The day my twin sister, Jade, got her rejection letter from Juilliard’s dance department, the entire family gathered around to comfort her. I stood quietly in the corner, staring at the acceptance notification glowing on my phone screen. I was about to tell my parents that I had made it in. But then, my phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime call—from my own number, dated ten years in the future. “Do not tell them you got into Juilliard!” My future self on the screen looked exhausted, her voice trembling. “The moment you tell them tonight, Jade won’t be able to handle it. She’s going to jump from the roof of our apartment building.” “You will spend the next eight years of your life paying for her ‘tragedy.’ And on the tenth year, Mom and Dad will make sure you get into a car accident so you can never stand on a stage again. They will steal your life to pay for Jade’s.” “Believe me, Pearl. Our parents have never loved you.” My eyes widened in pure disbelief. The camera on the screen tilted down, revealing my future self’s empty wheelchair. My legs were gone. Before I could scream, the call disconnected. Right then, my parents finally remembered that I had applied to Juilliard too. Mom rubbed Jade’s back, whispering gently, “Sweetie, look at your sister, Pearl. She only applied because she wanted to copy you. No matter how bad you think you did, she’s always there to make you look good.” Dad pointed a finger at me. “Pearl, you didn’t get in either, right?” Thinking of the chilling FaceTime call from my future self, my heart sank into an icy abyss. I shook my head slowly. “No. I didn’t get in.”

Hearing my rejection, Dad let out a sigh of relief, a familiar, predictable smile playing on his lips. “See, Jade? You only feel bad because you hold yourself to such high standards.” “Look at your sister. She failed, and she doesn’t even care.” I watched my family ignore my existence, the joy of getting into the top dance school in the country completely evaporating. “She’s always been pathetic,” Jade sneered, wiping her tears. “She shouldn’t even be compared to me.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them that I was better than her. But the warning from ten years later echoed in my mind, and I slowly clamped my mouth shut. Mom patted Jade’s shoulder. “Exactly. Our Jade has been winning local dance trophies since she was a little girl. I know you’ll get in next year.” With that, Mom took a shiny Tiffany & Co. bracelet out of her pocket and clipped it onto Jade’s wrist. Then, her eyes flicked to my bare wrist. She sighed. “Pearl, you need to start putting in some effort. This bracelet is a reward for your sister’s hard work. You can’t keep being the disappointment of this family.” I lowered my head. Growing up, Jade was always the star. No matter how hard I tried, I was always “just a bit short.” A bit short on looks, a bit short on intelligence, a bit short on talent. Today was the very first time I had actually beaten Jade. I got into Juilliard. But I was still “just a bit short” of getting my parents’ love. “Pearl, you don’t think I’m being unfair, do you?” Mom asked, her voice dropping. I shook my head. “No.” My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. “Good,” Mom said. “If you really can’t do anything else, you can just prep for the SATs again with Jade next year. It’ll save us some trouble.” “No,” Dad interrupted before I could even reply. “Her situation is different from Jade’s. She’s just not built for dancing. Prep courses would be a waste of money.” I knew what Dad meant. He thought I was too short. Unlike Jade, who supposedly had the “perfect dancer’s body.” I had heard this my entire life. Even my ballet instructors used to sigh when looking at me. “Your proportions aren’t ideal, Pearl. Your legs are too short. You two are twins, but why couldn’t you inherit even half of Jade’s physique?” They always stopped there, but I knew the rest. Why are you so useless? My parents believed my desire to dance was just a desperate attempt to copy my sister. Whatever she had, I had to grab. But it wasn’t like that. I just didn’t want to be left behind in the dark. Jade always got the custom designer tutus, the newest pointe shoes, and the spotlight with our parents’ standing ovations. Meanwhile, if I asked for a single pair of shoes, I was told I was wasting their hard-earned money. For this Juilliard audition, I had trained until my toes bled. I had ruined dozens of shoes in secret. And I made it. But to them, I was still the trash sister. Dad tossed a local community college brochure onto my lap. “Stop trying to ride on your sister’s coattails. Just apply to a local college nearby. That way, we can keep an eye on you.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. “Okay,” I whispered. But under the table, my fingers slid across my phone screen, officially clicking “Accept Offer.” Juilliard was three thousand miles away in New York. Once I left… I was never coming back.

I went back to my room and started packing my suitcase in silence. I opened my closet. Out of dozens of clothes, only three or four faded t-shirts actually belonged to me. Mom always said, “You two are twins, just share your clothes.” But I had highly sensitive skin. Wearing cheap polyester gave me painful red rashes. They never believed me. Even if they found out I got into Juilliard, they would never love me. I knew that now. I dropped the clothes back into the closet. I packed only my absolute essentials. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Mom. “Pearl, come down to the Italian restaurant down the street. We’re celebrating Jade’s decision to try again next year. We need to support her.” I opened my bedroom door. The apartment was completely empty. They had already left without me. They could have walked down together as a family of four. But they “forgot” me again. I wanted to say I wasn’t going. But realizing these were my last few days here, I swallowed my pride. “I’ll be there.” When I arrived at the restaurant, the table was loaded with lobster, oysters, and shrimp—all of Jade’s favorites. I was highly allergic to seafood. But they chose to ignore it. “You’re twins,” Dad had said years ago. “She’s fine, so why are you acting so dramatic? If you don’t want to eat, don’t. More for Jade.” I was used to it. The pain didn’t even register anymore. I pulled out a chair and sat down. Jade’s plate was piled high with shrimp Mom had personally peeled for her. In front of me, there wasn’t even a fork or a glass. Dad was busy pouring watermelon juice for Jade. The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. I was just a ghost sitting at the edge of their frame. Jade smirked. “Dad, how much allowance did you send me today?” “I got $1,000 via Venmo. Pearl, you’re going to college, so you must have gotten more, right?” I looked at my Snapchat. There was a single pending transfer of $20. I didn’t accept it. Mom placed another lobster tail on Jade’s plate. “Your sister is eighteen now. She needs to start earning her own money.” Jade pouted, leaning into Mom’s shoulder. “Ugh, really? I don’t want to grow up if I have to pay for my own stuff.” Mom laughed, stroking Jade’s hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. This $1,000 is for you to spend on whatever you want. Just focus on your prep classes for Juilliard.” “If you need more, just ask.” “Can I have $3,000 more then? I want to go to Cabo with my friends before prep classes start!” Jade squealed. Mom unlocked her phone and sent $5,000 via Apple Pay without a second thought. I saw her contact list on her screen. Jade was pinned to the top. My name wasn’t even saved; I was just a raw phone number. I used to dream about this. Kneeling by Mom’s side, being comforted, having my mistakes forgiven, and getting whatever I asked for. But the reality was, when I asked Mom for $300 to buy a cheap iPad for my schoolwork after graduation, she had scoffed. “If you put half of that energy into your dancing, you wouldn’t be such a disappointment.” Dad tapped his fork against my empty table space. “Why aren’t you eating?” “I don’t have a fork,” I said honestly. “Then ask the waiter for one!” Dad snapped. “Are you a princess? Do we have to serve you ourselves?” I looked down. I wasn’t a princess. But why did Jade get her shrimp peeled and fed to her? When the waiter finally brought my utensils, Mom tossed a single shrimp onto my plate. “There. I gave her some, and now I’m giving you some. Don’t go telling people we favor your sister.” I opened my mouth, but Dad cut me off. “Your mother gave you food. Stop making that miserable face and eat.” “Now.” I picked up the shrimp. I stared at it for a long time before forcing it down my throat. Almost instantly, my throat began to burn. Dad laughed, turning to Mom. “See? I told you she was faking her allergy all these years just to get attention.” They kept laughing and talking. I realized then that to parents who don’t love you, your very life is nothing but a joke. I stood up, my throat tightening. “I’m full.” I turned and walked out.

“Pearl!” Mom called after me. For a split second, a tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. Maybe they saw the hives breaking out on my neck. Maybe they finally realized. But Mom’s voice was cold. “Since it’s summer break, don’t just laze around. Find a summer job.” “You’re an adult now. Act like one.” Jade got a vacation to Cabo, and I got a demand to work. I stood frozen for a second, then pushed open the restaurant door. Actually, I had always been the “mature” one. I gave up my dresses, did the chores, and never asked for a penny. But because they didn’t care, everything I did was a mistake. I took an Uber to the ER alone. I sat in the waiting room, got my prescription, and paid for it myself. I was used to being alone. It shouldn’t have hurt. But then, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Jade had posted. [Craving custom cake, so Mom and Dad took me out! Forever their little princess! ] In the photo, Mom and Dad were laughing, feeding Jade a slice of gourmet cake. I remembered asking Mom for a small cake for my birthday once. Her response had been freezing: “Don’t you want to be a dancer? Where is your self-control? Do you want to get fat?” The doctor’s voice broke my thoughts. “Acute allergic reaction. If you had come any later, your airway would have closed up.” It felt like a physical blow to my chest. “Sweetheart, doesn’t your family know you have a severe shellfish allergy?” Of course they knew. They just didn’t care. I sat in the cold hospital bed with an IV in my arm, watching the fluid drip down. If Jade had been gone this late, they would have called the police in a panic. But my lock screen was completely empty. Not a single text. My knuckles turned white as I clutched my phone. I opened Instagram again. Mom had posted a collage of Jade. [My beautiful girl graduated! Next stop: Juilliard!] I scrolled through Mom’s feed. It was a sea of Jade. My face appeared exactly once—in the background of Jade’s photo. My mother’s colleagues at work didn’t even know she had twins. Once, one of them saw me and was shocked. “Twins? I had no idea!” “Pearl doesn’t look like Jade at all. She doesn’t really fit in, does she?” My parents had just laughed, pulling Jade closer. “Yeah, they came from the same belly, but we wish Pearl had even half of Jade’s grace.” To them, I was just a defective buy-one-get-one-free deal. By the time my IV was finished, it was the next morning. I walked back into the apartment. My parents were in the living room packing Jade’s designer suitcases. Dad glanced up at me. “Pearl, where the hell were you?” “Does it matter? You didn’t notice anyway.” The room went dead silent. Dad’s face twisted in rage. “Do you think because you’re eighteen, you can talk to us like that?” “Staying out all night and now you have the nerve to blame us?” The hives on my hands were still red and swollen. They were looking right at them. But they pretended not to see. I clenched my fists, the skin burning. “It won’t happen again.” Ignoring Dad’s yelling, I walked back to my room. All of my belongings had been thrown into the hallway. In the trash can lay my painted plaster doll—shattered into pieces. I had painted that doll when I was eight. I had won second place in a dance competition, and they had taken us to a craft shop. That was the only time I stood next to Jade on a podium. She had won first. Before I could even finish painting it, they had abandoned me at the shop to take Jade to the movies. Jade walked out of my room, smirking. “Pearl, since you’re going to college anyway, you won’t be coming back much. I’m taking over your room, okay?” I stared at the broken pieces of my childhood in the trash. “Sure,” I said quietly. I was never coming back anyway. Let her have it.

Maybe my lack of reaction disappointed her. Jade’s smirk faltered. “You’re not even going to yell?” When we were kids, I fought for my space. But all I got was: “You’re the older sister, Pearl. Can’t you just let her have it?” Now that I was leaving, there was nothing left to fight for. I grabbed my suitcase and turned around. Dad was blocking the hallway, his face dark. “Pearl, you think you’ve got wings now, huh? You think we can’t touch you?” “Are you trying to run away to scare us?” “No,” I said, my voice completely flat. “Since you aren’t paying for my college, I have to go find a job.” “What is that supposed to mean? You think we owe you something?” Dad bellowed. “You wanted to dance, so we paid $1,500 a year for eight years of classes, even when your teacher told us you had zero talent! We never stopped you!” “And your clothes! You’re the only one complaining about ‘itchy fabric,’ so we had to buy you special outfits. That’s hundreds of dollars!” “Your food, your pointe shoes—you asked me for $800 just last semester! Do you have any idea how much you cost us?” He listed every dollar like a debt collector. My ears started ringing. “Pearl, where is your goddamn conscience?” My eyes burned, but I forced the tears back. “I’ll pay you back. Every single cent.” Dad stepped forward and slapped me across the face. The force of it spun my head around. “With what job? You failed your auditions! You’re nothing!” “Why can’t you be sensible like Jade for once in your life?!” My cheek burned like fire. Jade rushed over, fake tears spilling from her eyes as she grabbed my arm. “Pearl, stop making Dad mad!” “They do everything for us. I never tried to take anything from you!” She never had to try. Everything was handed to her on a silver platter. I shoved her off me. I barely used any force, but Jade stumbled back, crying out as if I had struck her. Mom instantly shielded Jade, glaring at me like I was a monster. “Both of you are my daughters! How could you think I don’t love you equally?” “Pearl, you are a massive disappointment.” But I knew the truth. Some daughters are just worth more than others. I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. Behind me, Dad’s voice roared through the hallway: “If you walk out that door, don’t you dare ever come back!” I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way train ticket to New York. “I won’t,” I whispered.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435686”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My fiancé, Zachary, had a weird rule. He never picked up any phone calls after 9 PM. Even when we were head over heels in love. The second the clock struck nine, he would hang up on me without hesitation. One night, I was walking home late and realized someone was stalking me. Panicking, I called him. All I got was his extremely irritated voice through the speaker. “How old are you, Elena? Can you respect other people’s schedules? I’m hanging up.” That night, I spent hours at the police station making a report. I didn’t get home until the next morning. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. Until now. I was using his laptop and accidentally saw his call history synced from his phone. There was a call record from 9 PM to 9 AM the next day. A solid twelve hours. They called every single night, and it had been going on for five years. I knew that number. It belonged to his teaching assistant, Chloe. At that moment, my spine went cold. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I sat there for a long time until my legs went numb. I silently closed the laptop, logged into my account, and canceled our appointment for the marriage license at City Hall. That call was never meant to light up for me. And I didn’t want to answer it anymore.

When the screen showed the cancellation was successful, Zachary walked out of the bathroom. Seeing me sitting there motionless, he glanced at the time and frowned. “Do you have something to say? It’s almost nine. I need to sleep.” I froze for two seconds, then shook my head. “Nothing.” He nodded. “Okay. Goodnight then.” He didn’t notice the change in my mood. He turned around and went back to his room. I stared into space for a bit. Just as I was about to stand up, his laptop screen lit up. A call from Chloe popped up on his phone and synced to the computer. And Zachary. The man who supposedly never took calls, never spoke, and never replied to messages after 9 PM—he answered it in a split second. He was so eager, as if terrified she would wait even a moment longer. I let out a mocking laugh. How sweet of him. Too bad his exception wasn’t me, his fiancée. I went back to the bedroom. Zachary had already closed his eyes, looking fast asleep. But this time, I noticed things I had never noticed before. For example, his phone was placed face down on the nightstand. And there was a tiny, barely noticeable black earbud in his right ear. I turned off the lights. In the darkness, I replied to the transfer notice my boss had sent me last week. I had declined it back then because I didn’t want to do long-distance with Zachary right after getting married. But now, it was over. My boss replied almost instantly. “Have you made up your mind, Elena? The State Department assignment at the Embassy in Paris is at least five years. If you’re sure, get your visa sorted. You leave in three days.” I typed back: “I’m sure. Thank you.” The man beside me was breathing softly. I figured Chloe must be feeling very safe and warm right now. The next morning, Zachary was standing in the walk-in closet. I got up and touched his phone. It was scorching hot. After packing the documents I needed for my visa, I glanced at him and headed for the door. As we brushed past each other, Zachary stopped me, looking confused. “Aren’t you going to tie my tie today?” I curled my lips into a small smile. “No. You should learn to do it yourself.” I paused. “Or ask your assistant to do it.” Zachary put his things down and walked over, looking at me with confusion. “Are you talking about Chloe?” Just mentioning her name softened his cold, serious face instantly. A warm smile flickered in his eyes. “She actually knows how to do it. She’s a very sweet and attentive girl. But what does that have to do with you tying my tie?” I stayed silent for two seconds. I didn’t even know where to start, so I didn’t bother explaining. “Nothing. I just don’t want to do it anymore.” Zachary pursed his lips, clearly annoyed. “Suit yourself. Oh, by the way, you don’t need to bring me lunch today. Chloe just text me. She said she’s bringing me something.” My hand froze on the doorknob. “Okay.” Zachary had severe stomach issues because of his stressful work, so no matter how busy I was, I used to cook for him every day. Well, this worked out great. I was more than happy to be free of the chore. I didn’t care about his feelings anymore. I opened the door and walked out. I went to the embassy and got my five-year work visa. Then I went to my office to collect my official transfer documents. Placing the papers in my bag, I looked at the cherry blossoms blooming outside the gates. For the first time in five years, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

On my way home, my boss called. He asked me to go to Columbia University’s literature department to pick up some research files for him. Hanging up, I sighed. I wanted to cut all ties with Zachary, yet he just had to be a professor at Columbia. When I arrived at the department, it was during the peak hour between classes. I couldn’t help but overhear the students talking. “I barely managed to grab a seat in Professor Miller’s class! He is so popular!” “I know, right? The girls go for Professor Miller, and most of the guys go for Chloe. Seriously, they look like a power couple.” My steps slowed down. A sudden wave of bitterness washed over me. In our five years together, Zachary had never once introduced me to his social circle. When we were deeply in love, I used to beg him to introduce me to his friends, or to post a picture of us on Instagram. But Zachary. The esteemed, serious literature professor, would always look at me like I was a spoiled child and scold me. “Elena, grow up.” “You’re not eighteen. Don’t worry about this superficial stuff. It doesn’t suit my professional image.” I had been stunned that day. And I never brought it up again. The girls next to me kept gossiping about Zachary and Chloe. “Honestly, Professor Miller’s profile says he’s engaged, but I bet it’s Chloe! Otherwise, why has no one ever seen his fiancée?” “Definitely. A guy that serious only smiles when Chloe is around.” Their voices faded as they walked away. My steps got slower and slower until I stopped by the corridor window. All the suppressed pain and humiliation of the past five years rushed over me. I took a deep breath. But it was fine. I had a way out. In three days, it would all be over. After picking up the files, I walked past the second faculty office and heard familiar laughter. “Try this! It’s seriously so good!” Through the crack in the door, I saw Chloe and Zachary sitting close together, eating breakfast. Chloe naturally held a strawberry milkshake up to his lips. Zachary hated milkshakes. Once, I made one for him, and he threw a massive fit and walked out, leaving me crying alone in the house. But now. He just frowned slightly, sighed helplessly at Chloe’s puppy-dog eyes, and drank it with pure indulgence. Chloe’s eyes sparkled. “How is it? Good?” Zachary nodded. “Not bad.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. Behind my back, Zachary was actually capable of being this gentle and accommodating. I just had never seen this side of him in five years. Not even once. Inside the office, Zachary naturally took a napkin and wiped some crumbs from the corner of Chloe’s mouth, asking softly. “Did you sleep well last night? Any insomnia?” “Very well,” Chloe smiled. “You know I sleep like a baby as long as you’re on FaceTime with me.” She seemed to think of something. “But I heard you don’t take calls after 9 PM. Am I disturbing you?” Zachary replied without a second thought, “You are the exception.” Those four words. They twisted around my heart like thorny vines, making it hard to breathe. Hearing him say it with his own lips… After the initial suffocating pain, I just felt numb. Pulling out a thorn hurts, but once it’s out, time will heal the wound. I leaned against the wall, took a deep breath to clear my eyes, and walked away. When I got home, I pulled out my suitcase and started packing. After living here for five years, my belongings couldn’t even fill a single suitcase. In the evening, Zachary called. “Get ready to go downstairs. We’re having dinner at my mom’s place tonight.” “Okay,” I replied. When I reached his Maybach parked by the curb, I habitually opened the front passenger door. Only to find Chloe sitting there, eating a cupcake. “Hi, Elena!” Looking at the crumbs falling all over the leather seat, my first instinct was to look at Zachary. He absolutely detested anyone eating in his car. Especially me. But right now, his expression was completely calm, as if he was totally used to it. I suddenly realized. Ah, I almost forgot. Chloe was the exception in his life. Chloe hurriedly wiped her mouth and made a move to get up. “Maybe I should sit in the back, I…” I gave her a polite, calm smile. “It’s fine. You stay there. It’s just a seat.” I opened the back door and climbed in. I caught the brief flash of confusion in Zachary’s eyes. But I didn’t care. In the past, this had happened before. But every single time, Zachary would snap at me with annoyance. “Elena, it’s just a seat. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” Looking at the rain pattering against the window, I realized I didn’t feel sad or hurt anymore. The peace inside me was almost shocking. Yeah. It was just a seat. Just a man. To me, they were the same now. If they were dirty, I’d just throw them away.

When we arrived at the Miller estate, Mrs. Miller was waiting outside. Chloe hopped out of the car. She ran over and grabbed Mrs. Miller’s arm, acting cute. “Mrs. Miller! It’s so windy out here. Why did you come out? Let’s go inside.” Mrs. Miller smiled warmly. “I was waiting for you, darling. I felt so bad making you work under Zachary. He has such a difficult temper.” Chloe glanced at Zachary, who was standing nearby with a soft smile. Her ears turned slightly pink. “Professor Miller is great. I love working with him.” The two of them began walking inside. After walking a few steps, Mrs. Miller seemed to remember something and turned around. Her gaze cooled down when she saw me. “Oh, Elena is here too. Come in quickly, don’t freeze.” That was all she said. Zachary walked up to me, looking down with a frown. “Are you in a bad mood?” “No.” I just felt relieved. He pursed his lips. “If things are going badly at your work, I hope you don’t bring that attitude into my family’s home. I don’t want to deal with a sulking face all evening.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my palms stinging. It was hilarious. For a split second, I had actually wondered if he was asking out of concern. I stopped in my tracks. The love in my eyes was gone, replaced by absolute emptiness. “If I’m unhappy, I’ll show it. If you don’t like looking at my face, then don’t look.” “I am not your servant. I don’t exist to please you.” Zachary’s face hardened, his annoyance clear. “Elena, you are an adult. We are about to get married. I don’t want an emotionally unstable wife.” I let out a cold laugh. “Then who do you think fits your perfect standard?” He looked like he was seriously considering it, but I already knew the answer in his heart. “No matter what, you are the one I’m marrying.” “But I do think you could learn a thing or two from Chloe. She knows how to manage her emotions perfectly, you know?” I stared at him for two seconds. Then, I smiled. “Sure.” We sat down at the dining table. Mrs. Miller sat Chloe and Zachary on either side of her. I sat in a corner where I wouldn’t disturb them. Once the food was served, I realized something. There wasn’t a single dish on the table that I liked. Mrs. Miller was beaming, constantly putting food onto Chloe’s plate. “Look at how thin you are.” “You need to take care of yourself. Zachary told me all your favorite foods so I could have the chef make them.” Chloe smiled shyly. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller.” Mrs. Miller then paused. She looked at me awkwardly, forcing a smile. “Elena, I didn’t know what you liked to eat. Just help yourself.” Zachary placed a piece of pineapple pizza on my plate. “Next time, tell me what you want to eat in advance, and I’ll have the housekeepers prepare it.” “You don’t really have any strong preferences anyway.” “Unlike Chloe. She loves sweet and sour things, like pineapple pizza. Just like a kid.” I looked down. Staring at the pineapple pizza on my plate—the very fruit that I was highly allergic to—I lost myself in thought. Five years. We had been together for five years. And he still needed me to “tell him in advance” what I liked and disliked. Every detail he knew about Chloe’s preferences was like a slap in my face, mocking my five years of devotion. My phone buzzed. It was an email from my boss with my flight details. Tomorrow morning at 8 AM. My heart finally settled. I was free. I didn’t touch my fork during the entire dinner. Zachary didn’t even notice. I was just a ghost at the table, quietly watching the three of them act like a happy family. I couldn’t fit in. And I didn’t want to.

On the way home, Chloe sat in the front passenger seat again. Zachary was dropping her off first. I sat in the back, texting my landlord in Paris about my new apartment. “Come sit in the front,” Zachary suddenly said. Without looking up, I replied, “No need.” Silence stretched for a few seconds. “Suit yourself.” I ignored him, looking at the photos of the bright, beautiful Parisian apartment. I paid the deposit immediately. When we got home, he took a photo album out of his briefcase and walked over to me. “Want to take a look?” I took it, confused, and realized it was a wedding catalog. “Pick a dress soon. The wedding is in a month. The designers need time to make adjustments.” He pointed to a dress covered in delicate white flowers. “I think this one is perfect.” A flash of contempt crossed my eyes. He really thought of her in everything, didn’t he? If this were the old me, I would have thrown a fit. But now, I just nodded calmly. “Sure. It looks nice. Let’s go with this one.” Anyway, I was leaving in two days. What did a wedding in a month have to do with me? Zachary seemed highly satisfied with my obedience. He leaned down and planted a kiss on my forehead as a reward. “Good girl.” “This is how you should behave. I don’t like the attitude you had earlier today. Don’t let it happen again, okay?” With that, he went into the bathroom. I grabbed a disinfectant wipe and scrubbed my forehead until the skin turned red. By 9 PM, Zachary turned off the lights and got into bed. His phone was face down, his Bluetooth earbud firmly in his right ear. He didn’t notice the empty vanity table or the empty bathroom cabinets. He didn’t even see the suitcase standing by my side of the bed. Of course. Except for Chloe, he didn’t care about anyone else. In the middle of the night, I was suddenly woken up by a sharp scream coming from his earbud. Beside me, Zachary bolted upright. He panicked, shouting into his mic, his voice trembling violently. “Chloe? What’s wrong?!” In the quiet room, I could hear Chloe sobbing hysterically on the other end. The man who prided himself on being calm and never breaking his rules instantly lost his mind. He threw off the covers and ran out of the house in his pajamas. His 9 PM rule? His precious sleeping schedule? Everything was thrown out the window for Chloe. I had no intention of following him, but I couldn’t sleep either. I scrolled through my phone out of boredom. The Columbia University student forum was blowing up. “Some creep broke into the faculty housing! I think Chloe from the literature department is in trouble!” “She’s fine, she’s fine! Live update here: the creep was trying to break her window, but Professor Miller showed up!” “Holy crap, Professor Miller looked terrifying, like a wild beast. He literally beat the guy half to death!” “The NYPD is here now.” I watched the live updates. Every post had pictures. They pierced my eyes in the dark, cold bedroom. Then, someone posted a video. I clicked on it. The man who always talked about rules and decorum was acting like a madman. He was throwing heavy punches at a masked man on the ground. He only stopped when the police pulled him off. Then, he turned around and wrapped Chloe in a tight embrace. He pressed her face against his chest, shielding her from the bloody scene. “Don’t worry. I’m here.” The video instantly went viral on local social media. Everyone was praising him, saying how attractive a protective man was. I stared at the video for a long time. Then, I liked a comment that read: “They look so in love, hope they stay together forever.” I closed the app. Zachary didn’t come back that night. I wasn’t surprised at all. I slept peacefully until 6 AM. Grabbing my suitcase and my passport, I took one last look at the wedding catalogs on the table. I left my keys on the entryway table. And walked out without looking back. At the airport, I posted a public announcement on my Instagram, pinning it to the top of my profile. Then, I boarded the plane. The moment the plane took off, Zachary and I were over forever.

At that exact moment, Zachary, who was keeping Chloe company in her dorm, suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Chloe looked up, worried. “Zachary, what’s wrong? Are you okay? You look pale.” Zachary took a deep breath. After a moment, the pain subsided. He poured a glass of warm water for her. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t figure out why his heart ached so badly, so he brushed it off. “I was probably just too panicked when I heard you were in danger. Now that the adrenaline is fading, my heart is just racing a bit.” Chloe’s ears flushed. Thinking about what had happened, she was still trembling. “Thank you.” “If it weren’t for you tonight, I don’t know what…” She paused. “Please don’t tell your mom. She’ll worry herself to death.” Zachary nodded. Seeing Chloe shivering on the bed, too terrified to close her eyes, he sighed. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay here tonight. I won’t leave.” A flash of triumph crossed Chloe’s eyes. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, but her hand reached out to grab his fingers, holding on tightly. Zachary frowned. His instinct was to pull away. But seeing how shaken she was, he relented. She’s just a young girl, he reasoned. Then he thought of Elena. He had rushed out in such a hurry. He wondered how she was doing at home. He pulled out his phone and sent her a text. “Chloe is fine now. Don’t worry. Go back to sleep.” He waited. No reply. The chat remained silent. Zachary’s breathing turned heavy. But then he figured she must be asleep. It was normal not to reply at this hour. He put his phone away, gently freed his hand from Chloe’s grasp, and sat down on the single armchair across the room. The next morning. The moment he walked out of the faculty housing, Zachary realized something was off. Everyone who ran into him and Chloe was giving them weird looks. Professor Carter from the math department gave him a sly grin. “Congrats, Professor Miller! I didn’t know you and the beautiful Chloe were getting married. You kept it so quiet!” “When is the wedding? You better invite us for a drink!” His wife, Mrs. Carter, smiled. “Oh, hush, you’re too old to be drinking. But Professor Miller is a lucky man. Chloe is such a sweet girl.” Zachary was completely bewildered. He quickly interrupted. “Wait, Chloe and I are not getting married. She is not my fiancée. I’m already engaged.” He pulled two wedding invitations from his bag and handed them over. “My fiancée’s name is Elena. Our wedding is next month. You’re more than welcome to come.” Professor Carter and his wife exchanged a glance. The atmosphere turned instantly awkward. “It’s… not Chloe? But you two usually…” Mrs. Carter nudged her husband, smiling uncomfortably. “Right, right. Congratulations anyway!” They hurried away. But Zachary still caught their whispered scoffs from down the hall: “Is he crazy? He has a fiancée but spent the entire night in Chloe’s room…” Zachary frowned, feeling a knot in his chest. He only saw Chloe as a younger sister. What was wrong with taking care of her? But as he walked through the campus, more and more people kept congratulating him and Chloe. It got to the point where even his students started teasing him in class. Zachary couldn’t take it anymore. His face turned icy cold, all his usual gentle demeanor vanishing. “Quiet down. Let me make something clear. There have been a lot of ridiculous rumors about me and Chloe lately.” “I hope you all have the intelligence to stop spreading them. Chloe is my mother’s student, and she is like a younger sister to me. I have a fiancée, and we are getting married next month.” The noisy classroom fell dead silent. The students stared at each other in shock. One brave girl from the front row spoke up. “But Professor Miller, if Chloe isn’t your girlfriend, why are you two always so touchy-feely?” Zachary’s brow furrowed. He honestly couldn’t understand the question. “Touchy-feely?” “I don’t think we are. I have a fiancée. I only look after Chloe because my mother asked me to.” Several girls in the back snickered. Finally, a girl from another department spoke up boldly. “But Professor, the university forum is full of posts shipping you two, and you’ve never denied them.” “We all know she’s special to you.” “A ‘sister’? Does a sister tie your tie and feed you breakfast in public?” Half the classroom burst into giggles. Some students secretly gave the girl a thumbs-up. Zachary’s face turned incredibly dark. To him, those things were completely harmless. It was just an older brother pampering his younger sister. Why on earth would these students interpret it that way? His terrifyingly dark expression eventually silenced the classroom. Zachary spent the rest of the lecture in a quiet rage, wishing the class would just end. The way his students looked at him was deeply unsettling. They looked at him like he was a cheater. But he had done nothing wrong. Cheating… Zachary detested that word. Elena is sensible, Zachary thought. She would never think of me that way. Suddenly, his phone on the podium started buzzing frantically. He picked it up. It was a barrage of messages from his mother. “Zachary, have you seen Elena’s Instagram?! What happened between you two? Why did she cancel the wedding?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “435685”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 My roommate, Zach, spent three days parading around half-naked in the background of my video calls. He even had the nerve to yell, “Bro, those abs are insane. Where did you get your personal trainer? I’m trying to turn this six-pack into an eight-pack.” Then he secretly tracked down my girlfriend’s Instagram and added her. He started spreading rumors that my private life was a chaotic mess, claiming I was out partying and hooking up every night. What he didn’t know was that my girlfriend, Anna, was one of the top three heiresses of the East Coast elite. And she was hopelessly, obsessively devoted to me. How obsessed? Last semester, a girl at the campus coffee shop gave me a free pastry and a flirty smile, and Anna almost bought out the entire franchise just to get her fired. So, how many rounds do you think Zach is going to survive? It all started last Wednesday. I was FaceTimeing Anna that night. She had just hopped out of the shower, her hair still damp, wearing a simple white tank top and smiling at me through the screen. “Hey, Nate. Did you miss me today?” Before I could even answer, Zach strolled right past my desk behind me. Shirtless. He actually slowed his pace, walking with a bizarre strut that looked like a cross between a runway model and someone dealing with severe constipation. He made his way to the water dispenser, poured himself a glass, and then conveniently turned around to stretch right in front of my camera. “Man, today’s workout was brutal.” On the screen, Anna blinked. “Nate, what is up with your roommate?” Before I could say a word, Zach leaned in close to the camera. “Hey, beautiful!” He grinned like a sketchy salesman. “Your guy here has some insane abs. Where did he get his personal trainer? I’m trying to turn my six-pack into an eight-pack.” I looked down at my chest. Bro, I was wearing a loose hoodie. What abs could you possibly be seeing? Anna let out a soft laugh on the other end. “Really? Yeah, my Nate is pretty amazing.” Zach’s eyes lit up. He actually thought Anna was flirting back. In reality, she just thought he was a complete freak. After we hung up, I lay in bed scrolling through my phone. From the top bunk opposite mine, Harvey poked his head out and lowered his voice. “Nate, that’s the third time.” “Third time what?” “The third time Zach has wandered around shirtless behind you during a call,” Harvey said, rolling his eyes. “And it only happens when you’re FaceTimeing your girl. What a wild coincidence, right?” I quieted down for a second. To be honest, I hadn’t paid much attention to it before. I’m a pretty laid-back guy, and I always assumed roommates didn’t play those kinds of petty games. But now that Harvey mentioned it, I started putting the pieces together. On Monday, Zach went shirtless and asked, “Hey bro, what body wash is that? Smells incredibly good.” On Tuesday, Zach went shirtless, did twenty push-ups right by my desk, and asked, “Do you think my chest is looking wider?” And today, he was suddenly complimenting abs I didn’t even have. “What is he trying to pull?” I asked Harvey. Harvey looked at me like I was the dumbest guy on campus. “Nate, he’s flexing for your girl.” I fell silent. Seriously? It was that blatant? I had lived with Zach for two years. We weren’t best friends, but we were tight enough. Surely he wouldn’t pull something that low. “You’re overthinking it,” I said. Harvey just shook his head and retreated back to his bunk. His expression said everything: You’ll see soon enough. 2 Harvey was right. The very next day, Anna sent me a text. “Nate, your roommate just requested to follow me.” I paused. “Zach?” “Yeah. He said you told him to add me because he had something to pass along.” When did I ever tell him to do that? I didn’t even know his Instagram handle. “I definitely didn’t tell him to do that,” I replied. Anna sent back a simple “Aha,” followed by a screenshot. It was Zach’s request. The message read: Hey, I’m Nate’s roommate. He asked me to add you to tell you something. I stared at the screen for a solid ten seconds. Wow. He was really going for it. “Did you accept?” I asked. “Yeah, I did,” Anna replied. “So, what is this urgent thing he had to tell me?” “What did he say?” Anna sent another screenshot. Zach: Hey, hope you don’t mind me reaching out. Just thought you should know, Nate is a decent guy, but he’s kind of a player. Last week I saw him having lunch with this girl from the linguistics department, looking super cozy. Might be nothing, but I thought you deserved to know. Reading the messages, my blood pressure spiked. The “linguistics girl” I had lunch with last week was my cousin. She was visiting the campus, so I took her to the dining hall for a quick bite. Zach had been sitting at the very next table. He saw us. But he conveniently chose to ignore the part where I introduced her as my cousin. Or maybe he just didn’t hear it because he had his AirPods in. Either way, going behind my back to tell my girlfriend this was incredibly dirty. I took a deep breath. “Anna, that was my cousin. She came to visit last week.” Anna sent a voice note. When I tapped it, her tone was relaxed and amused. “I know, babe. I saw her Instagram post. She uploaded a photo of the two of you with the caption ‘Visiting my favorite little cousin.’” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Then why did you even accept his request?” She sent another voice note, this time giggling. “I just wanted to see what other stories he could cook up.” I had no words. “Don’t worry, Nate. I’m not stupid,” she added. “But your roommate is pretty entertaining. He’s got some serious balls.” I figured that would be the end of it. Anna was smart, and she wasn’t going to fall for such a cheap trick. But I underestimated Zach’s persistence. And I severely underestimated Anna’s obsession with me. Over the next three days, Zach sent her nearly a dozen messages, each one more ridiculous than the last. Hey, Nate didn’t come back to the dorm last night. Just thought you should know. (I was pullng an all-night study session at the library, and Zach literally watched me pack my backpack before I left.) Anna, I accidentally saw some sketchy texts from other girls on Nate’s phone. (My phone has a passcode. How could he have seen anything? Besides, my inbox consists entirely of Anna and my mom.) Anna, I really think you deserve better. Nate just isn’t on your level. When that last message popped up, I was actually sitting right next to Anna. She had driven over to campus to see me. She turned her screen toward me, tapping her manicured nail against Zach’s profile picture. “Look at this, Nate.” I read it. Then I looked at her face. She was smiling. But it wasn’t a sweet, happy smile. It was the kind of smile a cat gives a mouse right before a toy is about to break. “Anna, don’t get worked up. I’ll go talk to him and clear this up.” “Oh, I’m not mad,” she said, tilting her head with bright, glittering eyes. “I actually think it’s fun.” “Fun?” “Yeah.” She slid her phone away and wrapped her arms tightly around mine. “Someone is trying to steal my boyfriend. It’s so exciting.” Looking at her thrilled expression, a cold shiver ran down my spine. I suddenly remembered something. Last semester, a girl from another class spoke to me in the dining hall. It was literally two sentences. “Hey, is anyone sitting here?” “Thanks.” That was it. The very next day, that girl’s course registration system suffered a massive, inexplicable glitch. All of her selected classes were dropped, and by the time she could re-register, every single popular lecture was completely full. At the time, I thought it was just bad university software. But now… I looked at Anna. She was happily sipping her iced matcha latte, looking completely harmless. “Anna.” “Yeah, babe?” “Don’t do anything crazy.” She blinked innocently. “What could I possibly do?” 3 After Anna left, I walked back to the dorm. Zach was sitting at his desk playing games. When he saw me walk in, he flashed a grin. “Hey, Nate. Back from your date?” “Yeah.” “Your girl is gorgeous,” he said, his tone sounding incredibly genuine. “You’re a lucky guy, bro.” Looking at his smiling face, my mind was a mess. You stab me in the back, and then act like my best friend to my face. “Yeah, I am,” I muttered. Zach chuckled and turned back to his monitor. From the top bunk, Harvey shot me a look that said: Told you so. I ignored him, lying down on my bed to figure out how to handle this. Honestly, I didn’t want to make a scene. We were roommates, and we had another year of living together. Ruining the peace wouldn’t do anyone any favors. I figured I’d find a quiet moment to talk to Zach privately and tell him to back off. But then there was Anna. I pulled out my phone and texted her: Anna, just ignore Zach. I’ll handle him. She replied instantly: Okay, Nate! followed by three adorable emojis. It was too sweet. So sweet it made me nervous. Sure enough, the next morning, I realized what a devoted girlfriend’s wrath actually looked like. When I woke up, Zach’s face was completely pale. He was staring at his phone, his brow furrowed deeply. “What’s wrong, man?” Harvey asked. “My internship…” Zach’s voice was trembling. “The HR rep just messaged me. They rescinded the offer.” Harvey gasped. “What? I thought that was a done deal.” “It was!” Zach panicked. “They had me preparing onboarding documents last week. Now they’re saying there’s a sudden department restructure and the position is gone.” I lay in bed, pretending to scroll through my phone while my heart did a sudden drop. No way. I opened Anna’s social media. Her latest post was from 2:00 AM. It was a photo of a glass of red wine with the caption: Feeling great tonight. Took care of a little errand. My fingers started to shake. I opened our chat: Anna, Zach’s internship… was that you? She sent a voice note, her tone sweet and innocent. “What do you mean, Nate? I didn’t do anything.” “Are you sure?” “I swear! I just casually mentioned to my dad that some creep was bothering me, and he made a quick call.” Casually. A quick call. Anna’s dad, Arthur Sinclair. The head of one of the most powerful financial empires on the East Coast. A casual word from him could cause an absolute earthquake in the business world. Zach’s internship was at a major tech firm. A firm whose recent funding round was led by a venture capital fund owned by the Sinclair family. I closed my eyes. He was doomed. “Anna, I told you I would handle it.” “I know, and I didn’t touch him,” she said, her voice sounding slightly pouted. “My dad decided to protect me. That has nothing to do with me.” I sighed. Sure. Whatever you say. 4 Zach spent the next two days completely depressed over the lost internship. But he never linked it to Anna. In his mind, she was just a beautiful college girl from a comfortable background. He assumed he just had terrible luck. And then, he did something even more foolish. On Friday night, he posted a photo on his private story. It was a sneaky photo of me, taken from the side while I was playing games at my desk. The caption read: Some guys look totally innocent, but they’re secretly running a whole harem behind closed doors. The comments from his circle of friends immediately started rolling in. Who is it? Call him out! No way, is that your roommate? Confirmed player? Zach replied: If you know, you know. Keeping it quiet. He didn’t block me from seeing the post. But he had blocked Anna. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know Anna had a burner account. And that burner account was already on his friends list because she had added him with both accounts at the same time. Zach was completely clueless. Anna saw every single word. That night, she called me. “Nate.” “Yeah?” “He’s calling you a player on his story.” Her voice was calm. Unusually calm. “I saw it,” I said. “It’s fine. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” “Nate.” “Yeah?” “I’m not happy.” Those three words coming from Anna were more terrifying than any direct threat. The last time she said she wasn’t happy, a guy on the campus forum had posted anonymous lies about me. A week later, his final thesis was flagged for academic dishonesty, and his graduation was delayed by a full semester. Of course, that might have just been a coincidence too. “Anna, listen to me…” “I’ll listen to you, Nate,” she said softly. “You handle it how you want. But if he does it again, I’m not holding back.” “Deal. Give me three days.” “Okay. I’ll wait.” The line went dead. I took a deep breath. Three days. I had to make Zach back off within three days, or Anna was going to make his life a living hell. The next morning, while Zach was in class, I talked it over with Harvey. “What are you going to do?” Harvey asked. “Just lay the cards on the table and tell him to cut the crap.” Harvey shook his head. “Won’t work. Guys like him only get bolder when you confront them. He’ll just think you’re defensive.” “Then what do you suggest?” Harvey thought for a moment. “Why don’t you just have your girl block him and delete him?” “Anna won’t do it,” I said with a wry smile. “She said she wants to observe him.” Harvey shivered. “The way she says ‘observe’ sounds incredibly creepy.” I agreed. But I still had to try a direct conversation first. That afternoon, Zach returned to the dorm. I closed the door, and Harvey, picking up on the cue, put on his noise-canceling headphones. “Zach, got a second?” He was changing his shirt. Hearing me, he paused, then flashed a grin. “What’s up, Nate?” “About you adding my girlfriend,” I said directly. “And the things you’ve been telling her. I know about all of it.” Zach’s smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. But he recovered instantly, his grin widening. “Nate, you’re taking it the wrong way. I was just chatting with her, checking in on how you guys were doing.” “Checking in?” I stared at him. “Telling her I was out with other girls and calling me a player is checking in?” Zach shrugged. “I just didn’t want her to be kept in the dark, man. Bro code, you know? Just being honest.” “That girl was my cousin.” “Oh,” Zach feigned surprise. “Seriously? Well, my bad then. Sorry about that, bro.” He apologized, but his eyes told me he didn’t feel a single shred of regret. “And another thing,” I continued. “Take down that post with my photo.” Zach’s expression finally shifted. “Nate, aren’t you being a bit paranoid? I didn’t even name you in that post.” “The photo is literally of me.” “It’s just a casual dorm life pic,” he laughed. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll be more mindful next time.” He didn’t say he would delete it. I took a slow breath. “Zach, I’m saying this one last time. Stay away from my girlfriend.” The room went silent for a moment. Zach looked at me, a slow, condescending smile spreading across his face. “Nate, are you really that insecure? I just had a couple of harmless chats with her and you’re already panicking?” He patted my shoulder. “Relax, bro. I’d never steal a roommate’s girl.” He grabbed his keys and walked out. Harvey took off his headphones and looked at me. “You hear that?” I asked. “Yeah,” Harvey said. “He’s completely delusional.” I sat back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Three days. Day one was already a bust.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499835”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 “If you don’t wear this tracker, you are not leaving this house!” I was in the middle of aggressively forcing the device onto my husband when glowing text suddenly materialized in the air right before my eyes. [Is she insane? This villainess’s desire for control is absolutely suffocating!] [Just wait. Once the female lead shows up, the male lead will realize how sweet freedom is. He’ll dump this psycho first thing!] [Once they divorce, she’ll be absolutely nothing. Who does she think she can control then? She’s going to end up freezing to death on the streets like a stray dog!] I swallowed hard, my hand trembling as I tossed the tracking device straight into the trash can. “Actually, never mind. You can go. Have a safe drive.” The moment those words left my mouth, my husband’s expression shifted. He leaned down, stepping into my personal space, a dark, turbulent storm brewing in the depths of his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say that if I don’t wear it, you’ll burn my car and lock me inside? Why are you letting me go, huh?” My shoulders ached under the weight of his intense gaze, and my mind was still spinning from the words freezing to death on the streets flashing in my mind. If this had happened yesterday, I would have blown a fuse. How dare he talk back to me? I would have confiscated his car keys, locked him in the bedroom, and made sure he didn’t even see the front door today. But now, I forced myself to swallow the venomous words rising in my throat. I pushed gently against his chest, trying to soften my voice as much as possible. “I just read an article saying those trackers emit a lot of radiation. It’s bad for your health.” Asher’s brow furrowed even deeper. His eyes locked onto mine, searching. “That’s not what you used to say. You used to demand that I remain within your sight twenty-four hours a day.” I choked on my words, especially as the floating comments started flashing rapidly again. [Oh, look at her pretending to be sweet and caring! She’s definitely plotting something else, just watch!] [Don’t believe her, Asher! The female lead is waiting for you at the office right now, don’t waste your time on this crazy woman!] My chest tightened. I quickly took a step back to put some distance between us. “I was immature before. I won’t do it anymore.” “You should get going. Don’t keep your clients waiting.” With that, I turned and walked toward the bedroom, not daring to look back. Behind me, Asher stood frozen for a long time. As I closed the bedroom door, I caught a glimpse of him picking the tracker out of the trash, his face incredibly dark. I leaned against the door and let out a long, shaky breath. After a few tense moments of silence outside, the heavy sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the apartment. He was finally gone. My marriage to Asher was a business alliance. Having grown up relying on the charity of others, I had learned the hard way that the only way to feel secure was to keep everything under my absolute control. I was ten years old when my mother married into the Gregory family. The relatives called me “the young heiress” to my face, but behind my back, they treated me like useless baggage. My food, clothes, and living space were constantly monitored, and even the house staff looked down on me. Our marriage only happened because the Gregory family business was on the verge of bankruptcy. They needed Asher’s family to bail them out, and only then did they suddenly remember my existence. So, from the first day of our marriage, I did everything I could to hold onto him. For three years, I controlled everything. I managed his clothes, his meals, his social circle, and even who he talked to each day. I genuinely believed that as long as I held on tight enough, this marriage wouldn’t fall apart. If it weren’t for those strange floating comments, I would have died without ever knowing I was just a tragic villainess in a story. The text claimed Asher was the male lead, and his secretary, Isla, was the destined female lead. It warned that once he grew entirely sick of my suffocating control, he would divorce me, leave me penniless, and ruin my family’s business. In the end, I was destined to freeze to death under a bridge on a bitter winter night. The mere thought made me shiver. I sat on the edge of the bed and unlocked my phone. My thumb hovered habitually over the hidden tracking app. I used to check his location every thirty minutes, making sure he wasn’t anywhere he shouldn’t be. But as the map loaded his location at a private dining club on the outskirts of the city, the text flashed again. [Here we go! The control freak is checking up on him! She’s about to call and scream at him, which will only drive him closer to Isla!] My hand shook, and I immediately uninstalled the app. No, I couldn’t look. If I kept doing this, I was going to end up dead. I tossed my phone aside, grabbed a pillow, and forced myself to watch a comedy. Halfway through, my phone vibrated. It was my best friend. “Evelyn, isn’t your husband out tonight? I heard Isla went with him. Aren’t you going to check up on him?” Normally, I would have lost my mind and spammed Asher with a dozen calls. But now, I bit my lip and forced a casual laugh. “Why would I? He’s a grown man. He knows what he’s doing.” My friend’s voice changed instantly, dripping with shock. “Evelyn, do you have a fever? Last week you threw a massive scene at his office just because Isla handed him a cup of coffee!” Before I could think of an explanation, a new notification popped up on my screen. It was an Instagram post from Isla. The photo showed Asher holding a glass of whiskey, his brow slightly furrowed. The caption read: The boss works too hard. He drank almost half a bottle tonight. My heart breaks for him. My fingers trembled with sudden anger. I was about to dial Asher’s number when the floating text flooded my vision. [Haha! I knew she would snap! She’s definitely going to crash the dinner, embarrass him in front of everyone, and he’ll demand a divorce tonight!] [Finally, he can get away from this psycho! Congratulations, Asher!] [Isla, get ready to comfort him! This is your moment!] I took a deep, shuddering breath, closed the app, and sent Asher a simple text instead. Don’t drink too much. Your stomach can’t handle it. I’m going to sleep first, no need to check in. I muted my phone and pulled the covers over my head, but my mind was racing. I tossed and turned, desperately wanting to reinstall the app to see where he was. But the image of my tragic end kept me glued to the mattress. My phone screen lit up again with another notification from Isla’s account. I flipped the phone face down, my chest tight with anxiety. Normally, I would have already driven over there to flip the table. But now, I had to keep telling myself: Evelyn, you can’t go. If you go, you lose everything. Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep. I woke up to the sound of keys jingling at the front door. I checked my phone: 2:00 AM. Normally, I would have been waiting in the entryway, ready to search his pockets, sniff his collar for perfume, and scroll through his entire chat history before forcing him to stand in the living room to sober up. But tonight, I simply pulled the blanket tighter and turned over to go back to sleep. Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open with a loud thud. Asher stood in the doorway, smelling of cold air and expensive whiskey. He marched over and tossed his phone onto my pillow, the screen glowing brightly. I sat up, blinking sleepily. “What’s wrong?” “Why aren’t you checking my phone?” His voice was incredibly hoarse, his eyes slightly bloodshot from the alcohol. “Ask me who I drank with tonight. Ask me if I got too close to Isla. Search my messages. You always do.” My heart did a sudden leap, especially as the text flared up again. [Here it is! She’s going to use this as an excuse to scream at him! Ask for the divorce, Asher!] I quickly pushed his phone back toward him, forcing a reassuring smile. “I trust you. There’s nothing to check.” “Besides, I left some hangover soup warming on the stove. If you’re not feeling well, go have a bowl. I’m going back to sleep.” I pulled the blanket back over my head, facing away from him. For a long time, there was absolute silence. I thought he had left, but then the bedroom door slammed shut so hard the walls vibrated. I stared at the closed door, utterly baffled. Wasn’t he supposed to hate my constant nagging? Now that I was giving him space, why was he furious? Whatever. The text said he was going to dump me anyway. Survival was my only priority. The next morning, I woke up early. As my feet hit the floor, I instinctively walked toward the walk-in closet. Usually, my first task was selecting his outfit for the day: which shirt, which tie, even which pattern of socks. If he wore anything else, I would argue with him all day. Just as I reached the door, the text flashed warningly. [Warning! She’s about to force him to wear that pastel pink shirt again! He absolutely hates pink. This fight is going to trigger the divorce!] I froze, immediately turning on my heel and heading toward the kitchen instead. That was close. Almost stepped on a landmine. While I was frying eggs, I heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen. He stopped right by the door. “What am I supposed to wear today?” Without turning around, I flipped an egg and said casually, “Whatever you want. Wear your favorite. I don’t mind.” “You said I look old in gray, and you insisted I wear the pink one,” Asher said, his voice sounding tight, almost like he was grinding his teeth. My hand slipped, nearly burning the egg. I quickly offered a peace-offering smile. “I had bad taste back then. You actually look incredibly sharp in gray, seriously.” When I looked over, I saw him toss the pink shirt directly into the trash can before pulling on a dark charcoal suit jacket. I let out a soft breath. Thank goodness I didn’t push him, or I would have triggered the bad ending right then and there. 2 For the next week, my behavior was entirely different. When he worked late, I didn’t spam his phone. I simply sent a single text before bed: Don’t work too hard. When he went out to a lounge with his friends, I didn’t ask who was there, nor did I demand photos of the table. Meanwhile, Isla posted photos of him daily on her social media: the side of his face while he worked, his hand holding a document, each caption more suggestive than the last. I pretended not to see any of it. The floating comments kept insisting I was just gathering strength for a massive explosion, waiting for my breaking point. But in reality, I was quietly meeting with a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. I had already decided on the terms. I didn’t want a single penny of the Sinclair estate. I would only keep the small apartment I owned before our marriage. Once we split, he could date Isla, marry her, or do whatever he pleased. No one would smother him ever again. On Friday evening, he texted to say he was meeting clients at a private club. I replied with a simple Okay and curled up on the sofa to watch a reality show. Around ten, my phone rang. It was an employee from the club, saying Mr. Sinclair had had too much to drink and asking if they should arrange a ride. Before I could answer that I would drive over myself, Isla’s voice cut through the background of the call. “No need to bother Mrs. Sinclair. I’m heading that way anyway. I’ll take him home.” I paused for a second, then smiled into the receiver. “Thank you for the help, then.” I hung up, and the screen instantly filled with rapid-fire comments. [Oh my god! The female lead is bringing him home! The psycho wife is going to lose her absolute mind!] [Last time Isla just brushed past him, Evelyn slapped her. This time she’s going to claw her face off!] [Let her rage! Once she causes a scene, Asher will kick her out of the house for good!] I took a deep breath, went to the kitchen, and prepared a warm glass of honey water, waiting calmly for them to arrive. Around eleven, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Isla holding Asher up, her hair slightly messy, her face flushed. When she saw me, she spoke in a sweet, soft voice. “Mrs. Sinclair, he drank quite a bit tonight. He kept calling your name on the ride over.” Normally, I would have slapped her for letting him lean on her like that. But instead, I gently took Asher from her, retrieved his coat, and handed her the warm honey water. “Thank you so much for bringing him back safely. It’s late, so please drive carefully.” Isla’s sweet smile completely froze. She clearly hadn’t expected this reaction. Before she could say another word, I offered a polite nod and shut the door. I helped Asher onto the sofa and poured him a glass of water. “Drink some water. You smell like a distillery. Go take a shower.” The moment the words left my mouth, I worried I sounded too controlling again. I quickly corrected myself. “Or don’t. It’s up to you. Do whatever you want.” As I turned to walk away, my wrist was suddenly grabbed in a tight, firm grip. He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, his voice incredibly hoarse. “You’re not mad?” I blinked. “Why would I be mad?” “Isla brought me home. She was leaning all over me. You’re not angry at all?” He demanded, his grip tightening. “Before, if she even handed me a file, you’d give me the cold shoulder for three days.” My heart hammered against my ribs, and I quickly pulled my hand out of his grasp. “I was immature back then. She’s your employee, there’s no reason for me to get upset over work.” I didn’t dare look at his expression as I quickly made my way toward the study. He had to be completely exhausted by my past behavior. If I brought up the divorce now, he would surely agree. I pulled the draft agreement from the desk drawer just as the study door pushed open. Asher had followed me. He stood in the doorway, watching me. I looked up at him, forcing a gentle smile as I slid the papers across the desk. “Asher, since you’re here, take a look at this. I’ve drafted a divorce agreement.” “I only want my old apartment. Everything else is yours.” “From now on, you’re entirely free. You can be with whoever you want, and no one will ever check up on you again.” The moment the words left my mouth, Asher’s face darkened completely. He gritted his teeth, his voice dripping with anger. “Do you really think I want freedom? Evelyn, I want you!” “What kind of game are you playing lately?” “You stop checking on me, and now you want a divorce? Tell me the truth: is there someone else?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499834”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Lied to my wife about working overtime, only to book a hotel room with three of my buddies for a secret poker night. I was just about to rake in a massive straight flush. Suddenly, a woman’s voice drifted in from the room next door. It was that kind of voice. My buddies let out dirty grins, instantly losing interest in the cards. But for me, my entire hand clattered to the floor. Because that voice, the pitch, the exact rhythm of her breathing, sounded identical to my wife. I called her phone. Voicemail. I called her mother. Her mom said she hadn’t even shown up. My three friends stood in a neat line, their faces suddenly turning incredibly grave. “Kick the door down, bro. I’ll film it for you.” So, tell me: do I kick it, or do I not? Planning this hotel poker night with the guys took me a whole week of meticulous preparation. Why a hotel? Because doing it at home was out of the question. My wife, Candy, is affectionately known among our friends as “The Warden.” When it came to any form of gambling, she had absolute, zero tolerance. Last month, I snuck over to our neighbor’s garage for a few rounds of Texas Hold’em, only to get caught red-handed. My monthly allowance was instantly slashed from five hundred dollars to a miserable two hundred. Two hundred dollars. For an entire month. I had to budget carefully just to buy a decent cup of coffee. So, I had to be smart about this. On Friday night, I took the initiative to wash the dishes, vacuum the living room, and hang up the laundry. Before bed, I even gave her a fifteen-minute shoulder massage. Candy leaned back on the sofa, squinting at me with suspicion. “Alright, spill. What do you want?” My chest tightened, but I kept my face entirely neutral. “Well, tomorrow is Saturday, and my manager just dropped a surprise overtime shift on us. I’ll probably be stuck at the office until late.” She opened one eye, scanning me up and down. That gaze was intense enough to make a seasoned detective confess on the spot. But I held my ground. “Fine,” she said, switching off the TV. “I’ll just head out of town to visit my mom then, since you won’t be around anyway.” “Perfect, perfect. You should definitely go do that.” My heart finally settled back into my chest. The next morning, I watched Candy drive out of the neighborhood. The moment her taillights vanished around the corner, I whipped out my phone and dropped a text in our group chat. The eagle has left the nest. Operation is go. Within three seconds, the chat exploded. Zack: I’ve been waiting a whole week! If I don’t take three hundred bucks off you today, I’ll eat my own poker chips! Ben: Told my wife I was heading to your place to help you set up a new router. Even carried a heavy toolbox out the door. Luke: Being single means I didn’t need an excuse, but I’m always ready to support the brotherhood. At precisely 11:00 AM, we checked into Room 408 at the Apex Hotel. It was a standard double room. We pushed the two beds into the corners, set up a folding table in the center, and flipped a luggage rack over with a pillow to serve as an extra chair. The deck was shuffled, the AC was set to a cool sixty-eight degrees, and four cans of beer were lined up on the table. Four grown men rubbed their hands together, their eyes practically gleaming. The sheer joy of secretly playing cards behind your wife’s back is hard to describe. It was more intoxicating than actually winning the money. By the third round, my luck was soaring. A straight flush. I slammed my cards onto the table, raking in a cool three hundred dollars in cash. Ben’s face turned green. “Logan, if you win more than five hundred today, I’m calling Candy.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Just kidding.” “You better be.” We cracked open can after can of beer, and Luke ordered a massive tray of garlic parmesan wings, filling the room with the rich scent of grease and spices. Outside, the sun was shining. Inside, the sound of plastic chips clinking was pure music. It was a man’s paradise. Until 2:40 PM. I was staring at my hand, calculating my odds, when a sound suddenly cut through the air. It came from right next door. A woman’s voice. It carried a very particular, unmistakable tone. The room went dead silent for two seconds. All four of us looked up at the same time. Zack was the first to react, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well. It’s the middle of the day, and neighbors next door are putting in some serious work.” Ben chuckled, softening his movements as he threw down a chip, his ear tilting toward the wall. Luke was the most dramatic, setting down his wing and pressing his ear directly against the plaster. I let out a chuckle too. But the laugh died in my throat. Because next door, the voice called out again. “Ah… gentler… please, gentler…” The smile froze on my face. That voice. That pitch. The way her breath hitched at the end of the sentence, the exact cadence of her gasp. We had been married for five years. I heard that exact voice every single day. My cards slipped from my fingers, scattering onto the green felt. My head began to throb. 2 “What’s wrong, man?” Ben asked, putting down his cards and staring at me. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I couldn’t exactly tell my three best friends that the intimate sounds next door sounded exactly like my wife. Even to my own ears, the thought was completely absurd. Candy was supposed to be visiting her mother out of town. Why on earth would she be in a local hotel room? It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. I took a deep breath, gathering my fallen cards. “Nothing. Let’s keep playing.” We played two more rounds, but I couldn’t focus on a single card. Because the sounds from the next room hadn’t stopped. In fact, they seemed to be escalating. “Yes… right there… perfect…” My entire body went rigid. That phrase. That tone. Even the little sigh at the end. Every single time I gave Candy a back rub, she said those exact words. Word for word. I threw down a card blindly. Zack stared at me. “Bro, you’re discarding a King? Aren’t you holding a pair of queens?” “Huh?” I looked down, realizing I had just thrown away my winning card. “Logan, you’re acting incredibly weird,” Luke said, chewing on a wing and squinting at me. I waved my hand dismissively. “My hand slipped.” The next room went quiet for about fifteen seconds. Then, a man’s voice carried through the wall. “Just hang in there, we’re almost done.” Low, deep, and slightly amused. The sheer tenderness in his tone made my stomach roll over. And then, the woman’s voice started up again. The throbbing in my head turned into a full-blown migraine. The other three had stopped playing entirely, their eyes darting rapidly between me and the wall. Zack’s smirk had vanished. He knew Candy well, and he had heard her talk plenty of times. His expression told me everything: he thought it sounded like her too. Without another second of hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed Candy’s number. Ring… ring… ring… The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Voicemail. Candy never turned her phone off. Her mother’s health wasn’t great, so she stayed on call twenty-four hours a day, carrying a portable charger everywhere she went. But today, of all days, her phone was off. I dialed again. Voicemail. A third time. Voicemail. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. Luke finally set his wing down. “Logan, who are you trying to call?” “My wife.” “Candy? Isn’t she out of town visiting her mom?” “Her phone is off.” The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly. The guys exchanged a look. I knew that look. It was the classic: Bro, things look incredibly bad, but we don’t want to be the ones to say it. Ben cleared his throat. “Don’t panic yet. Maybe her battery just died. Why don’t you call your mother-in-law and ask if she arrived safely?” Right. Call her mother. That was a rational step. I dialed her mother’s number. After five rings, she answered. “Logan, dear. Is everything okay?” I forced my voice to sound as normal as possible. “Hey, Susan. Did Candy make it to your place yet?” “Oh, no. She didn’t tell me she was coming over today.” “She didn’t?” “No, I haven’t heard from her. Why? Is something wrong?” My brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Candy said she was going to visit her mother. Her mother had absolutely no idea. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just checking in. Take care, Susan. Bye.” I hung up, my hands trembling. Another low sound drifted through the wall from next door, muffled but possessing that exact, chilling cadence. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Zack was the first to stand up. “Let’s go. We’re going to check it out.” Ben stood up too. “It’s better to know for sure. If it’s just a misunderstanding, at least you can stop stressing.” Luke already had his phone out, the camera app open. “I’ll handle gathering the evidence.” “Put that away.” “What if we need it in court?” “Shut up, Luke.” I took a deep breath. As I stood up, my folding chair scraped loudly against the floor, sliding back a few feet. My three friends fell into a line behind me, looking like a makeshift tactical squad ready to breach a room. 3 We opened the door of Room 408, stepping into an empty hallway. The lighting was a sterile white, and the thick carpet absorbed our footsteps, creating an eerie, uncomfortable silence. I stood in the middle of the hallway. Room 406 was on my left, and Room 410 was on my right. Which one was making the noise? When we were playing, I was sitting by the window, and the sound had come from my right. So that meant… “Room 410,” I whispered. Zack nodded. “410. Let’s go.” The four of us crept over to the door of Room 410. I pressed my ear flat against the cold wood. Nothing. It was completely silent now. “Hear anything?” Zack whispered, leaning in close. “Shh.” I held my breath. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds. Just as I was about to give up, a soft sound drifted from inside. A woman’s voice: “Oh… that feels so good…” It wasn’t loud, but it was clear enough. My blood pressure spiked to a dangerous level. Zack gave me a firm shove from behind. “That’s it. That’s the one. What’s the plan?” Ben grabbed my arm. “Wait, calm down. Let’s knock first. What if we have the wrong room?” “There’s no way we’re wrong,” Luke muttered, aiming his phone camera at the door. “Logan, are you going to kick it, or should I do it for you?” I took a deep breath, let it out, and took another. I raised my right leg. Boom! I kicked the door right near the latch. The door wasn’t deadbolted from the inside, and it swung open instantly. I stormed into the room, ready to rage, only to freeze dead in my tracks. There were two people in the room. A man and a woman. The man was shirtless, in his late fifties, with a prominent beer belly and a look of pure relaxation on his face. The woman was in her early forties, wearing a silk robe, her hair permed into tight, bouncy curls. They were propped up against the headboard, watching a tablet screen set up on a stand. On the screen, an influencer was eating a plate of spicy noodles, slurping loudly into the microphone. The sound we had heard earlier, “Oh, that feels so good,” was coming directly from the food video on the tablet. Eight eyes locked onto the four of us standing in the doorway. The air in the room seemed to vanish. The woman with the permed curls let out a piercing shriek. “Ahhh!” That scream was ten times louder than any sound that had drifted through our wall. The beer-bellied man scrambled out of bed like an angry grizzly bear. “Who the hell are you? What do you think you’re doing? Why did you kick my door open?” My mouth opened, but only a squeak came out. “Uh, sorry, sir. I think we have the wrong…” “Wrong? You kick my door down and call it a mistake?” The man grabbed a heavy metal thermos from the nightstand, raising it like a weapon. Zack, whose head was peeking through the doorway, took one look at the situation and made a split-second decision. “That’s not Candy. Run!” I spun around and bolted down the hallway. But the angry man was hot on our heels. “Stop right there! I’m calling the cops!” He was sprinting down the hall in his flimsy hotel slippers, waving his metal thermos in the air, his voice echoing loudly through the entire floor. “Security! Security! We’ve got intruders!” The four of us scrambled back into Room 408, slamming the door shut and throwing the lock. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as my heart pounded against my ribs like a bass drum. After a few seconds of tense silence, Zack sank to the floor, a snort escaping his lips. Then, he completely lost it. “Hahaha! You kicked the wrong door!” He laughed so hard he was slapping the carpet. “We’re in Room 408! The sound was coming from Room 406 on our left, not Room 410 on our right! You completely got your directions mixed up, you idiot!” I stood there, speechless. Ben leaned against the table, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh my god. That guy was ready to swing that thermos. You almost got a face full of hot water.” Luke silently reviewed his video. The footage was just a blur of ceilings and running shoes, completely useless. “I highly recommend saving this video,” Luke said with a straight face. “You should play this at your next wedding anniversary. It’ll be a hit.” “Delete it, Luke.” Outside, we could hear the security guard talking to the angry man, who was loudly explaining how his room had been breached. The four of us stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. We waited until the commotion outside finally died down before I sank onto the floor, my back drenched in sweat. Zack was still chuckling. Ben was still laughing. Luke was already drafting a social media post about “witnessing history.” But I couldn’t find anything funny about it. Because if the sound hadn’t come from Room 410… It meant it was coming from Room 406. The sound was definitely coming from Room 406. 4 Once we caught our breath, we sat back down around the folding table. But no one touched the cards. We were all listening. Listening to the wall shared with Room 406. After about two minutes, a faint, rustling sound carried over. Then, a voice. “Ouch! You’re pressing too hard!” It was a woman’s voice. Completely clear. The words filtered into my ears, and my entire body went rigid. That sharp intake of breath, the exact way she dragged out the end of the sentence. My friends stopped laughing. The atmosphere in the room instantly turned heavy. Zack lowered his voice. “Logan… are we sure it’s Room 406 this time?” “Yes.” “And… it really sounds like Candy?” I didn’t answer, but my grim expression was more than enough. Ben pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a slow drag. “Look, let’s not rush in this time. Let’s find a way to confirm it first.” “How?” “Go to the front desk. See who checked into Room 406.” We looked at each other. Zack volunteered, slipping out of the room. He returned three minutes later, his face pale. “The receptionist wouldn’t tell me anything. Said it violates guest privacy unless the police ask for it.” “Did you try to smooth-talk her?” “Of course I did. I said my friend was in Room 406 and forgot their key. She asked for the guest’s name, and I said I didn’t know. She looked at me like I was a creep.” I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. Luke suddenly stood up. “I have an idea.” “What?” “Let’s order delivery to Room 406.” We stared at him. “Delivery?” “Yeah. We order a drink, put the address as Room 406, and I’ll wait in the hallway. When the delivery guy knocks and they open the door, I’ll get a clear look inside.” I had to admit, the single guy occasionally had a stroke of genius. I immediately opened my phone and ordered a milk tea, setting the delivery address to Room 406 under a fake name: “Jane.” We waited fifteen minutes. The delivery guy finally arrived on our floor. Luke was already positioned at the corner of the hallway, pretending to look at his phone. The delivery guy knocked on the door of Room 406. “Delivery.” Three seconds. Five seconds. Eight seconds. The door opened slightly. Luke peeked from around the corner. When he slipped back into our room, he looked at me with a serious expression. “Logan, I only saw a hand. A woman’s hand, pretty fair-skinned. The door was barely cracked open. She took the drink and shut the door immediately.” “Did you see her face?” “No, she was too fast.” “Any details on the hand?” “Well… her nails were painted red.” Red? Candy had just gotten her nails done last week, and she chose a dusty rose color. It wasn’t red. My chest loosened slightly, but only for a moment. Changing nail polish wasn’t exactly difficult. Ben stubbed out his cigarette. “Why don’t you just go knock? Say you got the wrong room and see who opens it.” Zack shook his head. “No. If it really is Candy, and she sees Logan standing there, how do you think she’ll react? She’ll lock the door or run. When my mom caught my dad at the card game, he practically passed out from fear.” “Then what the hell are we supposed to do?” “I’ll go,” Zack said, adjusting his collar. “I’ll say I’m doing a guest satisfaction survey for the hotel.” “You’re wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts. Who’s going to believe you work here?” But Zack was already out the door. The three of us took turns looking through the peephole. In the hallway, Zack walked up to Room 406, cleared his throat, and knocked. Knock, knock, knock. “Hello, sorry to bother you…” The door opened slightly. This time, a woman actually appeared in the gap. Zack took one look, his mouth dropping open, and then the door clicked shut. He stood frozen in the hallway for three seconds before walking back to our room. He pushed the door open, closing it behind him. “Who was it?” I asked, my voice tight. Zack’s expression was incredibly complicated. “The woman who opened the door wasn’t Candy.” I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “She was a stranger, short hair, maybe in her early thirties,” Zack continued. “Then we’re good, right? It’s not her,” I said. Zack hesitated. “But…” “But what?” “When the door opened, I managed to catch a glimpse of the bed.” “And?” Zack looked me straight in the eyes. “There was someone else in the room. In those few seconds, I saw someone lying face down on the bed. I couldn’t see her face, but I saw her hair.” “What color?” “Dark brown. Long hair, tied up in a messy bun.” A messy bun. Candy had her hair in a messy bun when she left the house this morning. It was exactly the same.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499833”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 During the peak of my shameless physical desires, I picked up a pet zombie to play with. He could not speak. Whenever I teased him too much, a single drop of my blood was enough to placate him. But today, right after I messed up his soft curls, a glowing chat box popped up in front of my eyes. Oh my god. I’ve seen people raise cats and dogs, but this is my first time seeing someone keep a Zombie King as a house pet! The Zombie King has been enduring this cannon fodder’s abuse for a year just to map out the Haven’s defense systems! This dumb girl is going to end up as humanity’s biggest traitor. Just wait till she gets thrown to the horde and ripped to shreds! My hand froze right as I was strapping the silver muzzle onto my little zombie. Sensing my hesitation, he lunged, shaking off the loose strap. His sharp fangs bared, sinking deep into my wrist. I hissed, a sharp breath catching in my throat. The little zombie froze. He looked stunned, as if he had not expected his sneak attack to actually land. His milky-blue eyes widened in sheer confusion. Then, slowly, his cold tongue darted out, gently licking the bead of blood welling on my skin. I pulled my hand back and snapped the muzzle shut. The silver metal locked around his jaw. He thrashed in frustration, but it was useless. Seven days ago, before heading out on a raid, I had injected him with a heavy-duty sedative designed specifically for infected. It should have kept him out cold on my bed the entire time. But during a quiet moment on the field, I had pulled up the feed of the hidden camera I recently installed in my bedroom. I wanted to admire his sleeping face, but instead, I saw him sitting up, casually unclasping the muzzle himself. “Captain, move! The horde is closing in!” My squad’s shout had cut my feed short. I shut off my phone and leaped back into the armored vehicle. When I finally got home, new muzzle in hand, I braced myself for an ambush. But when I unlocked the door, he was lying there, completely still, muzzle perfectly secure. It was as if the security footage had been a hallucination. Still, I woke him up and strapped the tighter, upgraded model onto him. I washed the fresh bite on my wrist and jabbed an antiseptic serum into my arm. When I walked back into the bedroom, the little zombie was sitting on the edge of the mattress, knees pulled to his chest, burying his face in his arms. Only his messy curls were visible. I ruffled his soft hair. He looked up, his damp eyes filled with a pitiful, soft gaze. It was incredibly endearing. I pinched his cheek and leaned down, pressing a light kiss to the center of his forehead. “You bit me today. No dinner for you.” He responded with a low, menacing growl, but it sounded more like a pout than a threat. 2 Honestly, believing my little zombie is some legendary Zombie King is like believing I am the ruler of the empire. When the outbreak hit three years ago, a fraction of humanity gained supernatural abilities. I was one of the heavy hitters. Because of my raw power, countless opportunists tried to crawl into my bed just to secure my protection. Even the self-proclaimed strongest commander of the Haven once reached out a hand to me, saying, “You are the only woman fit to stand by my side.” That line made me so nauseous I could not sleep. So, I snuck into his quarters at midnight and castrated him with a combat knife. I fled the Haven that very night. On my way out, I ran into a ragged little zombie trying to ambush me at an abandoned gas station. I was going to decapitate him on the spot, but before he could even reach me, he tripped over his own feet and faceplanted. “Dumbass,” I muttered, sheathing my dagger. But as I turned to leave, he scrambled up and chased after me. That was when I got a proper look at his face. I froze. I actually looked around to see if someone was pulling a prank. There was no way a creature of the apocalypse could look so perfectly tailored to my exact aesthetic tastes. I pulled a spare muzzle out of my pack and strapped it onto him. “An idiot zombie like you is never going to successfully bite anyone. Other monsters will probably eat you alive.” “Growl!” “Want to come with me instead?” He lunged, but I caught his wrists and immediately started trimming his dangerously long claws. Traveling with a brain-dead pet had its challenges. Eventually, when the Haven practically begged me to return, even forcing that castrated commander to offer a formal apology, I decided to go back. It felt great knowing he despised me but could not touch me. “You guys don’t mind if I bring a pet, right?” I stepped aside, revealing my little zombie. “He is very sweet.” The Haven ran him through a dozen scanners before finally letting him in. And now, these random glowing comments were telling me this adorable idiot is the Zombie King? 3 He had barely tasted a drop of blood all day. By midnight, the sound of his furious teeth-grinding was driving me insane. I snapped my eyes open, irritated. The Zombie King is insanely brutal to himself. He literally shattered his own core just to bypass the Haven’s scanners. With a broken core, his memory and IQ plummeted. This girl got incredibly lucky. If he had his full faculties, she would be history. It’s fine. His core is healing. The moment he fully recovers, she’s dead meat. A Zombie King, huh? I reached over and clicked on the dim bedside lamp. He was curled up at the corner of the mattress, still grinding his teeth. But then I noticed he had somehow stolen one of my sweaters and buried his entire face in the fabric. “Stealing from me?” I yanked the sweater away. Nico stared at me, his eyes wide. Sensing my movement, he grabbed my arm and lunged to bite, only for his teeth to clank harmlessly against the silver metal of the muzzle. His loose pajamas had slid down, exposing a sliver of his pale waist. I pressed my hand against his bare skin. He froze instantly. Under the faint yellow light, his cheeks seemed to flush, though I did not pay it much mind. I flipped over, pinning his hips down with my knees. “If you are going to keep me awake, then you don’t get to sleep either.” Though he had a remarkably innocent face, Nico stood at a solid six-foot-two. Beneath his clothes, he was built like a lean, powerful athlete. Just as I was about to indulge in my late-night snack, the chat exploded. Here it comes! His memories aren’t fully back, but his intellect is. He’s not going to let this low-tier villainess touch him anymore! Imagine waking up to see your annoying captor riding you. He’s going to tear her apart. Oh, he won’t kill her yet. He’s going to sabotage the Haven and frame her first, making her a pariah before letting the horde rip her to shreds. My brow furrowed. I could enjoy this meal anytime, but I had no interest in a death row feast. Just as I went to slide off him, a cold, heavy hand clamped around my waist, pinning me firmly against him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499832”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My former lover was the one who slipped the cold steel over my wrists. He stood there in his crisp police uniform, a man of absolute integrity, complete with a young, beautiful girlfriend waiting for him in the wings. At the precinct, he kept things strictly professional, his expression entirely detached. “Tell us what you did, and don’t lie.” 1 The officer who arrested me was Austin. To everyone else at the station, he was Chief Austin. He did not soften his grip in the slightest. The metal bit deep into my skin, and tears welled in my eyes from the sharp sting. “Gentle, please,” I whispered. He did not even spare me a glance, his voice completely flat. “Just standard protocol, ma’am. I’m sure you understand.” Not a single shred of our past remained in his eyes. A hollow ache settled in my chest. In the interrogation room, the detective across from me flipped through a file. “You filed a formal complaint against Victor?” I nodded. “What exactly is your relationship with him?” “He is my husband.” “Were you complicit in any of his illegal operations?” The question hung in the air. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered, reflecting off the dark lens of the recording camera. For a second, the room seemed to spin. My gaze drifted to Austin, who had remained silent in the corner of the room. His expression was a blank wall. “Just tell us what you did, Fiona,” he said calmly. “And don’t lie.” 2 The investigation eventually cleared me of all suspicion. As for that bastard Victor, the charges were staggering: tax evasion, human trafficking, and racketeering. The prosecutors estimated his minimum sentence would be life without parole. But Victor was not stupid. He caught wind of the raid and fled before they could lock the city down. In the precinct’s main office, detectives were loudly debating their next move. I sat in the corner, clutching a paper cup of lukewarm water, feeling entirely out of place. Suddenly, someone at the door shouted, “Hey, look, the Chief’s girl is here!” A few young officers swarmed around a long-haired girl entering the room. She was incredibly sweet, wearing a white floral sundress, carrying herself with a quiet, gentle grace. She blushed as she walked toward Austin, holding out a neatly packed lunchbox. So, this was his new girlfriend. A genuine smile broke through Austin’s stern face. “You came.” She kept her voice low. “Make sure you eat it while it’s still warm. I spent hours making it.” “Don’t trouble yourself next time,” Austin murmured, pinching her cheek affectionately. I lowered my head, staring at the floor. The lighthearted teasing of the officers echoed in my ears. It was too loud. 3 Her name was Lily. She was a twenty-year-old student at a prestigious university. Austin had brought her to an alumni reunion last year. At the time, an old classmate had leaned over to tell me they looked like a match made in heaven. The classmate immediately covered her mouth, looking at me with deep regret. She had probably remembered that years ago, she used to say the exact same thing about Austin and me. I had only offered a faint smile. “It’s fine. It’s in the past.” A few days later, I finally cleaned out my phone contacts. I blocked my ex-husband, his terrible friends, and his awful mother. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again. I went to the local grocery store to stock up on food, but fate is a cruel thing. I ran straight into Lily. She had her hair styled in a beautiful half-up crown, looking like an angel as she waved at me. Austin was standing right beside her. My posture went rigid. Memories flooded back. Years ago, during our high school’s centennial celebration, I had returned to our old campus as an alumna. Lily, then a nervous freshman in her blue-and-white uniform, had approached me with a notebook. “Senior, could you write a few words of encouragement for my exams?” Four or five years had passed, yet she actually remembered me. After a bit of polite small talk, I could not help but ask, “That day at the celebration, did I come alone?” Lily tapped her chin, thinking. “I think your boyfriend was there. I remember a guy standing a few paces behind you, carrying your handbag. But he was too far away, and I couldn’t see his face clearly.” She looked at me with innocent curiosity. “Are you two still together?” Austin, who had been walking slightly ahead of us, suddenly stopped and looked back, raising an eyebrow. My breath caught. That look was painfully familiar. Whenever I did something mischievous back then, he would look at me with that exact half-amused, half-reproving expression. Back then, I would get flustered, find an opportunity to bite his jaw, and try to run away. He would inevitably catch me by the waist, pull me into some dark corner behind a door, and kiss me thoroughly. I snapped back to reality, forcing a stiff laugh. “No, we broke up a very long time ago.” Austin let out a quiet, mocking chuckle. I quickly looked away. Lily showed me her left hand, her face glowing with pure joy. A massive diamond ring sparkled on her finger. “Fiona, does getting married really make you age faster?” she asked. “That depends entirely on who you marry,” I said softly. “Marry the right person, and you’ll stay young forever.” Her bright eyes shone with a sweet simplicity. “Really?” “Really,” I replied. “Your guy here is a keeper. He’s built for a quiet, happy family life.” She blushed. “How can you tell?” “Because our old teachers used to say so,” I said, offering a weak cover. She caught the detail instantly. “Teachers?” Austin turned his head, his gaze burning into me. With both of them staring, I struggled to keep my voice steady. “We were classmates back in the day. He was the golden boy, so the teachers always used him as an example.” Lily gasped in delight. “No way!” I nodded, my chest tightening. Rivals in middle school, friends in high school, lovers in college. My youth was not defined by years. It was defined by Austin. 4 I tried to focus on starting over. After being worn down to the bone by Victor for years, I needed to rebuild my life, find a decent job, and learn to take care of myself again. On my next visit to the precinct to sign some paperwork, Anna, a round-faced officer, gasped when she saw me. “Fiona! You look like a completely different person. You’re stunning!” I smiled, feeling a genuine spark of energy. When I met Austin in his office, I sincerely thanked him and urged him to bring Victor to justice. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Austin stared at me, his fingers slowly dropping to his side. His eyes were dark and incredibly complex. “You haven’t changed at all, Fiona.” His voice was laced with a bitter chill. “Still selfish, still cold. You don’t actually care about anyone.” I offered a small, polite smile. “I wish you and Lily a lifetime of happiness.” He did not reply. Beneath his long lashes, his eyes burned with a dark, suffocating intensity. I took two steps forward, lowering my voice. “What? Are you still in love with me?” He let out a sharp, mocking scoff and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. Six months flew by. During that time, Lily reached out to me once. She asked, “Fiona, was there a girl in your class whose name started with the letter F?” I told her I could not recall. She handed me a worn, leather-bound journal. It was Austin’s diary, spanning from middle school through high school, filled with his elegant, sharp handwriting. I promised Lily I would look through it at home and let her know if I remembered anything. But I never got the chance to read it. That very night, Austin banged on my door like a furious creditor. “Give it back,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. Lily stood a few paces behind him, shivering like a frightened bird. With nothing left to say, I quietly handed the journal over. Without a word, Austin tossed the book straight into a basin of water sitting near the door. I instinctively lunged forward to grab it, but it was already sinking. Lily whispered from behind him, “Austin, who is F?” It was not a classmate. F stood for February, my birth month. “Just childhood nonsense,” Austin said, his voice softening slightly as he spoke to her, though his eyes remained locked on me. “I was young and stupid. It was just a game.” Lily let out a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You scared me. I thought you had some unforgettable first love.” Austin’s lips curved into a deeply sarcastic, painful smile. I forced myself to play the mediator. “Exactly. There’s no secret. You two shouldn’t let a silly old book cause any drama.” My eyes drifted to the basin. The journal floated on the surface, completely ruined and abandoned by its owner. Tears began to sting my eyes. I turned my back to them, pretending to adjust something on the counter as I wiped my face. “We all have to move on eventually. You two deserve to be happy.” 5 I ended up taking the diary apart, page by page, trying to salvage it. There were over a thousand pages. My small balcony could only hold a few dozen sheets at a time, making it a tedious, foolish project. Yet, I worked on it day and night. The exhaustion must have triggered something, because that night, I dreamed of Austin. It was the night of my twenty-fifth birthday. I had looked him in the eye and said, “Austin, I’m bored. I’m done playing this game with you.” He thought I was joking, his voice incredibly tender. “Sweetheart, stop teasing.” I had smiled, cold and detached. “Do you honestly think I’m going to spend the rest of my life with a low-paid beat cop? I want a real life. I’ve been playing with you all these years because you’re handsome and built well, but the game is over. I found someone better.” “Fiona…” He looked lost, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I shoved him back with all my strength. “You know Victor, the head of our firm? He has money, power, and influence. You can’t even begin to compete with him.” He stared at me, frozen, as the evening shadows slowly swallowed his face. The dream shifted. It was the night before my wedding. Austin was there, dressed in a flawless designer suit, sipping champagne and laughing with Victor. It was only then that I recalled a passing comment from an old classmate. Austin’s family was incredibly wealthy and influential; police work was merely his passion, a choice he made out of love for the job. A heavy, suffocating cold settled in my chest. At the reception, Austin’s icy gaze swept over me. “Victor, your bride doesn’t seem very happy today.” I forced myself to smile, leaning heavily against Victor’s arm. “Detective Austin is young and highly accomplished. I’m sure he will have a bright future.” During a break in the banquet, Austin cornered me outside the restrooms. His hands were shaking, his voice cracking with desperation. “Fiona, tell me you regret this. Just say the word, and I’ll take you away from here. Just tell me the truth, please.” He lowered himself, practically begging. “Just come back to me, Fiona.” I placed a hand over my slightly rounded stomach. “It’s too late.” Across the hall, Victor stood watching us, smiling like a predator playing with a captured pet. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the dark. A sudden, violent crack of thunder shattered the dream. I bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. My phone was vibrating violently on the nightstand. It was Lily. Her voice was choked with hysterical tears. “Fiona, Austin got into a horrible accident. I’m so scared. Can you please come to the hospital?” I froze. In an instant, the blood in my veins turned to absolute ice.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499831”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In the third year of my marriage to Gabriel Mercer, I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle. Even as a sharp, agonizing pain radiated through my leg, I forced myself not to call him. He was a Major General, a man of high standing whose duties meant he could not take personal calls during work hours. The woman who had hit me was sobbing, holding onto my handlebars to keep me from leaving. “My boyfriend is on his way. Please wait, we will definitely give you a solution you are happy with.” But when the black military SUV with the high-ranking plates pulled up behind her, my entire body went rigid. Gabriel got out of the vehicle, immediately wrapping his uniform jacket around the crying woman’s shoulders, his voice filled with a rare, gentle concern. “I am late. Are you hurt?” It was only then that I realized Gabriel’s phone was not off to everyone during work hours. It was just that his emergency contact list was reserved for the girl from his past. He frowned, his gaze dropping to my bleeding knee, staring at it for a long, silent moment. The woman, Hannah, looked between us with a hesitant glance. “Do you two know each other?” Before Gabriel could speak, I cut in. “We don’t.” After all, in the contract he had handed me three years ago, the very first clause dictated a strictly hidden marriage. Now, our three-year agreement was about to expire. I was already preparing to leave. … I had always known Gabriel had someone else in his heart, but I never imagined it would be the very woman who had just run me over. When Gabriel first arrived, I had frozen, instinctively assuming he was there for me. But Hannah had already scrambled to her feet, running straight into his arms. “Gabriel, what do I do? I hit someone.” The man draped his heavy service jacket over her shoulders, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “I will handle it.” I slowly pulled my gaze away, staring down at the raw, scraping wound on my knee. The pieces finally fell into place, explaining why Gabriel had barely been coming home lately. His childhood love, Hannah, had returned to the country. Hannah stepped back from his chest, turning to offer me a bright, privileged smile. “My boyfriend is here now. Whatever compensation you want, just speak to his assistant.” “I am so sorry for delaying your commute and causing this injury. Please, don’t hesitate to ask for what you need. My boyfriend is highly capable, he will make sure it is taken care of.” I offered a quiet thank you, but Gabriel’s assistant, who was standing nearby, looked incredibly uncomfortable. He was one of the very few who knew about our hidden marriage. He stammered, looking at my leg. “Mrs… I mean, ma’am, why is your wound still bleeding so heavily? It has been half an hour since the accident. Do you have a coagulation issue?” “Just a minor one,” I replied, nodding. Gabriel’s head snapped toward me, his voice dropping an octave. “Clotting issues?” Hannah looked confused. “What’s wrong?” He did not seem to hear her, his eyes locked onto my bleeding knee, his brow furrowed in a tight line. Hannah finally sensed the tension, looking between Gabriel and me with growing suspicion. “Do you two know each other?” Before Gabriel could find his voice, I answered for him. “We don’t.” As expected, he looked satisfied with my quick thinking. He took Hannah’s hand, offering a casual instruction to his assistant before they walked away. “Take her to the clinic.” I watched their retreating figures, swallowing the faint bitterness in my throat. There were exactly two months left before our contract expired, and it was time for me to start packing. 2 Our convenience marriage had been remarkably straightforward. Back then, I desperately needed tuition for graduate school. Through a mutual acquaintance, I ended up signing a contract with Gabriel. On our wedding day, there was no ceremony, no rings, and no vows, only a legal document. He needed a sham marriage to satisfy his family’s constant pressure, and I needed the financial security. The terms were simple: keep the marriage hidden, and occasionally play the doting wife at family dinners. We had no marital obligations, no responsibility toward each other, and I was even free to date as long as I kept it out of the public eye. I was paid three thousand dollars a month. Once the three years were up, I would receive a three-million-dollar exit fee. At the time, Hannah was studying abroad, and I had no idea she even existed. I had absolutely no reason to refuse the offer. After we married, Gabriel kept me close, teaching me how to navigate his world. I learned to play the role of the perfect General’s wife, selecting his suits, managing his social calendar, and dealing with difficult politicians. Once, at a high-profile gala, a corrupt local commissioner tried to touch me. Gabriel, who usually kept his emotions entirely under wraps, kicked the man’s knee so hard he buckled. He then shoved a heavy wine bottle into my hand, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his deep voice vibrating against my ear. “Do you know what I am teaching you today?” Enveloped by his cold, woody cologne, I tried to keep my breathing steady. “You are teaching me to negotiate from a position of strength, to maintain boundaries…” He caught my wrist, lifting my hand with the bottle. “My dear, this isn’t a textbook problem. Don’t be so formal.” “It’s just a fight.” With a sickening crack, the bottle shattered over the commissioner’s head. My palm went numb from the impact. Gabriel pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiping the sweat from my hands. “Don’t forget this. I am your backing.” “Don’t let anyone else bully you.” I had quickly pulled my hand away, muttering a hasty thank you before escaping to the restroom. If I had stayed a second longer, the affection in my eyes would have given me away. Perhaps it was the thrill of a first love, or perhaps Gabriel’s occasional indulgence made me lose my head. I moved into his villa, spending every evening waiting by the window for his headlights to appear in the driveway. Until the night of a major victory banquet. He came home heavily intoxicated, supported by a female subordinate. His arm was slung over her shoulder, their faces mere inches apart. “Mrs. Mercer, please step aside,” the woman said, her voice laced with a subtle disdain. “I need to help the General inside.” I remained where I was, extending my hands toward him. “I can take my husband from here.” Before I could close the door, the secretary let out a soft laugh. “As the General’s wife, you should learn to be more accommodating. If you get jealous over every little thing, you’ll end up miserable.” I had not realized that Gabriel was still somewhat conscious, nor did I know he had heard the entire exchange. Later, when I brought a bowl of hangover soup to the living room, he was lying on the sofa, his eyes remarkably clear as he stared at me. I set the bowl down. “Since you are awake, drink some of this. It will help.” Gabriel did not touch the bowl. Instead, he asked, “Do you know why I never let you into my study?” The lingering annoyance in my chest vanished, replaced by curiosity. I shook my head. He stood up, refusing my assistance, and led me toward the locked room. When he pushed the door open, a massive oil painting met my eyes. A young girl, barely sixteen, stood in a field of wildflowers, her eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of a blossom, her face half-hidden. It was the reason I had not immediately recognized Hannah when we finally met in person. Gabriel leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. “I have loved her since I was seventeen. It has been ten years.” “If we hadn’t quarreled before she left, she would be the one standing here with me today.” His tone was conversational, yet each word felt like a physical blow to my chest. Before I could process the pain, he drove the point home. “I cannot give you the affection you are looking for, Darla. Do not develop feelings you shouldn’t have.” “I will be adding an amendment to our contract,” he continued, his tone entirely businesslike. “If you cannot manage your emotions and cross the boundary, it will be considered a breach of contract. You will lose your compensation and face a heavy penalty.” The hallway light cast a long, narrow shadow across the floor of the dark study. I stood there, frozen, recalling a comment Gabriel had once made about greedy associates. They hover at the boundaries, always testing the limits. It is incredibly off-putting. That night, I became the person who disgusted him. Gabriel left the room shortly after. I stood in the dark until the first light of dawn broke through the window, the cold air finally clearing the fog from my chest. From that day on, I managed myself perfectly. I kept my distance, offering him nothing but polite, professional respect. And slowly, the feelings faded to nothing. 3 My leg wound was dressed at a local clinic, and after taking a day off, I went straight to the hospital to visit my mother. She had been diagnosed with a rare brain tumor, and there were only a couple of specialists in the country capable of performing the surgery. She was constantly worrying about the cost, pleading with me to let her check out. I popped a slice of fresh pear into her mouth. “Absolutely not. You fainted the last time you went for a scan. I heard that Dr. Bennett, the leading neurosurgeon, is coming to our local hospital next month.” Our physician had promised to secure a slot for us if the rumors were true. The thought of my mother recovering made my steps lighter as I went down to the cafeteria, but the head nurse stopped me in the corridor. “Darla, about the private suite we reserved for your mother… a new patient with heavy backing just arrived and took it.” The nurse sighed, lowering her voice. “I heard her boyfriend is a Major General. He pulled some serious strings…” Almost at the same moment, I saw a flash of white fabric near the stairwell, identical to the sundress Hannah had been wearing that morning. I pulled my gaze back, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Nurse. The room doesn’t matter. I just want my mother to get her surgery.” When I returned to the villa that afternoon, Gabriel was sitting on the sofa. It was unusual for him to be home at this hour instead of accompanying Hannah. I offered a polite nod. “Major General.” I turned to head to my room, but his voice stopped me. “How is your knee?” “Dressed and healing. It is fine,” I replied. Gabriel set his coffee cup down, checking his watch. “We need to go to my parents’ house for dinner tonight. Are you free?” According to our contract, I had to make myself available for family events. I nodded. “Yes.” I selected a classic designer outfit, applied my makeup, and ensured I looked every bit the elegant wife of a military officer. When we arrived at the Mercer estate, I automatically slipped my hand through his arm, greeting his family with practiced warmth. During dinner, Gabriel’s mother looked at us expectantly. “Have you two started trying for a baby yet?” I choked on my soup, coughing into my napkin. Gabriel reached over, handing me a glass of water while gently patting my back. “Darla is still young.” His mother frowned. “She is twenty-five. It is the perfect time to start thinking about these things.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, offering a quiet nod. “I understand, Mother.” A violent rainstorm broke out that evening, forcing us to stay the night. We shared the master suite, sleeping under separate blankets. After three years, the arrangement was familiar and comfortable. When I came out of the bathroom in my silk gown and sat on the vanity bench to apply ointment to my knee, Gabriel looked over. “I am sorry I couldn’t take you to the clinic myself the other day.” He looked tense, as if struggling to explain his relationship with Hannah. I cut him off gently. “It is fine, Major General. Our contract doesn’t require you to take care of me. You don’t need to explain.” “Whatever is going on between you and Miss Hannah is your business. I will continue to play my part until our contract ends in two months.” He raised his eyes, staring at me. “Two months?” It seemed he had forgotten the date. “Yes,” I reminded him. “In two months, our agreement expires, and we can finalize the divorce.” Gabriel set his wine glass down, his voice cool and detached. “You certainly have the date memorized.” He turned and walked into the bathroom, ending the conversation. 4 A few weeks later, my mother’s physician called with incredible news: he had managed to secure a consultation slot with Dr. Bennett. For the next two weeks, I spent every evening after work at the hospital. One afternoon, as I stepped into the elevator, the doors began to close before being held open. Gabriel and Hannah walked in. Hannah did not recognize me from our brief encounter, her eyes scanning right past me. Gabriel hesitated for a fraction of a second but said nothing. As the elevator rose, Hannah clung to his arm, her voice sweet and filled with affection. “Thank you, my amazing boyfriend, for sorting out everything for my mother. Now we just have to wait for the results.” “How should I thank you? Maybe I’ll let you take me out to dinner tonight.” I kept my eyes glued to the floor indicator, waiting. “What do you want to eat?” Gabriel’s deep voice finally replied. “Let’s go to your place. I want your homemade pasta!” The elevator dinged at my floor. I stepped out into the quiet corridor, realizing I would need to find a hotel tonight. After feeding my mother, I booked a room at a nearby boutique hotel. I showered and fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the long day. Sometime during the night, my phone rang. I answered it sleepily. “Hello?” “When are you coming home?” Gabriel’s voice came through the receiver. “I made dinner. I am waiting for you.” I buried my face deeper into the pillow. “Aren’t you with Hannah?” “I didn’t want to get in your way… so I got a hotel room for the night…” The line went silent before Gabriel’s voice dropped, carrying a distinct edge of displeasure. “Send me your location. I am coming to pick you up.” I was too tired to care about his authority. “No, Gabriel. I am already asleep. Don’t bother me.” He remained silent for a few seconds before his tone softened, carrying a hint of amusement. “You have quite the temper when you’re tired, don’t you?” Without the barrier of my usual professional restraint, I simply let out an annoyed sigh. I heard a soft chuckle from the other end of the line. “Alright, go back to sleep. I won’t disturb you.” The call disconnected, and I drifted back into a heavy sleep. The next morning, the conversation felt like a dream. When Gabriel called again, I assumed he was going to reprimand me for my lack of respect. I kept my tone carefully polite. “Is there something you need, Major General?” There was a long pause before he spoke, his tone completely flat. “Nothing. I simply forgot to ask what you were doing at the hospital yesterday.” “My mother is admitted,” I replied casually. “But it is nothing serious. She will be discharged soon.” “If you need any assistance, contact my chief of staff directly,” he said. I thanked him politely, though I had no intention of doing so. His position was sensitive, and I was not about to involve military personnel in my personal matters. The contract dictated that I keep my distance, and I intended to honor it. The silence stretched, yet he did not hang up. “Major General? Is there anything else?” I could hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his mahogany desk, a habit of his when he was deep in thought. “I was just wondering what time you usually take your afternoon nap,” he said. I blinked, entirely thrown off. Before I could process the question, he added, “I will make sure to call you during those hours from now on.” I had no idea what he was playing at. Was this some new method of torment? Dr. Bennett was scheduled to arrive on the seventeenth, with a very limited three-hour window for consultations. We had secured the very last slot. Gabriel had been deployed to a training exercise in the north and was not expected back for a week. Whenever I saw Hannah at the hospital during those days, she was always alone. On the morning of the seventeenth, I saw her chatting with the receptionist at the nurse’s station, eating an apple with a relaxed, casual air. “My mother’s results are only partially back, but the director told me not to worry,” she was saying. The nurse looked up from her paperwork, offering a polite smile. “That is good news. Perhaps you should take a walk? We are preparing for Dr. Bennett’s arrival this afternoon.” Hannah paused, her interest piqued. “Dr. Bennett? Who is that?” “The leading neurosurgeon in the country. His slots have been booked for months.” “But your mother’s case doesn’t require a specialist of his caliber,” the nurse explained. Hannah took a slow bite of her apple, her eyes narrowing. “I see…” A sudden chill of unease washed over me, but I tried to brush it off. Hannah’s mother did not have a brain tumor; surely she would not take a critical slot from someone who actually needed it. But my hope was shattered. At two o’clock that afternoon, our physician called me into his office, his face incredibly grim. “The slot is gone.” The words felt like a physical blow, leaving my ears ringing. “Major General Mercer’s girlfriend claimed it, using her military dependent priority,” the doctor said, his brow furrowed. “I tried to explain that her mother’s condition is standard, but she insisted she wanted the absolute best opinion.” I leaned against the wall to keep my balance. “Can we request an extra slot?” “Impossible. Dr. Bennett is flying out for an international conference at five.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to keep from breaking down. I immediately dialed Gabriel’s number, but as always, the call went straight to his secure line’s automated busy signal. With no time to lose, I took a taxi back to the villa, grabbed our marriage certificate, and rushed back to the hospital. I marched straight into the director’s office. Before he could speak, I set the document on his desk, my chest heaving. “I am Gabriel Mercer’s legal wife. You can verify the registration.” “I am not here to steal anyone’s slot. I am simply taking back the one that belonged to my mother.” The slot was restored. Once the consultation was finished and the surgery date was locked in, the heavy weight in my chest finally lifted. I asked the director and the physicians to keep my identity quiet, but Hannah was persistent. As I walked out of the hospital that evening, she blocked my path, staring at me before her eyes crinkled into a sharp, mocking smile. “I remember you. You’re the girl from the bicycle accident. No wonder Gabriel was so focused on your clotting issue.” “I didn’t take your mother’s slot, Hannah,” I said quietly, looking down. “I can explain my relationship with Gabriel.” She had no interest in listening, extending her hand. “Just show me the certificate.” Her voice carried a distinct threat. “Otherwise, I will make sure your mother has a very difficult time staying in this hospital, let alone getting her surgery.” With no other choice, I showed her the document. Hannah stared at it, her smile widening into something cold. She immediately pulled out her phone and dialed Gabriel’s number. The call was answered almost instantly. With tears welling in her eyes, she looked straight at me. “Gabriel, you have a wife.” A brief silence followed before Gabriel’s voice came through. “Who told you that?” “How could you treat me like this?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “We are done.” She hung up the phone and turned to leave. I took a step forward, but she did not look back, her voice dripping with venom. “Don’t you dare follow me.” “Enabling your husband’s affair makes you just as pathetic, Darla. Don’t make me get my hands dirty in public.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499830”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When my due date approached and I requested maternity leave, my boss replied with just two words: “Request denied.” Holding up the hospital admission notice from my doctor, I asked him, “My water could break at any second. What then?” He pushed the slip back across the desk. “Then we’ll talk when it does.” I let out a soft laugh. “Fine. Have it your way.” The next morning, I walked into the office right on time, carrying my hospital go bag. The bag sat by my feet, a disposable underpad lined my office chair, and a portable oxygen canister was placed right next to my computer. When my boss walked past and frowned, a sudden, sharp contraction seized my abdomen, forcing me to grip the edge of my desk for support. Then his eyes fell on the wet puddle spreading rapidly at my feet, and he froze, completely terrified. 1 Mike looked up, his eyes briefly scanning my swollen belly before darting back to his computer screen. “Another day off?” Outside the glass door of the HR department, a few coworkers pretended to fetch water, their ears straining to catch every word. “It’s not a sick day. It’s maternity leave.” I placed the doctor’s notice on his desk, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “The doctor says I’m full term. My cervix is already beginning to dilate. I need to be admitted to the hospital today or tomorrow to prepare for delivery.” Mike picked up the slip, glanced at it for barely two seconds, and tossed it back. “The project launch is the day after tomorrow. If you leave now, who wraps it up?” “I already handed everything over to Tina, and I sent an email to the client explaining the transition.” Tina, who was leaning against the doorframe, let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Oh, Kelly, don’t say that. There’s no way I can handle your workload. I’m just an assistant. If something goes wrong, Mike will eat me alive.” She called me her senior, but her eyes were glued to Mike. Mike frowned. “You hear that? There’s no one to take over your files.” “But this is legally mandated maternity leave.” “This company isn’t a charity. Don’t use your pregnancy as a shield.” Outside, the sound of pouring water stopped. I looked down at my feet. My shoes were tight and pinching from the swelling. Inside my belly, the baby gave a soft kick, as if telling me not to be afraid. “Mike, I haven’t missed a single day of work these past few years. Even when I had complications in the first trimester, I stayed up to finish the project proposal in my hospital bed before letting them admit me.” “And?” He leaned back, his eyes full of impatience. “Am I supposed to hand you a medal for that?” Tina covered her mouth, giggling softly. “Kelly, Mike is just looking out for you. Women who take too much time off after having a baby lose their touch and get left behind. You should work as much as you can now to secure your spot.” “I’m taking maternity leave, not resigning.” “Who knows the difference these days?” Mike threw his pen onto the desk. “You female employees always make grand promises before getting pregnant, but once you conceive, it’s one leave after another. First it’s prenatal checkups, then it’s maternity leave, then it’s nursing hours, and then sick leave whenever the kid gets a cold. Is this company a business or a welfare program?” The room fell ice cold. I stared at the paper on his desk, my fingers slowly tightening into fists. “Mike, would you care to put that statement in an email?” His face darkened instantly. “Are you threatening me?” “I am simply asking for a written response.” Mike stood up and shoved the notice back into my hands. “Request denied.” Those words fell like lead. I held the admission notice in front of him. “My water could break at any moment.” He sneered, pushing my hand away. “Then we’ll wait until it does.” Outside the glass, someone gasped. Tina immediately looked down at her phone, pretending to be busy. I let out a soft, quiet laugh. “Fine. Have it your way.” As I turned to leave, a heavy, dragging ache pulled at my lower back. Penny, our junior admin, hurried after me. “Kelly, don’t force yourself. Just go home and let HR handle it later.” From the breakroom, Tina’s voice drifted out. “She’s just playing the pregnancy card. Let’s see if she’s still smiling when she finds out her desk has been cleared.” I squeezed the paper in my hand, leaving a deep crease. The elevator doors opened, and Mike stood at his office door, his voice cold and loud enough for everyone to hear. “I expect you at your desk tomorrow by nine. Any later will be counted as an unexcused absence.” 2 The next morning at exactly eight fifty six, the scanner chimed. The receptionist almost dropped her coffee when she saw me. “Kelly? You actually came in?” I set my heavy hospital bag by my feet and slowly walked to my cubicle, supporting my aching lower back. The office AC was blasting on high, blowing freezing air directly onto my head. My desk chair had been lowered to its absolute limit, and the lumbar support had been removed, leaving nothing but a hard, flat seat. Tina strolled past with a mug in her hand, her voice sweet as syrup. “Oh dear, who could have done that? Kelly, with a belly that big, is it even safe for you to sit on that?” No one answered her. I pulled a disposable underpad from my bag, laid it neatly over the seat, and set my portable oxygen canister right beside my monitor. Then, I laid out my prenatal records, the hospital notice, and my clock-in receipts, arranging them in a perfect row under my clear desk mat. Around me, the clicking of keyboards faltered, then resumed. When Mike walked out of his office, he caught me slipping into my comfortable house slippers. His brow furrowed instantly. “Kelly, is this an office or a maternity ward?” “It’s an office.” I booted up my PC and logged into the portal. “You said we’d wait until my water broke. I’m here waiting.” Several coworkers lowered their heads, their shoulders shaking as they tried to suppress their laughter. Mike’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. “Stop playing the victim. You’re ruining team morale.” “I’m not playing anything.” Suddenly, my abdomen hardened like a stone. I gripped the edge of my desk, unable to sit down. The weight of the baby dragged downward, and a sharp, pulling pain shot through my back, as if someone were tearing my spine from the inside. Penny panicked. “Kelly, are those contractions?” Tina immediately piped in. “Don’t overreact, Penny. Braxton Hicks contractions are perfectly normal in the final weeks. When my cousin was pregnant, she had false alarms for half a month.” Mike looked at me coldly. “Can you still do your job?” “Yes.” I opened the client database, my fingers trembling so hard from the pain that I made several typos. Ten minutes later, Tina dumped a heavy stack of folders onto my desk. “Mike says you know the launch materials best. He wants you to proofread everything one more time.” The heavy stack slammed down, pinning my prenatal booklet underneath. “I already handed these over yesterday.” “Well, I don’t understand them.” She leaned down, keeping her voice low enough so only I could hear. “If you’re really as capable as you claim, finish the job. Don’t make the rest of us suffer for your condition.” I looked up at her. “Would you care to repeat that in front of Mike?” Tina’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Kelly, I was only asking for help. Why are you being so hostile?” Hearing the commotion, Mike stepped out of his office. “Kelly, leave your personal drama at home.” “She brought back the files I already transferred.” “You’ve been doing this for three years. What’s wrong with double checking them?” He shoved the folders closer to me. “Stop being so fragile.” The sharp edge of the top folder scraped against the back of my hand, leaving an angry red line. A sudden, brutal contraction seized my abdomen, forcing me to double over. I clutched the disposable pad on my chair, crumpling it in my fist. Penny rushed over to support me. “Mike, something is seriously wrong. She’s completely pale.” But Mike only stared at the hospital bag by my feet. “Cut the act. Who brings a hospital bag to work? You’re just trying to humiliate me in front of the whole department.” Before the words fully left his mouth, a warm rush of fluid cascaded down my legs. Within seconds, a dark puddle spread across the carpet. The room plunged into absolute silence. Penny’s face went entirely white. “Her water broke!” Mike stared at the pool of water at my feet, completely frozen. Down the hall, the copy machine continued to click and spit out pages, the rhythmic sound echoing in the stunned silence. 3 “Call an ambulance!” Penny’s voice cracked with panic. Mike remained frozen, as if the words didn’t register. Tina was the first to react, clutching her phone and backing away. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it.” But her fingers shook so violently she couldn’t even navigate past her contacts. The pain hit me in waves now, heavy and relentless. I leaned against the desk, my legs trembling so much I could barely stand. “Dial 911!” Penny snatched the phone right out of Tina’s hands. “You dialed the wrong number! Why on earth are you calling your boyfriend?” Tina’s face flushed red. “I’m panicking, okay?” Mike finally snapped out of his daze, his voice weak and wavering. “Don’t make a scene. Keep working, everyone. Don’t crowd around.” Penny turned on him. “Mike, her water broke!” “I can see that.” He rubbed his face, lowering his voice. “Before the ambulance gets here, move her to the conference room. We can’t have clients seeing this.” Despite the blinding pain, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mike, you’re worried about clients seeing this, but you aren’t worried about me dying in your conference room?” His mouth twitched. “Kelly, don’t be dramatic.” The cleaning lady stood nearby with a mop, her eyes red. “We shouldn’t move her. A pregnant woman in labor shouldn’t be touched. We have to wait for the paramedics.” Mike looked at the puddle on the floor, then at the crowd of employees watching from the doorway. “Don’t you all have work to do?” Nobody moved. A contraction bent my spine, and I squeezed Penny’s arm so hard my nails dug into her skin. Tina edged closer again. “Kelly, just hang in there. Every woman goes through this when giving birth. Don’t make a big deal out of it. It won’t look good for you when you try to come back to work.” “Shut up.” Penny snapped. It was the first time she had ever raised her voice at Tina. Tina’s eyes welled with tears again. “I was only trying to help.” “Help? By making her proofread files while she’s in active labor?” The HR Director, Vivian, rushed up the stairs, her face as white as paper. “Where is the ambulance?” “Six minutes away,” Penny replied, her voice shaking as she held the phone. Vivian marched right up to Mike. “Mike, I forwarded Kelly’s maternity leave request to you yesterday. The system clearly flagged that her due date was three days away. Why did you reject it?” Mike’s expression shifted. “Is this really the time to discuss that?” “Yes, it is,” I gasped, leaning against the back of the chair, biting my lip to keep from screaming. “Yesterday, when you told me to wait until my water broke, you seemed to think it was very important.” Tina chimed in quickly. “Kelly, the baby is what matters right now. Let’s not argue.” “The baby matters? Is that why you set the thermostat to sixty degrees?” The office fell silent again. Penny looked up at the thermostat control on the wall. “Who did that?” Tina froze. “How should I know? It’s always cold in here.” The receptionist raised her hand timidly. “I saw Tina with the remote this morning.” Tina glared at her. “Keep your mouth shut!” “Enough!” Mike roared, his irritation bubbling over. The next second, a tearing, downward pressure ripped through my abdomen. My breath caught, and the prenatal booklet slipped from my hand, clattering onto the floor. Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor. Paramedics rushed in, pushing a gurney. “Where is the patient?” As they lifted me onto the gurney, Mike took two hurried steps forward. “Kelly, you haven’t given Tina the password for the project files yet!” The paramedic looked at him like he was a lunatic. As they wheeled me out to the ambulance, my phone buzzed in my hand. My husband’s name, Liam, flashed on the screen. I answered it, and his frantic voice came through. “Kelly! Where are you? The hospital called and said you never checked in!” Before I could answer, Mike shoved his way to the side of the gurney and shouted into the phone. “Liam, she went into labor at work! The company had nothing to do with this!” 4 The ambulance doors slammed shut. Liam went silent for half a second. When he spoke again, his voice was terrifyingly cold. “Put the paramedic on.” I handed the phone to the medic. “Her water broke, and her contractions are frequent. She’s full term. We are taking her to St. Jude’s.” The medic paused, looking down at me. “The family needs to get there as soon as possible. We can’t let the patient get any more stressed.” When the call ended, the only sound left in the ambulance was the rhythmic beeping of the monitor. Penny sat in the corner, wiping away tears. “Kelly, I’m so sorry. I should have gone to HR with you yesterday.” “It’s not your fault.” Another contraction hit, stealing my breath. Penny grabbed my hand. “Don’t talk. Save your strength.” My phone buzzed again. In the company group chat, Mike had pinned a new announcement: Kelly Ward is taking temporary leave today due to personal medical reasons. All departments are expected to maintain order and refrain from spreading rumors. Penny saw the notification and held the screen in front of me, her face red with anger. “How can he write that?” I stared at the words “personal medical reasons” through a haze of pain. “Take a screenshot.” Penny blinked, then nodded vigorously. “I’m on it. I’ll save everything.” The moment the ambulance pulled up to the ER, Liam was already waiting. His shirt was misbuttoned, and his hair was a wild mess from the wind. His eyes turned red the moment he saw me. “Kelly.” He called my name, but his voice cracked, unable to say another word. The nurses wheeled me toward the delivery room. “Husband, sign here. Hurry.” Liam ran alongside us for a few steps before the double doors shut him out. “I’m right outside!” his voice echoed through the door. “Don’t be afraid!” The lights in the delivery room were blindingly bright. The nurse asked, “The doctor wanted you admitted yesterday. Why did you wait?” I sweated through my gown, my voice barely a whisper. “My boss wouldn’t let me.” The nurse’s pen paused. The older midwife beside her frowned. “What decade is this? Who denies maternity leave?” Suddenly, the baby’s heart rate dipped on the monitor. The doctor immediately raised her voice. “Oxygen, monitor the fetal heart rate, get ready!” I gripped the bedsheets, my back soaked in sweat. Through the doors, I could hear Liam’s voice rising as he spoke to someone on the phone. “She submitted her admission paperwork yesterday, and the company rejected it. Her water broke at her desk today.” “I’m gathering all the evidence.” “I am not settling this out of court.” Before he could finish, the nurse placed my phone by my pillow. A message from Tina popped up on the screen: Kelly, Mike wants me to ask for your computer password. The client is pressing for the project files. Immediately after, another message arrived: Don’t be angry. Times are tough for everyone. You wouldn’t want your pregnancy to ruin the company’s big launch, would you? I stared at the screen, a cold shiver running through my core. When the worst of the pain subsided, I typed three words: I don’t know. Tina called almost instantly. The nurse frowned and reached to decline it, but I shook my head. The moment I swiped to answer, Tina’s hushed, urgent voice filled the room. “Kelly, stop playing games. Giving birth doesn’t happen that fast. Just give me the password. Mike says if you don’t cooperate, there will be consequences.” Before I could speak, the doctor yelled, “Don’t talk! Push!” The phone slipped from the pillow, landing on the floor with the screen still lit. Tina’s voice blared from the speaker. “Kelly! Are you listening? Don’t think having a baby gives you a free pass to screw over the company!” Outside the delivery room door, there was a heavy, violent thud against the wall. Liam’s voice cut through like ice. “Put her on speakerphone.” 5 The nurse scooped the phone off the floor and set it on the tray. Tina was still talking. “Mike told me to tell you that if the client complains today, you’re solely responsible. And don’t expect to have your old job back when you return.” The doctor had heard enough. She snapped at the phone, “She is currently delivering a baby! Have you people lost your minds?” The other end of the line went dead silent. A moment later, Mike’s voice came through. “Who is this? This is internal company business. Please don’t interfere.” The midwife slammed her gloves onto the tray. “I’m delivering her child, so I am very much involved.” Every nurse in the room turned to look. Mike, clearly not expecting a room full of witnesses, softened his tone slightly. “Kelly, you’re emotional right now, so I won’t hold this against you. We can discuss your position when you return.” Liam’s voice boomed from outside the door. “Mike, you don’t have to wait. We can discuss it right now.” The line went completely quiet. Another contraction hit me like a massive wave. The doctor held my knees. “Look at me. Forget the phone. The baby’s head is crowning.” I gripped the sheets, my ears ringing. A rush of painful memories flooded my mind. The day I had first-trimester bleeding, Mike made me lie on an ER bench to revise a proposal. When my feet swelled so badly I couldn’t wear shoes, Tina had my desk moved to the draftiest corner of the office. During my checkup last month, after I waited three hours for a fetal heart rate test, Mike sent six consecutive question marks in the group chat. Every single time, I told myself to just endure it, that once my maternity leave was approved, everything would be fine. But today, my baby was telling me in the most painful way possible that silence does not buy dignity. “Push!” the doctor commanded. I gritted my teeth and threw every ounce of my strength into my abdomen. Through the phone, Mike’s voice sounded panicked. “Liam, there’s been a misunderstanding. The company never tried to stop her from having her baby. We just needed a proper transition process.” Liam’s voice was steady and absolute. “She handed you her admission notice yesterday, and you told her to wait until her water broke.” The hallway outside seemed to hold its breath. “Who told you that?” Mike’s voice cracked. Liam didn’t answer. Instead, Penny’s voice came through, thick with tears. “I heard it. The entire office heard it.” A final, blinding flash of pain ripped through me. “I see the head! One more time!” the doctor shouted. Sweat poured into my eyes, stinging them shut. On the phone, Mike’s voice was tight with suppressed rage. “Penny, you are an employee of this company. You need to watch what you say.” Penny’s crying stopped. “I will,” she said, her voice trembling but clear. “And I recorded it.” Suddenly, a scuffle broke out outside the door. It sounded like someone trying to grab a phone, and someone else holding them back. A nurse yelled, “This is a delivery ward! Stop this immediately!” Amidst the chaos, a loud, sharp cry pierced the air. I collapsed back onto the bed, tears streaming into my hair. The doctor held up a wet, wriggling bundle. “It’s a girl. Six pounds, three ounces. She’s beautiful.” As they laid her wet cheek against mine, Mike’s angry roar drifted through the door. “Penny! Don’t bother coming in tomorrow! You’re fired!” Penny sobbed back, “I don’t care! Approve Kelly’s leave first!” 6 The delivery room doors swung open, and Liam was the first to rush in. The nurse handed him the baby. He cradled her clumsily, his tears dripping onto her swaddling blanket. “Hey, sweet girl. I’m your daddy,” he whispered, his voice completely broken. I was wheeled back to the recovery room. As the anesthesia wore off, the dull ache of the stitches and postpartum cramps began to settle in. Martha, my mother-in-law, arrived with a thermos of hot soup, her eyes red the moment she walked in. “What kind of monster does this to a pregnant woman?” Before the door could fully close, Mike’s name flashed on my phone again. Liam looked at it and hit speaker. “Liam, I apologize if I sounded harsh earlier, but you have to understand the company’s position,” Mike said, his voice much quieter than it had been outside the delivery room. “We can approve her leave, but she caused a massive scene in the office today. It reflects very poorly on her.” Martha’s face flushed with anger. “Having her water break on the job is a scene?” The line went quiet for a moment. “Ma’am, please don’t misunderstand. That’s not what I meant.” Liam gently laid the baby beside me. “Mike, is this phone call an apology or a threat?” “It’s a conversation.” “Then listen closely.” Liam tapped his phone, and the recording beep sounded. “From this moment on, all communication with Kelly will be in writing. Do not call this number again.” Mike’s breathing grew heavy. “Liam, you’re making this harder than it needs to be.” “I didn’t make this hard,” Liam replied, his voice deadly calm. “You did, the moment you told a full-term pregnant woman to wait until her water broke.” After he hung up, the room fell quiet. Penny stood at the door, hesitating to come in. She was holding my hospital bag, the bottom of her sneakers still damp from the office floor. “Kelly, I’m sorry. I sent the recording to Liam.” “Thank you, Penny.” Penny’s tears began to fall again. “Mike posted in the group chat that I leaked confidential company information. HR wants me in their office tomorrow morning.” Liam looked up. “If you want, I’ll go with you.” Penny nodded eagerly, then shook her head. “No, I can’t. I have a mortgage, and my dad just had surgery. I can’t lose this job.” Her words brought the cold reality of our lives back into the room. We were all afraid. Afraid to speak up, afraid to refuse, because the bills came every month like a hand choking our throats. “Penny, don’t resign, and don’t apologize,” I said, forcing myself to sit up despite the stinging pain. “Write down everything you saw and heard today. Write it with timestamps and email it to your personal account. Don’t just leave it on your phone.” Penny wiped her face. “Okay. I will.” That afternoon, Vivian, the HR Director, arrived at the hospital. She didn’t bring flowers or a gift basket. She only brought a maternity leave approval form. “Kelly, your leave has been approved. It starts today.” Liam took the form. “Why today? Why not yesterday?” Vivian looked uncomfortable. “She was still on the clock yesterday.” “She was holding a doctor’s notice, begging to leave.” I looked at Vivian. “Vivian, you warned Mike in the system yesterday, didn’t you?” Vivian’s lips trembled. “I did.” “Then why didn’t you push back harder?” She lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around her leather portfolio. “I have a job to keep, too.” Martha let out a bitter laugh. “Everyone has a job to keep, so my daughter-in-law’s life is the only thing that’s cheap?” Vivian’s face drained of color. Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Tina stood there, holding a fruit basket, her eyes red. “Kelly, I came to see the baby.” Before she could take a step inside, Liam blocked her path. “Get out.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499829”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I can see the hidden tags of everyone around me. The security guard at my building has [Retired War Hero] floating over his head, and the local delivery guy is an [Undercover Billionaire’s Son]. On my way home late one night, an elderly woman collapsed on the pavement. I knelt down to help her up. She offered a warm, gentle smile and pointed toward the dark recesses of the alley. I glanced in that direction for a brief second, but when I turned back… Her tag had changed. It was now a solid black bar with blood-red text: [Serial Killer, Prey Hooked]. A blade was already pressed firmly against my lower back. But there was one thing she didn’t know. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone jogging past the mouth of the alley. The tag floating above his head read: [Retired Special Forces, Night Run]. In this city, no one’s secrets can stay hidden. At least, not from my eyes. 1 Working late until one in the morning, I dragged my exhausted body out of the office. The late March wind still carried a bitter chill, making me shiver under my coat. My name is William. To anyone else, I was just a completely average, unremarkable office worker. But I had a secret. I could see things. Floating above everyone’s head was a glowing line of text. A tag. For most people, the tags were painfully ordinary: [Overworked Corporate Slave, Wants to Quit], [Stay-at-Home Mom, Anxious], or [College Student, Crumbling Under Finals]. But occasionally, I saw something different. Take Arthur, the security guard at my apartment complex. He was in his fifties, always smiling, and loved gossiping with the local residents. His tag read: [Retired War Hero, Participated in Top-Secret Operations, Records Sealed]. The first time I saw it, I nearly dropped my groceries. Then there was the delivery guy who brought my food every day. He rode a beat-up scooter, his skin baked dark by the sun. His tag: [Undercover Billionaire, Heir to a Massive Fortune, Day 47 of Experiencing the Real World]. I used to think my eyes were glitched. But over time, I realized the tags were never wrong. It was like a cheat code, granting me a god-eye view of this city. I never planned to do anything with it. Until tonight. I was taking my usual route home, walking down Oak Avenue, turning into Linden Passage, and heading toward the back gate of my apartment complex. Linden Passage was narrow, flanked by old brick residential buildings. Most of the streetlamps were broken, leaving only one flickering bulb at the far end to cast a dim, yellow glow. I kept my head down, scrolling through my phone, my footsteps echoing off the damp brick walls. Then I saw her. A silver-haired elderly woman, sitting on the pavement. Actually, she had fallen out of her wheelchair. She was sprawled on the cold ground, her wheelchair tipped over beside her. Above her head, two tags floated: [Helpless], [In Pain]. Instinct took over, and I quickened my pace. “Ma’am? Are you alright?” I knelt beside her, reaching out to help. She looked up, her deeply wrinkled face folding into a warm, grandmotherly smile. “Thank you, sweetie,” she croaked, her voice trembling as if it might give out at any second. “Where do you live? I can carry you back.” She reached out a withered, bony hand, pointing deeper into the shadows of the alley. “Just… just up ahead…” I followed her finger, peering into the pitch-black darkness of the alley. There was nothing but shadows. A sudden prickle of unease ran down my spine. I turned my head back to look at her. In that exact split second, her tags changed. [Helpless] and [In Pain] dissolved like ink in water. Replacing them was a solid black bar with blood-red lettering: [Serial Killer, Victim No. 23, Hooked] My blood froze. Before my brain could process the words, a sharp, icy sensation bit into the small of my back. The unmistakable coldness of steel pressed through my thin cotton shirt, right against my kidney. “Don’t move.” Her voice was entirely different now. No longer trembling, it was low, steady, and sharp, like a viper baring its fangs. “Be a good boy, and it won’t hurt.” Every muscle in my body locked up. Cold sweat erupted across my back, soaking my shirt. My heart hammered violently against my ribs, threatening to burst from my chest. I could feel the tip of the blade digging slightly deeper. [Unlock the next chapter to see if William can escape the serial killer’s blade, and discover how his unique ability helps him survive the night!] Just a fraction of an inch more, and it would puncture my skin. “Stand up. Walk inside.” Her other hand gripped my jacket. I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to think. Tags. Look at the tags. I stared desperately into the darkness of the alley. There, crouched behind a dumpster, was a shape. His tag read: [Accomplice, Body Disposer, Tools in the Van] Two of them. I was cornered. There was no escaping. If I went forward, I would run right into the accomplice. If I went back… Wait. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure running past the mouth of the alley. He was moving fast, wearing a running vest and shorts, wireless earbuds tucked into his ears. But it was the tag glowing above his head that made my heart leap: [Retired Special Forces, 12 Years of Active Service, Lap 3 of Night Run] My chest tightened. Now. This was my only shot. If I missed it, I would be Victim Number Twenty-Three. “Please… don’t kill me…” I whimpered, letting my voice shake violently as my body trembled. “I have money… I’ll give you everything I have…” “Shut up,” the old woman hissed. “Keep moving.” Her focus was entirely on keeping me quiet. The knife point shifted, just a fraction. In that tiny window of opportunity, I screamed. “HELP! MURDER!” I poured every ounce of strength I had into that shriek. The sound bounced off the brick walls, deafening in the narrow space. At the same time, I wrenched my body sideways and slammed my right elbow backward. My elbow collided hard with her wrist. I felt the blade swipe across my hip, a searing flash of heat and pain. But I didn’t care. I bolted toward the mouth of the alley. “Get back here!” The woman roared behind me, her voice completely stripped of any elderly frailty. From the depths of the alley, the accomplice sprinted out, his heavy footsteps thudding against the pavement. But my eyes were fixed on the runner. He had stopped. He pulled out an earbud, turning his head toward the alley. Below his tag, a new line of text flashed in bright yellow: [Threat Assessment: Target Acquired, Engaging Combat Mode] He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t evaluate. He charged. His speed was terrifying, almost inhuman. I barely registered his movement. He blurred past me, a rush of cold wind hitting my face. Behind me, a sickening thud echoed. “Agh!” The old woman screamed in pain. I stumbled, turning around to see the runner gripping her knife hand. With a clean, brutal twist, he locked her wrist and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her clear off the ground. The knife clattered to the pavement. Seeing this, the accomplice skid to a halt, turning to flee. Without even looking back, the veteran grabbed the tipped-over wheelchair and hurled it with one hand. The heavy frame spun through the air, slamming squarely into the accomplice’s back. The man crashed face-first onto the concrete with a pathetic groan. The entire fight took less than five seconds. I slumped against the brick wall, panting heavily, my hand clutching my bleeding hip. It burned like hell. But I was alive. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. I looked up at the veteran. He held the struggling old woman pinioned to the ground, casting a cold, expressionless gaze over his shoulder at me. “Call the police,” he said. Just one word. Or rather, a command. My fingers trembled so violently I could barely input the numbers on my phone screen. But my eyes remained locked on the old woman’s head. Her tag had updated: [Serial Killer, 22 Victims Deceased, Furious, Failed Mission] Twenty-two. Twenty-two people had already died by her hand. I was supposed to be the twenty-third. If not for that runner, I would have ended up as a cold statistic on a morning police report. I pressed the call button. 2 The police arrived in minutes. Two cruisers blocked the mouth of the alley, their flashing red and blue lights illuminating the dark brick walls. A young officer led me to the side to take my statement, while several others secured the scene. The retired soldier, who introduced himself as Marcus, was surrounded by another group of officers. He remained entirely stoic, his answers brief and precise, like a soldier delivering a mission report. My hip had a nasty gash. It wasn’t deep, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. The paramedic applied a butterfly bandage, telling me I wouldn’t need stitches. I nodded absentmindedly, my eyes scanning the officers on scene. Tags. I was reading their tags. Most were perfectly normal: [Detective, 3 Years on the Force, Overworked], [Patrol Officer, Anxious to Get Promoted]. But one man’s tag made the hair on my arms stand up. He was a middle-aged detective in his late forties, wearing plain clothes, casually puffing on a cigarette as he walked over. His tag read: [Mole, Receiving $50,000 Monthly from the Syndicate, Responsible for Destroying Evidence] My breath caught in my throat. I nearly crushed the paper cup of water in my hand. The corrupt detective walked over to the old woman, knelt down to inspect her, then stood up and whispered a few words to the officers holding her. Beneath his tag, a new line appeared: [Currently Verifying: Does the witness know too much?] He was looking at me. It was a casual glance, the kind a seasoned cop might give a bystander. But I knew better. It was an evaluation. I immediately lowered my head, feigning severe shock. My hands were already shaking, so I didn’t have to act that part. “Hey there, son,” he said, walking over. His voice was warm and fatherly, a comforting smile plastered across his face. “You look pretty shaken up. Tell me, what did you see tonight?” I looked up at him. His smile was flawless. If not for the glowing text above his head, I would have trusted him completely. “I… I was just walking home,” I stammered, shifting my gaze away nervously to look like a terrified victim. “I saw the old lady fall. I went to help… and then she pulled a knife on me…” “Just that?” He eyed me closely. “You didn’t see anything else? No one else?” “No… no.” I shook my head rapidly. He stared at me for two agonizing seconds. Then, he smiled. “Alright. Go home and get some rest. We’ll contact you if we need anything else.” He patted my shoulder and walked away. The touch of his hand felt like a cold snake slithering across my skin. I watched his retreating back, staring at the glowing letters: [Mole, Receiving $50,000 Monthly from the Syndicate, Responsible for Destroying Evidence] The old woman wasn’t working alone. She was backed by an organization, and they had a plant inside the police department. A serial killer who had claimed twenty-two victims without getting caught… now I knew why. I clenched my fists. I couldn’t say anything. Not now. If I accused him right here, with zero physical evidence, I would only expose my ability. An ordinary guy who could see everyone’s secrets would be silenced instantly. After the police finished their preliminary report, I declined a ride to the hospital and walked back to my apartment. As I passed the security gate, Arthur, the retired military badass disguised as a guard, noticed the bandage on my hip and stood up. “William? What happened to you?” “Nothing, Arthur. Just scraped myself.” I forced a smile. His tag flickered: [Retired War Hero, Senses Danger, Hesitating to Press for Details]. He didn’t push, but he poured a hot cup of water from his thermos and handed it to me. “Stay out of those dark alleys late at night.” “I will.” I took the cup. The heat stung my palms, but it kept me grounded. Back in my apartment, I locked the door, bolted it, and wedged a chair under the handle. Then, sitting on the edge of my bed, I pulled out my phone. I searched for local serial disappearances and unsolved murders. The result was zero. Not a single article. Twenty-two people were dead, and there wasn’t a whisper of it in the news. My fingers froze over the screen. This was impossible. You don’t lose twenty-two citizens without someone noticing, unless someone was systematically suppressing the information. The mole wasn’t alone. The detective’s tag said “Responsible for Destroying Evidence,” not “Sole Operative.” I stared at the ceiling. I was just an ordinary guy making forty thousand a year, and I had stumbled upon a highly organized, protected syndicate of killers. What was I supposed to do? Report it? To whom? What if the person who picked up the phone was another mole? Go to the media? Tell them I can see floating tags over people’s heads? They’d lock me in a psych ward. I lay awake all night. My hip throbbed, but the headache of my reality was far worse. 3 The next morning, I went through the motions of life like a zombie. I brushed my teeth, squeezed onto the morning train, and clocked in at the office. Sitting at my desk, I stared at the Excel spreadsheet, unable to process a single cell. The old woman’s face replayed on a loop in my mind. The contrast between her sweet grandmotherly smile and those blood-red words made my stomach turn. “William!” my supervisor’s voice barked. “Where is the third-quarter report? The client needs it by two!” “Right… almost done,” I muttered, typing mechanically. Tags from my coworkers drifted across my field of vision. [Looking for a New Job], [Struggling to Decide on Lunch], [Lost Ten Grand in the Stock Market]. Ordinary, mundane lives. Suddenly, I felt like I was living in a completely different dimension. They were stressing over lunch, and I was trying to figure out how to avoid being liquidated by a syndicate. At lunchtime, I went down to the corner convenience store to grab a sandwich. As I turned the corner, I stopped. A man in a grey windbreaker was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette, pretending to wait for someone. His tag: [Syndicate Scout, Task: Confirm Survival and Daily Routine of the Witness] My brain went numb. They were already tracking me. My knees buckled, and I nearly lost my balance. But I couldn’t run. Running would scream guilt. I took a deep breath, walked into the store as if I hadn’t noticed him, grabbed a turkey sub, paid, and walked back out. As I passed him, I even glanced his way. He looked back. His tag updated: [Target Behaving Normally, No Anomaly Detected, Continue Observation]. Cold sweat drenched my spine, but I kept my face blank. Back at the office, I locked myself in a bathroom stall, hovering over the toilet, covering my mouth to muffle my heavy, ragged breathing. They were investigating me. The old woman was locked up, but her organization was still active. They wanted to know how much I knew before they dealt with me. I was still their twenty-third target. I had survived the night, but in their eyes, I was marked. I had to act. I opened my contacts. I scrolled through the names, but there was no one who could help. My parents were out of state, my friends were average desk workers, and the police were compromised. My finger hovered over the screen, then stopped. Marcus. The veteran who had saved me. I didn’t have his number, but I remembered his tag: [Retired Special Forces, 12 Years of Active Service]. More importantly, he had given a statement last night, meaning his file was in the system. But I couldn’t ask the police for it. I had to find him myself. Last night, he was on his third lap of a night run. That meant he had a set route. Linden Passage was on that route. He couldn’t live too far away. Tonight, I would find him. 4 I didn’t go straight home after work. I took the train three stops past my apartment, got off, immediately boarded a train heading the opposite direction, hopped off a stop early, and walked through a series of winding side streets. I knew where the security cameras were near my apartment, and I avoided them entirely. These counter-surveillance tricks were things I had frantically searched online during my lunch break. I didn’t know if they worked, but they gave me some peace of mind. By seven-thirty, the sun had set. I stood near the entrance of Linden Passage, buying a hot dog from a street cart, chewing slowly while keeping my eyes on the corner. People passed by, their tags a colorful mix of daily drama: [Late Picking Up Kids], [Walking the Dog, Actually being Walked by the Dog], [Regretting an Argument]. I waited for an hour. Eight-forty-seven. A figure jogged into view. He wore a black dry-fit shirt and olive shorts. His stride was perfectly measured, his breathing steady. His tag: [Retired Special Forces, Jogging, Lap 2, Feeling Optimal]. It was him. Marcus. I stepped out of the shadows, intercepting him. “Marcus!” He halted, his sharp eyes locking onto me. He recognized me instantly. His tag updated: [Target Saved Last Night, Wound Should Be Clotted, Why Is He Here?]. “You’re the kid from last night,” he said. “Yeah. I’m William.” “How’s the hip?” “Fine. Just a scratch.” “Good.” He pulled out an earbud, took a sip from his water bottle, and watched me closely. “Why are you looking for me?” I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat. How do you tell someone you can see floating text over their head? Normal people would call the asylum. But I had no other options. “Marcus, I need to tell you something. You’re going to think I’m crazy.” “Try me.” “I can… see things.” “What kind of things?” “Information. Above people’s heads. Like floating tags that reveal their real identity, what they’re doing, and sometimes what they’re thinking.” Silence. His tag updated: [Processing Information, Assessing Mental State, No Sign of Delusional Behavior]. Three seconds passed. “Prove it.” He didn’t laugh. He didn’t walk away. Just two words: Prove it. I took a deep breath. “Your name is Marcus. You’re a retired Special Forces operator with twelve years of active service. This is your second lap tonight, and you currently feel ‘optimal.’” His pupils dilated slightly. It was a minuscule reaction, but I caught it. His tag updated: [Alert, Information Accuracy Anomalous, Classified Data Accessed, Assessing Threat Level]. “Did you run a background check on me?” “I don’t have the clearance to find any of that, Marcus. Your years of service, the number of laps you’ve run tonight, how you physically feel… there’s no database on earth that logs that stuff.” He stared at me for ten solid seconds, performing some internal calculations I couldn’t comprehend. Then, he screwed the cap back onto his water bottle and slipped it into his running belt. “Tell me why you’re here.” The bottom line of his tag read: [Tentative Trust, Maintaining Guard, Continue Listening]. I told him everything. How the old woman’s tag had switched from [Helpless] to [Serial Killer]. The accomplice waiting in the dark. The twenty-two dead victims. And the most critical piece. “One of the detectives on the scene last night is a mole.” His expression finally cracked. It wasn’t shock. It was something far darker, a cold, lethal intent. His tag synchronized with his emotion: [Anger, Defense Mechanism Triggered, ‘Mole’ Keyword Triggers Trauma Memory]. “Are you sure?” “His tag was explicit. He receives fifty thousand a month from the syndicate to destroy evidence.” “What does he look like?” “Late forties, square jaw, a distinct mole on his left earlobe. He was wearing a blue windbreaker, plain clothes.” I wasn’t normally observant, but under that kind of adrenaline, every detail had been etched into my brain. Marcus was silent for half a minute. “There’s more,” I added, telling him about the scout in the grey windbreaker from lunch. “They’re already tracking my routine. His tag said they want to see if I’m a threat.” Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Were you followed here tonight?” “I took some counter-surveillance detours, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure.” He scanned our surroundings. “Follow me.” Without another word, he set off. He didn’t run, keeping a casual, walking pace so we wouldn’t draw attention. But he didn’t take us toward any main streets. We wound through the courtyard of an old apartment building, cut through an underground parking garage, emerged on the other side, and took two sharp turns. Four times during the walk, he stopped abruptly, listening to the silence. Eventually, we reached a low-profile garage door at the back of a commercial block. He rolled up the shutter, revealing a modified garage space. Inside was a matte black pickup truck. In the corner sat a military cot, a mini-fridge, and several heavy-duty storage bins. A map of the city was pinned to the wall, marked with several red ink circles. “Sit.” He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and tossed one to me. As I sat on the cot, I realized my legs were shaking. Now that the adrenaline was fading, sheer terror was setting in. “This ability of yours,” he said, taking a sip. “When did it start?” “Three months ago.” “How?” “I don’t know. I woke up one morning and it was just there. I thought I was losing my mind at first, but everything I saw turned out to be real.” “Does anyone else know?” “No. You’re the first.” He nodded slowly. “This syndicate… have you seen any other members besides the three you mentioned?” “No. Just the old woman, the accomplice, and the scout.” “Did their tags show the organization’s name? Scale? Headquarters?” I racked my brain. “No. Just their roles and immediate tasks.” “So your ability has limits. You can see immediate status and core identity, but not the entire organizational structure.” He analyzed it with military precision. “But it’s more than enough,” he added. His tag updated: [Formulating Plan, Requires More Intelligence, This Kid Is a Critical Asset]. Critical asset. I let out a bitter laugh. I had lived twenty-six years, and the first time anyone called me a “critical asset” was when I was being hunted by a serial killer syndicate. “William,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Are you scared?” I wanted to play tough. But my shaking hands betrayed me. “Terrified.” “Good.” His tone was flat. “People who aren’t scared don’t last long.” He pointed a finger at my eyes. “But you need to realize something. This ability of yours… eventually, others will notice. When that happens, it won’t just be one syndicate after you. Anyone with a secret to hide will become your enemy.” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I was just trying to survive the next twenty-four hours. But he was looking at the bigger picture. “So,” he walked over to the map on the wall. “You can either hide, play the victim, and pray you don’t make a mistake before they find you.” “Or…” He turned to face me. His tag changed, revealing a line that hadn’t been there before, activated by some deep-seated emotion: [Discharge Reason: Betrayed by a Mole, 7 Team Members KIA, Vengeance Unfulfilled]. I suddenly understood his reaction to the word mole. And I understood why he believed me. He wasn’t naive. He had been waiting. Waiting for a pair of eyes that could see through the lies. “You work with me,” he said. “Your eyes, my hands.” “We cut out every rotten piece of garbage hiding in the shadows of this city.” I stood up. “I’m in.” “But on one condition.” “Name it.” “We start with the cop. The mole.” My voice was surprisingly steady. “The old woman killed twenty-two people because he buried the evidence. As long as he’s active, reporting this to anyone else is suicide.” Marcus looked at me. The corner of his mouth twitched, a soldier’s nod of approval to a new brother-in-arms. “Done.” “Let’s start with him.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499828”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel