1 The night dense fog swallowed the city, I called Danny thirteen times. On the fourteenth try, a woman’s sobs came through. “Danny, I’m scared. Please don’t leave me.” He hushed me. “Autumn, grab a cab. Sophie’s having a rough night.” Outside the hospital, I clutched my ultrasound. The doctor had warned the heartbeat was failing and urged me not to be alone. But he was busy comforting his childhood friend. “I’m here,” he told her. I forced out the words. “Danny, I’m at the hospital too.” Two seconds of silence, then coldness. “Don’t pull jealousy stunts. Sophie’s traumatized. She can’t handle stress.” Her fragile voice drifted in. “Autumn, don’t blame him. I’m useless, just reliving the crash.” “It’s not your fault,” Danny said to her. Then he added, “You’ve always been stronger. Stop comparing yourself.” Fog coiled tighter around the lamps. By the time I found a cab, we crawled through the dark. Rounding a bend, high beams slashed through the window. My hands flew to my stomach. My phone hit the floor, screen lit with his message. Sophie’s asleep. I’ll come back tomorrow. Stop whining. I remembered the night he won me over, fog just like this. He’d sworn, “When you lose the way, I’ll turn on my fog lights and find you.” Tonight, those lights passed me by. He was in the driver’s seat, keeping someone else safe. A deafening crunch of metal tore through the air. The massive inertia hurled me forward, and my forehead slammed brutally against the back of the front seat. Before the blinding pain could even register in my skull, my arms had already locked in a death grip around my lower abdomen. The driver, still pale and shaking, checked his crushed bumper before whipping his head around to ask if I was okay. I slumped back against the leather upholstery. A cold sweat had already soaked through my blouse. Down by my feet, my phone screen was still glowing with Danny’s final text. Stop throwing tantrums. A dull, sinking cramp twisted deep in my pelvis. I could feel something warm and wet slowly beginning to seep into my clothes. With violent tremors racking my hands, I pulled up my call log and dialled emergency services. The ER doctor took one look at the crumpled ultrasound report in my hand and furrowed his brow, asking why my family still wasn’t here. He bluntly warned me that I was at high risk of a threatened miscarriage. I told him my husband couldn’t make it. The doctor let out a heavy sigh, sliding the medical waiver across the metal table for me to sign. My wrist wouldn’t stop shaking as I gripped the pen. The metal nib scratched a jagged trail of black ink across the paper. Right beside that ink mark, a single, heavy drop of my own blood splattered onto the page. My mind flashed back to three years ago. I had accidentally nicked my finger while chopping vegetables. It was barely a papercut. Danny had abandoned a massive board meeting and practically sprinted home, rushing me to urgent care. He had hovered over the nurse like a hawk just for a simple bandage. He had held my hand, his eyes red rimmed, swearing he would never let me set foot in a hospital again. Now, I had lain in a sterile hospital bed for an entire night, while my husband kept another woman company. When the morning sun finally burned away the fog, I forced my battered body to check out of the hospital. The doctor prescribed a mountain of medications to protect the pregnancy, repeatedly stressing the need for absolute bed rest. The moment I pushed open my front door, I saw Danny’s leather oxfords sitting neatly in the entryway. He was lounging on the living room sofa, a cup of black coffee resting in his hand. Hearing the door, he turned his head, his gaze pausing on my face for a fraction of a second. “Where were you last night?” His voice was cold, edged with a raspy exhaustion. I swapped my shoes for slippers, shoving the plastic bag of pills deep into my coat pocket. “I had to go to the hospital.” Danny set his coffee cup down on the glass table. He stood up, closing the distance between us, his eyes dark and heavy. “Autumn, are you completely incapable of telling a convincing lie? Making a scene on the phone wasn’t enough, so now you’re using this pathetic excuse to test me?” The faint, crisp scent of cedarwood radiating from him was tainted. Woven through it was the unmistakable, cloying fragrance of gardenia. It was Sophie’s signature perfume. I looked at the raw impatience swimming in his eyes, and my chest tightened until it physically ached. “I’m not testing you. I really was sick.” “Sick?” Danny let out a dark chuckle, his fingers reaching out to lightly pinch my chin. “You only ever get sick when Sophie is having a panic attack. I never realized you were this incredibly bitter, Autumn.” He dropped his hand and fished a black Amex card from his slacks, tossing it onto the table. “Sophie was badly shaken up this time. I’ll be spending more time at her place over the next few weeks to keep her grounded. Take this and go buy yourself something pretty. Just don’t annoy me with these cheap stunts anymore.” The sleek black card sat quietly on the polished wood. I lowered my eyes, my hand subtly brushing against the fabric covering my stomach. The sharp plastic corners of the pill bottles dug into my palm. Without touching the card, I turned my back to him and walked up the stairs. Just as I reached the landing, Danny’s phone buzzed. He picked it up, his freezing tone instantly melting into something soft and warm. “You’re awake? I’ll be right there.” The front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the empty house. I stood paralyzed on the steps, staring down at my trembling fingers. I knew, with absolute certainty, that he didn’t care whether I lived or died anymore. 2 On the third day of my prescribed bed rest, Danny came home unusually early. He had a maid deliver a couture evening gown to my room. It was tailored from midnight blue velvet, exactly the elegant style I usually wore. He stood in the doorway of the walk-in closet, casually adjusting his silk tie. “There’s a charity auction gala tonight with our social circle. Put that on and come with me.” I leaned weakly against the headboard, the doctor’s strict orders ringing in my ears. I looked at him, completely drained. “I’m still not feeling well. I’d rather stay home.” His hands paused on his tie. A deep frown etched into his face. He crossed the room, towering over me. “Know when to stop, Autumn. I’ve been swamped these past few days. There has to be a limit to your little tantrums. We have key investors at this gala, and as my wife, your absence is not an option.” Just to keep him from noticing my condition, I plastered on layers of makeup to hide my ghostly complexion. I zipped myself into the cinched waist of the gown, the tight fabric making my stomach pulse with a dull, warning ache. The ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers and clinking champagne glasses. As I walked into the venue with my hand resting lightly on Danny’s arm, several socialites drifted over to exchange fake pleasantries. That was when Sophie made her entrance. She wore a flowing, pure white silk dress, her face sporting a carefully crafted, pitiful pallor. She drifted over to us. Her eyes flicked down to where my hand rested on Danny’s arm, a flash of grievance crossing her features before she smoothed it away. “Danny. Autumn.” Her voice was soft and breathy. “I just wanted to see if there was anything nice up for bidding.” Without missing a beat, Danny slipped his arm out from under my grip and shifted slightly to gently support Sophie’s shoulder. “Why did you come alone? The therapist said you shouldn’t be in crowded spaces.” “It was just getting too suffocating at the apartment.” Sophie kept her head bowed, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her skirt. I stood off to the side, my arm suddenly dangling uselessly in the cold air. A few wealthy wives nearby had already noticed the shifting dynamics. They were raking their eyes over me with subtle, mocking smirks. Midway through the auction, the spotlight hit a breathtaking piece on the stage. A stunning sapphire necklace titled The Fog Beacon. It was a custom piece I had pointed out to Danny over a year ago. The design symbolized a guiding light bringing you safely home. Back then, he had promised me he would win it for our third wedding anniversary. The bidding opened at two million. Danny raised his paddle. The tight knot in my chest loosened just a fraction. I thought maybe, just maybe, he still remembered that tiny, insignificant promise. As the price skyrocketed to six million, Sophie suddenly turned her head. She tugged lightly on Danny’s sleeve. “Danny, that necklace is gorgeous. Doesn’t it look exactly like the lighthouse we used to watch at the beach when we were kids?” Danny’s gaze lingered on the velvet display box for a few seconds. Then, he raised his paddle again, shutting the room down. “Ten million.” The crowd gasped. The auctioneer slammed the gavel. When the white-gloved attendant brought the mahogany box over to our table, I instinctively reached out to take it. But Danny bypassed my hands entirely. He took the box and turned directly to Sophie, pressing it into her hands. “You’ve been so stressed lately. Keep this to play around with.” His tone was casual, like he had just bought her a cheap trinket. Sophie covered her mouth, looking completely overwhelmed. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. Wasn’t this supposed to be for Autumn?” “It’s just a necklace. She has plenty of jewelry.” Danny didn’t even spare me a single glance. The women at the adjacent tables hid their giggles behind their champagne flutes, not even bothering to lower their voices. “Being his legal wife looks like absolute torture. Having to give up a necklace she clearly wanted to the other woman.” “What do you mean, other woman? Everyone knows Sophie is the true love of his life. Did you see how he didn’t even look at the wife?” Their words were like fine needles, driving themselves inch by inch into my eardrums. A wave of intense nausea hit me, closely followed by a sharp, dragging pain in my lower stomach. I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, gripping the armrests to force myself out of the chair. Only then did Danny frown and look my way. “Where are you going? It’s almost over. Don’t embarrass me by storming off now.” I stared into his handsome, completely detached face. “The restroom.” I turned on my heel and walked away. The moment I pushed through the heavy doors into the empty hallway, my legs gave out. I pressed my back against the cold marble wall and slowly slid to the floor, completely drenched in a cold sweat. 3 I took a cab home alone that night. After the gala wrapped up, Danny used the excuse that Sophie was feeling dizzy to personally drive her back to her place. The next afternoon, I was sitting quietly in the living room trying to force down my pregnancy supplements when the front door swung open. Danny walked in, with Sophie trailing right behind him. She still had that timid, deer-in-the-headlights look, hovering in his shadow, but her eyes were eagerly darting around the expensive interior of my home. Danny handed his suit jacket to a maid and turned to me. “Sophie tends to overthink when she’s alone in that apartment. The doctor suggested she be around familiar faces. I’ve told her to stay here for a few days.” The porcelain spoon in my hand froze mid-air. A drop of dark liquid splashed onto my skin, burning the back of my hand. “This is our home.” I looked up at him, my voice completely flat. Danny walked over, looming over me with a hard glare. “Can you stop being so unbelievably petty for once in your life, Autumn? This house is massive. What is the big deal if she takes up one room? You’re the lady of the house, show a little grace.” I didn’t answer. I just quietly set the bowl back onto the silver tray. By mid-afternoon, the maids were clearing out the guest suite on the first floor for her. Sophie wandered aimlessly through the hallways. She eventually stopped by the console table in the foyer, pulled open a drawer, and pulled out a small, woven leather protection amulet. Two years ago, I had flown out to a remote monastery in the mountains. I had climbed thousands of stone steps, bowing my head in prayer the entire way up just to buy that charm for him. On the way down, I sprained my ankle, and Danny had carried me on his back for miles. He used to keep it hanging on his rearview mirror. He said that no matter how late he was out networking, as long as he had my charm, he knew he would make it home safe. He didn’t drive himself much anymore, so the charm had ended up tossed in a drawer. “Danny! This looks so familiar. Is this the one you used to keep in your car?” Sophie trotted happily toward the staircase as Danny came down. He barely glanced at it. “It’s just a cheap piece of junk. Keep it if you think it’s cute.” I shot up from the sofa. Moving that fast made black spots dance across my vision. “Give that back to me.” I walked right up to Sophie, staring dead at the amulet in her hand. Sophie shrank back, hiding halfway behind Danny as her eyes welled up with instant tears. “I’m so sorry, Autumn. I had no idea it was yours. Here, please take it.” She reached out, offering it to me. But the exact second my fingers brushed the leather, she let go. The charm hit the hardwood floor. She let out a dramatic gasp and lunged down to grab it. As she dropped, her shoulder slammed violently into my chest. I was already incredibly weak. The force of the blow threw me backward off balance. My waist collided fiercely with the sharp corner of the heavy oak table. A sickening, blunt pain instantly radiated through my entire nervous system. A sharp gasp tore from my throat. Operating purely on instinct, Danny lunged forward to catch a stumbling Sophie, wrapping her securely in his arms. By the time he bothered to look back at me, I had already collapsed onto the floor. Both hands were desperately clutching my stomach, my face drained of all color. “What kind of act is this now, Autumn?” Deep annoyance flashed across his face. “She barely brushed against you. Who exactly is this little victim routine for?” Sophie buried her face against his chest, sobbing loudly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!” “It’s fine, nobody is blaming you,” Danny murmured, rubbing her back to calm her. Then, a hot, thick liquid began to run down the inside of my thighs, soaking deeply into the pale fabric of my dress. I looked up at Danny. My vision was already blurring with tears. He finally looked down and saw the dark pool spreading onto the polished wood. His face went entirely slack. He took a desperate step forward, reaching down to scoop me up. Pulling together every last ounce of strength I had left in my body, I violently slapped his hand away. 4 My mind was already drifting away by the time they rushed me through the ER doors. All I could register was Danny running alongside the gurney, his usually calm and calculated footsteps totally chaotic. He gripped my wrist, his palm freezing cold against my skin. “Autumn, keep your eyes open. Just hold on.” But right as we hit the double doors of the surgical ward, his phone started ringing. It was the custom ringtone he had set for Sophie. Through half-closed eyes, I watched the deep crease form between his brows as he answered. The terrified voice of our housekeeper blasted through the speaker. “Mr. Vance! Miss Sophie saw the blood on the floor and had a total breakdown. She’s locked herself in the master bathroom and she’s threatening to swallow pills!” The veins bulged aggressively on the back of Danny’s hand. He stared at the glowing red light above the operating room, then looked down at his phone. “I’ll be right there.” He muttered the promise into the phone, then turned to the nurse pushing my bed. “I have a family emergency. I’ll send someone over to handle the paperwork in a minute. Use whatever drugs you need to, just make sure she survives.” Then he turned and ran. He didn’t look back a single time. The surgeon walked in ten minutes later, his expression grim. He told me the baby was gone. They needed to perform a D&C procedure immediately to prevent sepsis. Since my husband had abandoned the hospital, protocol required me to sign the consent forms myself. I took the pen from the nurse with a trembling hand. The moment I signed my name, the physical pain seemed to just vanish entirely. The anesthesia hit my veins. Three hours later, I was wheeled into a dark, standard recovery room. Outside the window, the night sky was pitch black. The room was suffocatingly empty. Not a single light had been left on for me. I blindly patted the bedside table until I found my phone, swiping to dial Danny’s number. It rang endlessly before he finally picked up. The background noise was deafening. Thumping bass and loud, cheerful shouting. “What.” His voice was laced with heavy irritation. “Danny…” I whispered, my throat raw and scraping. “The baby is…” “Can you just drop it for one goddamn night?” He cut me off, his words sharp and merciless. “Sophie finally calmed down, so our friends are throwing her a little party to keep her spirits up. You’re done with your minor procedure, so just go to sleep. Stop trying to ruin the mood with your endless drama.” I opened my mouth, but my vocal cords refused to produce a single sound. “Enough. Stop making a scene.” “I’ll bring you those praline pastries from the bakery downtown tomorrow. Bye.” The line went dead. I stared blankly at the dark screen of my phone. Praline pastries. He must have completely forgotten that I was deathly allergic to pecans. Years ago, he had accidentally bought a box of them. I took one bite and almost went into anaphylactic shock. He had been so terrified he slapped himself across the face, swearing he would never, ever forget my allergies again. Now, he didn’t even remember what would kill me. A nurse quietly pushed the door open, holding a clipboard. “Miss, we just need your signature on the tissue disposal consent forms.” I took the pen smoothly. Stroke by stroke, I wrote down my name. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even shed a single tear. It suddenly hit me that every shred of obsession, every desperate hope I had clung to, had just evaporated into nothingness. All my expectations, all the years I thought he loved me… it was just one incredibly long, pathetic delusion I had built in my own head. The dream was over. It was time to wake up. My phone lit up. A new text from Danny. [Grow up and stop acting like a spoiled child.] I stared at the glowing letters for a long time. Then, my thumbs moved across the keyboard. [Okay. I’m done fussing.]

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499827”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Before my best friend lost her battle with cancer, her single biggest regret was the online boyfriend she had never met. She gripped my hand in her final hospital bed, crying as she begged me. “Aria, he has severe depression. I’m so scared he won’t be able to handle this. Please, log into my account for me. Just distance yourself slowly. Wait a long time, and then break up with him. Promise me.” With red-rimmed eyes, I promised her. I took her dying wish to heart. For three entire years, I mimicked her tone, accompanying that man through a screen. I talked him down from his worst depressive episodes and supported him until his career peaked again. Then, I slowly began to pull away. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. It was enough time for him to let go of a romance that had already gone ice-cold. I typed out the message and hit send. “We shouldn’t contact each other anymore. Let’s break up.” The exact second I tapped the screen, the private cell phone sitting on Sebastian’s coffee table lit up. Right there on his lock screen, the breakup text I had just sent flashed in plain sight. “Aria, the water is perfect. Go ahead and soak for a bit. I’ll be right out as soon as I dry my hair.” Sebastian’s voice drifted out from the steamed-up bathroom, gentle and considerate as always. I stood completely frozen in the middle of the living room. My eyes were glued to the profile picture on his screen. It was the exact account I had been operating for three solid years. We shouldn’t contact each other anymore. Let’s break up. Word for word, it was exactly what I had just typed. The bathroom door clicked open. Sebastian walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing his damp hair. When he saw me standing rigidly by the coffee table, his footsteps paused. “What’s wrong? You look incredibly pale.” He walked over, habitually reaching out to pull me in by the waist. I took a violent step backward. My lower back slammed into the armrest of the sofa, the hard wood digging painfully into my spine. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air. “Aria?” He followed my line of sight down to the glowing phone on the glass table. His entire face instantly turned to stone. The phone vibrated again. It was the custom notification sound he had set specifically for that account. He lunged for the table, snatching the phone up. His thumbs were physically trembling as he unlocked the screen, staring at those words. He read them over and over, three times in a row. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper. “She wouldn’t do this.” He started typing frantically. He would type a sentence, delete it, type another, and delete it again. He couldn’t send a single word. Then he pulled up the contact and hit call. Once. Twice. Three times. Deep in my coat pocket, my best friend’s old phone sat completely silent. I always kept it on mute, terrified he might discover I was playing someone else’s girlfriend online and misunderstand. “Pick up. Please, just pick up the phone.” His voice was shaking violently. Sweat beaded on his forehead. I had never seen him lose his composure like this. No, wait. I had seen it. I had seen it in Stella’s chat history. When his depression had been at its absolute worst, he had begged me exactly like this, pleading with “her” not to abandon him. But in the real world, the face he showed me was always perfectly composed, flawless, and utterly polite. “Sebastian.” I finally spoke. He didn’t even register my voice. He just kept hitting redial. “Sebastian!” He snapped his head up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted in raw, volatile rage. “Shut up!” The words struck me like a physical blow. I stared at him in pure shock for a second. Then, I let out a dry laugh. He seemed to snap out of his trance. He quickly apologized, his tone instantly morphing back into that polite, detached mask. “I’m sorry. I just have something urgent to handle.” He brushed past me and walked straight to the closet, tearing through his clothes. “What’s so urgent?” He was pulling his shirt on with such frantic force that a button popped off and rolled across the floor. He didn’t even look at it. “An emergency.” He refused to meet my eyes. “What emergency? We have our final wedding dress fitting tomorrow morning.” His movements stalled. He finally spared me a fraction of a glance. There was zero guilt in his eyes. Only the deep irritation of being held back. “Go to the fitting by yourself. Pick whatever style you want, I’ll reimburse you.” “Reimburse me?” I repeated the words slowly. “Sebastian, do you seriously think there is anything more important right now than our wedding?” His face turned completely frigid. He looked at me like he was analyzing a stranger. “You’ve always been so mature, Aria.” “Why are you suddenly being so unreasonable?” He didn’t wait for my answer. He grabbed his car keys and slammed the front door behind him. “Miss Lin, is your fiancé too busy to make it today as well?” Inside the luxury bridal boutique, the bridal consultant wore a tight, professional smile. Everyone in the room could read the pity hidden in her voice. I sat alone in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. This was the second time he had ghosted our fitting. The hushed gossip of the boutique staff drifted directly into my ears. “That’s her. Just a freelance illustrator. Who knows how she managed to sink her claws into a top designer like Mr. Sebastian.” “He hasn’t showed up to a single fitting. I’ll bet money this wedding doesn’t even happen.” I ignored them. Inside the private dressing room, I pulled out my best friend’s old phone. The screen was flooded with hundreds of unread messages from Sebastian. [Stella, why are you ignoring me?] [Did I do something wrong? Tell me what it is. I’ll change. I swear I’ll change.] [Just answer the phone. Please. Just for one second.] [Stella, are you throwing me away?] [I’m begging you, please don’t throw me away.] At the very bottom was a sixty-second voice memo. I stared at it for a long time before my thumb pressed play. He was choking back heavy sobs. I could hear the roar of a car engine in the background. “Stella, I’m sorry. Please give me one more chance. I’ll die without you. I will actually die.” The man who had told me to shut up last night, the man who called me unreasonable, was currently hyperventilating in tears through another screen. A sharp knock hit the dressing room door. “Miss Lin, a Mr. Cole is here to see you.” Cole. Sebastian’s childhood best friend. I hurriedly wiped my face, changed out of the heavy gown, and walked out. Cole was lounging on the velvet sofa with his legs crossed. When he saw me, he pulled a sleek black Amex card from his wallet and slapped it onto the glass table. “Here to pay the balance. The man is busy. He doesn’t have time to sit around watching you play dress-up.” He stood up, walking into my personal space and lowering his voice. “Let me give you some real talk, Aria.” “You know exactly why Sebastian picked you. You’re obedient. You’re low maintenance. You don’t cause drama.” “He’s giving you the title of his wife, so just sit quietly and enjoy the perks. Don’t go looking for actual love. That fairy tale crap has absolutely nothing to do with you.” I raised my hand to slap him across the face. He caught my wrist mid-air, his grip like a vice. “Pissed off?” He squeezed my bones a little tighter. “Consider this a warning. Sebastian is in a really dark headspace right now, so don’t push your luck. If you don’t want this ring, there is a line of women out the door waiting to take your place.” He shoved my hand away. I stumbled back a couple of steps. “The pin is his birthday. Pick whatever dress you want, you’re only going to wear it once anyway.” He smoothed out the lapels of his suit and walked out. I stood alone in the center of the massive, empty boutique. In my pocket, my fiancé was crying his heart out for an alternate version of me. On the table sat the black card his best friend had thrown in my face. “Miss Lin, are you satisfied with this gown?” the consultant asked carefully. “No. Cancel the order.” I felt completely lightheaded by the time I took a cab home. I crawled into bed early, shivering under the covers. In the middle of the night, a brutal, stabbing cramp ripped through my abdomen. Cold sweat soaked my pajamas in seconds, and black spots danced across my vision. I blindly reached for my phone and dialled Sebastian’s number. It rang endlessly before he finally picked up. “What.” The background noise was unmistakable. It was an airport intercom announcement. My heart plunged straight into my stomach. “Sebastian. My stomach hurts so badly I can’t stand up. Can you please come home and take me to the hospital?” The line went dead silent for a few agonizing seconds. “Aria, I’m dealing with an actual emergency right now. You are an adult. Just order a cab yourself.” An emergency. His precious Stella wanted to break up. To him, that was a matter of life and death. I lay curled on the hardwood floor, my fingers completely numb. Operated by some dark, twisted impulse, I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my best friend’s phone, and typed three words. [I want to see you.] Send. In the exact same second, I heard Sebastian screaming at a ticketing agent through the phone pressed to my ear. “Change the flight! Change it right now! Give me the next flight to Seattle. I don’t care what it costs, just put me on that plane!” Seattle. That was the random city I had picked years ago to make Stella’s fake persona more believable. He really was at the airport. He was really abandoning me to bleed out on the floor, all to chase down a ghost. “Sebastian.” I spoke weakly into the receiver. “What if I die today?” His voice was a razor blade carved from ice. “Stop threatening me with death. This dramatic personality of yours is genuinely suffocating.” Click. I lay on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. A fresh wave of agony shredded my abdomen, ten times worse than the last. I curled into a tight ball, my consciousness slipping away. Clinging to my last shred of sanity, I dialled 911. “Perforated acute appendicitis! If she had arrived ten minutes later, the sepsis would have killed her!” “Where is her family? We don’t even have anyone to sign the surgical consent forms!” The surgery took three hours. I stayed in the hospital for three days. Not a single call or text came from Sebastian. Meanwhile, my best friend’s phone was bombarded with hundreds of frantic messages every single day. [Stella, I landed in Seattle. Where are you?] [I’ve searched everywhere you told me about. Why won’t you see me?] [I’m sitting in that cafe you love. I’m going to wait here until you show up.] I turned off the burner phone with zero emotion. It was raining the day they discharged me. I processed my own paperwork, hailed a cab, and rode back to the penthouse I had called home for three years. I pushed the door open. Everything was exactly as I had left it. I pulled out my suitcase and started packing. I didn’t cry. I didn’t break anything. The expensive clothes he had bought me were neatly folded and left in the closet. I only packed the cheap things I had bought with my own money. In the study, I threw a dust cover over the easel and expensive paints he had gifted me. Piece by piece, I meticulously erased every single trace of my existence from that penthouse. When Sebastian finally walked through the front door, this was the scene he walked into. He had waited in Seattle for three days. He never found Stella. He looked utterly destroyed. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, and his eyes were completely bloodshot. When he saw me zipping up my suitcase, he froze. “What are you doing?” His voice was gravelly. I didn’t answer. I leaned over, carefully moved the potted Monstera plant from the coffee table to the floor, and slipped the engagement ring off my finger. It was a flawless pink diamond. He had slid it onto my hand himself the night he proposed. He had looked me in the eyes and said, “Aria, marry me. Let me take care of you for the rest of your life.” I placed the ring right next to my house keys, perfectly centered on the glass table. “Aria, I asked you a question!” His tone spiked with anger. He took two large strides across the room and grabbed my wrist. “What kind of tantrum is this now?” I looked up at him. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Sebastian.” He flinched slightly. He let go of my wrist, rubbing his temples as he forced his voice to soften. “Fine. I admit I had a bad attitude the other night.” He pulled a premium credit card from his wallet and forced it into my hand. “I’ll double your allowance this month. Put the ring back on and stop making a scene.” Money. It was always money. “That night, my appendix ruptured.” My voice was eerily calm. “I almost died.” His fingers instantly went slack. Raw panic flashed across his face, but he quickly shoved it down. “Was it… serious?” “The surgeon said ten more minutes and I would have been in the morgue.” His lips parted. He struggled to form the words. “I’m sorr—” “Save it.” I pushed the credit card, the ring, and the keys back toward his side of the table. “I don’t need your apology. And I have absolutely no intention of forgiving you.” I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and turned toward the door. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around me from behind. His grip was desperate. “Aria, please. Just listen to me. I swear to God, I had a massive emergency that night…” “I know.” I stared straight ahead. “Your precious Stella wanted to break up with you.” His entire body went rigid. “How… how do you know about that?” I pried his fingers off my waist, turned around, and offered him a polite smile. “Because I’ve always known, Sebastian.” He took a half-step back, every drop of blood draining from his face. Then, his expression shifted. The panic vanished. It was instantly replaced by the ruthless, predatory coldness he used to crush his rivals in the boardroom. “You investigated me?” “It doesn’t matter.” I lifted my suitcase. “We are done. The wedding is canceled.” “Aria.” His voice struck my back like a whip. “Have you actually thought this through?” I didn’t stop walking. “What can you possibly do on your own? Draw little pictures? Can you even make rent in a month?” My knuckles turned white around the suitcase handle. “Once you walk out that door, you have no safety net.” I pulled the door open. “You are going to regret this.” The hallway was dead silent. I dragged my suitcase toward the elevator and never looked back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499826”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 In the sterile, brightly lit corridor of the maternity ward, right after we finished the paperwork for my newborn daughter’s birth certificate, my twin sister suddenly spoke. “I’m pregnant too.” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the infant carrier my husband was holding. A cruel, sickeningly sweet smile spread across her face. “We tried it right next to your hospital bed last month. He was so incredibly gentle. I just couldn’t control myself, so we didn’t use protection.” I stood completely frozen. The fresh incision from my C-section throbbed with a blinding pain that made it impossible to stand up straight. I couldn’t force a single sound out of my throat. Laura just kept smiling, looking like the picture of absolute innocence. “Andrew knows exactly how to love a woman. Much better than your ex-husband ever did.” Five years ago, while I was undergoing grueling fertility treatments, I walked into my bedroom and caught Laura in bed with my first husband. When my entire world collapsed and severe depression dragged me under, Andrew was the one who stayed by my side day and night. He pulled me out of that pitch-black darkness. And now, the sister who shared my exact blood and face had just shoved me back into the abyss using the exact same method. The moment Laura said Andrew was better than my ex, my eyes instinctively darted to him. The hand he used to grip the baby carrier was violently shaking. His eyes darted everywhere, refusing to look at me. He couldn’t even choke out half a syllable of denial. My body began to tremble so violently that my C-section stitches tore. A warm, dark patch of blood began to seep through my loose clothes. But I couldn’t feel the physical pain. Every single nerve in my body was completely swallowed by something infinitely colder and sharper. Laura casually pulled out her phone, opened an audio file, and hit play. Andrew’s voice filtered through the tiny speaker. “Grace is asleep. Come over here, just be quiet.” Immediately following his whisper was Laura’s soft giggle. Then came the unmistakable, rhythmic creaking of a mattress. And then, the soft jingling of the mobile hanging above my daughter’s crib. They had done it in the exact room where I was supposed to recover. Right beside my bed. Right beside my newborn baby. Other families and nurses were walking down the corridor, casting curious glances our way. Laura deliberately raised her voice. “Nora, please don’t be mad at me! I really didn’t mean to. I was just always so jealous of you. Growing up, you always got the best of everything.” She seamlessly packaged herself as the pathetic, victimized younger sister. To anyone walking by, this just looked like a petty sibling rivalry. I leaned heavily against the freezing hospital wall, my eyes locked on Andrew. “The day the baby was born, you said you were going to buy me hot soup. You disappeared for three hours. Were you accompanying her to an ultrasound?” Andrew’s face drained of all color. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Laura noticed me defensively wrapping my arms around my stomach and my baby. Her smile stiffened for a fraction of a second before melting back into that sickening sweetness. “Nora, I was actually hoping we could talk about this. Why don’t we just raise my baby and your baby together?” “They both belong to Andrew anyway. We are all family.” The memory from five years ago violently violently crashed into my skull. Back then, I was tracking my ovulation window down to the minute. My ex-husband, Simon, claimed he had to work late. Laura told me she was coming over to keep me company. I had pushed open the bedroom door holding a mug of fertility tea I had just brewed. Simon and Laura were tangled in the sheets of the very bed I had prepared for a pregnancy. Laura had worn this exact same expression. Innocent. Naive. Looking at me as if I was the one who had been caught cheating. I looked down at the tiny, sleeping face of my daughter in the carrier. Then I looked at Laura’s perfectly flat stomach, where she claimed a new life was growing. The oxygen was violently sucked out of the hallway. I opened my mouth, gasping for air like a dying fish. Andrew finally found his voice. It was horribly weak. “Nora, please let me explain…” I didn’t even look at him. I turned my head toward Laura. “How many weeks?” Laura blinked in surprise, then gently rested a hand on her stomach. Her eyes gleamed with raw, unfiltered arrogance. “Six weeks. Congratulations, Nora. You’re going to be an aunt.” Those words were like a rusted iron nail driven repeatedly into my unhealed surgical wound. I doubled over. Blood gushed from the torn incision, dripping heavily onto the pristine white tiles of the hospital floor. A passing nurse spotted the bleeding and immediately screamed for help, rushing me onto a gurney to repair the wound. Laura and Andrew followed closely behind. During the emergency suturing, I was drenched in a freezing sweat from the sheer agony. Laura simply sat in the visitor’s chair by the wall, crossing her legs and casually scrolling through her phone. She would only occasionally glance up to watch me suffer. Andrew hovered awkwardly in the doorway, too cowardly to step inside, but too guilty to walk away. 2 The moment the nurse left the room, I fought through the stabbing, needle-like pain in my abdomen and stared directly at Andrew. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “When did it start.” Andrew stammered, completely unable to lift his head. Laura locked her phone screen and answered for him. “Last Thanksgiving. Right around the time you were seven months pregnant.” “Mom told me to bring you some supplements, so she called Andrew to come pick me up.” “We hit terrible traffic on the way back, so we ended up talking for a long time. He told me your temper had gotten completely out of control since you got pregnant. He said he was exhausted.” She looked at me, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. “You really did change, Nora. You used to be so incredibly sweet.” When I was seven months pregnant, I was hospitalized with severe preeclampsia. I had to endure agonizing hormone injections every single day to keep the baby safe. Every shot made me dizzy with pain. Andrew had told me he was driving across town to pick up our mother so she could keep me company. I had held his hand, crying tears of absolute gratitude. I stared a hole straight through Andrew’s skull. “I asked you to pick up my mother. Not Laura. Did you somehow forget that I never wanted to see her face again?” Andrew kept his head bowed. His fingers clenched into fists, then released. “Nora, you were different after you got pregnant. You were constantly anxious. The pressure on me was enormous…” “Laura… she looks exactly like you. But she never yells at me.” Laura jumped in immediately. “See? Even Andrew thinks I’m easier to love.” “We share the exact same face, but I know how to actually treat a man. Simon said the exact same thing years ago.” Her expression was entirely serious, as if she were stating a universally acknowledged scientific fact. My hands began to shake violently. My mind flashed back to the final month of my pregnancy. My mobility was practically gone. Our mother had forcefully insisted that Laura move in to help care for me during my postpartum recovery. She swore Laura genuinely wanted to make amends, begging me to let go of the past. Eventually, I caved. I thought that, at the end of the day, we were still blood. She had cooked me nutritious soups, walked with me in the evenings, and helped pack my hospital bag. She had even held me while crying, swearing she would protect me with her life. I ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand, grabbed the baby carrier, and headed straight for the door. Andrew lunged forward, blocking my path. “Your stitches aren’t even healed. Grace still needs observation. Where do you think you’re going?” “To get a divorce.” I spat the words out through gritted teeth. Andrew’s face completely hardened. He forcefully ripped the carrier out of my hands. “I am not letting you take my child! Nora, calm the hell down. We can sit down and talk about this.” Laura’s ghostly voice drifted over from the corner, twisting the knife. “Nora, you have a documented history of severe clinical depression. No family court judge is going to give you custody of an infant.” “Plus, you can barely even walk right now. How are you supposed to care for a baby?” “You should just leave the baby with me and Andrew. I promise I’ll raise her exactly like she’s my own.” That sentence struck the absolute deepest, darkest core of my fears. I had a history of severe clinical depression. I was physically broken from major surgery. I had zero financial independence to fight a legal battle. Laura knew with lethal precision exactly how to completely shatter me. Since we were children, she was always the one who knew exactly where to slide the knife in. Andrew took my newborn baby and walked out of the hospital room, with Laura trailing closely behind him. As he passed me, he dropped one final sentence. “Focus on finishing your postpartum recovery. We will deal with everything else later.” The heavy door clicked shut. I could hear Laura’s voice echoing softly in the hallway. She was murmuring gently to Andrew. “She’ll come around. She eventually got over the whole thing with Simon, didn’t she?” Their footsteps faded into silence. The hospital room became suffocatingly quiet. The only sound left was the mechanical humming of the medical monitors. Five days later, I was transferred to an upscale postpartum care retreat. Under the perfectly tailored excuse of “caring for my sister”, Laura shamelessly moved into the suite right next to mine. My baby was kept in the facility’s nursery. Andrew had signed the paperwork as my guardian. I was only allowed to hold my daughter during feeding times. The rest of the day, she was strictly monitored by the staff. His excuse was beautifully crafted. He claimed he was terrified my postpartum depression would endanger the baby. 3 The nurses at the retreat were incredibly warm. Whenever they saw Laura, they constantly mistook her for me. Laura would just laugh and gently correct them. “I’m her twin sister.” Then, perfectly performing for the audience of nurses, she would wipe my face with a warm towel, feed me my meals, and ask about my pain levels. She played the role of the devoted caretaker better than a saint. The nurses constantly told me how incredibly lucky I was to have such an angelic sister. I stared at the poorly concealed triumph dancing in Laura’s eyes, refusing to say a single word. Night fell, and the retreat grew completely silent. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The pain in my abdomen made it impossible to sleep. I forced myself up, wanting to walk down to the nursery to look at my daughter through the glass. As I passed Laura’s room, I noticed the door was left slightly ajar. Andrew was sitting on the edge of Laura’s bed, holding both of her hands, speaking in a low, tender whisper. “You need to make sure you’re taking care of yourself too. The first trimester is the most delicate.” The tone of his voice was identical to the one he had used when I first got pregnant. I stood paralyzed in the hallway. I even held my breath. Laura leaned her head against Andrew’s shoulder, resting her hand elegantly over her flat stomach. Her voice was thick with honey. “Andrew, do you think our baby will be as beautiful as Nora’s little girl?” Andrew didn’t answer with words, but he reached his arm around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. I backed away, retreating to my room. As I closed my door, my trembling hand slipped, and the metal latch clicked loudly in the quiet hall. Seconds later, my door swung open. Laura walked in holding a glass of warm water, her expression completely natural. “Nora, why are you still awake? Are your stitches hurting again? Let me go get the nurse for you.” The collar of her silk pajama shirt was draped loosely open. Right on her collarbone was a fresh, dark red mark, mostly hidden beneath her hair. She pressed the glass of water to my lips and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. “Nora, Andrew told me giving him a daughter took such a horrible toll on your body.” “But he still really wants a son to inherit the family business. He told me…” “He told me it would be best if I gave him a son, so you wouldn’t have to suffer through the pain of pregnancy a second time. Don’t you think he is just the most considerate man in the world?” The next morning, my mother called. Before I could even breathe a word, she launched into a lecture. “Laura told me she has been staying up day and night to take care of you at that center. She says you are recovering beautifully.” “You are the older sister. Reign in your temper and stop causing so much unnecessary drama.” My knuckles turned completely white around the phone. I asked her point-blank if she knew Laura was pregnant. The line went dead silent for a very long time. “Laura told me. But that was Andrew’s mistake. Your sister is a victim in this too.” “You two are blood. You cannot let a man destroy your sisterhood again.” I ended the call and violently hurled the phone at the wall. The screen shattered into a hundred pieces across the floor. That afternoon, Andrew came by to drop off some supplies. He set the bags down, sat on the edge of my bed, and his eyes suddenly grew red and teary. “Nora, I know I failed you. I know I did.” “But Laura… she’s already pregnant. I can’t just abandon her and the baby.” “I promise you, for the rest of our lives, you will be the only legal Mrs. Andrew. No one will ever replace you.” He said all of this while holding a bag of newborn clothes he had bought for our daughter. Sitting right next to the baby clothes, in a clear plastic pharmacy bag, were two premium bottles of prenatal folic acid. Those were for Laura. At three in the morning, the hallway creaked again. I pressed my pillow violently over my ears. But I still heard Laura’s door open. I heard Andrew’s muffled cough. And then the door clicked shut. On the day I was finally cleared to leave the retreat, Andrew drove his SUV to pick us up. Laura naturally walked right over to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid into the front seat. I sat in the back, holding my baby. Laura adjusted the sun visor to reapply her lipstick. Then, she casually rested her hand over Andrew’s right hand, which was resting on the gear shift. Andrew didn’t pull away. He just nervously flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror to gauge my reaction. When we got back to the house, I realized Laura’s belongings had already been brazenly unpacked in the guest bedroom. I walked straight in, shoved all of her expensive clothes and cosmetics into garbage bags, and dragged them to the front door. Andrew sprinted over, physically blocking me. “Nora, she is pregnant! Where exactly is she supposed to go? I haven’t even had time to lease an apartment for her yet.” Laura stood at the top of the staircase. One hand rested protectively over her stomach, her eyes rimmed with red. She bit her lip, looking perfectly pathetic, completely silent. Andrew looked at her, then looked back at me. He bent down, picked up the garbage bags, and carried them right back into the guest room. I locked myself in the master bedroom, pulled out my laptop, and booked a consultation with a divorce attorney to fight for custody. After hearing my situation, the lawyer’s tone was incredibly grim. “They can argue that your history of severe clinical depression makes you mentally unstable. That is a massive disadvantage in a custody battle.” “If opposing counsel manages to subpoena your past psychiatric records…” I asked who would even give them those records. The lawyer sighed. “Anyone with intimate knowledge of your medical history.” 4 Laura knew every single detail of my psychiatric history. That afternoon, I tried to order some baby wipes online. My banking app flagged my password as incorrect. When I confronted Andrew, he looked at me with total self-righteousness. “I consolidated our finances to make managing the household easier. You are incredibly emotionally unstable right now. The money is safer under my name.” My salary account, my personal savings, and my medical insurance payouts. Every single cent had been transferred into a joint account solely controlled by him. Laura was changing Grace’s diaper nearby. She didn’t even lift her head. “Nora, your health is so fragile right now. Let Andrew handle the stressful things like money. You just focus on resting.” At dinner, Laura cooked an extravagant meal. Andrew took one bite and endlessly praised her culinary skills. Laura served a bowl of rich soup and handed it to Andrew. Then, she scooped another bowl and placed it directly in front of me. “Nora, childbirth drains a woman’s vitality. You need to drink more soup to recover.” I picked up the porcelain bowl. The distinct, herbal scent drifted into my nose. It was the exact custom recipe I had consumed every single day to protect my pregnancy. She was using my recipe to feed my husband, and to nourish the bastard child in her own stomach. After dinner, I sat in the master bedroom, trying to coax Grace to sleep. From the guest room next door, the rhythmic, heavy sounds of Andrew and Laura panting bled through the walls. Grace suddenly started crying. Nothing I did could soothe her. The noises in the guest room abruptly stopped, but the sliver of light under their door remained burning for the entire night. I sat on the edge of the bed holding my screaming daughter until the sun came up, my eyes burning like dry sand. On the third day, I walked into the living room. Sitting perfectly centered on the glass coffee table was an ultrasound printout. The medical notes were crystal clear: “Intrauterine pregnancy. Fetal pole visible.” Laura had left it there on purpose. When I picked up the glossy paper, my legs simply gave out. I slid down the side of the sofa, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. Grace woke up in her bassinet, reaching two tiny, fragile hands toward me. I crawled over and grabbed her hand. Her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around my index finger. In that exact moment, only one singular, horrifying thought consumed my brain. If I stayed alive, and she grew up in a house controlled by Laura… would they eventually twist her into a malicious, toxic monster just like them? That thought drowned me in absolute terror. In the dead of night, when the house was completely silent, I opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I took out a full bottle of my old heavy antidepressants and swallowed every last pill. The dry pills scraped my throat. I gagged violently, but forced them all down. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. Fighting the heavy, suffocating fog clouding my brain, I dragged my body up the stairs to the second-floor balcony. I took the heavy laundry rope, tied it into a tight loop, and slipped it over my neck. I kicked the wooden chair away. The rope snapped taut instantly. The sheer violence of the asphyxiation and the crushing agony tore through my throat. The brutal, primal struggle of my dying body created a massive commotion. Andrew sprinted up the stairs like a madman, grabbed a pair of garden shears, and violently cut the rope. I crashed heavily onto the wooden floorboards of the balcony. Right before the world went entirely black, my eyes locked onto the face standing directly behind Andrew. It was Laura. She didn’t look panicked. She was smiling. I didn’t know how much time passed before the sterile, rhythmic beeping of hospital monitors pierced my ears. A woman’s voice cut through the dark, crisp and entirely rational. “Nora, your daughter is waiting for you in the nursery.” “If you die today, whose last name is she going to take? Who is she going to call Mom? Your sister?” “You aren’t too weak to live. You just spent all your energy hating yourself.” “You hate yourself for being blind. You hate yourself for not being good enough. But did it ever cross your mind that you aren’t the broken one? They are just completely rotten.” My index finger twitched. My consciousness violently clawed its way up from the bottom of the ocean. A different kind of rope had caught me. It was the memory of my daughter’s very first, piercing cry when she entered the world. I lay in the ICU for two full days. The voices outside my door drifted in and out. I heard Laura on the phone. “Mom, she’s fine. Don’t bother coming to the hospital. Just like last time, she didn’t manage to die.” On the third day, I fully woke up. I opened my eyes to the blinding white ceiling. My throat felt like it had been torched with gasoline. A thick bandage was wrapped tightly around my neck. Laura was slumped by the side of my bed, her eyes perfectly red and swollen. When she saw my eyes open, she lunged forward, grabbing my hand. “Nora!” I looked at her with total, blank confusion. “Who are you?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499825”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 For three grueling months, I trained my voice for a state network audition. When I finally taped a reel I was proud of, I rushed to Lucas, the broadcasting department president. He paused it after ten seconds, tone flat. “You lack natural talent. All this effort is wasted.” Instantly, his voice softened for Hailey, a struggling junior butchering a tongue twister nearby. “Don’t worry. We’ll go line by line until it feels right.” I stood frozen. I’d won the university hosting championship while she ranked dead last. Yet he gave her patience and me only scorn. Noticing my glare, Lucas frowned. He tossed a crumpled flyer for a senior poetry recital at me like spare change. Hailey turned, offering an innocent, pitying smile. I clutched the paper and walked out without a word. Half an hour later, I pushed into a community room smelling of joint patches. A young man in a crisp white shirt was teaching seniors vocal basics. The moment he spoke, a jolt ran down my spine. Lucas always bragged about being top of his class. But hearing this man speak was my first actual encounter with what pure, terrifying professional dominance sounded like. An elderly woman in the front row slapped her thigh in sheer excitement. “Mr. Vance! With a voice like yours, you belong on the national broadcast!” The man offered a faint, polite smile but didn’t respond. His eyes swept across the room, landing directly on me hovering in the doorway. “Are you going to grab a seat, or just stand there listening?” I blinked, my grip tightening on the crumpled flyer, and hurried to an empty chair in the back corner. For the entire hour, his lecture focused strictly on the connection between breath control and emotional resonance. There was zero pretentious academic jargon. Every single sentence he spoke was a direct hit to the core of broadcasting. When Lucas taught at the university, he obsessed over the “standard”—standard pronunciation, standard pacing, standard inflection. This man was teaching the “why.” When the class ended, the seniors slowly shuffled out. I gathered my courage, walked up to the podium, and pulled out my phone. “Excuse me. Could you possibly listen to my audition tape?” He took the phone and hit play. He didn’t kill it after ten seconds like Lucas did. He listened to the entire track. Then he handed the phone back, delivering a single sentence that completely shattered my worldview. “Your technique is flawless. Your breath is stable, your enunciation is precise, and your pacing is fully controlled.” “But you aren’t confident.” I froze. “Your vocal foundation is incredibly strong. But you are missing exactly one thing—you don’t believe you are actually capable.” He looked at me. His gaze was incredibly calm, yet sharp as a razor. “Someone who doesn’t believe in their own voice will never convince an audience to believe a word they say.” I opened my mouth, but my throat was totally paralyzed. Because he was absolutely, terrifyingly right. For three entire years, right before I spoke, Lucas’s voice would echo in my skull. You have zero talent. Your voice is totally flat. You have no emotional range. Over time, I had stopped trusting my own ears. “My name is Sebastian.” He slid a printed schedule across the podium. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays at seven. If you decide to show up, remember one thing.” “Before you step foot through that door, you strip off every single voice out there that has ever told you no.” “In this room, the only thing that matters is what you are actually made of.” I took the paper and gave him a sharp nod. As I walked out of the community center, my phone buzzed. A text from Lucas. [I was just being honest about your tape.] [The state network audition is packed with heavy hitters. You’d just be a placeholder. I was doing you a favor by giving you a reality check.] A second text immediately followed. [Oh, by the way. I already talked to the department head about the internal campus qualifiers this Saturday. Don’t bother registering.] [We have a limited quota. We need to save the slots for people who are actually a good fit.] I stared at the screen, the blood draining from my fingers. The campus qualifiers? The university was only given a limited number of recommendation letters to send students to the state network auditions. To get a letter, you had to pass the internal campus qualifiers. And I had just discovered that the registration deadline was today. I frantically opened the university portal. The registration portal was already locked. Deadline: 5:00 PM today. It was currently 8:40 PM. I shot a text back to Lucas: [When exactly did you talk to the department? Why wasn’t I informed?] He replied instantly. [I told them last week. I knew you’d humiliate yourself up there, so I made the executive decision for you.] [Stop throwing a tantrum. Just be a good girl and listen to me.] My knuckles turned white around the glass of my phone. He had forfeited my spot an entire week ago. And he waited until the deadline passed to tell me. I took a deep, shaking breath and dialed the department head, Professor Harris. “Professor Harris, it’s Aria. I just wanted to ask… is there any possible way to late-register for the campus qualifiers?” The line was dead silent for two seconds. “Aria? Lucas specifically told me you voluntarily withdrew. Honestly, I was totally confused.” “You won the university hosting championship. Technically speaking, you’re our seeded competitor.” “I never withdrew.” “…Alright. I’ll manually add your name to the roster tomorrow morning.” “But the list has already been publicly posted. You’re registering after the deadline. People are probably going to complain.” “I don’t care. Thank you, Professor.” I hung up the phone, leaned my back against the brick wall of the alley, and closed my eyes. Lucas. What the hell are you so terrified of? The next morning, the news of my late registration spread like wildfire. The broadcasting department group chat exploded. Hailey was the first to chime in. [Wait? Didn’t Aria say she was dropping out?] Lucas immediately followed. [That was a miscommunication on my end. The department manually added her back in.] His tone was incredibly casual, acting like making executive decisions about my career behind my back was perfectly normal. Someone else replied. [But isn’t the quota three out of six? Adding another competitor makes the pressure insane.] Hailey sent a crying emoji. [Ughhh, I was already so nervous, now I’m practically having a panic attack.] Lucas instantly replied to her. [Don’t panic. I’ll give you a private coaching session tonight. We’ll run through the impromptu commentary section again.] I stared at the chat log, completely silent. At seven o’clock sharp, I walked into the senior activity room. Sebastian wasn’t wearing a dress shirt today. He had on a black crewneck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, writing on the chalkboard. When he heard me walk in, he didn’t even turn around. “When are the qualifiers?” “The day after tomorrow.” “Timeline is tight. No group lecture today. I’m running you through a private simulation.” He turned around, leaning against the edge of the podium, crossing his arms. “Impromptu commentary. I give you a prompt. You have thirty seconds to prep, two minutes to speak.” “Clock starts now. Prompt: ‘Should young people sacrifice stability to pursue their dreams?’” I inhaled sharply, my brain spinning at a million miles an hour. Thirty seconds later, I opened my mouth. Halfway through my first point, Sebastian cut me off. “Stop.” I stared at him, my heart pounding. He was frowning, but it wasn’t a frown of disgust. “Right when you hit your third sentence, your tempo suddenly spiked.” “Why?” I thought about it for a second. “Because… I was terrified I sounded stupid, so I just wanted to get it over with.” Sebastian looked at me, his eyes growing dark and heavy. “Aria, your content is flawless. Your logic is tight, your arguments are aggressive.” “But the second you panic, you subconsciously speed up. It sounds like you are running away.” “The judges don’t give a damn how many words you cram in. They care about how absolutely certain you sound when you say them.” He picked up a piece of chalk and dragged a thick, solid line across the blackboard. “Reset.” “Drop your voice into the ground. Do not let it float in the air.” I started from the top. This time, I forced myself to leave a deliberate beat of breath between every single sentence. When I finished, Sebastian didn’t immediately critique me. He hit play on a digital voice recorder sitting on the podium. My voice drifted out of the tiny speaker. It was heavy, crystal clear, and carried a terrifying, unshakeable power. It sounded like a completely different human being. “Do you hear that?” Sebastian handed the recorder to me. “That is your voice. Trust it.” I took the cold metal recorder from his hand, the back of my throat burning. When I walked out of the community center and reached the sidewalk, I ran straight into someone who absolutely did not belong here. Lucas. He was leaning against a streetlamp, holding a cardboard tray with two coffees. When he saw me walking out of the senior center, genuine shock crossed his face. It quickly morphed into a very subtle, deeply arrogant displeasure. “Aria, have you seriously been coming here every single night?” I stopped walking. “What are you doing here?” “Dropping off coffee for Hailey. She’s in the study hall across the street running her impromptu drills.” He answered casually, but his eyes were locked onto the brass plaque mounted on the brick wall behind me. The words Senior Poetry Recitation practically glowed under the streetlights. Lucas stared at it for two seconds before letting out a soft, highly condescending laugh. “Aria, you can’t be serious.” “You’re actually taking classes here?” He shook his head, his tone dripping with the kind of patience you’d use on a stupid child. “I know your ego is bruised, but you really shouldn’t be resorting to this kind of absolute garbage out of desperation.” “Who the hell even is the guy teaching in there? Has he won a single state-level award? Does he hold any actual professional certifications?” I didn’t answer him. He let out a heavy sigh, took a step closer, and lowered his voice. “I’m just looking out for you.” “You’ve been icing me out, you refuse to let me coach you, and instead you’re coming here to hang out with a bunch of geriatrics?” Under the arrogance, there was a faint, undetectable trace of bitter jealousy. I took a step back, maintaining my physical distance. “Who I train with is none of your business.” Lucas stared at me for two solid seconds. The smirk on his face completely vanished. “Fine. Qualifiers are the day after tomorrow. When you humiliate yourself on that stage, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned and jaywalked across the street. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the study hall, Hailey was already looking up, watching us. When she saw Lucas approaching, she jumped up and ran to the door to greet him. She took the coffee from his hand, whispering something softly. Lucas tilted his head down, leaning right next to her ear. They were standing so close that, from my angle, their foreheads were practically touching. Hailey giggled, raising her hand to playfully push his shoulder. It was incredibly intimate. I stood completely still under the streetlamp, my fingers wrapped tightly around the voice recorder in my pocket. See you the day after tomorrow. 2 On the day of the qualifiers, the broadcasting department’s black box theater was packed to the walls. The judging panel consisted of Professor Harris, two senior broadcasting faculty members, and a special guest: Sarah, an executive producer from the state network. Six candidates. Three recommendation letters. I drew slot number four. Hailey was number three. While we waited backstage, Lucas sat in the observer’s chair right next to the judges’ table, officially representing his title as “Broadcasting Department President.” He didn’t have voting power, but he was authorized to “provide professional insight” after each candidate’s performance. Candidates one and two were perfectly average. Then it was Hailey’s turn. She was visibly shaking when she took the stage. She stumbled over the second paragraph of her mandatory read, and her impromptu commentary was totally disorganized. But she was gorgeous, she had great stage presence, and even though her voice was incredibly shaky, her tone was naturally sweet. When she finished, Lucas was the very first person to grab the mic. “Although Hailey is still a bit raw, her vocal tone is absolutely stunning, and she is incredibly moldable.” “This is exactly the demographic the state network is currently desperate for—young, fresh, and highly approachable.” “Personally, I believe her ceiling is incredibly high.” Professor Harris nodded slowly, writing something down on his clipboard. As Hailey walked off the stage, she shot Lucas a sickeningly sweet smile. It was my turn. I walked to the center of the stage and planted my feet. The spotlight hit my face. Dozens of eyes stared at me from the dark theater. I could see Lucas leaning back in his chair, his face a mask of total apathy, looking like he was settling in to watch a guaranteed trainwreck. Mandatory manuscript reading. I took a deep breath. Following Sebastian’s technique, I dropped my breath straight into my diaphragm, pulling my voice from the most stable, grounded place in my body. “Good evening, viewers. Welcome to tonight’s Evening News Broadcast—” The exact second the first sentence left my mouth, several people in the audience visibly straightened their spines. I delivered the entire manuscript with aggressive fluency. It was heavy, razor-sharp, and the pacing was flawless. Sarah, the state network producer, snapped her head up to look at me, immediately scribbling something onto her scorecard. For the impromptu commentary, my prompt was “Should anchors maintain a personal brand?” I prepped for thirty seconds. When I spoke, I ruthlessly controlled my tempo, ensuring every single sentence hit the floor like a brick. Sebastian’s words echoed in my skull. Don’t run away. Make your voice stand its ground. When my two minutes were up, the theater was completely silent. Professor Harris finally nodded. “Excellent. Incredibly stable.” I let out a quiet breath of relief and prepared to step off the stage. Lucas leaned forward and hit his mic. “I have a counterpoint to add.” He sat perfectly straight, his face an expertly crafted mask of professional objectivity. “Aria’s fundamentals are certainly passable, but as her primary coach for the last three years, I am ethically obligated to point out a severe issue.” “Her current vocal mechanics deviate drastically from the standardized curriculum we teach here.” “The state network demands absolute uniformity. If her vocal foundation is corrupted, it poses a massive liability for live broadcast disasters.” “I strongly urge the panel to reconsider her viability.” The entire theater went dead silent. I stood frozen under the spotlight, my fingertips turning to ice. He had just weaponized his position, in front of the state network producer, to publicly brand me as an untrained, rogue liability. Professor Harris frowned deeply. “Lucas, what exactly are you claiming is deviated?” Lucas stood up, radiating pure confidence. “For instance, her breath placement today was significantly lower than standard broadcasting protocol. In the short term, it sounds rich. But long-term application will permanently shred her vocal cords.” “Furthermore, this technique has not been academically vetted. It is a completely unregulated training method.” He sounded incredibly professional. He perfectly played the role of a concerned mentor looking out for my safety. The judges began whispering frantically among themselves. Sarah looked down at her scorecard, then looked back at me, her expression twisting into heavy hesitation. I stood on the stage, my throat closing up. I desperately wanted to defend myself, but I didn’t even know where to start. Sitting in the front row, Hailey tilted her head slightly, shooting me a deeply sympathetic smile. The judges debated for five agonizing minutes. Professor Harris cleared his throat. “Given the concerns raised by Lucas, we have decided to implement a sudden-death stress test.” “Aria, we are going to ask you to perform a three-minute live breaking news simulation, including an unscripted emergency interruption.” “If you can execute this flawlessly, we will dismiss the prior allegations.” I took a deep breath. “Understood.” Professor Harris handed me a freshly printed sheet of paper. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess of bullet points regarding an emergency flash flood—road closures, evacuation statistics, weather warnings. The volume of data was insane, and I was given exactly zero prep time. I scanned the numbers, my brain kicking into overdrive. “Whenever you’re ready.” I walked back to the center mark and looked up. “Viewers, we are interrupting our broadcast to bring you breaking news. At exactly 3:15 PM today, the eastern district was hit by a catastrophic flash flood. Multiple arterial roadways are currently submerged…” As I spoke, I was mentally restructuring the bullet points into fluid, broadcast-ready language in real-time. My tempo was ironclad. The data was hyper-accurate. I didn’t stutter a single time. By the two-minute mark, I hit the zone. Everything Sebastian had drilled into my body took over automatically. Breath, tempo, dramatic pauses, emotional restraint. In the final thirty seconds, I deliberately decelerated my tempo to deliver a heavy, authoritative sign-off. “This concludes our initial coverage of this developing emergency. We will remain on air to provide continuous updates.” The theater was silent for two full seconds. Sarah was the first to start clapping. “Outstanding. Your on-the-fly cognitive processing and data synthesis are exceptional.” Professor Harris nodded in absolute relief. “No issues whatsoever.” I finally let my shoulders drop. But Lucas’s face turned completely black. He never expected me to survive that test. Right as I turned to leave, he stood up again. “Professors, I have one final piece of evidence to submit.” Professor Harris scowled. “Lucas, what now?” “I need the panel to see exactly where Aria has been sourcing her training.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held up a photo. “This is the facility she has been attending for the last several weeks. A local community center for the elderly.” The photo clearly showed the tacky paper window decorations and Mrs. Wang’s knitting basket sitting in the corner. “Her so-called ‘coach’ is an absolute nobody teaching poetry to retirees. He holds absolutely zero state-level certifications.” “I am not targeting Aria personally. But as department president, it is my ethical duty to ensure we do not send fraudulent candidates to the state network.” “If her entire training ecosystem is a joke, then passing one stress test does not guarantee long-term stability.” The theater erupted. The gossip hit the walls like a tsunami. “A senior center? Are you kidding me?” “Who the hell is she even training with?” “She probably got scammed by some con artist…” I stood on the stage, the blood rushing violently to my head. He was standing in front of the entire university, systematically stripping away every last shred of my dignity. Sarah’s face hardened, her initial approval morphing into deep skepticism. Professor Harris looked at me, his voice tight with frustration. “Aria, who exactly is your vocal coach?” I opened my mouth. His name was Sebastian. But who was he really? What were his credentials? I had absolutely no idea. In that exact moment, I had zero proof to defend myself. Watching me choke on my own silence, the corners of Lucas’s mouth curled into a victorious smirk. “Professors, I formally recommend that Aria’s candidacy be permanently revoked.” “A candidate who cannot even verify the identity of their own instructor has no right representing this university at the state level.” From the front row, Hailey chimed in softly. “He’s right… if she causes a disaster on live television, it’s the university’s reputation that burns…” I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. Just as Professor Harris opened his mouth to deliver the final verdict— The heavy double doors at the back of the theater were violently shoved open. A low, heavy voice, radiating absolute, terrifying dominance, hit the room like a sledgehammer. “I’ll tell you exactly who her coach is.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499824”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 A week before my wedding, my best friend told me she had accidentally scraped my car and caught a minor traffic ticket that I needed to clear up. I logged into the portal to check the violation. The footage buffered for a second before revealing my best friend and my fiancé, locked in a passionate kiss at a red light. My hands shook as I pulled up the full dashcam video from that afternoon. “Jeff, are we really doing the right thing keeping Serena in the dark? You know how long she’s been dreaming of this wedding. She even dragged me along to pick out the venue. If she finds out we already got our marriage license, and that this whole ceremony is actually for me…” “Danielle, you’ve stayed by my side for years without a title just to protect her feelings. She’s the one who owes you.” Jeff’s voice was casual, completely devoid of guilt. “She gets the love, you get the legal title. I’d say that’s more than fair.” “Just coax her a little when the time comes. She’s an orphan. It’s not like she can survive without us.” My throat constricted, tight and burning. The tears I tried to hold back spilled over, dripping onto the keyboard. I sat frozen in the dead silence of the room for what felt like hours. Finally, I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Dad. I’m ready to come home. Let’s go ahead with the family reunion banquet next week.” The man on the other end gasped in pure joy. “Sweetheart, are you absolutely sure? Weren’t you worried it would make Jeff look bad? Even though he’ll still call me Dad after you two get married, you are my flesh and blood. He is just my adopted son. He could never outrank you.” He let out a hearty laugh. “This is perfect. We’ll announce your return, and then throw you the wedding of the century.” I choked back a sob. “I’m not marrying Jeff anymore.” “What?” My dad’s voice spiked in alarm. “Why? Sweetheart, I thought you loved him.” Before I could get another word out, a heavy hand snatched the phone from my grip. The device was hurled violently against the hardwood floor, the screen shattering instantly. The call went dead. I looked up to see Jeff glaring down at me, his face twisted in annoyance. Danielle hovered right behind him. “Serena, why the hell were you late for the dress fitting? Could you pretend to care about your own wedding? Danielle has been waiting for you all afternoon.” I slowly got to my feet, staring dead into his eyes. “Is the wedding really for me?” He froze. A flicker of panic crossed his face before he quickly masked it with irritation. “What kind of crazy talk is that? Have you been listening to stupid gossip again?” Watching him instinctively curl his lips into a lie, I simply closed my eyes and tapped the spacebar on my laptop. The dashcam audio filled the room. Jeff’s face drained of color. But Danielle reacted first. She stepped forward, her eyes brimming with sudden, perfectly timed tears. “I am so sorry, Serena. If you’re going to hate someone, hate me. I just loved Jeff too much.” The panic on Jeff’s face instantly melted into deep sympathy for her. He pulled Danielle into his chest, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “Serena, couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t know? When the day comes, you can still stand in the crowd wearing a gown. Just think of it as the three of us getting married together.” I slapped his hand away. “I’m not a prop in your sick little fantasy, Jeff. We are done. You can have her.” Jeff grabbed my wrist, twisting me back to face him. His grip was brutal, the pressure digging into my bone. He let out a mocking scoff. “What exactly are you throwing a tantrum for, Serena? You’re an orphan. If you leave me, who else is going to love you? You’ve had my heart for years. What’s the big deal about giving Danielle the legal title? She doesn’t even mind sharing, so why are you being such a brat?” Danielle looked up from his chest, her face the picture of victimhood. “Serena, I know I wronged you, but I can’t live without him. Just let me have this, please? I swear I won’t get in the way of your relationship.” Looking at her pitiful, trembling act, a wave of pure nausea washed over me. “Danielle, weren’t you the one who conveniently reminded me to check the dashcam?” She gasped, stepping closer to grab my hand, her voice cracking. “I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was completely exhausted by their cheap theatricals. I yanked my arm back to get away from her. But as I pulled away, Danielle’s perfectly manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into my forearm. The sharp sting made me flinch and pull back harder. Taking advantage of the momentum, she threw herself backward, hitting the floor with a loud, theatrical yelp of pain. “Serena, I know this is all my fault. Hit me if you need to, just please forgive us.” Jeff’s expression turned lethal. He shoved me back so hard I lost my footing, then dropped to his knees to gently help Danielle up. “What is actually wrong with you?” he roared. I hit the floor hard. Pinpricks of blood began to seep through the fabric over my scraped knees, and my palms throbbed. “I already told you, Jeff. I don’t want you anymore. Have a nice life together. You can stop performing now.” I held up my arm, exposing the fresh, purple crescent-shaped marks left by Danielle’s nails. “Or are you completely blind to the injuries on my body?” Jeff opened his mouth, a brief flash of hesitation in his eyes. Danielle immediately sagged against him, sobbing softly. “You know you’ve always bruised like a peach, Serena. A slight bump and you turn purple. I know you hate me right now, but please don’t use your condition to frame me.” The hesitation in Jeff’s eyes vanished, replaced by disgust. “Danielle has swallowed so much pride and suffered in silence for years just so you wouldn’t get hurt, and you actually have the nerve to frame her?” A bone-deep exhaustion settled into my chest. I turned around and headed for the door. “Like I said. Have a nice life.” Danielle’s tearful voice chased after me. “Jeff, she’s never going to forgive me. Let’s just give the wedding back to her. I can take it.” “Serena, stop right there!” Jeff barked. I paused and looked back at Danielle. “What exactly do you want from me?” Hidden behind Jeff’s back, Danielle flashed me a smug, venomous smirk, though her voice remained sweet and broken. “I just want your genuine blessing. Come with us to the bridal boutique.” Jeff stared at me with ice in his eyes. “Your buddy from the orphanage finally got a donor match for his kidney. He’s currently resting in the VIP suite at the Sinclair Holdings private hospital. As long as I say the word…” “Fine.” I cut him off. On the way to the boutique, Jeff clearly wanted to teach me a lesson. He carried Danielle in his arms, walking briskly ahead, leaving me to limp behind them on my bleeding knees. Their sickeningly sweet banter drifted back to me. “Put me down, Jeff. Serena is going to be jealous.” “You’ve been forced to walk in the shadows for years. My heart breaks for you. It’s time she learned a lesson so she stops acting like a spoiled brat.” My calves throbbed with every step, and a bitter ache spread through my chest as old memories crashed over me. Back in college, I had slightly twisted my ankle during a track event. Jeff had been out of his mind with worry, carrying me on his back all the way to the campus clinic. Danielle had sighed and said she was jealous. Jeff had laughed and told her to go find a man of her own. It turned out she did. She found mine. The bridal boutique appointment was booked under my and Jeff’s names. But when we walked in, Jeff was carrying Danielle. The sales associates froze. “Mr. Sinclair, which of these ladies is trying on the gown?” Danielle stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s pick something out. It will be so wonderful when you stand in the crowd wearing a gown while Jeff and I say our vows.” The moment the words left her mouth, the associates shot me looks of thinly veiled mockery. My cheeks burned. “What kind of twisted drama is this? The main girl bringing the side piece to buy a dress?” “The main girl is way too soft. The mistress is basically marking her territory.” They weren’t whispering. Every word echoed in the lavish showroom. Danielle put on a pained expression like she felt so bad for me, but she didn’t say a single word to defend me. Jeff stood with his arms crossed, watching me intently. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to beg. But I didn’t say a word. He let out a cold chuckle, grabbed Danielle’s hand, and led her toward the grand fitting pedestal, leaving me entirely alone in the crossfire of judgmental stares. I just stood there. I didn’t cry. It felt like I had completely run out of tears. A few minutes later, Jeff walked out. He looked at me with the absolute indifference one might reserve for a stranger. “I’m going to run to the pharmacy to get you both some ointment. Go in there and keep Danielle company. And drop the attitude.” The second the heavy velvet door clicked shut behind him, the fragile victim act vanished from Danielle’s face. She leaned back against the mirrored wall, crossing her arms, her eyes dripping with contempt. “What are you acting so high and mighty for, Serena?” “Yeah, I let you see that video on purpose. Jeff letting you stay on as his sidekick is a privilege. You should really learn your place in the pecking order.” I stared at her. This was the same face that once claimed she would take a bullet for me. “Why?” My voice was barely a whisper, though my knuckles were white. “Why steal your best friend’s fiancé?” She scoffed. “Steal? What do you mean, steal? He loves me more. That’s just a fact.” “You want to know the truth? I was so sick of watching you breeze through life. You never fight for anything, but you always get it all. The top grades, the center of attention, and Jeff.” “I even let you wear the horns while I sleep with your man, and you still act like you’re morally superior. Am I not a good enough friend to you?” Looking at the pure hatred in her eyes, I felt completely disoriented. When we first started college, she was this radiant, fierce energy that barged into my life. When girls in our dorm mocked me for not having parents, she was the one who stood in front of me. “If anyone says another word about her, I’ll ruin your life,” she had threatened them. When her cramps were so severe she couldn’t walk, I had carried her across campus in the freezing rain to the infirmary. She had rested her chin on my shoulder and mumbled, “I think I’m in love with you, Serena. Whoever you marry one day has to get past me first.” When she was failing her senior seminar, I dragged her into my project and did the work of two people just so she could graduate. All those memories. To her, they were nothing but garbage. I took a deep, shaky breath. My eyes stung. “Believe it or not, Danielle, you can have him. Keep the trash.” She burst out laughing. “Wow, I’ve known you for years and I never realized you were such a good actress.” “But it doesn’t matter. I always get what I want.” Before I could process her words, she grabbed my hand, forcefully yanked it toward her own face, and slapped herself hard. A sharp, violent smack echoed in the room. Five bright red finger marks immediately bloomed across her cheek. Tears streamed down her face in an instant, like she had rehearsed it a thousand times. The door swung open. Jeff walked in with a pharmacy bag just in time to see Danielle collapse to the floor, clutching her cheek and weakly grabbing the hem of my shirt like she was begging for mercy. He didn’t ask a single question. He just stepped forward and viciously kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to crash down onto the hard marble floor. “I can’t believe you,” he snarled. “You still don’t know your place, do you?” I curled in on myself, gasping for air as the pain radiated through my legs. I watched as Jeff tenderly lifted Danielle off the ground, opening the ointment he bought to carefully treat her cheek. Those same hands had wiped my tears. They had put bandages on my cuts. They had fastened the diamond necklace around my neck when he promised me forever. The absolute last shred of love I had for him popped like a cheap balloon, dissolving into dead, hollow ash. A moment later, his voice cut through the air, cold and authoritative. He pulled out his phone and waved it in my face. “Get on your knees and apologize to Danielle right now. If you don’t, I guarantee your precious brother gets thrown out of that hospital bed onto the street before you can even blink.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new message popped up on the lock screen. It was from my dad. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. I’ve already sent my private team to transfer your friend to a better facility.” I slowly pushed myself off the floor. Blood trickled down my shins, but I didn’t bother wiping it. I reached behind my neck, unclasped the rose pendant necklace, and tossed it right at his chest. When he gave it to me, he had said the rose symbolized a lifetime of loyalty, that I was the only one he would ever love. “Do whatever you want, Jeff.” His eyes flashed red with rage. Without breaking eye contact, he dialed a number on his phone. A few seconds later, his assistant’s panicked voice spilled from the speaker. “Mr. Sinclair! The patient… he was just transferred out. We have no idea where he went!” “What?!” Jeff roared. “Find him! Who the hell dares to mess with me in my own hospital?” He hung up and lunged at me, gripping my wrist like a vice. His tone shifted, suddenly dark and intrigued. “Well, well. I didn’t know you had it in you.” “If this is your sick way of getting my attention, congratulations. It worked.” “Now apologize to Danielle, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” Looking at his dead-serious face, a dry laugh slipped past my lips. “Let me make this crystal clear for you, Jeff. You disgust me. I don’t want you.” I ripped my hand out of his grip and walked toward the exit. He instinctively took a step to chase after me, but Danielle quickly grabbed his arm. “Let her go. She’s just throwing a tantrum. The more you chase her, the more she’ll act out. Give her a few days. She’ll realize we’re doing this for her own good.” I went back to the apartment we shared and threw everything with his DNA on it into the dumpster. Love letters, hoodies, gifts, the matching coffee mugs we bought on our first anniversary. Every single piece of garbage. Without a second of hesitation. Then I packed my own bags and checked into a luxury hotel. Day one, he didn’t reach out. Day two, nothing. On day three, I was jolted awake by my phone ringing off the hook. Jeff had called me twenty times, mixed in with a few missed calls from Danielle. I debated for a second, then finally hit accept. “Who gave you permission to move out?” His furious voice blasted through the speaker. “Get your ass back here right now before I really lose my temper.” “We broke up. Where I live is none of your business.” My cold response was met with the loud sound of glass shattering on his end. “I know exactly who’s backing you now! You think you’re so smart hooking up with some old sugar daddy?” “Don’t be naive. You think whoever he is can go toe-to-toe with the Sinclair family? I’m giving you one last chance. Three seconds. Are you coming back or not?” I froze. Did he think… my biological dad was my sugar daddy? Before I could even process the sheer stupidity of his assumption, he angrily hung up. A text pinged a second later. “You are going to crawl back and beg me. You’re going to realize that without me, you are absolutely nothing.” Thirty minutes later, an explosive anonymous post skyrocketed to the top of trending topics across every social media platform. The headline read: Columbia University Valedictorian Exposed as Serial Gold Digger, Playing Both Sinclair Father and Son. Attached were candid photos of me and Jeff from our college days, side by side with paparazzi-style shots of my dad’s private butler helping me arrange the hospital transfer for my friend. I stared at the screen, my fingers slowly curling into fists. A dark, quiet anticipation started brewing in my chest. The internet descended on me like a pack of rabid wolves. [Holy shit, this is wild. The hustle is real. If she put this energy into an actual job, she’d be CEO by now.] [This is just pure trash behavior. I bet the Sinclair men don’t even know she’s playing both of them yet.] [A valedictorian? Guess they don’t teach morals in the Ivy League.] The outrage snowballed. Hordes of trolls flooded my university’s official pages, demanding action. A few hours later, I received an email from the dean’s office. My valedictorian status was suspended, and my diploma was being withheld pending an investigation. Then, they doxxed my background. Once the internet found out I grew up in the foster system, the comments turned vicious. [No wonder she’s a sociopath. Trash origins make trash people.] [Stop donating to that foster home! If they’re raising girls to be homewreckers, who knows what else goes on in there.] I scrolled through the comments, one by one. Every word was designed to be a dagger, but strangely enough, I didn’t feel a thing. My dad texted me, his messages frantic with worry. “Princess, do you want me to release a statement? I will destroy that little punk.” I typed back calmly. “It’s okay, Dad. Just make sure the foster home gets extra security. The real show is about to start.” My phone rang. It was Jeff. His tone was dripping with arrogant triumph. “Well? Have you thought it through? Are you coming to my wedding tomorrow or not?” “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The day of the wedding. Backstage. Danielle leaned against Jeff’s chest, her voice perfectly pitched to sound like a fragile little bird. “Do you really think she’ll come? What if she actually hates me now?” Jeff stroked her hair affectionately. “Relax. Look at how miserable she is without us protecting her. Stop stressing, you are the most beautiful bride in the world today.” “If she doesn’t drop to her knees and apologize to you today, the internet will tear her apart.” The music swelled, and the ceremony began. Danielle walked down the aisle, her arm looped through Jeff’s. He looked like the perfect gentleman; she looked stunning. I stood in the shadows and looked around. This was the exact wedding I had spent months planning. The vintage lace gown was the one I had pinned to my vision board. The floral arrangements, the string quartet, the lighting—every single detail was mine. It was all mine. Except the man standing at the altar. Right as they exchanged rings, I stepped out into the light and began a slow walk down the aisle. The entire grand ballroom erupted into furious whispers. “Is that her? The audacity to actually show her face!” “Shameless. Look at her walking in here like she owns the place.” Standing on the altar, Jeff looked down at me with a lazy, victorious smirk. “I thought you actually had a spine,” he mocked into the microphone. “Glad you finally snapped out of it. Now hurry up and apologize.” I stopped at the base of the steps, looked him dead in the eye, and spoke clearly enough for the entire room to hear. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have delayed this inevitable union.” I smiled brightly. “A man who cheats on his fiancée, and a woman who stabs her best friend in the back—you two are truly a match made in hell. I realize my mistake now.” The crowd gasped in shock. Jeff’s face turned violently purple. He opened his mouth to scream for security— “That is enough.” A deep, commanding voice boomed through the speakers. The ballroom went dead silent. My dad stepped out from the VIP section, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. He walked slowly, his presence suffocatingly powerful, straight toward me. Someone in the front row aggressively whispered, “Oh man, Mr. Sinclair is about to destroy her. She slept with him to get to his son, and now she’s ruining the wedding? He’s gonna bury her.” My dad stopped right in front of me. He raised his hand. The same guest hissed excitedly, “Here it comes! He’s gonna slap her!” Instead, my dad gently wrapped his warm, steady hand around mine. He turned to face the hundreds of elite guests, the cameras, and the sheer silence. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of an empire. “Allow me to introduce Ms. Serena Sinclair. She is my biological daughter, who went missing eighteen years ago.” He slowly turned his gaze toward the altar, looking at Jeff like he was a piece of trash stuck to his shoe. “As for the boy on the stage…” “He is simply the charity case I adopted years ago.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499823”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The night of the World Cup final, my fiancé suddenly turned to me with a wager. “If France wins, I will add ten beachfront estates to your bridal gift.” His eyes gleamed with a reckless amusement. “But if they lose, Harper gets to wear the dress and walk down the aisle in your place in three days. Deal?” I barely had time to furrow my brow before Silas’s groomsmen started hyping him up. They laughed, calling him utterly whipped, joking that this was just another extravagant way to spice up our seven-year romance. After all, everyone in our circle firmly believed France was guaranteed to win. The smile on Silas’s lips did not waver. “So? Do we have a bet?” He had no idea that just ten minutes ago, I had accidentally overheard a private conversation between him and his best friend on the balcony. “Come on, man,” Carter had laughed, handing him a drink. “Even if you supposedly time-traveled from three years in the future, are you seriously that sure France is gonna choke?” Silas had simply exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, his tone absolute. “Relax. I know exactly how this plays out.” He had paused, his voice softening into something nostalgic. “Bonnie gets the marriage license, but Harper gets the ceremony. It is the only way to make up for the biggest regret of my past life.” Hearing his voice pull me back to the present, asking for the third time, I finally looked up. “Deal.” My voice was quiet, almost airy. It did not matter anyway. I was already planning to change the groom. Hearing my definitive answer, a visible wave of relief washed over Silas’s face. Right at that moment, the sharp click of a key turning in the front door echoed through the penthouse. I did not need to guess who had a spare key to our home. It was Harper. She was the executive assistant who had been by Silas’s side the longest. And, according to his balcony confession, the ultimate regret he was determined to fix in this second life. The second she walked in, the guys immediately started teasing her about the ridiculous bet. The young girl’s cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson. “Come on, guys. Please stop messing with me.” Despite her shy words, the way she looked at Silas was entirely transparent. Her eyes were bright, soft, and entirely devoted. Silas instinctively shot a nervous glance my way, checking my reaction. If this were the past, my temper would have flared. Hearing a joke with zero boundaries like that would have made my face drop instantly, and I would have demanded everyone leave. But tonight, I just quietly took a sip of my sparkling water. I did not even blink. A tiny, almost imperceptible frown formed between Silas’s brows. Then, the referee’s whistle blew on the massive screen. The match had begun. For the next two hours, the room was consumed by the game. When the final whistle blew, the room went dead silent. Silas was right. France lost. The Netherlands pulled off a massive upset. The result was enough to shatter every sports analyst’s prediction, but no one in this living room seemed genuinely shocked. His friends exchanged knowing, exaggerated looks, flashing Silas discreet thumbs-ups. Silas wore a look of smug satisfaction, though he quickly masked it with a sigh of mock disappointment. He turned to me. “Well, Bonnie. You lost.” Before I could even open my mouth, Carter jumped in from the sofa. “Don’t tell me the bride is a sore loser now? You guys picked a vintage cathedral veil anyway. Once that thick lace drops over her face, nobody in the pews will even know who the bride is. Right, Bonnie?” I looked away from them, my eyes landing on the massive engagement portrait of Silas and me hanging on the wall. Suddenly, the vibrant colors of the photo just looked incredibly cheap. “You are right. I lost.” Every single person in the room smiled, except me. They immediately turned to Harper, their tones dripping with teasing ambiguity, telling her she better go home and get her beauty sleep so she could be a beautiful bride. Silas did not correct them. He did not defend me. He just smiled and walked them out to the elevator. When he came back, he naturally closed the distance between us, reaching out out of habit to pull me into his chest. I took a smooth step back, avoiding his touch entirely. “Are you mad?” He let out an amused breath. “You are going to be Mrs. Montgomery. You have to learn how to lose gracefully. Why are you throwing a child’s tantrum over a game?” He tilted his head, his tone softening into a coaxing purr. “Tell you what. I will personally cook your favorite truffle pasta tonight to make it up to you. Sound good?” Before I could answer, his phone buzzed twice in his pocket. Silas stood up instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. “Harper cannot get a cab. It is pouring out there, and it is not safe for a young girl to be alone this late. I am going to drop her off.” My throat felt tight, lined with sandpaper. I could not hold it in anymore. “Silas. Did you already know the outcome of that match before you made the bet?” His footsteps stopped dead. When he turned back around, his face was flushed with defensive anger. “I am not a psychic! How the hell could I have predicted an upset like that?” “I genuinely wanted to give you those estates. You just have terrible luck. You cannot blame anyone else for that!” He was always like this. Whenever he felt guilty, he overcompensated with volume and aggression. He slammed the door behind him. Perhaps he thought a loud exit would drown out the deafening guilt radiating off him. The impact rattled the walls, and our framed engagement photo slipped from its hook, crashing onto the hardwood floor with a sharp crack of shattered glass. I calmly walked over, picked up a pair of shears from the floral arrangement on the coffee table, and snipped my half of the photo right down the middle. With my free hand, I dialed my father’s number. “Dad. The corporate alliance is still on. But I need you to find me a different groom.” Years ago, Silas was just one of three potential heirs my father had selected for an arranged marriage. Back then, I believed love was more toxic than poison. I had personally watched my mother catch my father in bed with his secretary. I watched her deteriorate from an elegant, soft-spoken socialite into a hysterical, broken shell of a woman. And then, I watched my father ruthlessly commit her to a psychiatric facility to protect his public image. I had built a fortress of solid concrete around my heart. But a younger, relentless Silas had forcefully torn a hole through it with his blatant, undeniable favoritism. He gave me his phone passwords without me asking. He reported his whereabouts constantly. He held my hand at every elite gala, proudly declaring to the world that I was his. He was incredibly wealthy and striking. Naturally, countless women tried to take a shortcut to the top through him. To give me total security, he had fired seventeen different executive assistants. So, I let myself fall. I watched myself sink into the illusion, entirely sober but willing. Everything changed exactly a year ago. My father demanded we finally set a wedding date. But Silas pushed back, claiming he needed to secure his absolute authority on the board of directors first. At first, I genuinely believed him. Until I walked into his office and saw his new assistant. Harper. My internal alarms started screaming instantly. With a single glance, I knew the dynamic between them was tainted. It was not a blatant, messy affair. It was a subtle, suffocating undercurrent of unspoken intimacy. When the three of us were in a room, his eyes would instinctively dart to her first. I caught the fleeting, panicked guilt in his gaze whenever I walked in unannounced. Harper wore a pair of diamond earrings that matched the exact designer collection Silas had bought for my anniversary necklace. Lately, the sickly sweet scent of her vanilla perfume always lingered on his suit jackets. One evening, I finally broke. I tried to gently express how uncomfortable their dynamic made me feel. That was the very first time he looked at me with sheer exhaustion and disdain. “Do you have any idea how many assistants I have fired because of your toxic paranoia?” he had snapped. “Seventeen. Seventeen women.” “Not a single one has lasted more than six months because you see ghosts everywhere. The entire corporate floor is whispering that my fiancée has persecution paranoia.” He rubbed his temples, his voice dripping with pity. “Bonnie, I seriously think you need to see a psychiatrist. Medically speaking, severe mental illness is hereditary…” I stood frozen in the middle of our living room, staring at the man I loved with absolute horror. “Is that… is that really how you see me?” Realizing he had gone too far, Silas let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Bonnie, look. If a wedding ring is the only thing that will finally cure your insecurity, then fine. Let’s just get married.” He made it sound like proposing to me was a charitable concession. An exhausted compromise to calm down a lunatic. I sat by the fireplace, methodically cutting up every single photograph of us. The first time we watched the sunrise on his yacht. The birthday he rented out Central Park for a private firework show. The time he tried to learn how to cook for me and nearly burned the kitchen down. When my hand started to cramp, I gathered the mountain of shredded memories and tossed them straight into the blazing fireplace. I watched them burn to ash. My phone rang violently. It was Silas’s personal driver. “Miss Astor! Mr. Montgomery got into a physical altercation at a bar. We are at the ER. Please come quickly!” By the time I arrived at the private hospital suite, Silas’s right arm was already encased in a plaster cast. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Harper, who was sobbing by his knees. The young girl’s eyes were red and swollen. “Mr. Montgomery, this is all my fault. You would not have gotten hurt if you were not protecting me from those drunks.” “I was so terrified. What would I do without you?” Silas lifted his uninjured left hand and gently, almost reverently, stroked her hair. “It is not your fault.” His voice was a velvet whisper. “Stop crying. Be good.” Because of his movements, the collar of his hospital gown slipped open. Exposed on his chest was a faded, jagged scar. It was less than an inch from his heart. He got that scar years ago when a rival syndicate kidnapped me for ransom. Silas took a blade to the chest to shield me. Outside the ICU that night, covered in his blood, I swore to whatever God was listening that if he surBonnieed, I would love him unconditionally, just as fiercely as he loved me. Standing in the doorway now, a bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. After all these years, he really had not changed. When he loves a woman, he is perfectly willing to throw his life away for her. It just was not me anymore. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But the fabric of my silk coat caught on the metal door handle, making a loud, abrupt clicking sound. Both of their heads snapped toward me. The sheer panic that flashed across both of their faces was perfectly synchronized. Silas recovered first. He cleared his throat, nodding briskly at Harper, his tone shifting to formal authority. “You should head home and get some rest. We have a busy week ahead.” Harper nodded obediently, her cheeks flushed, a secret thrill dancing in her eyes. I had zero interest in spying on their twisted little romance. After she scurried out, the VIP suite fell into a suffocating, awkward silence. I stared at the scar on his chest. It looked so foreign now. “Silas. We are done. I am breaking off the engagement.” He froze. The silence stretched for two agonizing seconds before he let out a dry, exasperated chuckle. “Look at you. You are getting paranoid again. Are you really using a breakup to threaten me?” “Alright, fine. I will throw you a massive, private vow renewal the day we sign the marriage papers. Does that make you happy?” I opened my mouth, ready to explain that I was entirely serious. He cut me off, his voice dripping with impatient finality. “The bet stands, Bonnie. You agreed to it in front of all the guys. You need to learn how to lose gracefully, otherwise you are going to make us both look like fools.” I swallowed the heavy truth I was about to give him. “Okay. I accept the loss.” Since the groom was changing, I needed a new fitting for the wedding dress. As I sat in the VIP lounge of the bridal boutique, a painfully familiar voice drifted through the velvet curtains of the adjacent dressing room. “Silly girl, what is the rush? Once the seamstress takes in the waist on the ceremony gown, I will take you to shoot the bridal portraits.” “We will just shoot you from the back. We can display it at the entrance of the ballroom. How does that sound?” It was Silas. And Harper. So this was their unspoken, thrilling little secret from last night. They were going through the exhausting effort of altering my custom couture gown and shooting fake bridal portraits just to fully erase me from my own wedding day. Suddenly, a careless boutique assistant yanked open the velvet curtain dividing the suites. Silas turned and saw me standing on the pedestal, fully zipped into a breathtaking lace gown. He froze. A second later, a cold, mocking smirk spread across his face. “Bonnie, is this your new strategy? Are you planning to crash the venue in that dress just to humiliate Harper?” “Have you lost your mind? If two brides show up on that stage, the Montgomery and Astor families will become the laughingstock of the entire city!” If this had happened a month ago, his cruel words would have shattered me. I would have screamed, cried, and torn the place apart. But right now, I just felt a crushing wave of fatigue. “Relax. I am not wearing this dress for you.” Silas narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does that mean?” Before I could even reply, Harper started violently weeping into her hands. “Mr. Montgomery, Bonnie is furious with me! Is she going to force you to fire me? I cannot lose this job. My family needs the money. I… I should not take the bridal portraits anymore.” Silas did not even bother pressing me for an answer. He immediately wrapped an arm around Harper’s waist, pulling her toward the exit. “She lost the bet. Throwing a tantrum will not change anything. We will go find a different designer for your dress.” Right before he walked out the glass doors, he stopped and threw a dark warning over his shoulder. “If you keep acting like a psychotic child, I am going to delay signing our marriage license.” Once they were gone, I turned back to the towering three-way mirror. It was strange. The woman staring back at me had red, swollen eyes, but the smile on her face looked infinitely more tragic than if she were sobbing. The next afternoon, a phone call hit me like a physical blow. “Miss Astor! Your mother is having a severe violent episode. We need you at the facility immediately!” My fingers clamped around my phone, my whole body shaking. “How is that possible? Her doctors said she has been incredibly stable for months.” The head nurse hesitated for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, her tone was heavy with confusion. “A young woman came to visit your mother this morning. She brought a framed wedding photograph and showed it to her.” “She told your mother that for the last year, you have been maliciously sleeping with her fiancé and trying to destroy their marriage.” When I sprinted into the psychiatric wing, my mother was standing aggressively by the reinforced window. In her trembling hand, she clutched a massive, jagged shard of broken glass. Scattered across the linoleum floor were the shattered remains of a heavy wooden picture frame. I looked down. It was a bridal portrait. Silas and Harper. When my mother’s wild eyes locked onto me, they filled with the kind of pure, visceral hatred usually reserved for murderers. “You knew! You knew exactly what adultery did to me, and you still chose to be a filthy homewrecker!” “Why are you so utterly worthless?! I never gave birth to a cheap, shameless whore! Drop dead!” She lunged forward, wildly slashing the glass shard through the air. I could not dodge in time. The jagged edge sliced deep into my forearm, ripping open a massive six-inch gash. Flesh tore. Blood immediately poured down my wrist, dripping onto the pristine white floor. The orderlies rushed in, tackling her to the bed and securing the leather restraints. Even strapped down, she thrashed violently, her vocal cords tearing as she screamed at me. She used the most vile, venomous words imaginable to curse my existence, calling me an animal, a plague. After a nurse hastily wrapped my bleeding arm in thick gauze, I wiped the cold tears off my face. I bent down, picked up the torn wedding portrait from the glass-covered floor, and walked straight out the door. I drove directly to Silas’s corporate headquarters. When I pushed open the double doors of the executive floor, a crowd of employees was gathered around Harper’s desk. They were laughing, eating imported chocolates from a lavish pink box. “Congratulations on the wedding, Harper! Guess we have to start calling you the boss’s wife now!” “Obviously! She is the one walking down the aisle. As for that other woman, Mr. Montgomery is completely sick of her. Who could possibly tolerate a woman with severe mental illness?” “Right? The boss literally told security to stop letting her up here because she is bad for the company image.” Someone near the edge of the crowd finally noticed me. The group scattered like roaches when the lights turn on. Harper, completely unfazed, strutted toward me in her designer heels, her chin tilted in sheer arrogance. “What brings you to the office, Bonnie? Want me to see if Silas has time in his schedule for you?” She glanced at my pale face and the blood seeping through my sleeve. “You look terrible. A little mentally unstable, actually. I hear there is an empty padded room right next to your mother’s. Want me to make a reservation for you?” The image of my mother screaming in restraints flashed in my mind. I raised my uninjured arm and swung my hand back, aiming a lethal slap directly at her smug face. But a split second before my palm made contact, a massive hand clamped down on my wrist and violently shoved me backward. “Bonnie! Have you completely lost your mind?!” Silas’s grip was brutal. The violent jerk ripped my fresh stitches open. Thick, dark blood immediately bloomed through the white bandages, dripping onto the carpet. Silas froze, his eyes dropping to my bleeding arm. He instantly stepped forward, reaching for me. “How did you get hurt?” I forcefully slapped his hand away. I threw their crumpled wedding portrait squarely at his leather shoes. “Happy wedding, Mr. Montgomery. But I suggest you put your bride on a leash.” Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and walked toward the elevators. Silas instinctively took a step to chase after me, but Harper immediately grabbed his arm, burying her face in his shoulder. “Silas, she scared me so much.” The panic in Silas’s eyes was instantly replaced by protective anger. He wrapped his arm around Harper’s waist and guided her safely into his private office. Early the next morning, Silas’s groomsmen suited up in sharp black tuxedos and accompanied him to the luxury hotel suite to pick up the bride. They laughed and joked, drinking champagne as they went through the traditional morning routines. The atmosphere was electric and celebratory. The only anomaly was Bonnie. No one could reach her phone. Jax nudged Silas in the ribs. “Hey man, do you think Bonnie is actually pissed? What if she genuinely breaks up with you over this?” Silas let out a confident, mocking scoff. “Not a chance. That woman dreams of marrying me every time she closes her eyes.” Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. What if she really did pull a stunt? Feeling a spike of paranoia, he quickly lifted the heavy vintage veil covering the bride’s face. It was Harper. For some inexplicable reason, a fleeting memory flashed through Silas’s mind. A memory from his past life. Bonnie, sitting on a bed in a white dress, looking up at him with shy, glowing eyes under this exact veil. He shook the ghost from his head and let out an exaggerated laugh. “Thank God. The bride has not been swapped. With how completely obsessed Bonnie is, I half expected her to sneak under Harper’s veil just to get to the altar.” The groomsmen erupted into roaring laughter. But right as the laughter peaked, a shocked voice echoed from the end of the grand hallway. “Holy shit. The Kensington heir is getting married today too? Look at this setup, it is insane!” “Wait a second… look at the bride on this poster…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499822”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 When the photographer called for us to pose, my graduation cap slipped off. I bent down to pick up the tassel. By the time I stood back up, my boyfriend, Andy, and our professor’s daughter, Molly, were already standing shoulder-to-shoulder dead center in the front row. The camera flash went off, freezing the exact moment they turned to smile at each other. Meanwhile, I was squeezed onto the absolute edge of the frame. It looked as though I was just a random pedestrian who had accidentally wandered into the shot. They were the golden couple of the law school. Andy was a once-in-a-century legal prodigy, and Molly was the heir to a massive legal dynasty. And me? I was just the invisible “nerd” who had barely managed to keep up with the curriculum by organizing Andy’s study notes for the last four years. Molly always loved to hook her arm through mine, her voice dripping with sweet condescension. “You are such a hard worker, Maya. Unlike me. I just rely on my dad for everything.” Then she would take the exact case briefs I had stayed up all night compiling and use them to completely dominate alongside Andy in our mock trials. Staring at that “picture-perfect” graduation photo being passed around the class, a bitter wave of irony washed over me. I was completely exhausted. I was done running on this rugged, miserable path trying to catch up to a genius. The graduation photo dropped into our class group chat, immediately followed by a barrage of exclamation marks. “They look like an actual power couple!” “Andy and Molly are literally the face of the law school!” “So gorgeous together!” I stood a few feet away from the laughing crowd, my fingertips turning ice cold. In the photo, half of my body was practically cropped out of the frame. Andy had his arm casually draped over Molly’s shoulder. She was tilting her head toward him, laughing, the sunlight catching the ends of her hair. It looked like a still from a movie. And there I was, awkwardly gripping my fallen cap, looking like a total outsider. The group chat kept pinging. Someone tagged me. “@Maya, why are you standing all the way out there? Quick, someone photoshop her closer to the middle!” Before I could even type a response, Andy replied in the chat. “Drop it, guys. Maya never really likes taking pictures anyway.” His tone was incredibly casual, as if my exclusion was just a totally normal, everyday fact of life. He was right. I didn’t like taking pictures. Because I didn’t like putting myself in any situation where I would inevitably be compared, because I always ended up looking pathetic and dim next to them. Molly immediately sent a voice memo, her tone deliberately dragged out to sound sweet and entirely innocent. “Yeah, guys! Maya has always preferred to stay out of the spotlight.” “But next time we take photos, we definitely have to stand together. I love Maya so much!” The second her memo ended, Andy sent a thumbs-up emoji in agreement. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then quietly exited the chat. I scrolled through my camera roll. It was completely stuffed with photos of whiteboards, indexed case files, and legal precedent charts. There were even rough drafts of opening statements for mock trials. Over the last four years, I had taken ten times as many photos of legal documents as I had of my own face. I tapped on the top folder, titled Andy’s Criminal Procedure Outline. Inside were hundreds of pages of meticulously organized notes. The handwriting was perfect, every key argument color-coded and clearly annotated. Last semester, Andy had used this exact outline to score the absolute highest grade in the entire department. The senior partner teaching the seminar had praised him in front of the entire lecture hall. “Andy is not just naturally brilliant. His ability to synthesize complex case law is already at a professional level.” Andy had just smiled effortlessly. “I guess I just got lucky and managed to smooth out the logic.” He hadn’t mentioned me once. Not a single syllable. I closed my photo app, opened a delivery service, and ordered a premium eel rice bowl I usually couldn’t justify spending the money on. My phone buzzed. A text from Andy. “Maya, want to grab dinner tonight? Molly booked a table at that French place to celebrate our graduation.” I stared at the text. My mind flashed back to last week, when I was lying on a cot in the campus clinic with acute gastroenteritis, an IV drip in my arm. I had texted him asking if he could bring me a change of clothes. He didn’t reply for hours. “I’m super busy right now. Just go to the pharmacy and get some meds yourself.” While I read that text, I had looked out the clinic window and saw him standing by the library entrance, leaning in close and laughing with Molly. I opened the keyboard and replied to him. “No thanks. I already have plans tonight.” He replied almost instantly. “? Plans with who?” I didn’t answer. I just locked my phone and tossed it onto my bed. By the time my eel bowl arrived, the sky outside my dorm window had turned completely dark. I sat at my tiny desk, taking slow, deliberate bites. The rice was warm, the sauce was the perfect balance of sweet and savory, and the edges of the eel were slightly charred. It had been so long since I just considered myself. For years, every meal was dictated by what he wanted, or making sure the restaurant didn’t use anything he was allergic to. After I finished eating, I grabbed a stack of cardboard boxes and started packing. Four years’ worth of textbooks, legal pads, and reference materials filled several large boxes. The edges of some pages were completely frayed from being flipped so many times. The margins were covered in different colored highlighters. This was the physical manifestation of all my exhaustive effort. I used to stupidly believe that as long as I worked hard enough, I could keep up with his genius. My phone vibrated violently against the desk. Andy was calling. I hit accept. “Maya, where are you? Didn’t I send you the address?” The background noise was loud. I could clearly hear Molly’s bright, sparkling laugh through the receiver. “I already told you, I’m not going.” “What is your problem now?” His tone immediately spiked with impatient annoyance. “We literally agreed to this. Molly went out of her way to book the reservation…” I cut him off completely. “Andy. When are you going to give me back my bar exam prep binder?” The line went dead silent for a second. “What binder?” “My criminal procedure master outline from junior year. The massive one you took to study.” My voice was entirely flat. “Navy blue leather cover. The bottom right corner is slightly bent.” “…Oh, right. That one.” His tone immediately relaxed, returning to his usual casual dismissal. “I left it in my dorm. I’ll bring it to you another day.” “Don’t bother. I’ll come by tomorrow morning to pick it up myself.” “Fine, then just…” “Andy! Hurry up! Molly says the dessert here is amazing!” Someone yelled for him in the background. “Gotta go.” He hung up without another word. I listened to the dial tone for a second before sealing the final moving box with packing tape. That navy blue binder was sitting right on top of his desk, the bent corner worn white from use. Every single page in that binder contained hours of my life, sitting under a desk lamp until 3 AM, stealing glances at his handsome profile, quietly harboring a pathetic, desperate crush. I didn’t need to keep any of it anymore. The next morning, I walked over to Andy’s fraternity house. He wasn’t awake. He didn’t answer his texts, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I stood on the porch for twenty minutes before the heavy oak door swung open. Molly walked out. She was wearing a pale yellow sundress, her makeup absolutely flawless. “Maya! Are you here looking for Andy?” “Oh my gosh, he stayed out drinking with us so late last night. I bet he is still completely passed out.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial, playful whisper. “Don’t be mad at him, okay? You know how he is. He just values his friends so much.” I looked at her, my face entirely blank. I didn’t say a word. “Oh, right! He left this at the restaurant last night. Could you give it back to him for me?” She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a silver cufflink. It was the exact cufflink I had bought him for his birthday last semester. I had worked double shifts at a coffee shop just to afford it. When I gave it to him, he promised he would wear it to every important event. Now, it was casually pinched between Molly’s manicured fingers, the polished silver smudged with dirt. “Thanks.” I took it from her. The metal felt ice cold against my palm. “No problem! Anyway, I have to run to the library. My dad is meeting us to go over our thesis drafts.” Molly flashed me a brilliant, gracious smile and practically skipped down the steps. I stood frozen on the porch, gripping the silver cufflink so hard the sharp edges dug painfully into my skin. It took another ten minutes before Andy finally stumbled down the stairs, aggressively rubbing his eyes. “You’ve been waiting forever, huh? The binder is upstairs. Give me a sec to go grab it.” He let out a massive yawn. He absolutely reeked of stale whiskey. “Don’t bother.” I held out my hand and dropped the cufflink into his palm. “I’m returning this to you.” “As for the binder… I’m not in a rush. Take your time looking for it. When you find it, just leave it with the front desk.” He froze, staring down at the silver cufflink. “Wait, why do you have this?” “Molly gave it to me.” “She…” Andy frowned deeply, then immediately smoothed his expression. “Whatever. It’s nothing.” “Maya, why were you so pissed off last night? Just because we didn’t eat dinner together?” I looked at him. The morning sun hit his face, highlighting the same sharp, handsome features I had memorized over the last four years. But right now, all I could see in his eyes was entitled confusion, mixed with the distinct annoyance of someone whose sleep had been interrupted. “Andy. Over the last four years… what exactly do you think I am to you?” He looked genuinely thrown off by the question. He paused for a long second before answering. “You’re my girlfriend.” “I mean… yeah, you’re a little slower on the uptake than the rest of us, but you work incredibly hard. I really appreciate it.” Appreciate it. The word felt like a sponge soaked in dirty water, slamming heavily into my chest, suffocating and dull. “Well, thanks.” I turned around and started walking down the driveway. “Hey! Maya! What about the binder?!” He shouted after me from the porch, but I didn’t turn back. A week later, I moved out of the dorms. The studio apartment I rented was a little run-down, but it got incredible natural light. I carried the heavy boxes of textbooks and legal pads up the stairs, stacking them neatly in the corner of the room. My phone lit up on the cheap wooden desk. It was a new email. The sender was Sterling & Vance, one of the most ruthless corporate law firms in the city. I opened it and read the text carefully. It was an official offer letter for a junior associate position. It detailed my starting salary and my orientation date for next month. This was the result of three grueling months of secret interviews and brutal assessments. I hadn’t told anyone I was applying. They had hired me based on a twenty-page legal brief I had submitted as my writing sample. I had written every single word of that brief entirely on my own. Andy hadn’t offered a single piece of advice or touched a single comma. I closed the email and walked over to the window. The street below was packed with people rushing to work, the sounds of traffic and coffee shop chatter blending into a chaotic rhythm. My mind drifted back to freshman year. During a brutal outdoor orientation event, I had passed out from heatstroke. Andy was the one who carried me to the shade of an oak tree and pressed a cold bottle of water into my hands. With the sun behind him, his forehead slick with sweat, his smile had been so bright it was almost blinding. After that day, I started clumsily orbiting him. Whatever concept he didn’t understand, I would spend hours in the library researching. Whatever study guides he needed, I would stay up all night compiling. I truly believed that making myself useful was the only way I could ever be close to him. My phone buzzed again. Molly had just updated her social media. It was a massive photo dump from a fancy dinner party. In every picture, Andy was sitting right beside her, leaning in close, his eyes entirely focused on whatever she was saying. The final slide was a picture of Molly holding up a glass of champagne, her smile radiant. The caption read: “So thankful for the best guy ever, Andy! And so proud of us! Here’s to crushing our future goals together!” The comment section was entirely flooded with likes and heart emojis from our classmates. I swiped out of the app and opened my text thread with Andy. The last message from me was from the morning on the porch: “Just leave it at the front desk.” His reply was: “Got it. I’ll find it and give it to you.” Nothing since then. I typed: “Did you find the binder?” A few minutes later, he replied: “Looking for it now. My room is a total mess.” Half an hour passed before another text came through. Another thirty minutes later: “Maya, are you free tonight?” “Molly wants to take you out to dinner. She says she hasn’t seen you in a while and misses you.” I stared at the glowing screen, my fingers moving slowly across the keyboard. “No thanks. Andy, let’s break up.” This time, he didn’t reply for a very long time. It wasn’t until 11 PM that a voice memo finally popped up. I tapped play. His voice was slurred with alcohol and thick with aggressive irritation. “Maya, what the hell is your problem now? Are you throwing a tantrum because I’ve been too busy to hang out with you?” “Or is this about Molly again? She is literally like a little sister to me. Are you seriously this insecure?” I cut the audio off halfway through and typed: “It’s not about her. It’s about us. We were never on the same level.” “What are you even talking about? Maya, stop trying to pick fights out of nowhere!” “Are you doing this just because I don’t baby you and beg for your attention like other guys do?” I suddenly felt deeply, overwhelmingly exhausted. My thumbs hovered over the screen, but ultimately, I just typed four words: “Think whatever you want.” After that, Andy went completely dark. He didn’t reach out once until the night before our final thesis defense. My phone buzzed. It was a text from him, as demanding and entitled as always. “Defense is tomorrow. Send me the final bullet points. You know the drill.” Looking at his absolute sheer audacity, I actually laughed out loud in my empty apartment. The thesis defense was the bloodbath of the law school. Molly’s father, the senior partners from top firms, and recruiters from Sterling & Vance would all be sitting on the panel. It was framed as an academic review, but everyone knew it was an elite drafting ground. Andy was absolutely determined to secure the associate slot at Sterling & Vance. I thought about it for a second, then replied: “Didn’t Molly already rewrite your rough draft for you?” “She is a genius. You definitely don’t need my notes anymore.” He replied in less than a second: “Stop acting like a child! Her draft is just a theoretical reference. Your notes have the core logical framework. Send the file right now!” Seeing his panic, I simply typed: “No. You’re on your own this time.” After that text, he called me frantically. I watched the screen light up over and over again, but I didn’t answer a single one. The next morning, less than thirty minutes before he was scheduled to take the podium, he sent me a massive block of panicked texts. “Maya, I’m sorry! Molly’s draft is complete garbage! It makes no sense!” “The Sterling partners are on the panel today! I cannot bomb this! Please, just send me the final logic framework! I am begging you!” I read his terrified, desperate messages. Then, I opened my laptop and created a brand-new Word document. I typed a single sentence dead center on the page, named the file Final Core Logic Framework, and emailed it to him. The auditorium was packed. I sat quietly in the back row, watching the stage with total detachment. When it was Andy’s turn, he walked up to the podium in a sharp, tailored suit, but his steps were visibly unsteady. He offered a stiff nod to Molly’s father on the panel, shot a nervous glance at Molly in the front row, and cleared his throat. “Good morning. Today, I will be presenting a completely new logical deconstruction of a highly complex corporate litigation case.” He clicked his presentation remote, took a deep breath, and opened the file I had just emailed him.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499821”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The day Bill and I completely fell apart, I unexpectedly received a video call from myself from eight years ago. The girl on the screen was standing right outside City Hall, her face flushed with excitement. When she saw Bill and me together in the frame, she let out a thrilled scream. “Look! We’re still together eight years from now! Bill, don’t you dare give up on her!” Beside her, the younger version of Bill shifted nervously, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and anxiety. “Did I actually make something of myself?” he whispered, staring at the camera. “Did I finally give you the life you wanted?” Eight years ago, Bill was dirt poor. My parents had sneered at his empty pockets and treated him like absolute garbage. To marry him, I had climbed out of my second-story bedroom window, breaking my leg in the fall, just to run away with him. “You worked so hard,” I told him, my voice tight. “Now, thousands of people depend on you for their livelihood. You’re a titan in your industry.” A bright, triumphant smile broke across the young boy’s face. “If my math is right, are you two heading out to celebrate our anniversary?” I slowly shook my head. I angled the camera down, focusing on the official divorce papers in my hand, before panning slowly to the glamorous, delicate woman clinging to Bill’s other side. “Bill. Eight years later, you don’t love me anymore.” Before the young couple could process my words, a hand violently snatched my phone. “Crack!” The screen shattered against the concrete, spiderwebbing into a thousand frozen fractures. The video call abruptly cut to black. “Is this really necessary?” Bill sneered, his voice dripping with impatience. “It’s just a temporary divorce to shield Tessa from the media. Did you seriously hire an AI team to play along with this pathetic drama?” “Rachel, don’t push me!” Last week, on my birthday, Bill hadn’t come home. I had dialed his number dozens of times, only to be met with endless ringing. The very next morning, intimate photos of him and Tessa, his newly signed actress, whispering in a hot spring resort, went viral. When the reporters cornered me, shoving microphones into my face, I didn’t play the dutiful, silent wife as Bill had expected. Instead, I exposed everything. I told the press how Tessa had been chasing wealthy older men since her college days. The public went wild. Tessa was instantly branded a homewrecker and faced a massive online boycott. Bill’s immediate reaction was to punish me. “Tessa is an orphan,” he had argued, his eyes flashing with anger. “She had to take some dark paths just to survive in the past. But that doesn’t give you the right to tear open her wounds in public.” “This divorce is your lesson. Consider it your apology to her.” Bill didn’t even look at me now. He casually handed the divorce papers to Tessa to hold. “I’ll have the PR department draft a statement shortly,” he murmured to her, his voice softening. “We’ll hire some accounts to clear your name. Don’t worry, sweetheart. No one will call you a mistress again.” Tessa snuggled deeper into his chest, her eyes sparkling with the starry-eyed adoration of a twenty-something girl. “You’re so good to me, Bill.” I bent down and picked up my shattered phone, my face expressionless. I simply held out my hand to him. “A screen replacement is three hundred dollars. Plus travel and missed work, make it six hundred.” Bill’s brow furrowed in disgust. I shifted my gaze to the bespoke silk gown Tessa was wearing. “Nice taste. You managed to find the most expensive item in my closet. That makes it twenty thousand and six hundred dollars in total.” Tessa’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A stupid dress is worth twenty grand? From the moment we started talking about divorce yesterday, all you do is bring up money. And you claim you aren’t after Bill’s fortune?” I didn’t bother replying to her. I just stared at Bill. From my knee to my ankle, there was a jagged, raised scar. I had gotten it eight years ago, when I climbed out of that window to run away with him and got snagged on a rusted wire fence. Since that day, I had stopped wearing short skirts. Back then, whenever Bill touched that scar, he would weep, promising to make it up to me. When he made his first million, he commissioned a renowned atelier in Florence to hand-embroider this very gown. It took a team of master tailors half a year to finish. It was too precious. In eight years, I had only worn it once. Bill’s lips twitched. He pulled out his phone and instructed his assistant to wire me one hundred thousand dollars. “Rachel, I know you’re just acting out to spite me. Take the cash and go on a vacation.” “Once Tessa’s scandal blows over, we’ll get remarried.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa and walked away. An hour later, Bill released a fabricated photo of me with a random man, framing me for an affair. He was willing to paint himself as a cuckold just to clear Tessa’s name. “All done, ma’am. Take a look,” the repair technician said, handing back my phone. I looked away from the news on the shop’s tablet and pressed the power button. Before I could even unlock the home screen, a video call request flashed across the display. My eight-years-ago self appeared once more. The joy was completely gone from her face. Next to her, the young Bill hung his head, not daring to look at the lens. “Is it true?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Does Bill… really love someone else now?” I nodded. “Did you still sign those marriage papers?” The two young lovers looked at each other, their faces filled with a complicated, agonizing silence. “No,” she said softly. A wave of relief washed over me. I didn’t look at the young Bill. I kept my eyes fixed on my younger self. “Go home. Mom and Dad have been waiting for you.” The girl’s eyes swelled with tears. She shook her head, clinging to a fading hope. “Is there really no turning back? Does he… love that other girl that much?” I walked into the bathroom in silence. Slowly, I pulled off my shirt. From my collarbone down to my chest lay a massive, horrific burn scar. “Three years ago, when I first caught Bill cheating, I slapped Tessa. He locked me in the basement as punishment. That night, Tessa claimed she wanted to see fireworks. She lit one and threw it through the basement window. It started a fire, and I barely made it out alive.” I lowered the camera to show the long, jagged surgical scar on my abdomen. “Two years ago today, I was eight months pregnant. Bill promised he’d come home for our anniversary. I waited until midnight, but he never showed. I fell down the stairs, and my uterus ruptured. While I was being rushed into emergency surgery for a stillbirth, he was in Milan, watching a fashion show with Tessa.” Every single time, Bill would kneel before me, weeping and swearing he’d cut ties with her. But each time, he only got better at hiding it. For three years, this marriage had been a sick, exhausting game of hide-and-seek. All my endurance and compromises had turned into a tragic joke. I was exhausted. I couldn’t play anymore. So, when Bill suggested a divorce yesterday to save Tessa, I agreed. Hearing this, both of them in the past turned deathly pale. I pulled my clothes back on, stepped out of the shop, and hailed a cab. Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced through the phone. The device must have dropped, leaving the screen pitch-black. I could hear the young Bill’s frantic, trembling voice. “The wound on your leg opened up again. It’s bleeding! Don’t move, let me get the bandages!” “Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” the girl cried out, her voice breaking. “Bill, I regret ever running away with you.” I disconnected the call. When I reached the house, I found Bill busy in the kitchen. For a moment, I stood frozen. He hadn’t cooked a meal in years. When we first arrived in New York eight years ago, he was so consumed by guilt and love that he never let me lift a finger. During the freezing winter months, we huddled together in a drafty, unheated basement. Our breath rose in pale, shivering plumes like tiny clouds drifting toward the ceiling. He would wrap his arms around me, tight and freezing cold. “Rachel, give me three years. I swear I’ll give you the life you deserve.” To secure his very first investment, he had once crawled under a client’s legs and licked alcohol off the man’s shoes. He had told me, “I can take the dirtiest paths, but I will never let you regret choosing me.” But as our houses grew bigger, he grew busier. Eventually, a young, vibrant girl named Tessa appeared by his side. I only found out when a paparazzi sent blackmail photos to my phone. “Rachel, come taste this. How is it?” Bill’s voice snapped me back to reality. He guided me down into a dining chair. In front of me was a bowl of chicken soup with red dates and goji berries. My throat tightened. During my recovery from the stillbirth two years ago, this was all I drank. A wave of intense nausea hit me. “Is she… pregnant?” A flicker of hesitation crossed Bill’s eyes, but it vanished instantly. “Rachel, your uterus was severely damaged back then. You can’t have children anymore.” “Tessa and I talked. Once the baby is born, we’ll raise it under your name. It’ll make up for your regrets, won’t it?” I stood up slowly, my body stiff. “But didn’t you get a vasectomy?” After the stillbirth, I had demanded a divorce. He had begged me on his knees, crying, and dragged me to the clinic to get a vasectomy to prove his devotion. So, the surgery was a lie. Just another trick to soften my heart. Bill frowned. “Do you have to be this bitter? Just because you can’t have kids, does that mean I should never have an heir?” I laughed, a numb, empty sound. I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. The phone rang again with a video call. On the screen, my eight-years-ago self was limping down the street, dragging a heavy suitcase. Bill leaned over my shoulder, locking eyes with her. In the heavy silence, the young girl’s eyes were swollen from crying, but her voice was resolute. “Bill. I’m going home. I’m going to let my parents set me up on those blind dates. I won’t give you another chance to destroy my future.” In the background, the young, heartbroken Bill followed her at a distance, too afraid to even breathe loudly. Beside me, the current Bill let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Where did you hire this AI team? The technology is impressive. Give me their contact info. Tessa is pregnant, but she still has a movie to finish. This tech could come in handy for her double.” “Go to bed early. Don’t wait up for me.” He poured the soup into a thermos, eager to run to Tessa. He didn’t know. Eight years ago, the only reason I had rushed to run away with him was because my parents were indeed arranging a marriage for me. A sharp ache hit my nose. I hadn’t been home in years. With trembling fingers, I dialed my parents’ number. They picked up almost instantly. The roaring sound of wind rushed through the speaker, catching me off guard. “Rachel? Your dad and I are already on our way to New York. Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’re coming to back you up. No one gets to bully our daughter!” I had forgotten. They would see the news online. The tears finally spilled over, uncontrollable. All these years, my parents must have watched me from afar through those media tabloids, waiting for me to need them. Yet, because of Bill, I had abandoned the only people who truly loved me. After hanging up, I began to pack. I shred every single wedding photo and couple picture we ever took. The luxury items cluttering the rooms were sold off to consignment shops at a massive discount. Finally, I was left with just two suitcases. I could finally leave this prison. But I waited all night, and my parents never arrived. I called them repeatedly, but the line was constantly busy. Then, the hospital called. My parents were involved in a massive pileup on the upstate interstate. When I rushed to the hospital, I found my parents lying on gurneys in the hallway, covered in blood. No one was treating them. The nurse looked at me with helpless pity. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Every surgeon on duty—both trauma and OB-GYN—was called away to the film studio by Mr. Bill.” “You don’t know? His pregnant wife insisted on doing her own stunts, and he couldn’t stop her. He was so terrified of an accident that he cleared out the hospital’s staff…” My mind went entirely blank. I forgot that Bill was the primary investor in this private hospital. With shaking hands, I dialed his number. “Bill! My parents are in a critical car accident! Can you please send the surgeons back? Please!” But the first voice I heard was Tessa’s whining. “This next scene requires me to go into the water. I’m worried about the baby.” “Then we won’t shoot it. I’ll have the director cut the scene.” “No, an actress must serve the script. Why don’t we have Rachel do it? She can be my body double.” Afraid Bill might say no, Tessa purred, “You always say I look just like she did when she was young. There’s no one more perfect for a last-minute double. Please, Bill? I really want to win Best Actress with this film.” Bill sighed affectionately, only then noticing the call had connected. “You heard her. Come to the set as Tessa’s double, and I’ll send the doctors back immediately.” I gripped the phone, screaming in absolute agony. “Bill! Those are my parents! How can you use their lives to blackmail me?!” “Heh. Why don’t you ask them? When they threatened to ruin me eight years ago if I didn’t leave you, did they ever think they’d be begging me for their lives today?” Before I could speak, Bill snapped coldly, “If you aren’t at the studio in twenty minutes, don’t expect a single doctor in New York to touch them. Your choice.” He hung up. I looked at my mother, who had suddenly started vomiting blood. Sobbing, I texted Bill: [Fine. I’m coming. Send the doctors now.] He replied with a single character: [1] For Tessa, Bill would stop at nothing. I could not risk my parents’ lives. A torrential downpour began. Just a mile from the studio, the traffic ground to a halt. I paid the cabbie and threw myself out into the storm. Heavy raindrops pelted my face, cold and painful. Crash! An electric scooter slammed into me from the side, throwing me to the wet pavement. Agony flared through my body. My vision went dark, but I forced myself up. I couldn’t stop. Limping, I dragged myself toward the studio lot. Almost there. Just a little further. Inside the dry studio, Tessa nestled in Bill’s arms. “She’s three minutes late,” she pouted. I leaned weakly against the wall, my legs trembling in intense pain. “The rain… the traffic… I was hit by a scooter…” Suddenly, my phone rang. “Miss Rachel… I’m so sorry. Your parents couldn’t wait any longer. They’ve passed away.” I froze, staring blankly at Bill. It took a long, agonizing moment for my voice to return. “You… you didn’t send the doctors back?” Bill looked at my mud-stained, bloody, and shivering figure. A sudden pang of sharp guilt struck his chest. He opened his mouth to explain. But Tessa stood up, her expression arrogant and smug. “How were we supposed to know if you were actually coming? What if you were lying?” She stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “And by the way, I arranged that little car crash.” “Who told your parents to call and threaten me? They actually thought they could ruin my life and make me pay.” She gently caresses her flat stomach and smirked. “Rachel, look at you now. What do you have left to fight me with?” All sanity evaporated. A primal rage consumed me, and I flung myself at her, wrapping my hands tightly around her neck. Only one thought filled my mind: Kill her. Kill her! Bill lunged forward, kicking me violently in the chest. I crashed to the concrete floor. “Are you insane?! Tessa is pregnant! How could you lay a hand on her?!” Tears mixed with the rainwater on my face. I screamed at him, “Bill, she did this! She planned the crash! She murdered my parents!” “Enough!” Bill barks. He didn’t believe a word. “I already sent the best surgeons back to the hospital. Rachel, I know you’re jealous and angry, but there is a limit! If these ridiculous murder accusations get out, do you have any idea how much it will hurt Tessa’s career?!” Even now, his only concern was her reputation. I looked at him, my eyes hollow with complete despair. “Bill. If I had known you were this heartless, I would have never run away with you eight years ago.” My words pierced a raw nerve. Bill was wealthy and powerful now, and he loathes any reminder of the days when he was dirt under people’s boots. His veins bulged on his forehead as he glared at me. “Fine. Since you love the past so much, let me give you a taste of those miserable days!” “Tessa has a few water scenes today. You’re doing them.” Before I could protest, I was forced into Tessa’s wardrobe and brutally thrown into the deep studio pool. But I didn’t know how to swim. Freezing, filthy water flooded my nose and throat. My body sank. Just as the darkness began to take me, a bodyguard dragged me up by my hair. Before I can even gasp for air, I was thrown back in. The torture repeated over and over, until the director, unable to watch any longer, finally called out, “That’s a wrap. We’re done.” The studio emptied. Silence fell. On the concrete floor, my phone screen lighted up with a familiar video call. I lay there, staring blankly, too numb to care. In the end, even my parents died because of me. Rachel, you are so pathetic. An hour later, Bill returned. He looked around the dark, empty studio. “Rachel? Come out. I’ll take you home.” Only hollow echoes answered him. He walked toward the window, his eyes catching something on the ground floor outside. A splash of brilliant, horrifying red. His breath stopped. He wanted to run down, but his legs felt like lead. Nearby, my phone rang again. A video call. Shaking, he picked it up and pressed accept. On the screen, my eight-years-ago self appeared, wearing a stunning white wedding dress. Standing next to her was a handsome, unfamiliar man. “Rachel, I’m getting married,” she said softly. “But this time, the groom isn’t Bill.” Bill’s hand shook violently. He stared at her youthful, beautiful face, his throat too tight to speak. The girl in the video looked at him, her expression turning into confusion. “Bill? Where is Rachel?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499820”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Five years with Scott, and I finally gave him a daughter. But on the night of her one-month welcoming gala, my world shattered. I had just finished nursing her in the private lounge. As I carried her down the grand staircase into the ballroom, a piercing shriek echoed through the hall. “Somebody help! She stole my baby!” I looked up in shock. A woman I had never seen before was lunging toward me, her face drenched in tears. And my husband, Scott, was standing right beside her. His eyes were cold as ice. He wrapped a protective arm around her waist, glaring at me as he barked orders at the security guards. “Grab her! Don’t let the child trafficker get away!” I screamed. I begged. I yelled his name, crying out that the baby was ours, that I had given birth to her. But every piece of evidence they pulled up—the family portraits on the digital screens, the birth certificates, the recovery center records, the private photographs—listed the mother as Vivian, the stranger sobbing in my husband’s arms. Even my own mother, when called, colder than winter frost, claimed I was a single career woman who had never even had a boyfriend, let alone a child. In the end, branded a delusional kidnapper, I was beaten to death by the furious crowd right there at my own daughter’s celebration. But then, the darkness broke. I opened my eyes to find myself back in the lounge, the warmth of my baby in my arms. Outside the heavy mahogany doors, the laughter and chatter of the guests echoed softly. 2 It was supposed to be my daughter’s welcoming gala. In my past life, the moment I stepped into that ballroom, the world turned on me, calling me a monster, a baby thief. Outside the door, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne. Inside this quiet room, I had just finished nursing my sweet girl, my heart bursting with a mother’s joy, completely unaware of the slaughterhouse waiting for me. For five years, I had loved Scott. To bring this beautiful girl into the world, I had nearly died on the operating table. I still remembered the night my water broke early. The hemorrhage had left my limbs freezing, my vision slipping away. Scott had shoved past the doctors, crashing to his knees beside my hospital bed. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling violently as he squeezed my cold fingers. His tears hot against my skin. “Monica, stay with me! Please, don’t sleep! If you make it through this, I swear on my life I will protect you and our baby. I don’t care about anything else, I just need you both alive!” That promise was the anchor that kept me tethered to life. Yet, on the day of her welcoming gala, that anchor was brutally shattered. In my previous life, the moment I pushed open the heavy ballroom doors, the glare of the massive crystal chandeliers made me squint. Before I could even smile, a woman’s voice cut through the music like a siren. “Somebody help! Grab her! She stole my baby!” I froze. A woman clad in a stunning haute couture gown tore through the crowd, her face twisted in artificial agony. And Scott, the man who had sworn to protect me with his life, was holding her close, his eyes filled with nothing but utter disgust when they landed on me. “Where is security? Are you all useless?” Scott pointed a finger at me. “Pin her down! Don’t let this thief hurt my daughter!” My mind had gone blank. Clutching my crying daughter to my chest, I had screamed until my throat bled. “Scott! Are you insane? Look at me! It’s Monica! I gave birth to her!” But the next thirty minutes were a living nightmare. The baby portraits on the ballroom’s giant screens showed Vivian’s face next to Scott’s. The hospital records listed the mother as Vivian. Even the luxury postpartum retreat where I had spent the last four weeks registered her as their VIP client. In desperation, I had called my mother. Her voice on the line was hostile and distant. “Is this some kind of scam? My daughter Monica is a workaholic. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a baby. Call again and I’m contacting the police!” Just like that, I was labeled a psychotic kidnapper. Furious guests closed in on me. A heavy boot struck my ribs, followed by the brutal strike of a guard’s baton. I had curled into a tight ball on the floor, using my spine to shield my daughter. In the chaos, a leather shoe kicked my temple. My head slammed against the sharp edge of a marble table, and warm blood flooded my eyes, blurring my vision. In my final second of consciousness, I saw Scott gently cradling my daughter, whispering sweet nothings to her, while Vivian rested her chin on his shoulder, smiling as I drew my last breath in a pool of my own blood. Buzz. A sharp ringing in my ears snapped me back to reality. The sudden, soft warmth in my arms made my entire body shudder. I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was sitting on the plush leather sofa of the private suite. My daughter was fast asleep in my arms, her tiny mouth moving in her sleep, sweet with the scent of milk. Outside, the faint sound of clinking glasses and laughter drifted through the door. A cold sweat drenched my back, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely hold her. I was reborn. I was back in the lounge, ten minutes before the gala was set to begin. I bit my lip hard, the copper taste of blood proving this was no dream. This time, I would not walk blindly into their trap. 3 I had to secure undeniable proof. Holding my daughter tight, I forced my racing heart to slow down. I couldn’t panic. Charging out to confront them was suicide. The brass doorknob clicked, turning slowly. My muscles tensed instantly as I stared at the entrance. Scott walked in, looking impeccably handsome in his tailored black tuxedo. The soft lighting caught the sharp angles of his face, his eyes carrying that same tender warmth that had once made me feel like the luckiest woman alive. He stepped over, his movements natural as he reached out to adjust my collar. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on our baby’s forehead. “You’ve worked so hard, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rich with affection. “It’s crowded and chaotic out there. Don’t rush. I’ll head down first to greet the guests. Come down whenever you’re ready.” He walked over to the water dispenser, filling a glass with warm water. He tested the temperature against his palm before bringing it to my lips. “Here, drink some water. Nursing takes a lot out of you. Don’t catch a cold.” Looking at this familiar face, seeing the adoration shining in his eyes, a small part of me wavered. His tenderness felt so real. Could five years of devotion, of warm meals and late-night comfort, truly be nothing but an act? Could this all be some postpartum depression-induced nightmare? But as he turned to grab a tissue, I caught it. A fleeting, icy flash of sheer impatience crossed his features. In that fraction of a second, the phantom pain of my skull fracturing in my past life surged through my body. It wasn’t a dream. Today was the day he planned to destroy me. I forced a weak smile and took the glass. “Thanks, babe. I got up too fast and my head is spinning. Give me five minutes to catch my breath.” Scott suspected nothing. He patted my hair gently. “Of course. I’ll tell the staff not to disturb you. See you downstairs.” The moment the door clicked shut and locked, the weakness vanished from my face. I didn’t trust him anymore. I only trusted solid evidence. I pulled out my phone, switched on the front-facing camera, and framed both myself and my sleeping daughter. “My name is Monica,” I spoke clearly into the camera, fighting the tremor in my voice. “Today is April eighth, 2026. I am in the third-floor VIP lounge at the Grand Regent Hotel. This baby in my arms is my biological daughter, born to me and Scott.” I zoomed in, capturing a crystal-clear shot of the physical birth certificate I had kept in my bag. Once the video was recorded, I didn’t save it locally. Scott was a tech mogul. He had a dozen ways to wipe my phone remotely. Instead, I logged into an alternate email account, attached the video along with a detailed explanation, and set it to send automatically in ten minutes. The recipient was my most trusted childhood friend, Natalie. Next, I grabbed the Polaroid camera left on the table, meant for guests to take commemorative photos. I pressed my cheek against my daughter’s soft face, making sure the background clearly captured the digital clock showing the current time. Click. The camera whirred, spitting out the physical photo. As the colors slowly bled into view, the image of mother and daughter holding each other became undeniable. I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the deep crevice of the leather sofa. I folded the photo tightly and shoved it deep into the hidden gap between the cushions. Finally, I tucked the birth certificate securely into my brassiere, right against my skin, and took a deep breath. With these physical proofs, let’s see how he tries to erase my existence today. I held my daughter close and walked toward the ballroom. The moment my hand touched the brass handle of the double doors, the words I would never forget echoed from the other side. “Grab her! She stole my baby!” 4 I took a deep breath and threw the doors open. Just like in my previous life, Vivian was pointing at me, her face contorted in a theatrical sob. The script of my tragedy was unfolding exactly as before. Scott stepped forward instantly, pulling Vivian into his chest. When he looked at me, the warmth he had shown in the lounge just minutes ago was completely gone. “Security! Lock the exits! Pin her down!” The hum of hundreds of guests silenced instantly. The music stopped, and countless eyes locked onto me. “I stole a baby?” I stood my ground, letting out a cold laugh. Cradling my daughter with one arm, I pulled out my phone with the other. “Scott, watch your mouth. Let’s see what the video says!” I tapped the screen, opening my gallery to play the high-definition video I had just recorded. But the moment my finger touched the screen, the display flickered violently. The video file dissolved into a screen of static. File corrupted. My chest tightened. A localized network jammer. I quickly checked my email app to see if the scheduled message to Natalie had gone through. Sent folder: empty. Drafts: empty. “No proof? Kidnappers these days are getting bolder, crashing a welcoming gala to cause a scene!” Scott’s mother charged forward like a wild animal, pointing a manicured finger at my face. “You crazy, shameless woman! My daughter-in-law Vivian was on stage the whole night! That baby in your arms is our family’s flesh and blood!” I grit my teeth, turning my gaze to Martha, the nanny who had helped me recover at home for the past month. She was currently cowering behind my mother-in-law. “Martha!” I screamed, locking eyes with her. “You made my meals every single day! You helped clean my C-section wounds! Tell everyone the truth! Am I the mother or not?!” Martha flinched, her face turning pale. She shrank back, refusing to look at me, her voice trembling like dry leaves. “Ma’am… I think you have the wrong person. I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Vivian and her baby for the past month.” The hotel manager stepped forward, holding out a thick folder. “Security, take her down! This woman is clearly unstable. All our bookings, payments, and event details were signed by Mr. Scott and Mrs. Vivian. We’ve never seen this woman before.” I watched as my digital safety nets were erased into thin air, and the people I saw daily turned on me without a shred of hesitation. Whispers broke out among the guests, their expressions shifting from curiosity to hostility. The security guards raised their batons, moving in on me. The crushing weight of being erased by the world felt even heavier this time. I shielded my whimpering daughter, biting my tongue until the taste of iron filled my mouth to keep from screaming in panic. “Fine!” I bellowed, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “You’ve all been paid off, haven’t you? Call the police! Let them run the official check! I dare you to try and fake the federal government and hospital databases!” The wail of police sirens cut through the tense air outside. Ten minutes later, four police officers entered, sealing the exits. I immediately turned to the lead officer. “Officer, this is my husband Scott, and this baby is my biological daughter! They are conspiring to steal my child and have fabricated everything!” Before the officer could speak, Scott stepped forward, presenting an elegant business card. “Officer, I am Scott, CEO of Aether Technologies. I have never seen this woman before. She crashed my daughter’s gala, tried to kidnap her, and is speaking gibberish. I believe she is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis.” The officer frowned. “Ma’am, do you have any official identification or proof of maternity? We need to verify hospital records.” “Check them!” I shouted, staring at Scott. “City Maternity Hospital, Room VIP Three, C-section on the eighth of last month! Check their system!” The lead officer nodded to his partner, who stepped aside to call the database registry. The wait felt like an eternity. When the officer returned, his expression had hardened into suspicion. “How is it, Officer?” I asked desperately. The officer showed me his screen. “The records from City Maternity Hospital show that the patient in VIP Three on the eighth of last month was Vivian. The mother’s name on the birth registry is Vivian, and the spouse’s signature belongs to Scott.” He pointed to the plastic band on my baby’s ankle. “Even the tracking code on the baby’s bracelet matches Vivian. Ma’am, how do you explain this?” In my past life, this was the moment I had lost my mind, screaming in despair. But now, I simply smiled. I reached into my coat, unzipped my inner pocket, and pulled out the physical birth certificate I had kept pressed against my warm skin. Let’s see them lie their way out of this. The officer blinked in surprise, taking the paper. There, in clear black ink, was the mother’s name: Monica. But a second later, the officer let out a sharp hum. “Ma’am, this document is a forgery.” I froze. How could that be? I had obtained that document myself. A dark, icy realization washed over me. I looked at Scott, who had a faint, mocking smirk on his lips. “No, wait! I have other proof!” In my past life, my mother had denied me. This time, my only hope was Natalie. I dialed her number on speaker. But her voice on the other end chilled me to the bone. “Scott? I’ve never heard of any Scott. Monica is single, she’s never had a child.” “Natalie, look at your emails! I sent you the proof! Why are you lying to me?!” Seeing my panic, the officers stepped closer, ready to restrain me. Fear clawed at my chest. Why was this happening? Was my memory truly fractured? No. There was still one thing. “Officer, please! There is one more piece of physical evidence! Come with me to the lounge!” I led the police and a trail of whispering guests back to the private suite. Even if the birth certificate was a fake, that physical Polaroid would prove my connection to my child. The crowd watched as I desperately dug my hand into the sofa cushion. “Still lying. This is terrifying,” a guest muttered. “She’s completely delusional.” “Postpartum psychosis is no joke. To plan all this and fake documents just to steal a baby…” “Get her to an asylum before she hurts the child!” The voices buzzed in my ears, but no matter how deep I reached, my fingers found nothing. The Polaroid was gone. The officers’ patience had run out. An emergency medical crew arrived, two burly male orderlies carrying leather restraints and a sedative syringe, stepping slowly toward me. The memory of being beaten to death on this very floor rose like a dark tide, threatening to drown my sanity. Was I going to die here again? Was my entire existence about to be erased? As my body trembled on the verge of collapse, my eyes caught Scott. He was looking down, calmly adjusting his elegant French cuffs. In that instant, a bolt of lightning seemed to split my mind wide open. I stared at his wrists, and everything clicked. I finally understood why he had spent five years weaving this elaborate web, and exactly why he needed me to give birth to this baby.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499819”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My wife has an avoidant attachment style. So, on our anniversary, when I half-jokingly asked her if she loved me, and she simply placed some food on my plate instead of answering, I finally understood everything. Giselle’s expression was as gentle as it always was. “Luke, I remember this is your favorite dish, right?” For the past five years, whenever things like this happened, I would put on a fake smile and let her get away with it. But this time, I set my chopsticks down, gathering the courage to ask the question I had kept locked in my heart for years. “Giselle, what am I to you, really?” It felt like a century passed before Giselle let out a long, heavy sigh. “Luke, you are my husband, my partner for the rest of my life. I respect you. Please, don’t make things difficult for me.” I wanted to press further, but she suddenly stood up, muttering with a mix of annoyance and anger. “If I knew marriage was going to be this exhausting, I wouldn’t have married you in the first place.” I sat frozen in my seat. I thought of our wedding photo, where she had seamlessly photoshopped her first love’s face over mine and used it as her phone lock screen for five years. A bitter smile crept onto my face. If that was how she felt, then let our marriage end here, in its fifth year. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my director, accepting the three-year overseas transfer. Then, I stood up and began clearing the cluttered dining table. I knew that if I didn’t clean it, the leftovers would sit there until they rotted, and no one else would care. Giselle, who had already retreated to her room, suddenly walked back out. Like a headless chicken, she asked, “Luke, where did you put my blue nightgown?” I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Giselle didn’t say anything, but she shot me a deeply disappointed look. “Don’t forget next time.” She turned back to her room to start her company’s online meeting, leaving me standing there as my dishcloth slipped from my fingers onto the table. Every single chore in this house, from sweeping and mopping to wiping the windows, doing the dishes, and cooking, was my responsibility. She merely enjoyed the results and reminded me to do better next time. But when we first married, she had promised me otherwise. “In the future, I’ll keep the house spotless so you can focus entirely on your career! Luke, your hands are too beautiful, I will never let these gorgeous hands wash a single dish or mop a floor!” I lifted my hands, staring at them. The skin was rough, the knuckles swollen, and my fingerprints had been nearly eroded by harsh cleaning chemicals. Giselle had severe OCD, yet she hated having strangers in the house, so every chore fell on me. The washing machine beeped, signaling that the spin cycle was finished and it was time to hang the clothes. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Luke, oh Luke, how did you let your life turn into this? I stopped cleaning, turned around, and walked into my own bedroom. This life, I didn’t want it anymore. 2 By our third year of marriage, Giselle and I were already sleeping in separate beds. Looking back, the reason was almost laughable. It was because I had discovered that on her phone wallpaper, the face of the groom in our wedding photo had been replaced with someone else’s. It was Chase, her first love, the white moonlight she could never have. Because she couldn’t control her longing, she had quietly pasted his face over mine, pretending that they were the ones who had married. To outsiders, she was praised as a loving wife. She was successful, the youngest branch manager in her company, and every single one of her social media profiles featured sweet wedding photos with her husband. I had once confronted her about it in a rage. But Giselle had simply handed me a glass of water, asking with absolute seriousness, “Luke, taste this. Does it taste strange to you? It tastes off to me.” I had opened my mouth, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind, but I didn’t know where to start. Before we married, Giselle had repeatedly emphasized that she had an avoidant attachment style and that I must never corner her with questions. I took the glass and drank it in one gulp. All the unspoken words went down with the tasteless water. I gave up on pushing her for answers because I knew that if Giselle didn’t want to answer a question, cornering her would yield nothing but silence. I turned off the bedroom lights. My phone buzzed with a message from my director. “Luke, you’ve made the right decision. As a core technical asset of our group, this transfer to Europe is the perfect opportunity for your career.” I turned off the screen and closed my eyes to sleep. Right then, Giselle knocked on my door. “Luke, are you asleep?” I didn’t answer. She continued, “I was too impulsive earlier, and I want to apologize. Didn’t you always say you wanted to visit the theme park? I just booked tickets for this weekend. Let’s celebrate our fifth anniversary properly.” I opened the door and looked into her eyes. “How many tickets did you book?” “Four.” “Why four?” Giselle looked completely puzzled by my question. “Because I’m bringing Paige and Toby with us.” The tiny spark of hope that had just risen in my chest was instantly doused, leaving me entirely cold. “For our fifth anniversary,” I said, pronouncing each word slowly, “you want to bring your younger siblings?” “Yes. Haven’t the four of us always gone out together? Why are you suddenly unhappy about it now?” Giselle was right. For the past five years, every single one of our couple’s activities had been crowded by her siblings. Our romantic candlelit dinners were always tables for four. The beach vacations we spent months saving for were spent in family suites. She claimed that as the eldest daughter, she had a responsibility to her family. Taking care of her siblings was her duty, just as taking care of me was. I suddenly realized. Because she didn’t love me, everything had simply become a duty. “I don’t want to go anymore,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Giselle let out a sigh, her expression saying here we go again with your tantrums. “Luke, what exactly do you want from me?” She used my full name, her patience clearly at its limit. I stared at her. “Are you deaf? I said I don’t want to go!” “But why?” “Because you have never, not once, treated the two of us as a single unit! You always have to drag a third or fourth person into our lives!” I was hysterical, screaming like a madman, while she watched me with a cold, detached calmness. “Is this really necessary?” Giselle’s voice finally rose. “I just wanted to take my siblings out for some fun. What is so wrong with that?” “And our fifth anniversary?” “How is this not celebrating our anniversary? Going out together is a celebration. Does it only count if we lock ourselves in a room? Why do you have to be so…” Giselle didn’t finish her sentence, but I already knew the word. Selfish. I was too selfish. I always thought too much, cared too much, held onto tiny details, and demanded too many answers. I had been hearing these accusations for five years. “Let me ask you, once we get to the park, who is going to look after those two kids?” Giselle opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She knew the answer, which was why she couldn’t speak. “Didn’t you always say you loved children?” she finally muttered. I froze. I never expected her to throw those words at me. It was like a needle driving straight into my deepest wound, executed with a precision that was far too deliberate to be an accident. Giselle had been pregnant once. Our very first child. But the pregnancy ended almost as soon as it began. When Chase got married, Giselle had locked herself in the house and drank herself into a stupor. In her drunken state, she stumbled against the edge of a table and miscarried. I had never told her that I knew the truth, wanting to shield her from the guilt. I took all the blame, claiming I hadn’t taken proper care of her. And now, she was using that lost child as a weapon to wound me. I forced myself to calm down, asking her with quiet sincerity, “Giselle, the space in your heart was never meant for me, was it?” Giselle’s expression flickered. It wasn’t anger, but a brief, panic-stricken realization of being exposed. The panic lasted less than a second before she masked it with her usual shield of dismissiveness. “You’re starting again,” she said, turning to walk away. I stood in the quiet hallway, a soft laugh escaping my lips. Yes, I was starting again. But this time, everything was going to end. I met with a lawyer the next day to draft the divorce papers. The division of assets was simple: what was hers remained hers, and what was mine remained mine. Our finances had been strictly separate throughout our marriage, which made the split remarkably clean. At work, my director called me into his office. “Luke, the company has booked your ticket. You fly out in three days. Are you all set on your end?” I paused for a fraction of a second before nodding firmly. “Yes, I’m ready.” Before I left, the director stopped me. “Your family supports this move, right? I remember you and your wife always seemed very close.” I remembered when I first received the transfer offer. I hadn’t wanted to go, wanting to use the opportunity to test how much Giselle cared. “Sweetheart, the company wants to send me to Europe for three years. Will you miss me?” I had wrapped my arms around her from behind, but Giselle had peeled my fingers away, one by one. “Let’s go hiking this weekend. I heard the wild flowers on the mountain are beautiful!” She never gave a direct answer to anything involving her feelings for me. At first, I thought she was just shy. Then, I believed it was just her personality. Now, I understood. In a marriage, there is no such thing as an avoidant attachment style. There is only love, or the lack of it. “Don’t worry, Director. I’ve discussed it with my family. It won’t affect my transfer.” In a rare turn of events, Giselle came to pick me up from work that evening. My colleagues noticed her car parked by the curb, with a beautifully decorated cake sitting visibly on the passenger seat. “Luke, your wife is so good to you!” “Yeah, you’ve been married for years and we’ve never heard you complain. Men as blessed as you are hard to find!” Giselle walked toward me with a bouquet of flowers, her expression as gentle as always. She handed me the cake, her voice soft. “I was wrong, Luke. Let’s go home. This is your favorite cake.” The teasing from my colleagues grew louder. Not wanting to cause a scene, I took the cake. Giselle looked visibly relieved when I accepted it, turning to walk back to the car. “That’s not a very sincere apology! You didn’t even hold his hand!” a colleague joked behind us. Giselle’s body stiffened. She turned back, reaching out to grasp my wrist. I thought of the photo album hidden in our house, filled with pictures of her and Chase holding hands, their fingers tightly intertwined in every single shot. I remained silent, wanting only to finish this play. When I opened the passenger door, I found someone already sitting there. Her sister, Paige, waved at me cheerfully. “Hey, Luke!” From the backseat, her brother Toby chimed in, “Hey, Luke!” Both siblings were in their teens, their faces blank of any adult tact. I climbed into the backseat, listening to them chatter endlessly about where their older sister was going to take them next. Through the rearview mirror, my eyes met Giselle’s. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “They’re staying at our place for a couple of days. Mom has some things to take care of this weekend.” I didn’t hold back my anger this time, nor did I force a smile to play the role of the perfect brother-in-law. I simply turned my head, staring out the window at the passing city lights. When we arrived home, the two teenagers bolted inside. Giselle walked over to me, asking cautiously, “Luke, are you angry again?” I shook my head without a word. She smiled, relieved. “Great. I’m glad you’re not mad.” She turned and ran to catch up with her siblings. Someone once said that if your partner walks more than five yards ahead of you, they don’t love you. I watched Giselle, who was ten yards ahead of me, desperately trying to join her siblings’ conversation even though she could barely get a word in. It didn’t matter anymore. If she didn’t love me, so be any. I was leaving anyway. Paige and Toby made themselves right at home, ordering five or six takeout boxes. Giselle said half-seriously, “Takeout is so unhealthy. Why don’t you have Luke whip up something for you guys?” The three siblings turned their gaze to me. But I didn’t offer to cook. Seeing my silence, Paige tried to soften the tension. “Luke always cooks, it’s too much work for him.” Toby, seeing that I still didn’t speak, muttered under his breath, “His cooking isn’t even that good, and he takes forever anyway. Who wants to eat it?” The living room was quiet, and his words carried clearly. Giselle frowned, glaring at Toby before pulling me into the kitchen. She opened the fridge as if nothing had happened. “Kids are picky eaters these days, please bear with him. There are plenty of ingredients here, just whip up a couple of simple dishes.” Her idea of “simple dishes” meant preparing a four-course dinner for four people within two hours, keeping in mind everyone’s individual preferences and allergies. She picked up an apron, her eyes curling into a smile. “Come here, let me put this on you.” The apron had a little rabbit pattern on it. She had bought it, claiming the rabbit reminded her of me. But I remembered clearly that Chase had two slightly prominent front teeth, and his nickname in college had been Bunny. Only those closest to him were allowed to call him that. I grabbed Giselle’s wrist, stopping her. “Have you ever counted how many rabbit-themed items we have in this house?” Giselle froze, a strained smile on her lips. “What’s wrong? Do you think the apron isn’t cute?” She was avoiding the question again. This time, I stared at her, refusing to let her slide. “One hundred and thirty-seven.” “From aprons to tablecloths, ornaments to curtains, even our bedding sets are covered in rabbits! Giselle, do you really need Chase’s memory around you every single second of the day?” A long, heavy silence stretched between us. Finally, Giselle looked down. “Fine. You’re right. This apron is a bit plain anyway. I’ll throw it out and buy a new one.” She turned to walk out of the kitchen, but I grabbed her arm. “Answer my question, Giselle!” Giselle wrenched her arm out of my grip. “Luke! My siblings are right outside! If you don’t want to cook, then don’t! Stop throwing these ridiculous tantrums!” “I am sick and tired of your endless jealousy! Do whatever you want!” Giselle slammed the door as she stormed out. But even in her rage, she had placed the rabbit apron neatly on the kitchen counter. She couldn’t throw it away, and she never would. My phone vibrated with a notification. “Your flight to Paris is scheduled to depart in twelve hours.” At three in the morning, I walked out of the apartment with my packed suitcase. The three siblings were sound asleep. The living room was cluttered with empty takeout boxes and trash, none of which had been cleared. I walked past the mess without a glance, heading straight for the door. Before closing it, I took one last look at the place we had shared. I was the one who had fallen in love with Giselle at first sight, and I had pursued her relentlessly to get this marriage. So, everything that had happened was my own doing. I had foolishly believed that the bond of marriage would slowly erase Chase’s presence in her heart. But in the end, I was the one who had been washed away. I left the signed divorce papers on the coffee table. By the time Giselle woke up, I would already be in the air, flying toward Paris. By eight in the morning, our home security camera showed the three siblings waking up. Paige looked around the apartment, unable to find any trace of me. Brushing her teeth, she mumbled to Giselle, “Sis, you yelled too loud last night. What if you scared Luke away?” Giselle replied indifferently, “If he’s gone, he’s gone. I never loved him that much anyway. If my parents hadn’t been pressuring me so hard, I would have never married him.” Beside them, Toby laughed, exposing her lie. “You’re lying, Sis! You only married him because Chase got engaged and you wanted a rebound!” Giselle’s face flushed red as she defended herself. “What are you talking about? Who told you that?!” Toby shook his head. “You did, when you were drunk.” Giselle froze. She picked up a box of tissues, which was adorned with a rabbit pattern. “Yes, he’s married and has a family now, but I still can’t forget him…” Toby almost tripped over an empty takeout box on the floor. He complained loudly, “Where is Luke anyway? Why hasn’t he cleaned up the living room yet?!” Giselle turned her gaze toward my room. The two of them searched the apartment, finding nothing. Paige stopped brushing her teeth. She cleared away some takeout boxes on the coffee table and picked up a document. She gasped, her mouth still full of foam. “Sis… why is there a divorce agreement here?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499818”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel