saw it—the undisguised contempt, the raw hostility. I kept my expression neutral, but I felt sick to my stomach. As soon as dinner was over, Peter stepped out onto the veranda to take a call. I was about to head upstairs when Chloe shot up from her seat, grabbing my arm and pulling me down onto the sofa. She patted my hand with a sickeningly fake affection. “Betty, please don’t be mad at me. I was just worried about Peter, and my mouth ran away from me. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She blinked her big, innocent eyes. “Actually, I completely understand what you’re going through. I really do.” I stared at her, my face a blank mask, and tried to pull my arm away. “Understand what?” “How difficult this must be for you,” she said, her brow furrowed with a look of condescending pity. “You see, Peter has me now. We’re going to get married.” She leaned in closer. “And you… well, you’re living here for now, but this isn’t really your home, is it?” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Once Peter and I are married, it’ll be awkward for you to still be living with us. A girl has to think about her future, you know.” I looked at her, and a wave of incredulous laughter threatened to bubble up. “I’m sorry, Miss… Chloe, was it? I don’t understand. I’m in my own house. What future do I need to consider?” 2 For a fleeting second, the smile on Chloe’s face froze, then quickly snapped back into place. She let go of my arm and patted my shoulder, adopting the tone of someone sharing a secret they both knew. “I get it. A girl has her pride. It’s okay.” She leaned in, her voice dropping. “But don’t you worry. Once I’m the mistress of this house, if you play your cards right, I’ll have Peter find you a nice little place before you have to move out.” That was it. I stood up, my patience shredded, and looked down at her. “Let me make a few things crystal clear for you, Chloe.” “First, this is my house. I’m not going anywhere.” “Second, the only mistress of this house is me. And it will always be me.” “And finally, I don’t need you or my cousin to arrange a single thing for me.” The mask finally shattered. Chloe’s face contorted with rage, her eyes burning into mine as her voice turned shrill. “Don’t you push me, Betty! Just because Peter calls you his cousin, you think you’re the queen of the castle? You’re a pathetic parasite, a leech clinging to his kindness. What right do you have to talk to me like that?” “Right?” My voice was dangerously calm. “My rights aren’t for you to decide.” “But you, on the other hand… on your very first visit, you’re already planning your takeover. Are you and Peter even engaged? Perhaps you should figure out your own place before you try to put me in mine.” “You—!” Chloe’s face was scarlet with fury, and she looked ready to explode. But just then, Peter walked back in from the veranda, his phone call finished. Instantly, Chloe’s entire demeanor shifted. Her face crumpled as if she’d been dealt a mortal blow, her eyes welling up with tears. She rushed to his side, burying her face in his chest. “Peter…” she whimpered, whispering something in his ear. I had no interest in watching her performance. I turned to go upstairs. “Betty.” My cousin’s voice stopped me. It was tinged with reproach. “It’s Chloe’s first time here. Maybe she didn’t express herself clearly. Don’t be so sensitive.” I glanced back at Chloe, who was peeking out from behind his arm, a triumphant smirk on her face. A fire ignited in my chest. “Peter,” I said, my voice low and steady. “She called me a burden who only lives here because of your charity. She said that after you two get married, I’ll have to move out.” I held his gaze. “She’s planning that far ahead. Do you really think she just ‘didn’t express herself clearly’?” His frown deepened. “She was just kidding around. Why are you taking it so seriously? This will always be your home. Chloe didn’t mean it like that.” Didn’t mean it like that? I took a deep breath, realizing it was pointless to argue. He had already chosen to believe his girlfriend was a delicate, innocent flower who didn’t know any better. Anything I said would just be me, being difficult. “Fine,” I said, shaking my head. Without another look at him, I walked straight up the stairs. That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep a million miles away. Was Peter really that clueless? Or was he just pretending not to see what Chloe truly was? The next day, my best friend, Jess, noticed something was wrong and dragged me out for lunch. We sat down at a quiet bistro, and she asked gently, “Okay, spill. What’s bothering you?” I sighed. “My cousin brought his girlfriend home.” Jess paused, her fork hovering over her plate. “Isn’t that a good thing? He gets married, and he finally moves out! Unless…” I said nothing. “What’s she like?” Jess pressed. “Is she nice? Pretty?” I managed a weak smile. “She’s pretty. As for nice… she radiates pure malice.” Jess’s eyes widened. “Malice? Shouldn’t she be worshiping the ground you walk on? Without you, Peter would be struggling to pay rent in a shoebox, not living in one of the most exclusive villas in the state.” “I don’t know what he told her,” I said, “but she seems to think I’m some poor relative he took in off the street. She called me shameless.” Jess slammed her hand on the table, her voice rising. “What the hell? Is she insane? Who does she think she is, talking to you like that?” Her face was flushed with anger. “This house is yours! Your parents left it to you! What gives her the right? And Peter? He just stood there and let her bully you?” “He said she was just joking, and that I was being too sensitive,” I mumbled, feeling exhausted all over again. “Joking? The malice in that statement is so thick you could cut it with a knife! Is your cousin deaf?” Jess was practically seething on my behalf. “She’s trying to push you out and take over, Betty! She’s warning you not to get in her way of becoming the lady of the manor! That manipulative, social-climbing witch! It’s disgusting! And stupid! Does she really think your family’s fortune belongs to Peter? Why are people so obsessed with other people’s money?” Listening to my friend’s tirade eased some of the tightness in my chest. “It’s fine,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as her. “She won’t last. Peter’s been single forever; he’s just happy to have found someone. I’ll just avoid her from now on.” But Jess wasn’t having it. “You can’t just let this go! The next time she tries to pull a stunt like that, you shove the deed to the house in her face and show her who’s boss!” 3 Despite Jess’s advice, I couldn’t bring myself to be that confrontational. I still cared about my decade-long relationship with Peter. My aunt and uncle were some of the only family I had left, and they’d always been kind to me when my parents were alive. I didn’t want to burn that bridge. But I had no idea that my tolerance would be mistaken for weakness. That very evening, Chloe showed up with several large suitcases and moved herself in. It was as if our conversation had never happened. She seemed determined to cement my status as the parasitic freeloader, to assert her dominance, drive me out of my own home, and claim her prize. She paraded around like she owned the place, making a point to be overly affectionate with Peter whenever I was around, as if to prove how unshakable their bond was. Then, she started criticizing every aspect of my life. “That blue and white porcelain vase by your bedroom door… is that an antique? It’s so dangerous just sitting there. What if it gets knocked over? It must have cost a fortune to replace, right?” “And these curtains, this rug… God, they’re hideous. This house is really suffering without a woman’s touch.” She even started snooping into my finances. “You must spend a lot, Betty. I see you use all those high-end skincare brands. You know, you don’t really need all that fancy stuff. It’s all about value for money.” Her voice took on a chiding tone. “Peter works so hard. As his cousin, you should really be more considerate of his finances.” I ignored her, letting her live in her delusional fantasy world. But a few days later, I came home to find that things had been moved. My mother’s favorite painting, a beautiful landscape that had hung in the hall for years, was gone. In its place was a cheap, garish acrylic canvas that reeked of chemicals. And the antique vase from outside my bedroom? It had vanished, replaced by a massive bouquet of funereal-smelling lilies. I found Chloe in the living room, directing our housekeeper, Mrs. Wolf, to move furniture. My voice was cold steel. “Where is the vase that was by my door?” Chloe turned, her expression one of utter entitlement. “Oh, that old thing? It was so dated, completely clashed with the decor. I had Mrs. Wolf put it in storage. Don’t worry, I’ll be redecorating the whole house bit by bit.” “Where in storage?” “There’s so much junk in there, I can’t possibly remember.” I pressed on. She waved a dismissive hand. “Honestly, it’s just a vase. Why are you making such a fuss? I’m busy. I’ll have someone bring it to you when I find it.” I grabbed her arm, my voice shaking with rage. “Who gave you permission to touch my things? If it’s missing, I swear, you’ll regret it.” That vase was a tenth-birthday gift from my father. It was more than an object; it was a vessel of memory, of a love I could never get back. Peter rushed over at the sound of our raised voices. He immediately went to Chloe’s side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and scowling at me. “Betty, Chloe was just trying to make the house look nicer. It’s just a decoration. Don’t be so dramatic. If it’s really lost, I’ll buy you a new one.” I stared at the two of them, standing together like a fortress against me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I didn’t waste another breath on them. I went straight to Mrs. Wolf. The housekeeper looked distressed. “Miss Betty, I’m so sorry. Miss Chloe said she didn’t like it and told me to put it in the storeroom.” I searched the entire storeroom, top to bottom. The vase was nowhere to be found. A dark, sickening premonition crept over me. That antique vase wasn’t just a decoration. It was a rare piece my father had won at auction for over two million dollars. Chloe hadn’t just put it away. She had done something with it. 4 The tension in the house was unbearable, so I was relieved to leave for a three-day business trip. But when I returned, my home was in chaos. Chloe, in a bid to show off her new status as mistress of a grand estate, had invited a horde of her tacky friends over for a party. The bass of some generic pop song was so loud it rattled the windows. A crowd of garishly dressed men and women were in the garden, having a barbecue and live-streaming the entire disaster. But my last shred of restraint evaporated when I saw what was happening in the corner of the garden. Chloe’s friends were laughing, competing to see who could pick the biggest camellia bloom, then callously tossing the flowers to the ground and grinding the delicate petals into the dirt with their heels. That camellia bush was my mother’s pride and joy. After she passed, I tended to it myself, never letting anyone so much as touch a single leaf. And they were desecrating it. In that instant, a white-hot rage burned through every last ounce of my patience. I stormed past them and ripped the speaker’s power cord from the wall. As the music died and all eyes turned to me, I pointed a trembling finger at the gate, my voice as cold and sharp as broken glass. “You have three minutes. Get all of your friends, and get the hell out of my garden.” Chloe, mortified at being embarrassed in front of her friends, rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Betty, what are you doing? Everyone was having fun!” “I said get out. Didn’t you hear me?” I shook her off, my gaze an icy glare. The atmosphere turned painfully awkward. Chloe’s friends started gathering their things, muttering under their breath. Within moments, Chloe was running to Peter, sobbing. When Peter arrived, he took one look at the mess and, without asking a single question, turned his fury on me. “Are you insane?! It’s the first time Chloe’s friends have come over, and you humiliate her like this? Over a few stupid flowers? Is that really necessary?!” “Stupid flowers?” I looked at him, and my heart turned to stone. “Chloe might not know what these flowers mean, but you do. This is the only living thing my mother left me!” “She’s gone! What’s the point of holding onto all this stuff?” he yelled, his words careless and cruel. “Stop acting like a spoiled princess! You want flowers? I’ll have a whole new garden planted for you tomorrow, alright?” “Replace them?” I stared at this man, this stranger who wore my cousin’s face. “With what, Peter? How are you going to replace my mother’s memory?” Chloe chimed in, her voice shrill with indignation. “What is wrong with you? I don’t care if it was a graveyard! Nothing gets in the way of my party!” That was the last straw. I lunged forward, grabbed a handful of Chloe’s hair, and slapped her. Hard. Peter tried to intervene, and I spun around and slapped him too. “From this day forward, she is not welcome in this house! And you, Peter,” I spat, my voice shaking, “if you’re going to stand by her, then you can both get out!” 5 It was the first time I had ever spoken to him with such finality. He stared at me, stunned, his face a mask of disbelief, as if he were seeing me for the first time. After a long, heavy silence, something seemed to click in his mind. His tone softened, and he started backpedaling. “Betty, don’t be angry. I’ll talk to Chloe. I’ll make it right.” Later, Chloe offered a grudging, insincere apology. Peter swore to me that if I just didn’t kick him out, he would take better care of the family business and protect the things my parents had left behind. I nodded silently. I had almost forgotten. In the years since my parents’ passing, I had put him in charge of managing several subsidiary companies. That must have been where his newfound confidence came from. But he was no longer entitled to any of it. I was going to take it all back, piece by piece. After the party fiasco, Chloe’s hatred for me intensified. She felt I had publicly humiliated her. But she was too scared to challenge me openly again, so she resorted to a campaign of petty, insidious revenge. She began to encroach on my personal space with a vengeance. “Betty, your study is just sitting empty most of the time. I need a quiet place to work, so I’m just going to use it from now on, okay?” “And your walk-in closet is huge. I have no room for my clothes, so I’m just borrowing a little bit of your rack space.” She would even sneak into my bedroom when I was out, rifling through my things and leaving a trail of disarray. One day, I noticed a bracelet I kept in my nightstand was missing. When I confronted her, she immediately burst into tears, looking at me with wide, wounded eyes. “What bracelet? I haven’t seen any bracelet! Betty, how could you accuse me of something so awful? Just because you can’t keep track of your own things doesn’t mean you can blame me!” This time, Peter didn’t try to play mediator. He was genuinely angry. “Chloe! Why were you in Betty’s room? That bracelet is very important to her! Give it back!” The two of them had a massive fight. Chloe stopped her open provocations, but her resentment festered, channeling itself into a more subtle, poisonous tactic. She started whispering in Peter’s ear, planting seeds of doubt about my presence in the house. “Peter, darling, Betty’s a grown woman now.” “It’s not really proper for her to be living under the same roof as you. Think about what people will say. It’s not good for her reputation.” “And when we get married… we can’t have her living with us forever, can we? It would just be so… awkward.” This time, my cousin was silent. That evening, he came to me, his expression hesitant. “Betty,” he began, struggling to find the words. “Chloe… she might have a point. You’re a young woman. Living with me… it isn’t ideal.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “What if… what if I found you a really nice apartment somewhere? I’ll pay the rent, of course. It’s just that… it’s a lot more complicated for two people to move than for one person.” I looked at him in disbelief. This man, whom I had always considered my brother, who had shared my childhood. In that moment, I finally understood. Chloe’s constant scheming, her relentless campaign of whispers and lies, had worked. A decade of family loyalty had been eroded, day by day, until it was unrecognizable. He was no longer the cousin who protected me. He now saw me as the problem. The inconvenience. He had forgotten that everything he had, he owed to the very family he was now trying to push me out of. My heart, already fractured, began to sink. After Peter suggested I move out, a profound sadness settled over me. How could someone who shared my blood turn on me for a stranger? I locked myself in my room for a full day, replaying memories from our childhood, searching for the moment the cracks began to form. But I couldn’t find it. All I wanted was to protect the home my parents left me, to hold on to the last vestiges of our family. Why was that so hard? Chloe, however, seemed to take Peter’s new attitude as a green light. Her behavior became even more brazen. She started acting as the full-fledged mistress of the house, ordering Mrs. Wolf around. “From now on, I want to approve all the weekly menus. I know Peter’s tastes best.” “And you don’t need to clean Betty’s room every day. There’s no need to waste so much effort on… an outsider.” Mrs. Wolf, who had been with our family since I was a child, was furious and tried to argue with Chloe several times, but I held her back. I knew there was no point in reasoning with someone like that. Peter’s bias grew more and more obvious. It was as if Chloe had cast a spell on him. He truly believed that everything she did was for his benefit, for the little family they were building together. And I had become the obstacle. The selfish, ungrateful girl standing in the way of their happiness. “Betty, Chloe is just trying to look out for me. You need to be more understanding.” “She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She’s just a little… direct.” His words were like a dull knife, twisting in a wound that would not heal. Anger and grief warred within me. I looked at my own pale, exhausted face in the mirror. Enough. This had to end. I came home early from work one afternoon and heard Chloe and Peter arguing in the living room before I even opened the door. Chloe’s voice was sharp and cruel. “Peter, are you a man or not? This house is supposed to be yours, so what are you doing living here like some kind of kept man?” “You need to get her out of here, now! Or this wedding is off!” A tremor went through me. I froze, my hand on the doorknob. I expected Peter to defend me, to at least say something, like he used to. Instead, all I heard was his tired, defeated voice. “Chloe, stop it. The house… it was left to Betty by her parents.” “You lied to me? You told me this house was yours!” Chloe shrieked. Peter didn’t respond. After a moment of silence, Chloe’s voice dropped, turning sly and conspiratorial. “Then get her to sign it over to you! She’s a girl; she’ll get married and leave eventually. Her parents are dead, so you’re all she has now. It’s only right that the house should be yours.” Her next words were a venomous whisper. “It’s called securing your inheritance. Who cares about the old ways? Once the deed is in your name, everything will be fine.” The living room fell into a long, heavy silence. My heart plunged into a cold, dark abyss. I held my breath, waiting for my cousin’s answer. Would he agree? Would he actually do it? After what felt like an eternity, I heard him sigh. “…Let me think about it.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384566”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I’m bound to the Lie-to-Riches System. For every lie someone tells me, I get $10,000. It was the first day of freshman year, and my new roommate introduced herself while decked out head-to-toe in designer brands. “Hi, everyone. I’m Stella Moss, Larry Vance’s fiancée. I hope we can all get along.” If she was Larry Vance’s fiancée, then who was I? As I stood there, stunned, my phone buzzed. A notification from my banking app: Deposit received: $10,000. I immediately texted my fiancé—whose own trust fund was currently frozen—and told him the news. It was time to start fleecing. … I stared at the $10,000 notification on my phone, my mind reeling. My other roommate, Jenna, was already fawning over Stella. “Welcome, Miss Moss! It’s an honor to be your humble roommate!” Stella swept into the dorm, her eyes landing on my faded t-shirt and worn-out sneakers with a look of undisguised contempt. She shoved her suitcase at me, her voice dripping with arrogance. “Unpack this. Put my clothes in the wardrobe and make my bed. From now on, you’ll be my personal assistant—fetching my coffee, doing my laundry, running my errands. You’ll be well-compensated, of course.” BZZZ. Another $10,000 hit my account. I almost laughed. I’d recognized Stella the moment she walked in. She was a charity case, a girl from a poor rural town my family had been sponsoring for years. I’d chosen her myself during a philanthropy trip when I was ten. With my family’s money, she not only had her basic needs covered but had repeatedly asked my father for extra cash for vacations and luxury makeup. Meanwhile, after I graduated high school, my family had frozen my accounts. It was their way of “building character,” forcing me to pay my own tuition and living expenses. I was working three jobs, running myself ragged just to make ends meet. A thought sparked in my mind. Since Stella clearly had no interest in using this opportunity to actually study, why shouldn’t I use her to my advantage? I could fleece her for all she was worth. Once I had enough seed money for my own business, I’d expose her and let her face the consequences. I set her suitcase on the floor, saying nothing. I was here to make money off her, not to be her servant. I pointed at the shoulder strap of her bag, where a single thread was loose, and plastered a sneer on my face. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t the high-and-mighty Miss Moss carrying a fake Hermès? A bag that expensive would never have a loose thread.” As I spoke, I pulled my own identical Hermès bag from my locker. Stella’s expression flickered. A flash of anger crossed her face, and her voice became shrill enough to shatter glass. “Of course it’s real! Don’t you know luxury brands are notoriously poor quality?” BZZZ. The Lie-to-Riches System activated again. Another $10,000. I could feel a giddy excitement bubbling up inside me; my hands were trembling. Jenna sneered at me. “She’s right! Everyone knows rich people only use their luxury items once! Ruby, is that a knockoff you bought from a street market?” Stella pinched her nose as if I were contaminated. “How can you be so shameless, carrying a fake? I despise social climbers. Just because your parents are poor farmers doesn’t mean you can pretend to be one of us!” She crossed her arms, looking down her nose at me. “Ruby, I have an entire wall of Hermès bags at home. If that bag of yours is real, I’ll eat shit.” BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ. $30,000. In an instant. My heart pounded. I’d always dreamed of starting my own business, but I never had the capital. Now, with just a few choice words, my startup fund was already 5% complete! I had to dig my nails into my thigh to keep from laughing out loud. Jenna clapped her hands, her voice oozing with fake admiration. “Ruby, you should thank Stella! She’s working so hard to show you the error of your ways!” I wasn’t angry. My gaze drifted from Stella’s bag to the four-leaf clover necklace around her neck. “Stella, is that the new Van Cleef & Arpels piece?” She touched the necklace, her chin held high. “Of course. My fiancé flew to Paris just to buy it for me.” As if by accident, I let the small magnet on my keychain swing near her neck. Click. The magnet snapped right onto her necklace. “Oh, dear! Miss Moss, why did your necklace stick to a magnet? I thought their pieces were 18-karat gold! Is that a fake?” I covered my mouth in mock horror, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Stella’s face turned beet red. She ripped the magnet off and threw it on the floor, her lips trembling. “This is absolutely real! It’s an SVIP custom piece from France! A country bumpkin like you wouldn’t understand!” BZZZ. Seeing the notification, I almost burst out laughing. The dorm room door was open, and a small crowd of students had gathered to watch the drama unfold. “But I heard the real ones aren’t magnetic,” someone whispered. “Is Stella’s necklace actually fake?” “Didn’t you hear her? It’s custom-made. Luxury brands always have special rules for their top clients.” “That makes sense! Ruby is just being jealous.” Suddenly, Stella’s eyes welled up with tears, her voice a fragile whisper. The performance was flawless. “Ruby, we’ve only just met. I don’t know why you’re targeting me. It’s not my fault I have a wealthy family and a handsome fiancé.” The students in the hallway immediately rushed to comfort her. Stella continued her saccharine act, and soon everyone was pointing fingers at me, calling me a bitter, jealous nobody. But I wasn’t angry. I was ecstatic. My phone had been buzzing non-stop. In just ten minutes, I had made over a hundred thousand dollars. My startup fund was 20% complete. Stella was my personal cash machine. And if she loved pretending to be Larry’s fiancée, why not bring Larry himself in on the scheme? I immediately sent Larry a text, telling him we needed to meet. I found him outside the campus dining hall. Our grandfathers were old war buddies, both highly decorated. They had come from nothing and believed in the value of hard work. To instill that same spirit in their descendants, they’d made a rule: all grandchildren had to earn their own way through college. And so, Larry and I had become a broke power couple. Our days were a blur of classes and part-time jobs—working shifts at a boba shop, handing out flyers, and running food delivery orders. We’d talked about starting a business, but we were still saving up for the initial investment. Over dinner, I told him everything: the Lie-to-Riches System, and Stella’s outrageous charade. He didn’t believe me. Not until I asked him if he had a secret stash of cash hidden somewhere. He shook his head, and my banking app instantly buzzed with a $10,000 deposit. Larry stared at my phone, then tearfully transferred the last $10 in his Venmo to me. “Larry,” I said, laying out my plan, “Stella is telling everyone she’s your fiancée. We can use this to fleece her. Once we have a million dollars for our startup, we’ll expose her!” His eyes lit up. A few days later, Freshman Orientation Week began. During a break, Larry showed up, handing out bubble tea to all the freshman groups. “Stella, your man is here!” a girl squealed, pushing her forward. “He must have come to see you!” The guys started hooting, waving Larry over. “Larry! Stella’s over here!” Stella shrank back, looking like she was about to faint. I smirked. “What’s wrong, Stella? Did you and Larry have a fight? He’s acting like he doesn’t even know you.” She swallowed hard, then practically shouted, “What are you talking about? Of course he knows me! Why else would he be here with bubble tea? He just hasn’t seen me yet! We were at a hotel together just last night!” Jenna immediately jumped to her defense. “Ruby, you’re sick! Why are you always hoping for the worst?” Other students chimed in. “Are you trying to steal her boyfriend? Even if they were fighting, Larry would never look at you!” “Everyone knows he’s a famously doting fiancé! He’s completely devoted to his childhood sweetheart!” I felt a wave of nausea, but the sweet scent of money quickly overpowered it. Stella was on a roll now, gushing about her fairy-tale romance. “He bought bubble tea for the entire school just for me. It’s his subtle, powerful way of showing his love. It’s a love you could never understand, Ruby.” She continued to spin her sickeningly sweet fantasy, and my phone vibrated relentlessly. Within minutes, another hundred thousand dollars had landed in my account. Just then, Larry started walking toward our group. Stella was pushed forward, stumbling right into his path. When Larry saw her, a flicker of disgust crossed his face. He exchanged a quick glance with me. “Sorry, guys,” he announced to the group. “Looks like we’re all out of bubble tea.” I snorted. “But Stella, I thought we were all getting free drinks on your account? How come the guest of honor doesn’t even get one?” Jenna looked confused. “Yeah, Stella, what’s going on? Didn’t you say he ordered this specially for you?” A few of the guys, sweating in the sun, started to complain. “I thought he was supposed to be this super-devoted fiancé! Why’s he letting you down like this?” Suddenly, Stella shoved me. Hard. I cried out, stumbling and falling to the ground. Across the field, I saw Larry tense, ready to run over. “What are you all staring at?” Stella snapped, her voice high and commanding. “Ruby, go buy us all water! My baby and I just decided that bubble tea is unhealthy. So, water for our group is on me!” The whole group cheered, immediately singing her praises. “Stella, you’re so thoughtful and generous!” A few of the guys turned on me. “Ruby, what are you waiting for? Get going!” “Are you deaf? Go! You want us to die of thirst?” BZZZ. Another $20,000. A thrill shot through me. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the campus Starbucks, ordering thirty iced coffees. I returned with the receipt and handed it to Stella with a fake smile. “Here you go. I’m sure a little bill like this is nothing to you, right?” A couple of girls scoffed. “Are you kidding, Ruby? As if someone like Stella would care about a few bucks.” “She’s from the countryside, what do you expect? So classless, making a big deal out of nothing.” “Right, Stella?” Stella took the receipt. Her eyes widened, and she looked like she’d just swallowed a bug. The total was nearly $200. “Right,” she said, her smile more pained than a grimace. “It’s nothing. I normally only drink glacial water flown in daily from overseas. It’s about a thousand dollars a bottle.” The group erupted in another round of cheers. When it came time to pay, there were tears in Stella’s eyes. Forking over that much money was like pulling teeth for her. I was secretly ecstatic. In just a few days, my startup fund was 40% complete! I had $400,000. Just a little longer, and I could finally expose her. Larry texted me: [Babe, are you okay? That psycho actually pushed you! I’ll get her back for this!]. On the last day of orientation, Larry deliberately let a rumor slip: that night, he was taking his fiancée home to the family estate for his grandfather’s birthday. After our last session, a group of girls swarmed Stella. “Stella, stop being so secretive! You’re going to the Vance estate tonight, aren’t you?” “We heard all about it! We’re so jealous!” Stella tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, affecting an air of nonchalance. “It’s not a secret. Going to the Vance estate for dinner is as normal as breathing for me. It’s nothing to talk about.” BZZZ. More money. The air filled with gasps of envy. I put on my best fake smile. “Stella, I’m so jealous! You must be staying the night, right? I won’t wait up for you, then.” Stella froze, the words catching in her throat. “Right. Don’t wait up. I’m staying over.” As soon as she said it, Jenna shot me a look of contempt. “Duh! Of course she’s staying over! Stop asking such stupid questions!” Someone else giggled suggestively. “If she’s staying at the Vance estate, maybe tonight they’ll… you know…” Stella pretended to blush, lowering her head, but the beads of sweat on her forehead gave away her panic. “Oh, stop it, you guys.” Larry’s revenge was swift and brutal. Of course, Stella didn’t go to the Vance estate. To keep up the lie, she left campus as her classmates watched her go, a vision of supposed glamour. But Ashton University was in the heart of the city, and the nearby hotels were ridiculously expensive. Stella was too cheap to pay for a room, but she was terrified of being spotted by other students at a park. According to one of the Vance family’s security guards, she ended up spending the night shivering under a remote overpass. The next day, she showed up to class with dark circles under her eyes, sneezing uncontrollably. The other students exchanged knowing, wicked smiles. Fighting back my disgust, I laid it on thick. “Stella, I heard the Vance family estate is a 7,000-square-foot mansion! It must be incredible! You’re so lucky. I’ve never even seen a mansion. Is your family home huge, too? Can you show us sometime? I’d love to see it!” The other girls’ eyes lit up. “Stella, we’ve never seen one either! Please! Let us come see it!” They pleaded, one of them even doing an exaggerated bow. Stella basked in the attention. But she was trapped. She touched the tip of her nose, looking troubled. “My family is… very private. Old money, you know. Very strict rules. My parents don’t allow me to bring strangers home.” BZZZ. $40,000! Everyone looked disappointed but understanding. But I wasn’t about to let her off the hook. “That’s okay!” I pressed on. “I saw in a news article that the Vance fiancée’s birthday is at the end of September. You could just invite us to your birthday party! I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind that!” It was like a lightbulb went off over everyone’s heads. “Yes! We can celebrate with you! Your parents will totally understand!” “Stella, let us celebrate with you this year!” “You wouldn’t look down on us, would you, Miss Moss?” Stella looked like she was constipated. She finally forced the words out. “Fine. I’ll go home and discuss it with my family elders.” The room erupted in cheers. I almost cheered along with them. With that short exchange, on top of what I already had, my startup fund hit 80% completion! I was morbidly curious to see how she would squirm her way out of this one. That night, I got a call from our family’s estate manager. “Miss Lane, the student you sponsor has requested to hold her birthday party at the villa. Do you approve?” A slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Yes. Let her come.” The plan was working even better than I had imagined. A few days later, my earnings hit $900,000. The startup fund was 90% complete. The money was almost there. Soon, I would rip away Stella’s mask of lies and expose her for who she truly was.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384565”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my wedding day, my childhood sweetheart, a self-proclaimed bachelor for life, came to crash it. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he told me, with unnerving seriousness, that he was the one I should be marrying. So I left everyone and everything behind to run away with him. But the moment we were outside, he let go of my hand, a lazy, mocking smile spreading across his face. “I told you she’d come with me,” he called out to his friends. “You all lost the bet. Pay up.” In that single moment, I became the laughingstock of the entire city. That night, my fiancé, Julian Vance, had his right hand shattered by my would-be husband’s men. He issued a warning: anyone who dared to whisper my name would suffer the same fate. Everyone said Julian was obsessed with me, that he would have me no matter what, even after I had so publicly humiliated him. Until the day after our rescheduled wedding. A woman showed up at our door, a small child in her arms. “If Julian’s grandfather hadn’t sworn to only let him inherit the family fortune if he married you,” she sneered, “why else would he agree to marry damaged goods and play the fool?” “We were legally married three years ago. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out.” I had them both bound and gagged within the hour. With the barrel of my gun pressed against the woman’s temple, I looked at Julian as he rushed in. “Her, or you,” I said, my voice flat. “Choose.” “Scarlett, if you have a problem, take it up with me! Rachel and the boy are innocent!” Julian stared at me, his eyes burning, as the black-suited guards behind him fanned out, surrounding me. Rachel was sobbing hysterically. “Julian, save me! This psycho is going to kill me and our son!” Her shrill voice grated on my nerves. I tapped her temple with the muzzle of the gun and threw the marriage certificate in Julian’s face. “Innocent? Then explain this.” I let out a cold laugh. “Making the head of the Thorne family your mistress… you’ve got nerve, Julian. More than your parents ever did.” A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes before he settled on a placating tone. “You were so… traditional before the wedding, you wouldn’t let me touch you. She was just a way to blow off steam. The kid was an accident. I swear, she’ll never bother you again.” “So you want me to just… live peacefully alongside her?” A bloody smile twisted my lips as I clicked off the safety. “An insult to the Thorne family is paid in blood.” “So, who is it going to be? You? Or her and that bastard child?” I saw the flicker of pained indecision on his cold, handsome face, and I knew. The scales in his heart were already tipping toward them. Suddenly, Rachel thrashed against her ropes. “You won’t hurt him!” she screamed. Years of training kicked in. I drew a concealed dagger as I kicked the back of her knee. She stumbled forward, right into the blade’s path. A raw, piercing scream tore from her throat as a deep gash opened on her cheek. “Rachel!” Julian’s eyes went red with fury. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew his own gun and fired. I dodged, the bullet grazing my arm, and watched as he scooped Rachel into his arms and disappeared. The fire in my arm was a searing reminder of a promise he’d made when he was sixteen. “Scarlett, my gun will never be pointed at you. It will only ever answer to your command, and it will only ever be pointed at your enemies.” “Ma’am?” my most trusted aide, Marcus, asked quietly. “Should I go after them?” Go after them? My eyes were chips of ice. “Contact our board,” I said, my voice glacial. “The billion-dollar joint venture with the Vance Corporation… the Thorne family is pulling out. Effective immediately.” The next day, the public announcement was made. Without our tech and capital, the Vance Corporation’s stock plummeted, hitting rock bottom by noon. Julian called, his voice tight with rage. “Scarlett, are you out of your mind? Pulling out now will cripple both our companies! Are you really going to burn everything down over a tantrum?” I tossed a handful of food into the koi pond, a dangerous smile playing on my lips as the fish thrashed and fought. “I told you, Julian. An insult to the Thorne family is paid in blood.” “Out of respect for your grandfather, I’ll give you two options. Divorce her, or watch the Vance Corporation go bankrupt. Choose.” I could hear his ragged breathing on the other end of the line before he slammed the phone down. Thirty minutes later, a picture of a signed divorce decree arrived on my phone. I instructed my board to reinstate the partnership. Marcus handed me a towel to dry my hands. “Ma’am,” he said softly, “you’re still soft on him.” I pulled my hand back, a flicker of loneliness in my voice. “I don’t have much family left.” Julian moved Rachel and their son to a private Vance family hospital, terrified I would go after them. I had no intention of stooping to her level, but I hadn’t counted on her being stupid enough to provoke me again. She found my number and sent me a picture, a taunt. [Scarlett, Julian never loved you!] [All that talk in the press about his undying devotion? It was all an act to fool your parents! Now that your father’s dead, he doesn’t have to pretend anymore!] [He’s hired the best doctors and therapists to help me recover. One of the therapists was so arrogant, though, refused to even treat me!] [Julian said he’s going to have both her hands broken!] I stared at the photo. My dearest friend, Amy, was on the floor, her face bruised and her hands a bloody mess. A volcanic rage erupted in my chest. My family is small, and I protect them with my life. Julian knew this. He knew Amy was my weakness, and he had dared to touch her. A crazed light flickered in my eyes. I had been too reasonable these past few years. He had forgotten that I was, at my core, a monster. I took my men and stormed the private hospital. I kicked down the door to her room and, before Rachel could even scream, I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. “Did you forget how to spell the word ‘death’?” I snarled. “Did you really think Julian could protect you?” Her face was a mask of blood, but her eyes were triumphant. “So what if you’re an heiress? You’re still just a barren hen who can’t even lay an egg!” “You really think he divorced me to marry you? Pathetic!” “You’re a miserable, unwanted creature!” My mind went blank. I staggered back, the world dissolving around me, and I was sixteen again. It was supposed to be a fun night out. Julian had snuck me away from my bodyguards. But we were ambushed, kidnapped, and thrown into a filthy warehouse. In the darkness, we planned our escape. To give him a chance to get help, I created a diversion, drawing the kidnappers away from him. They caught me. They beat me until I was a bloody pulp. Five or six men surrounded me. They tore at my clothes with their grimy hands, blindfolded me, and violated me. It was the darkest night of my life. I woke up in a hospital, a doctor gently explaining that I would never be able to carry a child. Julian was a wreck. He knelt before me, his eyes red and raw, and swore an oath. “I’m sorry, Scarlett! My life is yours from this day forward!” “I will protect you for the rest of my days!” “If I ever break this vow, may lightning strike me down!” That night, the boy I knew vanished. In his place was a ruthless man who hunted down every single one of those thugs and silenced them permanently. He built his empire with a terrifying speed, driven by a single purpose: to become strong enough to protect me, to ensure I would never be hurt again. And now, he had taken my deepest, most painful secret and whispered it into the ear of a common whore. My eyes were bloodshot. I wrapped my hands around Rachel’s throat, a terrifying grin spreading across my face. “You want to die so badly? Fine. I’ll grant your wish.” Her face began to turn purple, and for the first time, I saw real fear in her eyes. “Stop!” A fist flew at me from behind. I spun, blocking it with my own, the impact jarring my arm. It was Julian. He grunted in pain but ignored his own injury, rushing to pull Rachel into his arms. I looked at the raw concern in his eyes, and for a moment, it overlapped with the desperate gaze of the sixteen-year-old boy. But the boy’s eyes had been filled with pain for me. The man’s eyes saw only her. A low, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I raised my gun and shot him in the arm. “That secret,” I asked, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Did you tell her?” Julian clutched his arm, his jaw tight. “I was drunk. It slipped out.” “Rachel’s young,” he continued, “she speaks without thinking. She didn’t mean any harm.” “You shot me. We’re even.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “Even?” I repeated, my voice dangerously soft. “Julian, what gave you the illusion that I would just keep backing down?” “The debt I owed your grandfather for his kindness? You’ve just used it all up.” Seeing the gun in my hand, Rachel shrieked, “Julian, she’s crazy! Kill her!” Julian’s patience finally snapped. “Scarlett, for God’s sake, think about my position! You can’t have children! The Vance Corporation needs an heir!” Every word was a dagger, twisting in my heart. The silence was deafening. An image of sixteen-year-old Julian flashed before my eyes, covered in blood, carrying me through the night, his voice choked with desperate sobs. “Scarlett, please, just hold on! We were supposed to be together forever! You can’t leave me!” “If you dare to harm Rachel or the boy again, Scarlett, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Julian’s cold voice shattered the memory. I watched him carry her away, and the image of the boy who swore to protect me for a lifetime fractured into a million pieces. So this is what loyalty was worth. The most fragile currency in the world. My spine was ramrod straight. “The engagement is off,” I said, my voice resonating with cold finality. “As of today, the Thorne and Vance families are cutting all ties. We are finished.” The news of our split sent shockwaves through the market. Our stock prices were in freefall. For two weeks, I was chained to my office, managing the fallout. Then, the door to my office was kicked open.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384564”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 I came home soaked to the bone, and in Frank’s closet, I found a thick stack of old train tickets. He once took a twenty-eight-hour train ride just to see his first love. But he wouldn’t spare thirty minutes to pick me up from work when I had a raging fever. “Monica, is it fun, going through other people’s things?” I turned and held the tickets out to the man standing in the doorway. My voice was unnervingly calm. “Let’s call off the wedding.” Frank flicked his lighter open, and right in front of me, he burned the tickets until they were nothing but ash. “Happy now?” he asked, his tone flat. “Still want to call it off?” I nodded, my gaze serious. “Yes.” … “Monica, what do you want from me? What will it take to make you happy?” Frank’s brow furrowed, his voice laced with an exhaustion and impatience he didn’t bother to hide. “I’ll take my vacation time as soon as this project is done. We’ll go to Europe, a pre-honeymoon trip. How does that sound?” When I didn’t answer, he reached out, a familiar habit, and ruffled my hair. “I mean it this time. I won’t back out. Okay?” A bitter smile touched my lips. I mean it this time. So, he was aware. He knew just how many promises he’d broken. Holiday plans were always canceled at the last minute for an “emergency meeting.” Restaurant reservations always ended with me sitting alone, staring at cold food until the staff started closing up around me. Frank had a talent for forgetting the things he promised me, dismissing them as if they were trivial. And now, this offer, delivered with the magnanimity of a king bestowing a great favor. “No, thank you.” The fever made the room spin. I took a deep breath to fight back the lump forming in my throat. “We’re calling off the wedding. What’s the point of a honeymoon?” The warmth in his expression vanished, his eyes turning cold and dark. “Fine. Don’t go.” He straightened up, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I’m giving you a chance right now, Monica. You’re the one walking away from it. Don’t bring this up later, accusing me of breaking another promise.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. The rice porridge I’d put on the stove was ready. I ladled a bowl of the thin, watery soup—the only thing I could stomach when I was sick. Frank watched me, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Is that all you’re making?” “Mhm.” He stared at me for a long moment, then snatched his suit jacket from the sofa and headed for the door. I didn’t follow him. I didn’t ask where he was going, what he was doing, or if he could please, just this once, stay with me. His hand rested on the doorknob, his movement faltering for a fraction of a second. He was waiting. He didn’t get the plea he was expecting. Click. Thump. The door closed. And the door to my heart, which had always been open for him, sealed shut forever. I used to be so naive. I thought a man like Frank, born into a world so far above my own, was just naturally aloof, incapable of deep affection. Until I saw that stack of faded tickets. They were proof that he could love. And they were proof that he didn’t love me. The drenching from yesterday made my fever worse. My best friend, Maya, had to take me to the hospital. “How did it get this bad?” she asked, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead the second she saw me. Her face was a mixture of worry and fury. “And where is Frank? He’s your fiancé, for God’s sake. Is this his idea of taking care of you?” I shook my head. “Not anymore.” “What does that mean?” Maya had watched me fall for him, step by agonizing step. She’d seen every fight, every cold war, and she’d seen me be the one to surrender every single time. I looked down, a small, sad smile on my face. “She’s back.” Seraphina. The first love Frank could never forget. Even though I’d never met her, her presence had been a shadow hanging over me for years. Frank said posting on social media was childish, yet every profile picture he’d ever had before me was a photo of her. He hated having his whereabouts questioned, but he’d voluntarily checked in with her constantly. The first perfume he ever gave me was gardenia—her favorite scent. He claimed gallery-hopping with me was a waste of time, but he had once walked with her through every hidden corner of the city. From the day we started dating to the day we got engaged, he had never let her go. And me? I was just a strategic choice. The suitable partner he’d selected after weighing the pros and cons. I was the fiancée, not the love of his life. Maya stayed with me while I was on an IV drip, trying to comfort me until a call from her boss dragged her away for a work emergency. “I’ll be fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Go on, make that money.” As she left, a young couple, glowing with new love, took the spot next to me. The girl was whining playfully about how sick she felt. The boy’s eyes were red with worry, calling her “sweetheart” and “baby” as he fussed over her. I watched them in silence. I used to be so envious of couples like that, the ones who were openly affectionate in public. Why did they get to have their partners by their side, while mine was always somewhere else? Why? The answer had been right in front of me all along. It had taken me three years of making excuses for him, of telling myself he was just emotionally distant by nature, to finally see it. By the time the IV bag was empty, the sky outside had darkened. As I stepped out of the clinic, I heard a familiar voice. “Frank, I just twisted my ankle. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble and bring me to the hospital.” I turned. There he was, carefully helping a woman in a long, cream-colored dress. He was holding her high heels in one hand, his brow creased with concern. “Why are you wearing heels this high? Are you trying to break your ankle?” He saw me then. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it settled back into its usual cool, distant mask. He probably expected me to rush over, to make a scene. But I just looked away, my gaze dropping to my phone to check the status of my rideshare. The fever had left me weak, and a wracking cough escaped my lips. Frank’s eyes snapped to me, lingering for a second on my pale, tired face. His frown deepened. “Get in the car, Monica.” He walked over to me, his tone condescending. “If you wanted me to drive you home, you just had to ask.” “I didn’t.” He didn’t seem interested in whether I was telling the truth. He simply grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards his car. The air was thick with a familiar gardenia scent. It was coming from her. Seraphina. He handed me a bottle of water. I didn’t take it, so he tossed it onto the seat beside him. The silence in the car was suffocating. Seraphina let out a few delicate coughs. “Frank, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice soft and fragile. “I think I caught a chill yesterday. My throat is a little sore.” Instantly, Frank opened the glove compartment and handed her a box of throat lozenges. His voice was laced with a tenderness I had never heard before. “I told you the temperature drops at night here. I told you to bring a jacket, but you never listen.” Seraphina popped one into her mouth and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. “You’re always so thoughtful.” Frank? Thoughtful? I scoffed internally. Only for her. They fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about old times, their words flowing with an unspoken intimacy and shared history. I sat in the back, a complete outsider. Eventually, I just closed my eyes. When I opened them again, we were home. Seraphina was gone. Frank unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to look at me, his gaze lingering on my pale face. His brow was knitted in a tight knot. “Monica,” he said, his voice low and tinged with an irritation he couldn’t hide. “Do we really have to do this?” I met his eyes, confused. “If you want my attention, you can just say so. You don’t have to make yourself sick just to get me to notice you.” His voice was even, but every word was a razor blade, slicing at a heart that was already in pieces. I didn’t know what he was so angry about. Maybe I had ruined his precious reunion with Seraphina. Maybe I was just an inconvenience he was forced to deal with. “You give yourself way too much credit, Frank.” My voice was hoarse, but I fought to keep it steady. “I didn’t want a ride, and I certainly wasn’t trying to get your attention. It’s just a fever. I’m not an invalid.” I paused, then delivered the final blow. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. We’re not together anymore.” He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Not together? Monica, don’t forget, you still have the heirloom my grandmother gave you for our engagement.” His voice turned hard. “This whole ‘calling off the wedding’ tantrum is getting old. I’ll let it slide once or twice. I’ll even play along and humor you. But if you say it again, I’ll make it real. And when that happens, don’t you dare come crawling back to me.” My throat was raw. I didn’t have the energy for this. I opened the car door, but he was faster. He got out, came around to my side, and swept me up into his arms. It wasn’t a gentle gesture; it was rough, angry, but he didn’t let me fall. Inside, he placed me on the sofa and found the first-aid kit. He took my temperature and got me a glass of water, his movements efficient, his expression cold. I let him do it, my body pliant and silent. This was Frank. Hot and cold, a puzzle I could never solve. He would offer these small, almost insignificant moments of care that would send my hopes soaring, only to plunge me back into despair. But I was done trying to figure him out. “Thanks,” I rasped. I met his deep gaze and asked calmly, “Is there anything else?” His lips tightened. He seemed to be wrestling with himself before he finally spoke. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” I shook my head. I didn’t need to. I’d already seen Seraphina’s latest social media post. A photo geotagged at the airport with the caption: “It’s been a while. Hope you’ve been well.” Frank had liked it. “I’m really tired. I need to rest,” I said, pushing myself up from the sofa. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” In a few days, once my things were packed, I would be gone for good. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Monica!” His voice was laced with a frustrated helplessness. “I picked Sera up because she doesn’t know anyone else here. She twisted her ankle. I couldn’t just leave her there, could I?” It was the first time he had ever offered me an explanation. But I no longer cared to hear it. “Of course,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “You did the right thing.” He stared at me, searching my blank expression for any sign of jealousy or hurt. He found none. “Monica, Sera and I are just friends now.” “I know,” I said, nodding with a disinterest that was entirely genuine. Suddenly, he pulled me against him, his body a familiar, burning warmth that I had once craved more than anything. He knew I loved his hugs. He thought this one simple gesture could break down my defenses, just like it always had before. But my body remained stiff. I raised my hands and pushed against his chest. “Let go of me, Frank.” He froze, clearly stunned by my reaction. A dark, ugly expression clouded his face. The next day, I went to my office to hand in my resignation. I was told a major client was visiting. And there was Frank, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, exuding an aura of power as he led the way. The “secretary” by his side was Seraphina. “This way, please,” I said, my voice so professional it surprised even me. I led them to the conference room. Throughout the meeting, Frank’s eyes would occasionally drift to me, analytical and assessing. Seraphina would catch his eye and they would share a small, knowing smile. I overheard two junior colleagues whispering behind me. “Mr. Vance is so handsome. And so successful. Did you see how thoughtful he was with his secretary?” “I know! He even pulled out her chair for her. They look so perfect together.” Their words were like tiny needles piercing my heart. In three years, Frank had never once come to my office, not even to pick me up. The first time he ever set foot in my workplace was for this. With her. The irony was crushing. After my presentation, Frank spoke, his tone dismissive. “Ms. Ross is clearly an expert on this project. She will be your point of contact going forward.” “But, sir…” one of my colleagues started, about to mention my impending resignation. But Frank had already turned and was walking away, Seraphina at his side. He didn’t look back. Their silhouettes, side by side, were a perfect match. A picture-perfect couple. It had taken me three years to finally understand that the place beside him was never meant for me. This weekend was his grandmother’s 80th birthday. I had promised her months ago that I would be there. After much hesitation, I decided to go. After all, I had something I needed to return. The party was held in the grand ballroom of the city’s finest hotel, filled with industry titans and socialites. It was as much a business gathering as a family celebration. Frank, of course, was one of the stars of the show. And standing next to him, exquisitely dressed, was Seraphina. He was leaning in, listening intently as she spoke. His eyes occasionally swept over to my side of the room, as if gauging my reaction. A moment later, Seraphina seemed to choke on her champagne. He was instantly at her side with a napkin, his movements practiced and intimate. Halfway through the dinner, I needed some air. I stepped out onto the terrace and heard voices coming from the shadows. It was Frank and his best friend. “Fighting with Monica again?” Frank grunted an affirmation, swirling the wine in his glass. His friend sighed. “Man, I don’t get you. You obviously care about her, but you always have to be so difficult. You always make her be the one to back down. You’re lucky she’s so patient.” “I know,” Frank said, his voice unreadable. “You know? You know, and you still bring Seraphina to your grandmother’s birthday party? That’s a slap in the face, and you know it. She has to know about your history.” “Aren’t you afraid you’ll push her too far? That she’ll finally get fed up and leave you?” There was a pause. “She won’t,” Frank said, his tone one of absolute certainty. “Monica… she would never leave me.” He was always so confident. Confident in my love, in my tolerance, in the belief that I would always forgive him. It’s what allowed him to be so reckless. I was about to turn away when a soft voice spoke from behind me. “Ms. Ross? Fancy seeing you here. Can we talk for a moment?” Seraphina approached, her tone as warm as if we were old friends. “We’ve never had the chance to be properly introduced. I’m Seraphina.” She smiled, but her eyes held a glint of challenge. “You’ve probably heard of me, but I’m just Frank’s secretary now. I hope that’s not a problem for you.” My expression remained neutral. “Are we supposed to know each other, Ms. Vane?” My calm dismissal clearly annoyed her. A flicker of anger crossed her face. Then, she swayed, stumbled, and fell to the ground, taking a champagne tower down with her. The crash was deafening. Frank was there in an instant. “Monica, what the hell did you do?” he snarled, his eyes blazing. “What is wrong with you?” I didn’t bother to explain. Instead, I picked up a fresh glass of red wine, walked right up to him, and threw its contents in his face. As he stared at me in stunned disbelief, and Seraphina gaped from the floor, I raised an eyebrow. “See that, Frank?” I said. “That I did.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384563”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After my fiancé’s car accident scrambled his brain, he blocked everyone, deleted all his contacts, and disappeared. He even had someone pass a message to me. “Sorry for wasting your time. I’m going to find my true love.” I was already annoyed from being caught in the rain on my way home from a long day at the office. This message just made it worse. My irritation lasted right up until I found a soaking wet man standing on my doorstep. My fiancé, Liam, stared at me with a completely blank expression. “Can you let me stay for the night?” he asked. “I have nowhere else to go.” 1 “Aren’t you supposed to be…” off finding your true love? The words died in my throat. I suddenly remembered the sheer panic on his parents’ faces when they told me he was missing. Right. His brain is broken. Better to just play it cool for now. I let him in. Liam seemed to find the situation as bizarre as I did. He stood awkwardly in the entryway, twisting the hem of his wet shirt. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?” he said, looking troubled. “What if I’m a bad guy?” All I wanted was to get back to the files I still had to review. “Fine,” I said dismissively. “What’s your name?” His face instantly crumpled, his eyes welling up with tears. He looked like a lost puppy. “My name is Liam,” he sniffled. “I was in a car accident. When I woke up, my parents tried to force me to marry some stranger I don’t even like. I had no choice… I had to run away.” As the aforementioned “stranger he doesn’t even like,” I felt a little offended. My patience evaporated. I turned away. “Oh.” I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Long, cool fingers wrapped around my wrist. “I’m so cold from the rain,” he pleaded. “Can I stay here for a while? I can cook, clean…” My head was starting to ache. A fiancé with amnesia was still, technically, my fiancé. And it was probably better to have him under my roof, where I could see what he was up to, than out there somewhere, cheating on me without my knowledge. Once I reasoned it out, I nodded. “Fine, you can stay.” I pointed to a spare room. “That’s the guest room. I’m right next door. Let me know if you need anything. I have to get back to work.” Watching Amelia’s retreating back, Liam’s heart filled with a soft, warm feeling. Running away from his wedding had been the best decision he’d ever made. His quest for true love was off to a fantastic start. He was already inside her house. After I finished my work, I called Liam’s parents to let them know he was safe. Terrified of upsetting him again, they begged me to look after him for a little while. Honestly, I just wanted to call off the whole engagement. It was a business arrangement, a merger of two families, not a love match. With him going on about his “true love,” I felt more like a third wheel than ever. But my parents talked me out of it. “He’s been through a trauma, Amelia. This is a difficult time for him. It’s not right to kick a man when he’s down.” “Fine,” I sighed, resigned to the fact that my amnesiac fiancé was now my roommate. I rubbed my temples and pushed open my bedroom door. And there was Liam, standing there with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The tips of his ears turned bright red. “You… you said I could come to you if I needed anything,” he stammered. “I don’t have any pajamas.” A single drop of water trickled from the ends of his hair, down the hard planes of his abs, and disappeared beneath the towel. The room suddenly felt very hot. I took a step back, forcing my eyes away from his chest. “A boy needs to be careful in a stranger’s house,” I said, my voice unnaturally high. “Not everyone is as—” I spun around and pulled a set of my dad’s pajamas from the closet. He kept a few things here for when he visited. “—upstanding as I am.” Liam took the pajamas, his eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheeks. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Oh,” he said softly. “You actually have some.” Why does he look so sad? Was one pair not enough? Luckily, my dad was particular and had several sets. I pulled out a silk pair and a cotton pair and shoved them at him. “Is this enough? I have men’s underwear, too.” Liam looked completely dumbfounded. The smile on his face was frozen, and he forgot to even say thank you. The next morning, I woke up to the smell of something delicious. It drifted under my door, and my empty stomach grumbled in protest. I opened the door. There was Liam in the kitchen, flipping something in a pan with one hand. He was wearing one of the frilly, lace-trimmed aprons my housekeeper used, the thin straps a stark contrast against the broad muscles of his bare back. The sight made me even hungrier. He heard me and turned around. The morning sun framed him in a golden halo, and his smile was dazzling. “You’re awake! I made breakfast to thank you for letting me stay.” I glanced at the time, my heart sinking. “I have a meeting at the office. I’m going to be late.” The corners of his mouth drooped in disappointment, but then his face brightened. “Go get ready! I’ll pack it up for you. I can drive you, and you can eat on the way.” He drove with a speed and smoothness that allowed me to eat my breakfast in peace. The food was incredible, the sunlight was warm, and for a moment, I forgot all the stress Liam had caused me. Then my dad called. I answered without thinking, and the call automatically connected to the car’s Bluetooth. His voice filled the car. “Honey, about that boy you’re engaged to…” I jabbed the “end call” button. Liam slammed on the brakes. The delicate crystal dumplings I’d been carefully holding tumbled onto the floor mat at my feet. “You’re getting married?” he asked, his voice tight as he started the car again. I stared at the tragic pile of dumplings, my world turning gray. “Not anymore,” I snapped. “It’s off.” “Oh.” All my attention was focused on my massacred breakfast. I completely missed the way Liam’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a huge, irrepressible smile spreading across his face. I was starting to think this whole “true love” story was a lie he’d invented to get out of marrying me. He never left the house. He just spent his days online shopping for stylish clothes and then parading around the apartment in them, for an audience of no one. His schedule was more packed than mine: deep cleaning on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; experimenting with new recipes on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays; and a day of rest on Sunday. My housekeeper sent me a panicked text. “Miss Amelia, the house has been spotless lately, and the fridge is always full of fresh ingredients. Am I… am I being replaced?” I had to spend ten minutes reassuring her that her job was safe. After two weeks of this, Liam finally asked me an important question on his day off. “What kind of guys do girls like?” Living with him, I’d come to see that he was actually a really nice person. I had started to think of him as a good friend. Seeing him finally get serious about his quest for true love, I was happy to help. “I think they like a guy with a bit of a contrast,” I said, getting into it. “Like, you look kind of slim, but then you take your shirt off, and bam, an eight-pack.” “Or, like, you’re amazing in the kitchen, but you can also mix a killer cocktail.” “Or! Your hair is dark and makes you look gentle, but then you turn your head, and whoa, two cartilage piercings—you’re secretly a punk!” “Or, or, or…” I was completely lost in the art of the contrast. When I finally came back to reality, Liam was quietly closing the notes app on his phone. He nodded at me seriously. “Got it. So that’s what you like.” He then announced it was time to start lunch and disappeared into the kitchen. I stared after him, wanting to correct him. Actually, the way you are now is just fine. The right person will like you for who you are. But the words never came out. After my little speech, Liam was suddenly never home. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were for the gym. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays were for bartending classes. It just so happened to be a crazy busy period for my company, so I was rarely home for meals either. One night, after a long negotiation with a partner company, I realized I’d left the signed contract at home. My assistant, Mark, offered to come with me to pick it up so he could work on the revisions overnight. Work was important, so I agreed immediately. And then I remembered my houseguest. Liam and I would have to break our engagement eventually. The last thing I needed was another misunderstanding. I frantically texted him. Liam, are you home? I have to bring someone from work home with me in a few minutes. Can you please hide? Oh, and put away any of your stuff in the living room. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us. I sent a dozen messages. None were answered. My heart was pounding as I opened the door with Mark behind me. To my relief, the apartment was empty, and all of Liam’s things were gone. We went to my home office, I grabbed the files, and Mark left. I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I knocked on Liam’s door. “Liam? Are you asleep? He’s gone, you can come out now! And thanks for cleaning up!” There was a loud crash from inside the room, like something heavy hitting the floor. I pressed my ear to the door, my heart hammering. All I could hear was ragged breathing. “Liam! Liam!” I pounded on the door. The lock clicked, and the door swung open slowly. The smell of alcohol hit me like a wall. Liam was standing there, his eyes red-rimmed. “I’m fine,” he slurred. “Just knocked over a bottle.” “Are you sure?” I stepped closer, sniffing the air around him. “Have you been drinking?” Remembering his quest for love, my inner gossip columnist perked up. “Trouble in paradise? Heartbreak? Do you want to talk about it?” He looked up, all six-foot-something of him looming over me, his presence suddenly intense and overwhelming. My heart did a painful squeeze, and I instinctively took a step back. But he grabbed my hand, his grip tight. “I learned how to make cocktails,” he murmured, “but she doesn’t seem to like drinking. I got an eight-pack, but she barely glanced at it.” He pulled my hand to his ear. “I even got the piercings. Amelia, did you even notice?” The words hung in the air, and then all the fight seemed to go out of him. He wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder, his entire weight pressing down. “You’re just drunk, Liam!” I said, my patience snapping. I smacked the back of his head, not gently. He whimpered into my ear. “Amelia, my head hurts… Amelia, my heart hurts… Amelia, I like… I like…” His breath was hot against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. My fiancé was holding me, whispering another woman’s name. It was a bizarre feeling. My body was heating up from the contact, but my heart was growing colder by the second. My phone buzzed, pulling me out of my thoughts. It was Mark, with the revised contract ready for my review. Work couldn’t wait. Worried that Liam would throw up all over my apartment, I half-dragged him into my office. He was a dead weight, clumsy and docile. I got him to the armchair in the corner. “Sit,” I commanded. “Okay,” he mumbled, collapsing into it. But as I turned away, his hand shot out and grabbed my sleeve. “Where are you going?” “To work.” Five minutes later, I looked up from my desk. He was staring at me, his gaze intense and hazy. Ten minutes later, he had somehow managed to get up and was now standing by my bookshelf. On the top shelf was a detailed model airplane. A gift from him, after our engagement. “You kept this?” he asked, his drunken fog momentarily clearing. “Yes,” I said. Wait. How would he remember giving that to me? “You remember?” I asked, unable to stop myself. He didn’t answer directly. His eyes were shining. “So you remember.” So you remember. What did that mean? I finished my work, but I couldn’t sleep. The first time I met Liam wasn’t at our arranged engagement dinner. I had just taken over my family’s company. I was young, and the older, male executives didn’t take me seriously. I’d spent an entire afternoon on the phone, trying to delegate a task, an argument that followed me from the airport lounge all the way onto the plane. I finally hung up, frustrated, as the flight attendant announced the final call to turn off all electronic devices. As my phone went dark, I felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of loneliness. A wave of self-pity washed over me. Why were they making things so difficult? A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes started to sting. I fumbled in my oversized bag for a tissue, but it was crammed with notebooks, files, and a heavy laptop—a perfect metaphor for my life. Before I could find a tissue, a tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. Through my blurry vision, a hand appeared from the side, holding out a tissue. The wrist was adorned with an expensive-looking watch, the cuff of the suit jacket perfectly pressed. “I think you might need this,” a deep, steady voice said. I looked up and met a pair of kind, intelligent eyes. Resting on the tissue was a single mint. I wiped my eyes and popped the mint into my mouth. The cool sweetness spread across my tongue, calming the storm inside me. After the flight, I walked into my meeting and absolutely crushed it, winning over every single one of the skeptical executives. I never forgot those eyes. Until, weeks later, I walked reluctantly into the private dining room for my arranged engagement dinner. A man who was laughing and talking with my father looked up, and our eyes met again. Oh, I thought. So his name is Liam. And I thought, If it’s him… then I’m willing to try. So you remember. The drunk Liam, upon saying this, was filled with a secret joy. That airplane model was from a competition they had entered together as kids. He’d made one, and Amelia had made one. His mother had told him, post-accident, that he had given his model to his future fiancée. He had thought he must have been an idiot. How could he have given away something so important? As a child, he’d been a chubby, shy boy with a stutter. The other kids made fun of him, and no one wanted to be his partner for the model airplane competition. Except Amelia. She was vibrant and competitive, her mind bursting with ideas. But when he haltingly tried to express his own thoughts, she never interrupted. She would just watch him with her big, bright eyes, listening patiently. Sometimes, she would praise him. “Liam, that’s so smart! What a great idea!” Other times, she would frown and correct him. “No, that won’t work! The plane will never fly like that!” They won first place. It was the first time in his life he had ever won anything. Slowly, he started to find his voice. The other kids forgot about his stutter. But Liam never forgot. He would always imagine a pair of bright, round eyes watching him, encouraging him. Amelia’s eyes. That secret, childhood crush had taken root and grown over the years, finally blossoming the morning he woke up from his accident. When he heard he was being forced into a business marriage, his world had collapsed. He felt a strange sense of gratitude for the accident; it had shaken him awake. It wasn’t too late.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384562”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I used to have a rule: never get attached. He was a college boy, a conquest. I broke his heart and never looked back. Years later, after my family went bankrupt, he found me. By then, he was Cole Hayes, a man who had built an empire from nothing. He married me. Everyone said I’d hit the jackpot. What they didn’t know was that every night, Cole brought a different woman to our home. I never cried, never made a scene. My silence seemed to drive him madder than any tears could have. So he escalated, planting his seed in the belly of Chloe, the girl he could never forget, his first love. When I remained placid, he finally cornered me, slamming his hand against the wall beside my head. “Stella, don’t you love me? Do you feel anything at all?” Tonight, Chloe and I both went into labor. As my water broke, I fell to my knees, finally telling him the words he wanted to hear. I begged him, told him I loved him, pleaded with him to take me to the hospital. He pulled me into a fierce hug, a triumphant smile on his face. “I knew it,” he whispered. Then he shoved me away. “You’re a liar.” He lifted Chloe into his arms and walked out without a backward glance. “A little later,” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with ice. “The pain of childbirth is your punishment, Stella.” 1 His retreating back was the last thing I saw. My abdomen seized, a brutal fist clenching inside me, stealing my breath and my strength. I collapsed onto the cold marble floor. The amniotic fluid gushed from between my legs, pooling beneath me in a dark, spreading stain. I lifted a trembling hand toward the housekeeper, Maria, who stood frozen by the doorway. My voice was a raw whisper. “Get me to a hospital… please.” Her face was a mask of conflict. “Ma’am, Mr. Hayes gave specific orders. I have to wait for him to return. I can’t…” “You can’t?” The pain was a jagged knife, and my voice shook with it. “If anything happens to me or this baby, do you really think Cole will spare you? Take me. Now.” Fear finally broke through her paralysis. She scrambled for the door, but Cole’s personal assistant, Mark, blocked her path. “Mark, she’s in labor. We have to get her to the hospital,” Maria said, her voice small. Mark’s gaze flickered from the fluid on the floor to my contorted face. His tone was unnervingly calm. “Mr. Hayes was clear. We wait. He believes Mrs. Hayes is merely using the pregnancy to create drama. Help her back to her room.” “The baby will die if you wait! Do you want that on your conscience?” I summoned every last bit of my strength, pointing a shaking finger at him. Mark offered a practiced, empty smile. His eyes were devoid of warmth. “Ma’am, Mr. Hayes is at the hospital with Ms. Summers. He’s ensuring her pregnancy is stable. He said to wait for him. You know his temper. No one disobeys his orders.” “I’m in labor! The baby can’t wait!” Another contraction ripped through me, more violent than the last. It felt like a drill boring into my womb. I curled into a ball on the floor, a guttural sob escaping my lips as cold sweat soaked through my dress. “What are you waiting for? Get her to bed,” Mark commanded sharply. Two maids rushed forward. Ignoring the agony in my belly, they hooked their arms under mine and began to drag me toward the bedroom. That’s when I felt it—a new, terrifying warmth. I looked down. It was blood. “Blood! I’m bleeding!” I screamed, grabbing one of the maid’s arms with a desperate strength. “Take me to the hospital! The baby is in danger, don’t you understand?” “Ma’am, it’s not my decision,” the maid whispered, her eyes filled with a useless pity as she pried my fingers from her arm. “I’ll… I’ll call the family doctor.” “I don’t want the doctor, I need a hospital!” “Please, ma’am, don’t get agitated. I’ll go speak to Mark again right now.” She fled the room as if escaping a fire. The pain was bone-deep now, a relentless, grinding agony. The plush velvet carpet beneath me was soaked with a grim cocktail of sweat, blood, and amniotic fluid. Minutes stretched into an eternity. No one came. I dragged my bleeding body across the floor, inch by painful inch, until I reached the bed. Maria had just re-entered the room. I clutched the hem of her uniform, my voice breaking. “Maria… please, check on them. I can’t hold on much longer…” She gave a small, pained nod. “I’ll go hurry them, ma’am. Just try to breathe.” She turned, only to be stopped by Mark at the door. He walked slowly toward me. His eyes flickered to the blood-soaked carpet, a hint of hesitation in their depths, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold resolve. “Let Dr. Evans take a look first.” On cue, the doctor entered with his medical bag. The maids moved in again, pinning my thrashing limbs to the bed. “Let me go! I need the hospital!” I twisted wildly, tears and sweat streaming down my face. “My baby can’t wait!” Dr. Evans examined me with a blank expression, then produced a small vial of white pills and handed them to Maria. “What is that?” I shook my head frantically. “I won’t take it! Are you trying to kill my child?” “It’s to delay labor,” he said, his voice monotone. “It will ease the contractions.” “No! It will cut off the oxygen! The baby will suffocate!” He remained silent, his face a stony mask. “Dr. Evans,” I gasped, clutching at any shard of humanity I could find in him. “Your wife is pregnant, isn’t she? If she were the one lying here, would you give her these pills? Aren’t you afraid of karma, of what you’re doing?” I turned my desperate gaze to Mark. “Mark, if anything happens to us, you will be the one responsible. Cole will not let you get away with this!” Dr. Evans and Mark exchanged a look. For a moment, I thought I’d broken through. They were about to agree when Mark’s phone buzzed. It was Cole. He answered, his voice instantly deferential. As he listened, the last flicker of doubt on his face was extinguished. “You heard, ma’am,” he said, his tone now laced with a chilling finality. “Mr. Hayes insists that we wait for his return. It’s not that I won’t help you. It’s that I can’t.” He gave Maria a sharp nod. The maids seized my shoulders, forcing my jaw open. Maria shoved the pills into my mouth. I gagged, trying to spit them out, but they slid down my throat.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384561”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel