My first week on the job, and I was already dealing with a nightmare. There was a woman in the office who claimed to be three weeks pregnant. Relying entirely on this “delicate condition,” she had the audacity to drop a carpooling mandate on my desk. Her reasoning was shockingly entitled: she lived far from the office, and my car met her “high standards.” It was a brand-new, fifty-thousand-dollar Volvo SUV, barely a year off the lot. But the truly unhinged part? She flat-out ordered me to be her personal chauffeur, morning and night, effective immediately. She even had the nerve to add, “Don’t be late.” I actually laughed when I read the email. Usually, I had a private driver. I only had my father’s procurement team select this particular Volvo because it was supposed to be understated—a stealth-wealth commuter car that wouldn’t draw attention to an entry-level analyst. Naturally, I had no intention of entertaining such an absurd demand. I fired back a polite but firm, “I won’t be able to accommodate this.” Her retaliation was swift. The very next day, leveraging her minor administrative privileges as an HR Manager, she flagged my timesheet for arriving late and leaving early, instantly docking my pay. Fine. If she wanted to press her face against the glass, I was more than happy to show her how easily it could shatter. 1 I stared at the notification on my monitor, a bitter laugh dying in my throat. How did people like this exist? The sheer, breathless audacity of trying to claim someone else’s property as a personal perk. I decided the best response was absolute silence. I didn’t reply. I didn’t expect her to march right up to my cubicle and rap her knuckles sharply against the fiberglass partition. “I’m expecting,” she announced, as if she were declaring a royal succession. “I need a dedicated ride.” I looked up. Brittany stood there, arms crossed. “I saw you pull in. Nice car. You have to drive home anyway, so taking me is hardly an inconvenience.” She paused, then added with a terrifyingly casual entitlement, “Oh, and you need to clock out at exactly five from now on. I have to get home to cook dinner for my husband.” A hot, prickling sensation of disgust crawled up the back of my neck. I was used to being chauffeured in a Maybach. Who did she think she was, demanding I act as her personal Uber? Besides, I didn’t even know where she lived. How could she possibly know it was “on the way”? Then it hit me. She was HR. She had pulled my confidential employee file to get my home address. I didn’t have the energy for this theater. I gave her a flat, unblinking look. “I’m sorry, Brittany, but I’m a terrible driver. I mix up the gas and the brake, and I have a habit of stopping short. For the safety of you and your baby, it’s really not a good idea.” I thought giving her a polite out would make her back off. Instead, her voice spiked an octave, piercing through the low hum of the open-plan office. “You can’t drive, but you own a brand-new luxury SUV?” Heads began to pop up over cubicle walls. “Look at you. You’re twenty-two. There’s no way you bought that car on an analyst’s salary. Let me guess—some older man bought it for you? A sponsor? God, girls your age really have no self-respect.” A heavy silence fell over our section. I smiled, a tight, cold thing. Yes, technically, an older man did buy me the car. My father. And what of it? It was literally the cheapest vehicle in our family’s garage. I opened my mouth to respond, but our team lead, Kevin, materialized, wearing his usual appeasing, middle-management grimace. “Margot, come on now,” Kevin sighed, playing the peacemaker. “We’re a team here. We help each other out. Brittany’s pregnant, she’s having a hard time. Is it really that big of a deal to give her a lift? You’re young. You need to learn how to play the game and build relationships.” Listening to his condescending lecture, a wave of nausea washed over me. If he cared so much, why wasn’t he giving her a ride? He was playing the benevolent boss with my time and my gas. I turned back to my dual monitors. “I have reports to run,” I said, my voice dropping to a glacial chill. At 5:05 PM, I walked out to the parking garage. The second the key fob clicked and unlocked the doors, the passenger side was yanked open. 2 Brittany slid into the buttery leather seat with practiced ease and snapped her seatbelt into place. I stood frozen outside the driver’s side door. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out. I’m going home.” “Me too.” She adjusted the AC vents so they blew directly onto her face. “I told you this morning.” She tapped her watch. “Look at the time. You’re five minutes late. Consider this a warning, but next time, I’ll have to write you up for violating the schedule.” My grip tightened on the door handle. “I told you this morning, I’m not comfortable driving you. It’s not happening.” She let out a sharp, mocking snort. “Please. I checked the garage security footage. I saw you parallel park this thing into a compact spot in one fluid motion. Don’t play the helpless rookie with me.” The last frayed thread of my patience snapped. “Get out,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. She crossed her arms, sinking deeper into the upholstery, even hitting the button to recline the seat a few inches. She looked like a squatter who had just discovered squatters’ rights. I didn’t say another word. I turned on my heel and started walking toward the parking attendant’s booth. “Security!” Before I could call out again, a coworker who was about to pull out of his space jogged over, grabbing my elbow. He looked terrified. “Margot, don’t!” he hissed, his eyes darting toward my car. “Brittany is a nightmare. She’s got tenure, and she’s super tight with the regional director upstairs. You do not want to go to war with her.” He looked at me with genuine pity. “Just take my advice. Drive her home tonight. Take the hit. Tomorrow, tell her the engine light came on and the car is in the shop. Take the commuter train for a few weeks until she finds another victim. You can’t beat her, so just hide.” I had to pretend my own car was broken? I had to take the train just to avoid a workplace bully who wanted to exploit me? The sheer absurdity of it sent a spike of pure adrenaline straight to my brain. “Thank you, but no,” I said, pulling my arm free. My voice was harder than I knew it could be. I marched back to my car, leaning down to look Brittany directly in the eye. “Brittany, I will say this exactly one more time. Get out of my car. If you don’t, I am calling 911 to report you for trespassing and attempted grand theft auto. There are cameras everywhere. I will press charges.” She hadn’t expected me to call her bluff. The smugness slid off her face. “Are you a sociopath?” she shrieked, her voice echoing off the concrete pillars. “Do you have any concept of corporate culture? Of basic human decency?” She thrust her completely flat stomach forward. “Look at me! I am a pregnant woman. My body is going through trauma! Asking for a ride is the bare minimum you should be doing as a decent human being!” She was working herself into a frenzy, spittle flying onto my leather dashboard. “But no! You make up lies about your driving! You threaten me with the police! You’re harassing a pregnant woman over a car ride? Where is your conscience? God, you Gen Z kids are so insanely selfish! You contribute nothing to this company, nothing to society!” She took a breath, her face flushed red. “Me sitting in your car is a privilege for you! It’s networking! Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!” I actually laughed. I braced my hands on the roof of the car, looking down at her. “You want to talk about decency? You climbed into a stranger’s private property without permission, threatened to dock my pay to force me to serve you, and you want to lecture me about corporate culture?” I leaned in closer. “You want a ride? Read my lips. Never. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Now get the hell out of my car.” A small crowd of late-staying employees had gathered by the elevators, watching the spectacle. Brittany’s face went through a kaleidoscope of colors—red, white, then a mottled purple. “Fine!” She unbuckled her seatbelt so violently it snapped back against the window. She shoved the door open. “You’re going to regret this, Margot! Watch your back!” 3 The office was buzzing the moment I walked in the next morning. Brittany was holding court by the espresso machine in the breakroom. “Twenty-two years old, driving a fifty-thousand-dollar car. Please. We all know how she affords that,” Brittany’s voice drifted through the open doorway, loud enough to ensure I heard. “I was just trying to look out for her. Warn her about going down the wrong path. And what does she do? Screams at me like a feral animal. Absolutely no class.” A woman from accounting chimed in, right on cue. “I know, right? Don’t let it get to you, Britt. Just because she has a fancy car doesn’t mean she’s better than us. Who knows what she had to do to get it.” Another voice giggled. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for the day some wealthy guy’s wife drags her out of here by her hair. We should keep our distance. God knows what kind of diseases she’s carrying.” A chorus of hushed, vicious laughter followed. I dropped my tote bag on my desk. I walked straight into the breakroom. “Are you finished?” The laughter died instantly. They whipped around to face me. I let my eyes wander over Brittany and her little audience. “I heard every word you just said.” I stepped closer. “Regarding the accusations that I have a ‘sugar daddy,’ that I’m ‘dirty,’ or that I have ‘diseases’—which one of you has the proof?” I held up my phone. “Do you have photos? Bank statements? A medical record?” Brittany sneered, though her eyes flickered nervously. “Ooh, hit a nerve, did I? If you don’t want people talking, don’t be a walking cliché. You’re an intern, honey. You show up in a luxury car, people are going to talk.” “Spreading malicious, unfounded rumors in the workplace is defamation,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I could sue you for everything you have.” “Sue me?” Brittany barked a laugh, planting her hands on her hips. “Are you delusional? I’m the HR Manager! I control who gets hired, who gets fired, and who passes their ninety-day probationary review! You want to sue me?” She stepped into my personal space, her finger inches from my collarbone. “Your entire career here is in my hands. If I say you’re a poor culture fit, you’re gone by noon. You want to play hardball with me? You’re out of your league, little girl.” The air in the room felt suddenly thick. A few people who had been watching quickly looked down at their phones, shuffling away. I looked at the absolute conviction on her face. The sheer belief that her petty, middle-management power made her invincible. I realized, in that moment, that arguing with a person like this was a waste of oxygen. “Well,” I said softly. “Let’s see just how much power you really have.” I turned my back on her and walked straight to the stairwell, climbing up to the rooftop. The wind was biting. I pulled out my phone and dialed the private line of my father’s chief of staff. “Mr. Caldwell.” “Miss Margot,” the smooth, unflappable voice answered immediately. “I need a deep dive on an employee. Apex Solutions, regional branch. Human Resources Manager, Brittany. I want to know who hired her, who she’s sleeping with, what nepotism got her the role. I want every skeleton.” “Understood.” “And pull everything you have on the Regional Director, Richard. Look for any ties between him and Brittany.” “Consider it done. How quickly do you need this?” “Before lunch.” “Of course, Miss Margot.” I hung up, pressing the cold glass of my phone against my forehead, taking a long, deep breath of the city air. I had taken this job at the bottom of the corporate ladder because I wanted to learn the business from the ground up. I wanted to understand the mechanics of my father’s empire before I inherited it. I wore Zara, I kept my head down, and I never used the family name. But I was learning a painful lesson. In some environments, humility isn’t respected. It’s perceived as weakness. It becomes an invitation for the mediocre and the vicious to trample you. They wanted to flex their pathetic, microscopic amount of power over me? Fine. I was done turning the other cheek. I spent the afternoon working quietly at my desk, ignoring the blatant glares and whispers. When the clock struck five, I packed my bag, badged out, and went down to the garage. As I walked toward my row, my heart suddenly seized. I broke into a run. And then, I saw it.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “432230”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The roar of the party died as if someone had cut the power. My wife, a renowned professor at the university, suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me. Her hands were trembling, her voice thin and jagged. She told me that Toby’s heart was failing and that I was a perfect match. She said the transplant had to happen immediately. I stood there, frozen, feeling a strange, hollow silence in my chest. There was no surge of adrenaline, no spike of fear—just a dull, aching nothingness. “Everyone only has one heart, Margot,” I reminded her quietly. She didn’t blink. “I’ll call the best surgeons in San Francisco,” she said, her words rushing out like a landslide. “We’ll get you an artificial heart. The technology is incredible now, Sam. Please.” I looked down at her, then at her stomach. “You’re six months pregnant. You’re supposed to give birth in twelve weeks.” She gritted her teeth, her eyes gleaming with a desperate, frantic light. “We can have another baby later. Right now, we have to save him. We have to let this one go.” Before I could even process the cruelty of those words, a bright, boyish laugh rang out from the hallway. Toby ran into the room, grinning ear to ear. “April Fool’s, Professor! Happy April Fool’s Day!” He stopped next to her, looking far too healthy for a man supposedly on his deathbed. “We aren’t actually matches, Sam. I was just messing with you. I can’t believe Professor Mercer actually went and asked you to give up the baby. That’s hardcore!” The tension in the room snapped. Our friends burst into chatter, the air filling with nervous, relieved laughter. “Man, that was dark,” someone chuckled, nursing their bourbon. “Toby, you really put Sam in a spot there. I mean, that’s his own flesh and blood.” “If Toby had said he was a match for me,” another friend joked, “Margot probably would’ve dragged me onto the operating table herself.” I didn’t laugh. I didn’t move. I just sat back down on the velvet sofa, pulled out my phone, and sent a one-line text to my lawyer: I need you to draft divorce papers. Tonight. … Margot had never been able to stay angry at Toby. He was her star student—fragile, sickly, and brilliant in a way that made her protective instincts go haywire. She treated him like a piece of fine porcelain. But this time, when she stood up, her face was a mask of cold fury. The room went silent again. The atmosphere curdled. Someone whispered to Toby, “You pushed it too far. You know Sam is her Achilles’ heel. Remember that junior faculty member who made a joke about him three years ago? Margot nearly had him blacklisted.” Toby’s smile vanished. His lashes fluttered, quickly becoming wet with tears. He reached out, tentatively grabbing the hem of Margot’s blazer. “I’m so sorry, Professor. It’s April Fool’s… I just wanted to see if the rumors about how much you love him were true.” Margot remained silent. Toby turned to me, sniffing back a sob. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean it. If you’re mad, just yell at me. I deserve it.” Our friends tried to play peacemakers. “He’s just a kid, Sam. He’s impulsive. Don’t take it to heart.” “Yeah, Margot, he’s your protégé. You spent three years mentoring him, you even mentioned him in the first line of your latest publication. You can’t let one stupid joke ruin that.” Finally, Margot’s expression softened. She reached out and wiped a tear from the corner of Toby’s eye. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said firmly. Toby nodded frantically. Then she looked at me, her voice carrying a trace of practiced guilt. “I’m sorry, Sam. I overreacted. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about the… the pregnancy.” The pregnancy. She spoke about ending our child’s life as if she’d accidentally suggested a restaurant I didn’t like. It wasn’t the first time. Whenever Toby was involved, the brilliant, logical Dr. Margot Mercer became a different person—someone dictated by raw, unchecked emotion. Last New Year’s Eve, she drove six hundred miles through a snowstorm because Toby called her saying his stomach hurt. When I asked her why, she just sighed and said, “He’s fragile, Sam. I was worried he’d end up in the ER alone.” But she wasn’t worried about me, her husband, waiting at home with a cold dinner. She wasn’t worried when my depression got so bad I stopped speaking for three days. She wasn’t worried when I had a 104-degree fever and laid in the dark for twelve hours, wondering if I was dying. To me, she was a machine. “Sam, being pregnant is exhausting enough. Stop giving me more things to deal with.” When I became irritable or withdrew, she dismissed it as “jealousy” and went back to her study. I lived in the shadow of her work, always careful not to disturb her. Yet, in the prestigious journal article that took five years of her life, the first person she thanked wasn’t me. It was Toby. An undergraduate with barely any technical contribution. The interview went viral. In the video, Margot looked ethereal and calm. “In my ten years of teaching,” she told the reporter, “Toby isn’t the most talented student I’ve had. But he is certainly the most resilient. I’m grateful he came into my life; he gave me the courage to keep going.” The day that interview aired, I dropped my favorite vase. It was a piece we’d made together at a workshop in Mendocino during the year we were most in love. She had told me then that we’d keep it forever, a family heirloom for our future children. When she saw the shards on the floor, she just called the housekeeper to sweep them up. “Maybe I can glue it back together,” I whispered, kneeling on the floor, my hands shaking. She pulled me up, frowning. “It’s just a cheap vase, Sam. Don’t be dramatic.” My eyes stung. She touched her belly and added, “It’s fine. We can just go make a new one eventually.” I tried to tell myself she was just a “rational” person. That she didn’t care for sentimentality. But that night, when I went to her study to bring her some fruit, I saw a locked glass cabinet. Inside, she had displayed a cheap, twenty-dollar fountain pen Toby had bought her at a gift shop. It felt like a bucket of ice water over my head. We had a screaming match. I actually broke the lock and threw the pen into the trash. She lunged for it, retrieving it like it was a holy relic. When she looked at me, her eyes were full of nothing but pure, unadulterated annoyance. “Look at yourself, Sam! You look like a goddamn lunatic! You broke that vase yourself, so what are you actually blaming me for?” I told her to swear on her life that she didn’t have feelings for Toby. I told her to swear that if she did, we both deserved to die. Margot—a staunch materialist, a woman of science—hesitated. A long, suffocating silence followed. Finally, she spoke. “Fine. I have feelings for him.” My heart shattered, but she continued, her voice cold. “But we haven’t crossed a line, and we won’t. You don’t need to act like a victim. You haven’t been cheated on.” I started to cry, and she sighed, reaching out to smooth my messy hair. “Sam, we’ve been together for eleven years. The spark is gone. To be perfectly honest, kissing you feels like pressing my top lip against my bottom lip. There’s nothing there.” She looked at me with a pity that hurt more than her anger. “Sometimes I regret marrying you right after we finished grad school in London. I didn’t realize that ten years later, I’d find out what it actually feels like to be excited by someone again.” The woman who once bought out a whole florist just to surprise me was now standing over me, calmly discussing her change of heart. “Toby is vibrant. He’s not sullen like you. He likes stupid romantic movies and feeding stray cats. Things you used to like, but when he does them, it’s charming. It makes my heart race. I can’t help it.” Her final words were a gentle execution. “As long as you want it, you’ll always be my husband. But you have to accept that my heart belongs to him now.” After that night, I spiraled. I cried until my eyes were permanently swollen. I tried to detach. I tried not to care when she came home late, or when she went to Hawaii for a “research trip” with Toby. I lied to myself. Until today. Until she knelt in front of our friends and asked me to give up my heart and our baby for him. The marriage was over. It had been dead for a long time; I was just the last one to stop performing CPR. “Sam, I know I messed up. Please forgive me,” Toby said, his voice stronger now, a faint, smug glimmer in his eyes. A friend piped up, “Come on, Sam. He didn’t mean any harm. He’s always been a bit of a clown. He once got drunk and said he wanted to marry Margot, too. He just says things.” The room went silent. The guy realized his mistake and covered his mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean he doesn’t think before he speaks. Everyone knows you and Margot are solid. No one could ever come between you.” I smiled, a thin, ghost of a thing. I looked at Toby. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you.” The room let out a collective breath of relief. Then I looked at Margot. “I’m divorcing your professor, Toby. I hope you get everything you ever wanted.” “Sam!” Margot’s face went pale. “Don’t talk nonsense in front of everyone.” “It’s ironic, isn’t it?” I laughed. “You can tell a room full of people you’re willing to abort our child and take my heart for Toby, but I can’t mention a divorce?” She knit her brows. “It was an April Fool’s joke! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” “Toby apologized. I scolded him. If you keep acting like this, you’re just making a scene for no reason!” Friends started chiming in. “Take a breath, Sam. Don’t throw away a decade over a prank.” “Yeah, Margot clearly cares about you. She doesn’t usually snap at Toby like that.” I looked at Margot, my voice eerily calm. “You didn’t get angry for me, Margot. You got angry because Toby joked about being a match. You were disappointed when you found out it wasn’t true, weren’t you?” She flinched. A flicker of irritation crossed her brow. “I’m begging you, just stop. If you don’t care about your own dignity, at least think about Toby’s.” Fatigue washed over me like a tide. I closed my eyes. “Fine. See you at the lawyer’s office on Monday.” I stood up to leave, but Toby threw himself at my feet, sobbing. “Sam, please don’t be mad at the Professor! She just wants me to be healthy!” I looked down at the boy, his face a mess of performative grief. “You spent so much energy proving how much you matter to her,” I whispered so only he could hear. “You should be happy. You won.” He turned white. I stepped around him and walked out. “Sam!” Margot’s voice was like ice behind me. “Don’t forget that your mother is still at Mercer Medical.” I stopped dead. I never thought she’d use my mother—who was battling stage IV cancer—as a bargaining chip. After a long, agonizing silence, I forced a smile and turned back to pull Toby off the floor. “I was just kidding,” I said, my voice sounding hollow even to me. “I don’t blame you.” Toby sobbed. “Good. I was so scared I’d caused trouble for the Professor.” The farce ended. Margot insisted on driving me home. “I only said that to scare you,” she said as we drove through the dark. “I would never do anything to your mother.” “You were hurt today, I get it. To make it up to you, I’ll go with you to see her tomorrow. We can do the prenatal check-up at the same time.” “Sam, we’ve been together for eleven years. It’s not like I don’t love you. If you could just try to get along with Toby…” I leaned my head against the window. “I meant what I said.” “Margot, let’s get a divorce. Whatever happens with you and him… it’s not my business anymore.” She let out a short, dry laugh. “This is the seventh time you’ve brought up divorce since I got pregnant. Next time you want attention, try a new trick.” Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and slammed on the brakes. “Get out,” she said urgently. “Toby’s having an episode. I have to go back.” I looked out the window at the torrential rain pouring down. I hesitated for a second, then opened the door. “Wait under an awning!” she shouted as I stepped into the storm. “I’ll drop him at the hospital and come right back for you!” It was midnight. In the middle of a downpour, it was impossible to get an Uber. I waited in a 7-Eleven until three in the morning before a taxi finally picked me up. Those three hours were enough for Margot to drive Toby to the hospital ten times over. But they weren’t enough for her to remember her husband was still standing in the rain. … The next morning, the hospital called. Margot had been in an accident. On her way to Toby’s apartment in the storm, her car hydroplaned and hit a tree. The baby was gone. By the time I reached the hospital, the surgery was over. The doctor looked at me with a grim expression. “Mr. Mercer, I’m so sorry. Given your wife’s condition and the trauma of the accident, it’s unlikely she will be able to conceive again.” Margot had always struggled to get pregnant. When she was twenty-three, she’d had a miscarriage during a high-stakes research tour. She’d woken up in tears, apologizing to me over and over. “I’m sorry, Sam! It’s my fault! I should have noticed sooner!” We had spent six years trying. We’d prayed, we’d seen every specialist in the country. And finally, we’d had this baby. I signed the papers in silence. As I walked toward her room, I ran into Toby. He looked guilt-ridden, but his eyes were sharp with a predatory kind of triumph. “I’m so sorry, Sam! It’s all my fault! If I hadn’t had that stomach cramp, she wouldn’t have rushed, she wouldn’t have crashed…” He dropped to his knees. “Hit me! Punish me! Do whatever you want, just don’t be mad at her!” Margot woke up to his shouting. She sat up, looking pale and broken on the bed. “Sam, leave him alone. It was my fault, I was driving. Don’t take it out on Toby. He’s sick!” I didn’t say a word. I looked at the two of them—the woman who had traded her soul for a boy who played at being a victim. I turned and walked away. “Where are you going?” she yelled, her voice cracking. “Sam! Come back here!” I heard Toby’s voice as the door swung shut. “He’s probably just going home to make you some soup, Professor. He’s just worried about you.” … During the two days Margot was in the hospital, she called me eighteen times. Her texts turned from angry to desperate. Why aren’t you answering? There’s a limit to how long you can throw a tantrum. I’m going to Europe for a conference soon. Tell me if you want anything. Sam? Are you okay? Did something happen? I finally replied: Don’t forget. Monday. The courthouse. She replied instantly: You’re serious? Fine. Don’t come crying to me later when you regret this. Don’t use your ‘health’ as an excuse to back out. On Monday morning, I stood outside the courthouse. Half an hour later, Margot arrived. When I handed her the signed divorce papers, she froze. She stared at the signature as if it were written in a foreign language. “Sam… you’re really doing this?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “432229”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

When Derek blocked me six years ago, I never imagined it would lead to this exact moment. The manila collection envelope was resting dead-center on my desk. One of my coworkers had signed for it at reception. I sliced it open. The contents made the blood freeze in my veins. Seven loans. Added together, they totaled a staggering $285,400. The borrower’s name was mine. The Social Security Number was a perfect match. But the signature. I stared at the ink for five full seconds. It was a terrifyingly good mimicry of my handwriting, but it absolutely wasn’t mine. I had never taken out a loan in my life. 1. I took half a day of PTO. I walked straight into a First National branch and requested a hard pull of my credit report. When the teller slid the printout across the counter, she gave me a lingering, pitiful look. “Ms. Davis, regarding these accounts under your name… two of them are already in severe delinquency.” I told her I knew. I didn’t know. I didn’t know a damn thing. I found a quiet corner in the lobby, sank into a leather chair, and went through the pages. Seven lines of credit. The first: April 2018, Southside Branch, personal loan, $20,000. The second: September 2018, Southside Branch, personal loan, $25,000. The third: March 2019, Eastside Branch, small business loan, $45,000. The fourth: November 2019, Southside Branch, personal loan, $35,000. The fifth: August 2020, online lending platform, $50,000. The sixth: May 2021, Southside Branch, small business loan, $60,000. The seventh: January 2022, online lending platform, $50,400. Six years. Seven loans. Two hundred and eighty-five thousand, four hundred dollars. With the late fees and accumulated interest—the number printed in bold red on the collection letter was just north of $310,000. My take-home pay is $3,800 a month. If I stopped eating, stopped paying rent, and stopped breathing, it would take me over three decades to pay it off. I folded the report meticulously and slipped it into my tote bag. I pulled out my phone, opened Instagram, and typed “Derek” into the search bar. It was the same dead end it had been for years. User not found. Six years ago. February 14th, 2018. Valentine’s Day. He texted me, right around lunch: We need to break up. I texted back, asking why. We’re just too different, he wrote. I cried until the sun came up. The next morning, I realized he had blocked me on Instagram. He unmatched me on Facebook. When I tried to call, the automated voice told me the number had been disconnected. Three days later, my college roommate, Jessica, stopped replying to my texts. I sent her five messages. The last one read: Jess, is everything okay? Silence. Eventually, I figured out she had blocked me, too. I assumed it was standard post-breakup casualty. Friends taking sides. I was the one who had introduced Derek and Jessica to each other—they met the same year. It hurt like hell back then, but eventually, I let it go. It had been six years. I was doing fine on my own. I thought back to the first line on that credit report. Date of Origination: April 17, 2018. Exactly sixty-two days after Derek dumped me. I stared at that date. Four of the loans were from the Southside Branch. Southside Branch. Which branch of First National did Jessica work at again? 2. Let me tell you how I spent those six years. Right after the breakup, I was making maybe $2,800 a month after taxes. Rent was $1,100 for an illegally subdivided basement in Queens. The drywall was so paper-thin I could hear the guy next door snoring and rolling over in his sleep. I kept my daily food budget under fifteen dollars. Oatmeal for breakfast. A generic deli sandwich from the bodega under my office for lunch—six bucks. Dinner depended on the day. Sometimes I bought two cheap sandwiches at noon and saved one for the evening. Once, my coworker Jillian asked me to join her for lunch at a nice bistro down the street. “It’s like twenty bucks for a salad, come on,” she urged. “No thanks, I brought something,” I lied. After she left, I went down to the corner cart and bought a three-dollar pretzel. Eventually, I got a raise. Then I jumped to a new firm, bumping my take-home to $3,800. I moved once. The landlord of the basement wanted to hike the rent, so I found an even smaller studio further out in the boroughs for $900. My commute was an hour and twenty minutes each way. Bus to the subway. Subway to a ten-minute walk. One winter, I caught a nasty fever. A hundred and one point five. I scrolled through my telehealth app. The cheapest virtual copay was forty-five dollars. I closed the app, drank two massive mugs of boiling water, and went to work the next morning. I ended up buying a twelve-dollar box of generic cold medicine from CVS. Six years. I had saved $16,000. I put away whatever I could—sometimes five hundred, sometimes eight. On months when I got an annual bonus, I’d stash away two grand. That $16,000 was the armor I wore against the world. Every time I transferred money into that savings account, I’d think: A few more years, and maybe I can put a down payment on a tiny condo. I also sent my mom three hundred dollars every month. She always tried to refuse it. “Keep it for yourself, honey. Mom’s fine.” But I knew she wasn’t. After Dad passed away, she was scraping by on his meager pension and whatever she made working part-time at a local florist. Dad called me once, right before the end. “Norah, what exactly is the deal with that Derek kid?” “Dad, we broke up almost three years ago. Let it rest.” “I’m not talking about the relationship stuff. I mean…” “Mean what?” A long pause on the other end of the line. “Nothing. Just take care of yourself, kiddo.” That was the winter of 2021. Three months later, he suffered a massive stroke while waiting at a bus stop. He didn’t make it to the ER. When I rushed to the hospital, Mom was sitting in the linoleum hallway. Her eyes were bone dry. She just looked at me and said, “He went quick. He didn’t suffer.” I didn’t cry either. I handled the funeral home. I canceled his driver’s license. I closed his Medicare account. Then I went back to my cramped studio, took a scalding shower, lay on my mattress, and stared at the cracked ceiling. Through the wall, my neighbor rolled over and let out a snore. And now, here I was, sitting in the corner of a bank lobby, staring at seven loans on a piece of paper. Nearly three hundred thousand dollars. My six years of starving, my pathetic $16,000 safety net—it wouldn’t even cover the interest on a single one of these accounts. I folded the report up and opened the Notes app on my phone. I created a new entry: Seven loans. Four at Southside Branch. Audit everything. I am an accountant. Following the money isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. 3. I didn’t tell a soul when I got back to the office. I booted up my computer and opened a blank Excel spreadsheet. I logged the seven loans, row by row. Date, amount, issuing bank, loan type, approval code. When you spend six years balancing ledgers, you learn a fundamental truth—if you arrange numbers neatly enough, they will eventually speak to you. The first anomaly: The four loans from the Southside Branch had approval gaps of five months, fourteen months, and eighteen months. Irregular. But deliberate. I looked up First National’s policy for unsecured personal loans. The absolute maximum cap for a single borrower without collateral is $25,000. The first loan was $20,000. The second was $25,000. The fourth was— Wait. The fourth was $35,000. It exceeded the cap. How does an unsecured personal loan get approved for $35,000 when the hard limit is $25,000? Only one way. An internal override. A manager’s signature. I highlighted that cell in yellow. The second anomaly: The third and sixth loans were small business loans. To get an SBA or commercial loan, you need an established LLC. I don’t own an LLC. So what company name was on the application? I picked up my cell phone and dialed the bank’s customer service. “Hi, I need to check the details on a commercial loan under my name.” “For commercial accounts, we require you to bring your physical state ID to the originating branch, ma’am.” I couldn’t get to the Eastside Branch today. But I could check public records. I pulled up the state’s Division of Corporations website. I typed in my name. Nothing. There were zero businesses registered under my name. So how did the commercial loan clear the underwriting process? I kept digging. The third anomaly: The fifth and seventh loans were from online fintech platforms. Online lenders have notoriously loose underwriting, but they always require two-factor authentication via SMS. Six years ago, they might not have used facial recognition. But they definitely sent a verification code to my phone number. I checked my text history—obviously, messages from years ago were long gone. But my carrier would have the metadata. I walked on my lunch break to an AT&T store and requested my incoming SMS logs for August 2020 and January 2022. “We can only go back five years,” the rep said. “2018 is wiped.” “Just give me 2020,” I said. I waited fifteen minutes. “Ms. Davis, on Sunday, August 14th, 2020, your number did receive a verification ping from a shortcode associated with that lending platform.” I stared at the date. August 14th, 2020. A Sunday. What the hell was I doing that Sunday? I pulled up my calendar history. That was the weekend my mom fell down the stairs. I had spent the entire day at the hospital with her. Where was my phone? Then, the memory hit me. I had rushed out of my apartment in an absolute panic. My phone was dead, still plugged into the wall charger by my bed. My apartment. Who had access to my apartment? The landlord. I remembered asking the landlord about a weird charge on my deposit back when I moved in. She had waved me off and said, “Oh, a young guy came by to check on the place when you weren’t home. I thought he was your boyfriend, so I let him in.” I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Now, the memory felt like a physical blow to the chest. I went home after work. I sat at my forty-dollar IKEA desk and stared at the glowing Excel grid. Seven loans. Four from the Southside Branch. Southside Branch. Personal Credit Division. I pulled out my phone and scrolled deep, deep into Jessica’s old Instagram feed—before she went private. Her last public photo was from December 2017. A selfie with a shiny new name badge. The background was the marble lobby of a bank. The badge had the First National logo, and beneath her name, it read: Southside Branch. 4. I didn’t confront Jessica. Accountants know the golden rule: You never make an accusation until every single cent is accounted for. I took two more days of PTO. Day one: Southside Branch. I stood at the teller window, sliding my driver’s license across the marble. “I need to query the loan origination documents under my name. I want copies of the physical contracts.” The teller clicked her mouse a few times. “Ms. Davis, you have three active legacy loans with us. You’ll need to see a loan officer at Desk Three.” The officer at Desk Three was a polite woman named Mrs. Higgins. “Retrieving archived contract copies requires submitting a formal request to corporate,” she explained with a practiced smile. “It usually takes three to five business days.” “Can you see the name of the underwriting officer who approved them?” “Well… let me check the internal portal.” She looked at her monitor. Her eyes flicked back to me, just for a fraction of a second. “The authorizing agent was a colleague of mine in the Credit Division.” “What’s their name?” “I’m afraid I can’t disclose internal employee IDs without a subpoena.” She didn’t give me the name. But that tiny hesitation—that flicker in her eyes. I logged it. Day two: Eastside Branch. I was tracking down the $45,000 commercial loan. “The applicant’s corporate entity on this file,” the commercial loan officer read from his screen, “is… D&C Imports LLC.” D&C. Derek and Jessica? No, Jessica’s name starts with J. Wait. D&C. Derek & Chelsea? I introduced Derek to a girl named Chelsea once, but this was Jessica. (Self-correction: Let’s assume the company name is D&J Imports LLC for Derek & Jessica). D&J Imports LLC. I walked out to the parking lot, leaned against a concrete pillar, and pulled up the state’s corporate registry on my phone. D&J Imports LLC. Registered: October 2018. Principal Executive: Derek. Initial Capital: $100,000. Business Type: Wholesale Retail / Electronics. Shareholder Breakdown: Derek (70%), Jessica (30%). I stared at the two names burning through the glass of my screen. Derek. Jessica. They had started a business together. And they had used my name, my credit, to fund it. I locked my phone and stood perfectly still in the biting wind outside the bank. I remembered six years ago, standing in a crowded dive bar, introducing the two of them. “Jess, this is the guy I’ve been telling you about. Derek.” “Hey,” she had said. “Nice to meet you. Norah talks about you all the time.” I remembered the way Jessica had looked at him that night. At the time, I thought it was just polite interest. The guarantor section of the commercial loan, printed clearly in black and white: D&J Imports LLC. Principal: Derek. 5. When I got home, I did one thing. I found a lawyer. Not some high-powered corporate shark, just a guy named Mr. Kessler that our company’s in-house counsel recommended for civil disputes. The initial consultation was free. Kessler listened to my timeline, steeled his jaw, and asked, “What hard evidence do you have right now?” “My credit report, the metadata for the seven loans, and the LLC registry showing his company as the guarantor on the business loan.” “Have you done a forensic handwriting analysis?” “No.” “Do it. The moment we prove those signatures aren’t yours, we elevate this from a civil dispute to identity theft and wire fraud.” “Will the police actually care?” “They will if you hand them the case on a silver platter. Get the handwriting analysis, the loan contracts, and the wire transfers. You’re a CPA. Tracking the cash flow should be a walk in the park for you.” I nodded. Kessler leaned back. “And this Jessica girl… what’s her exact title at the Southside Branch?” “Loan Officer, I think. Or Credit Manager.” “If she personally pushed your applications through the system, this isn’t just fraud anymore. It’s internal bank corruption. That changes the entire landscape.” I left his office and drove straight to an independent forensics lab. I paid $2,500 out of pocket for the expedited handwriting analysis. It drained a massive chunk of my savings. I provided exemplars of my handwriting, alongside the digitized signatures from the bank documents. “You’ll have the results in about a week or two,” the technician told me. By the time I stepped back out onto the street, it was pitch black. I stopped at a rundown diner and ordered a plate of plain scrambled eggs and toast. Five bucks. Halfway through the eggs, my phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Am I speaking with Norah Davis?” “Yes.” “This is Pioneer Recovery Services, we’re calling regarding—” I hung up. It rang again. I powered the phone down. Back in my apartment, I opened my laptop. There was one more thing I needed to audit. The timeline of Derek and Jessica’s relationship. You can’t easily look up marriage licenses online in this state, but I had a different route. The Division of Corporations registry for D&J Imports LLC. I clicked into the “Filing History” tab. July 2018: Articles of Organization filed. October 2018: Member added (Jessica). I scrolled down to the very bottom, to the original draft applications. November 15, 2017 – Pre-Registration Memo: Principal Derek. Emergency Contact: Jessica (Spouse). November 2017. Derek broke up with me on Valentine’s Day, 2018. In November 2017, three months before he dumped me, he was already listing Jessica as his spouse on legal documents. We hadn’t even had our first fight about breaking up yet. They were together in 2017. Maybe even earlier. The breakup wasn’t because we were “too different.” It was because they were already building a life together. Blocking me everywhere wasn’t about “getting a clean break.” It was an information quarantine. Instagram, Facebook, my phone number—severed entirely. They erased me from their world so they could hijack my identity in peace. And then they burned my credit to the ground to the tune of nearly three hundred thousand dollars. For six years. Six years I spent eating ramen in a basement, terrified of getting a cold because I couldn’t afford the copay. While they lived in a house paid for by my name. I closed the laptop. I didn’t shed a single tear. I washed my hands, packed my generic sandwich for tomorrow’s lunch, and set my alarm for 6:00 AM. I lay down on my mattress. My neighbor snored through the drywall. I didn’t sleep a wink. 6. Lying awake in the dark, I played back the “breakup” frame by frame. February 14th, 2018. I had bought him a cashmere scarf. It cost ninety-five dollars. I had saved for a month to afford it. I hadn’t even given it to him yet when the text came through. We need to break up. I had typed out a massive, desperate paragraph asking if there was someone else. No, he had replied. Don’t overthink it. We just aren’t a match. I sent another wall of text. He never read it. The next morning, I went to his apartment. I pounded on the door for ten minutes. Finally, a neighbor poked his head out. “Buddy moved out. Packed up a U-Haul late last night.” I tried calling him. Disconnected. Blocked on social media. Wiped clean. Back then, I thought I was the problem. Had I been too needy? Had I not been making enough money? I couldn’t return the scarf, so I wore it myself for the next three winters. But thinking about it now— A week before he moved out, he had come over to my place. He was fixing a leaky faucet in my bathroom. I was at work. He had my spare key. When I got home, the faucet was fixed. But I suddenly remembered something he said right before he left. “Hey, Norah, where do you keep your Social Security card? I was looking for a towel in your drawers and saw some important papers. You should lock those up.” “They’re just in the second drawer of my nightstand,” I had said. “Got it. Just be careful,” he replied. I thought he was just being protective. Now I understood. He wasn’t “reminding” me. He was verifying the location. Before the breakup, he needed to photocopy my SSN and ID. Before he vanished, he needed to make sure he had all the puzzle pieces. Blocking me was just locking the door behind him. It wasn’t a breakup. It was the final stage of a heist. That cashmere scarf was still shoved in the back of my closet. I got out of bed, pulled it out, and ran my fingers over the fabric. It was pilling badly. I folded it neatly and put it back. Not because I missed him. But because it wasn’t time to throw it away yet. 7. On Saturday, I drove to my mom’s place. She still lived in the same tiny, aging duplex. Dad’s framed photo sat on the console table in the living room. “You eat yet?” she asked as I walked in. “Yeah.” I hadn’t. She went to the kitchen anyway to heat up some soup. I sat on the couch, staring at Dad’s picture. “Mom.” “Yeah, honey?” “Right before Dad passed… did he ever say anything to you? About me?” The running water in the kitchen stopped. “Like what?” “Like… did he ever mention Derek? Or any kind of bank loans?” Mom peeked her head around the doorframe, a dish towel in her hands. “Why are you bringing this up now?” “Mom, please. Just tell me.” She wiped her hands and walked slowly into the room. “Your father was acting strange those last few months.” “Strange how?” “He kept leaving the house, taking the bus downtown. Said he had errands. One time he came back, his face was red as a beet, he was so angry.” “Did he say why?” “He just kept muttering, ‘I’ve got to get to the bottom of this thing with Norah.’” “What thing?” “I asked him! He wouldn’t say. He just told me, ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.’” “And then?” “And then he…” Her voice caught, flattening out. “He passed.” She looked away. “I never touched his stuff. If you want to look, go through his desk in the sunroom.” Dad’s “office” was just an enclosed porch with a wobbly desk and a rusty metal toolbox. Inside the toolbox were his wrenches, some wire, a few screwdrivers. I lifted the plastic tray. Underneath was a manila envelope. Inside the envelope— A notebook. A cheap, palm-sized, blue spiral notebook. The kind you buy for fifty cents at a pharmacy. I flipped to the first page. Dad’s handwriting. It was messy, but pressed deeply into the paper, like he was gripping the pen too hard. December 2, 2021. Checked the mail. Found a letter from a bank. Addressed to Norah. Debt collection. $20,000 personal loan. Norah doesn’t take out loans. Something is wrong. Page two. December 8, 2021. Took the bus to the Southside Branch. Brought Norah’s birth certificate. The lady at the desk said they can’t tell me anything without Norah here in person. Page three. December 15, 2021. Went back. Demanded to see the manager. Explained the situation. Manager said he’d ‘look into it.’ Never called back. Page four. January 6, 2022. Called the 1-800 number. Sat on hold four times. Every time they transfer me, they tell me ‘the account holder must be present.’ Page five. January 19, 2022. Went to the Eastside branch. Found out about a business loan. $45,000. Norah doesn’t own a business. This is fraud. Page six. February 4, 2022. Tried looking up that Derek boy. Can’t find him. Phone disconnected. Jessica’s number is dead too. Page seven. March 1, 2022. Walked down to the police precinct. Officer said Norah has to file the report herself. I told him I’m her father. He said, ‘Tell your daughter to come down here.’ Page eight. March 8, 2022. I’ll try the bank again tomorrow. There was no page nine. March 9th, 2022. The day my dad collapsed at the bus stop. Where was he trying to go? My hands began to shake violently around the cheap plastic cover. Not from anger. But because— He knew. He was trying to fix it. He was a retired city bus driver. He barely knew how to use a smartphone. He didn’t know what a corporate registry was or how to run a forensic credit check. All he could do was ride the bus from branch to branch, sit on hold for hours, and write down his dead-ends in a fifty-cent notebook. He fought for three months. And he died trying. My mom walked in carrying a bowl of soup. She saw me sitting on the floor, clutching the blue notebook to my chest. “Is that his little ledger?” she asked softly. “Mom, did you ever read this?” “I tried. I didn’t understand it. All that stuff about branches and accounts… it was over my head.” She paused. “But I knew he was trying to protect you. A couple days before he passed, he kept pacing the living room saying, ‘I can’t let them do this to her.’” She set the soup on the table. It went cold. I slipped the notebook into my bag. I zipped it shut. My dad couldn’t finish the audit. I was going to finish it for him. 8. The handwriting analysis came back. My palms were sweating as I picked up the thick envelope from the lab.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “432228”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My soul was suspended in mid-air, hovering just beneath the yellow crime scene tape as the white tarp slowly descended. The baby, three months along and perfectly safe inside me until moments ago, was supposed to be my anniversary surprise for Victor tomorrow. But now, my baby and I were both dead. Pushed off the roof by my husband’s obsessed admirer. Through the chaos of the flashing sirens, Victor walked toward me. He wore his signature black wool coat, his expression a mask of absolute, chilling stoicism as he parted the sea of uniform cops. His eyes fell onto the white sheet covering my broken body. Everyone expected him to shatter. Instead, he turned to the lead detective and stated, his voice devoid of any tremor, that the deceased was his wife. To ensure absolute transparency and rule out any allegations of bias, he, the Chief Medical Examiner, would perform the autopsy himself. That resolute, icy silhouette turning away from my corpse was the last impression my husband left me in the world of the living. The city’s top forensic pathologist, slicing open his own wife’s body on a stainless-steel table just to prove his unwavering dedication to objective truth. The press was going to have a field day. I floated behind him, watching as he walked into the morgue. He changed into his pristine blue scrubs, tied his mask, snapped on his latex gloves, and picked up the scalpel—the same blade he had used to find justice for countless strangers. He took measured steps toward the freezing metal table where I lay. The fluorescent lights caught the silver edge of the blade, reflecting in his eyes. Those eyes, which had looked at me with such profound tenderness a thousand times before, now held nothing but cold, clinical, absolute rationality. 1. The light in the autopsy suite was a blinding, sterile white that stripped the room of any warmth. It made the stainless-steel instrument tray gleam like ice. My soul drifted through the halogens, feeling like a speck of worthless dust. I looked at Victor. My husband. Victor. His head was bowed, meticulously adjusting the angle of the surgical lamp. Those long, elegant fingers—the ones that used to weave through my hair while we watched movies on the couch—were encased in nitrile. His movements were precise, grounded, not betrayed by a single tremor. It was as if the woman lying on his table wasn’t the wife he had shared a bed with for three years, but just another Jane Doe. Subject Number 0713. “Vic… Do you really have to do this?” It was his deputy, Brody. Brody was our friend. He’d come over for Sunday barbecues. Brody’s voice was rough, thick with an unbearable grief. He looked at Victor, then down at the white sheet covering me, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard. “The reporters outside are already spinning it. They’re saying this is a stunt. That you’re trying to cover something up…” Victor didn’t look up. He picked up a scalpel, passing it briefly over the flame of a Bunsen burner. Behind his mask, his voice was muffled but agonizingly clear. “Let them talk.” He paused, lining up the sterilized instruments on the metal tray with a sharp, echoing clatter. “I only believe in evidence. I am the only one who knows Jo’s medical history flawlessly. I am the only one who can determine the exact mechanics of her death without margin for error. I will give her justice. Anyone else’s subjective emotions will only contaminate the truth.” What a righteous justification. What a perfectly Victor answer. Absolute logic. Absolute impartiality. This was the gospel carved into his very bones. It was also the insurmountable chasm that had always stood between us. I smiled, though my ghostly form had no lips to curve. Of course. He only believed in evidence. That was why, when I begged him to see that Kelsey—the new forensic fellow—was texting him at 2:00 AM with thinly veiled flirtations, he brushed it off. He told me it was just professional admiration. He told me I was being “dramatic,” that my “emotional paranoia” was clouding my judgment. He asked me for proof. But when does a woman’s intuition about another woman’s predatory intentions require forensic proof? It’s an alarm bell wired directly into our DNA. And now, I was dead. And he was using his scalpel to carve into my ruined flesh, looking for the “evidence” he so desperately craved. Brody let out a heavy sigh, giving up. He knew better than anyone that once the “Machine of the ME’s Office” made up his mind, nothing on earth could change it. The room went dead silent, save for the nervous, shallow breathing of the medical students who had been allowed in to observe, and the metallic clinking of Victor’s prep. He was ready. He stepped up to the table. Reached out. Pinched the corner of the white sheet. My heart—if a soul could still possess a heart—violently contracted. Don’t. Don’t pull it back. Let me keep my final shred of dignity. Please, Victor. He couldn’t hear me. His fingers were steady, unyielding. Swoosh. The sheet was ripped away. My shattered, undignified remains were exposed to the brutal glare of the overhead lights. Because of the height of the fall, my limbs were splayed in grotesque, unnatural angles. My face and skin were a canvas of lacerations and congealed blood. My hair was matted to my cheek in dark, wet clumps. The vintage white linen dress I had spent weeks searching for—just for our anniversary dinner—was shredded, stained in sprawling patches of rust and violet. But the most glaring horror was the massive, gaping wound on my temple. The skin was split wide open, the bone gleaming white underneath. That was where my head struck the concrete edge of the planter box when Kelsey shoved me off the rooftop terrace. “Oh, God—” A young med student clamped a hand over his mouth, bolting for the door to vomit in the hallway. The remaining students turned ashen, averting their eyes. Only Victor didn’t look away. He stood there, his eyes acting as a high-resolution scanner. Inch by inch, he examined me from the crown of my head down to my broken toes. There was no love in that gaze. No agony. Not a single trace of personal attachment. Just scrutiny. Analysis. Investigation. He was looking at me the way a watchmaker looks at a broken, complicated gear. “The deceased: Joanna Carmichael. Female. Twenty-eight years of age. Height, five-foot-six. Weight, one hundred and twelve pounds.” He clicked on the overhead microphone, beginning his clinical dictation. His voice was as flat as a frozen lake. “Commencing preliminary external examination.” He picked up a pair of forceps, gently lifting the blood-matted hair away from my forehead to expose the horrific gash. “Visible laceration on the frontal lobe region, approximately seven centimeters in length. Edges are irregular, indicative of blunt force trauma. Preliminary assessment: sustained during impact from a high-altitude fall.” As he spoke, he used a swab to collect tissue samples from the edge of the wound, dropping them into an evidence vial. “Potential cranial fracturing. Full craniotomy required to confirm.” Craniotomy. The word pierced my soul like an ice pick. I remembered watching a true-crime documentary with him once. When a graphic scene of a skull being sawed open flashed on the screen, I had buried my face in his chest, terrified. He had laughed, kissing the top of my head. “Silly girl, don’t look. We do it so the dead can finally speak. I promise, I’ll never let you see anything like that.” He broke his promise. Not only was I seeing it, but he was going to be the one holding the saw. My spirit trembled violently in the air above him. A coldness far deeper than the grave seeped into my nonexistent bones. Victor… did you ever actually love me? 2. The external exam continued in suffocating silence. Victor’s technique was textbook perfection. He checked my pupils with a penlight. Pulled back my eyelids. Checked my airway for obstructions. His fingers traced the curve of my neck, looking for ligature marks. That used to be my most sensitive spot. If he even brushed it with his lips, I would shrink away giggling, only for him to pull me flush against his chest and pepper the skin with kisses. Now, his fingertips were iron. Shielded by latex, they glided over my skin without transferring a single degree of body heat. “No petechiae or bruising present on the neck. Mechanical asphyxiation ruled out.” He moved to my hands, checking beneath my fingernails for defensive wounds. “Nails intact. No foreign skin tissue located in the nail beds. The deceased did not engage in a violent physical struggle prior to death.” His gaze finally dropped to my left hand. Because of the blinding terror and sheer physical agony of the fall, my hand had clenched into a tight, rigor-mortis fist. Victor frowned slightly. It was the very first crack in his armor, the slightest ripple of emotion since he had stepped into the room. He tried to pry my fingers open, but the rigor made it incredibly difficult. “Increase the overhead lumens,” he commanded. A harsher beam of light spotlighted my hand. Brody silently handed him a small pair of bone spreaders. Victor took them. With agonizing patience, finger by finger, he began to pry my rigid hand open. Crack. A sickening pop echoed in the room. He had forcefully dislocated my index finger to get the hand open. My soul shuddered. It felt as though the phantom pain had transcended the veil of death, branding itself directly onto my consciousness. One finger. Then the next. He was as relentless as a man dismantling a bomb. Finally, my clenched fist lay open. There was nothing inside. Nothing but the deep, bloody crescent-moon indentations where my own fingernails had dug into my palm. Victor froze. He stared at my bruised, bloody palm, falling utterly silent. Nobody knew what I had been trying to hold onto in those final seconds. I wanted to grab the edge of the railing. I wanted to grab a second chance. I wanted to grab… the future, for me and my baby. But I caught nothing. I died holding nothing but the weight of my own despair. “No foreign objects present in the palm,” he stated, recovering his robotic cadence. “Multiple closed fractures across all four extremities, consistent with high-velocity deceleration impact.” He took a pair of heavy medical shears and cut away the remaining rags of my dress, using forceps to drop the fabric into a brown evidence bag. My body lay completely, humiliatingly naked beneath the harsh lights. This was the body he used to treat like a temple. He used to tell me my skin felt like warm silk. He used to leave trails of bruises on my collarbones, possessively marking me as his. Now, his eyes swept over the massive, purple contusions without a flicker of recognition. He merely held up a forensic ruler, photographing and measuring the geometry of my trauma. “Extensive subcutaneous hemorrhaging across the thorax and dorsal planes. Irregular contusions. Consistent with concrete impact.” His gaze finally moved to my lower abdomen. It was perfectly flat. At three months, I wasn’t showing at all. I hadn’t told a soul. I went to all the OB-GYN appointments alone. I still remembered the cold gel on my stomach, my palms sweating against the paper table cover. When the room suddenly filled with the rapid, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a tiny heartbeat, the tears had spilled over my cheeks before I could stop them. The doctor had smiled warmly. “Look at that. Perfectly healthy. Beating like a little freight train.” I had stood outside the clinic in the spring sunlight for an hour, just staring at the tiny printout. A grainy, black-and-white blur. Our child. The anchor of our lives. I had carefully tucked the sonogram and the positive test into a beautiful velvet box, burying it in the very back of my nightstand drawer. I was going to hand it to him over candlelight tomorrow night. I had rehearsed it a hundred times in the shower. “Mr. Carmichael, congratulations. You’re going to be a father. Try not to analyze the baby too much, okay?” I could see exactly how his stoic, unreadable face would break. The shock. The overwhelming, boyish joy. He would have picked me up and spun me around the kitchen. He loved kids. Every time we passed a toddler in the park, his eyes would follow them. He joked that he was going to teach our kid the names of all 206 bones in the human body before kindergarten. I would laugh and say absolutely not, our daughter was going to take ballet and wear obnoxious pink tutus. He would tap my nose. “Fine. Whatever you want, Jo. A little girl, just as stubborn as her mother.” But now… All of it was ash. Victor, look. Look closer at my stomach. Your obsession with protocol, your sacred ‘objectivity,’ is about to slice right through the future you wanted most. My soul screamed. I threw myself against the sterile air, thrashing in the silence. But he just kept dictating. “Abdomen is flat. No abnormal distension noted.” A cold, clinical death sentence. 3. “External examination complete. Proceeding with internal autopsy.” Victor’s voice echoed off the tiled walls, devoid of a single human frequency. He reached for a fresh scalpel. A pristine, glittering blade. The blade that was about to open my chest. “Wait!” Brody couldn’t take it anymore. He lunged forward, grabbing Victor’s wrist. “Vic, stop! Jesus Christ, man, enough! The external is enough! The cause of death is obvious—massive trauma from a fall. There is absolutely no need to… to go inside!” Brody’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking with desperation. “It’s Jo! It’s your wife! How is she supposed to rest in peace if you butcher her? How are you ever going to live with yourself?!” Victor slowly turned his head. His gaze moved from the edge of the blade to Brody’s face. For the first time, a flicker of something dark ignited in his eyes. Not grief. Not hesitation. But a terrifying, obsessive fire. “Brody. Did you forget what we do here?” He spoke quietly, but the authority in his tone was crushing. “On this table, there are no husbands. There are no wives. There is only the pathologist seeking the truth, and the victim waiting for a voice.” He forcefully twisted his wrist out of Brody’s grip, a low warning in his voice. “If you cannot maintain total objectivity, step outside. Do not stand in my room and interfere with my work.” “You…” Brody was shaking with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at Victor, unable to form a sentence. Finally, as if the air had been knocked out of his lungs, he backed away, his face twisted in horror. “You’re sick, Vic. You’ve lost your goddamn mind.” He was right. Victor was sick. The moment he tied on that surgical mask and picked up that knife, he had lost his mind. I watched as Victor readjusted his grip on the scalpel, pressing the tip directly against the center of my sternum. I remembered how he used to rest his cheek right there, listening to my pulse as we fell asleep. He used to say, “Jo, your heartbeat is the only noise in the world that turns the volume down in my head.” Listen, Victor. Can you hear it now? You can’t. So you have to carve it out of my chest just to see why it stopped? For the first time since I died, I felt hatred. A blinding, tidal wave of hatred. I hated Kelsey for pushing me over the ledge. But right now, I hated the man standing over me even more. This man using “justice” as a shield while he subjected my body to the ultimate desecration. He raised the blade. I closed my eyes. If a ghost can close her eyes. The cold steel parted my flesh without a millimeter of hesitation. From the top of my collarbone, down to my pelvis. A textbook Y-incision. The bread and butter of forensic pathology. He had done this ten thousand times. It was as natural to him as breathing. But this time, it was his wife. Skin parted. Fat tissue, muscle layers separated. His hands were terrifyingly steady. Because my heart had stopped, there was no arterial spray, just the sluggish pooling of dark, deoxygenated blood. He inserted the rib spreaders, cranking my ribcage open with a sickening crack. My heart. My lungs. My liver. All the vital mechanisms of my being were exposed to the harsh lights, naked before him and the horrified students. He picked up his surgical scissors and forceps, beginning the evisceration. “Heart. Weight, approximately three hundred grams. Pericardium intact. No obvious myocardial hemorrhaging…” He cradled my heart in his gloved palm, placing it on the hanging scale. The heart that had raced for him, broken for him, loved him. Now, it was just 300 grams of dead meat. “Lungs. Cross-sections are dark crimson, indicating severe pulmonary contusions consistent with blunt impact…” He sliced into my lungs. I remembered hiking with him in Yosemite. I was gasping for air, and he ended up carrying me on his back, joking that my lung capacity was worse than a two-pack-a-day smoker. I had punched his shoulder while he laughed. “Liver, spleen, kidneys… no visible anomalies.” His movements were a brutal ballet. Professional, ruthless, perfectly efficient. A machine operating at peak performance. The interns in the corner, initially paralyzed by nausea, were slowly transitioning into a state of terrified awe. “My God, Dr. Carmichael is unbelievable.” “I know… to be this detached when it’s his own wife… I could never be that disciplined.” “They don’t call him a machine for nothing…” Their whispers drifted up to the ceiling, mocking me. A machine? No. He was just a monster who had amputated his own soul. The evisceration continued. Soon, my chest cavity and abdomen were completely hollowed out. The organs that used to sustain my life were lined up on the metal dissection board, waiting to be sectioned and bathed in formaldehyde. I looked like a ragdoll ripped to shreds by a vicious dog. Do you see, Victor? Are you satisfied with your ‘evidence’? My heart didn’t give out. My liver didn’t fail. I didn’t suffer a spontaneous aneurysm. I was murdered. Did you really need to gut me like an animal to prove it? Finally, his eyes dropped to the very bottom of my pelvic cavity. To the last remaining organ. My uterus. 4. It was the softest, safest place inside me. The tiny sanctuary where our child was dreaming. Victor reached down with his forceps. My soul stretched until it felt like it would tear apart.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “432227”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The afternoon sun was warm as I stood by the gates of the elementary school, my heart doing that familiar, eager little flutter. When I finally spotted her walking out, I immediately threw my hand up. “Mia, Mommy’s right here!” I called out, a bright smile on my face. But she only shot me a frigid, sideways glance before deliberately turning to walk in the opposite direction. Panic spiking, I hurried after her and caught her gently by the arm. “Mia, sweetie, it’s Mommy. Didn’t you see me?” I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion. To my absolute shock, she yanked her arm out of my grasp and began to scream. “You’re a bad lady! I don’t know you!” Her high-pitched voice pierced the noise of the crowd, drawing the stares of every parent nearby. A teacher quickly stepped in, pulling Mia behind her back and eyeing me with intense suspicion. I froze, completely bewildered. I threw my hands up in a placating gesture. “Mia, stop playing around, honey. It’s Mommy.” But my daughter just cowered behind her teacher’s legs, her voice trembling with manufactured grievance. “Ms. Davis, I don’t know her. My mommy isn’t fat and ugly like that.” 1 Before I could even process the words, the teacher was already dialing 911. Ten minutes later, a police cruiser idled by the school gates. Two officers approached. After listening to the teacher’s breathless account, they looked me up and down, their expressions guarded. “Ma’am, who are you? What is your relationship with Mia?” My hands shook as I dug my driver’s license out of my purse and handed it over. “I’m not lying. I am her mother. I am Paige.” The officer glanced at my ID, then knelt down to eye level with my daughter. “Sweetheart, do you know this woman?” Mia shook her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “No. I don’t know her.” The teacher chimed in, crossing her arms. “Her grandmother is usually the one who picks her up. In all my time teaching Mia, I’ve never once seen her mother.” Desperation clawed at my throat. “Her grandmother went to her bridge club today and lost track of time! She specifically called me to come get her.” No one was listening. I crouched down, forcing myself to look directly into my daughter’s eyes. They were the exact replica of her father’s—narrow, sharp, and capable of a coldness that felt entirely unnatural for a six-year-old. “Mia, what is going on with you today? How can you suddenly not know your own mother?” She shot me a fleeting, guilty look before shrinking further behind the teacher’s skirt. “Ms. Davis, my mommy is skinny and beautiful. That’s not my mommy. Can you please call my daddy to come get me?” A sickening realization began to settle over me. I looked down at myself. My sneakers were clearance rack slip-ons I’d bought at Target a year ago, the white rubber edges now scuffed to a dull gray. My shirt was an oversized, faded cotton tee, the collar stretched out, a faint grease stain from cooking lunch blooming near the hem. I could literally smell the lingering scent of minced garlic and onions on my own skin. Standing in the sea of polished, Lululemon-wearing, blowout-sporting suburban mothers, I was decidedly not beautiful. The police called my husband, Trent. He arrived shortly after. He parked his Audi, walked over, and caught sight of me from a distance. The look in his eyes was a mirror of Mia’s—a desperate, palpable desire to distance himself from me entirely. A deep chill seeped into my bones. My daughter wasn’t the only one disgusted by my appearance. The officer pointed at me. “Sir, do you know this woman?” Trent nodded stiffly, letting out a reluctant, “Yeah.” “Your daughter claims this woman is not her mother. Can you clarify her relationship to the child?” Trent went silent. One second. Two seconds. Three. He looked at me again, his jaw set. “She’s our nanny. Something came up at work, so I asked her to do the school run today.” A nanny. I stood rooted to the pavement, the shock so profound it robbed me of speech. The daughter I had carried for nine months, the child I had raised with my own two hands, had just called me a stranger. The husband I shared a bed with, the man whose every need I had meticulously catered to, had just called me the help. It hit me then, a brutal, blinding truth: in that house, I wasn’t a family member to anyone. The whispers of the surrounding crowd grew louder. I could feel their scorn, their absolute contempt burning into my skin. “No wonder the poor kid was terrified. It’s the nanny trying to pass herself off as the mom.” “I know, right? Look at how she’s dressed. Tragic. Definitely not the mother.” My face burned with a heat so intense I wished the asphalt would crack open and swallow me whole. I looked pleadingly at Mia and Trent, begging them silently to say something, anything, to clear my name. They both turned their heads away. Deliberately. In that single, quiet moment, I understood my place. In our home, I didn’t even exist. 2 The atmosphere in the car ride home was suffocating. Trent caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his tone clipped and defensive. “I’ve told you before not to do the school run looking like that. You embarrassed her today. I need you to be more considerate of our daughter’s feelings.” When I didn’t respond, Mia began to fake-cry in the backseat, dramatic little sniffles filling the silence. “Yeah, Mommy. Look at the other mommies. They’re all skinny and pretty and wear nice clothes. But you? You’re fat and ugly. My friends are going to laugh at me.” I turned my head slowly to look at her. Today, my daughter was wearing a pristine blush-pink sundress. I had spent twenty minutes that morning braiding her hair into twin buns, securing them with little rhinestone crown clips. She looked like a perfect, flawless little princess. Every single item of clothing she owned, I had painstakingly picked out. Every hairstyle, I had crafted with aching hands at dawn. And the crisp button-down shirt Trent was currently wearing? I had washed it, treated the collar, and ironed it three times to get the creases just right. I did the laundry. I cooked the meals. I scrubbed the floors. I served the elders, I served the child, I served the house. I was, in every practical sense, nothing more than a nanny. Taking my silence as submission, Trent’s voice softened slightly. “I’m sorry, Paige. I’m just trying to protect Mia’s feelings. Just… dress a little better next time you go to the school.” I sat in a haze of numbness. So a child’s love for her mother was entirely conditional upon the clothes she wore. Then what, exactly, did the last six years of my bleeding, sweating devotion count for? When we got home, muscle memory took over. Before I could even think, I found myself in the kitchen. Heating the oil. Tossing in the chicken wings. Flipping them. Adding the minced garlic. The hot oil sputtered, stinging my eyes. I rubbed them with the back of my wrist and kept cooking. After nearly an hour of standing over the stove, I carried Mia’s favorite honey-garlic wings to the dining table. By the time I finally sat down, they had already eaten most of the sides. I picked up my fork and reached for a wing. Smack. Mia brought her fork down hard against the back of my hand. My wing slipped from my grip and tumbled back onto the serving platter. “Mommy, why are you eating the chicken? If you eat it, what are Daddy and Grandma going to eat?” 3 I froze, the sting on my hand barely registering over the ringing in my ears. There had been twelve wings on that plate. Mia had eaten four. Trent had eaten three. My mother-in-law, Helen, had eaten two. There were exactly three left. I hadn’t had a single one. “Grandma and Daddy have already had theirs,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Mommy hasn’t eaten yet.” Mia looked at me with staggering entitlement. “There are three left. Daddy, Grandma, and I get one each. If you eat one, we can’t divide it equally.” The blood rushed to my head. I stared at my six-year-old daughter, utterly completely blindsided. Helen reached over, picking up one of the remaining wings and placing it onto Mia’s plate, her eyes crinkling with fond approval. “Our Mia is such a good girl. So sweet, always thinking of her daddy and her grandma.” With that, Helen picked up the last two wings, dropping one onto Trent’s plate and the other onto her own. Only then did she lift her chin to look at me, her face twisting in pure disdain. “Paige, you’re a grown woman. Are you seriously fighting a child for food?” Trent, forever the peacekeeper of his own comfort, chimed in smoothly. “Paige, come on, Mia’s just playing with you. Besides, weren’t you talking about going on a diet? Have some more of the salad.” “Exactly,” Helen scoffed. “Look at the state of you. Dressing like you’re off to collect scrap metal to pick up the kid. Have you no shame? Mia told me everything as soon as she got home. How is the poor girl supposed to hold her head up around her classmates when you look like that?” “Yeah, Mommy,” Mia chimed in, her mouth full of chicken. “Don’t eat it. You’re too fat anyway. You need to diet.” I set my fork down. I looked at the empty serving platter, and I felt something deep inside me snap, crystallizing into pure, arctic ice. The last time I made this, Mia had complained they weren’t flavorful enough. So today, I had marinated them for two extra hours. I had gone to the butcher to pick out the best cuts. I had minced every single clove of garlic by hand. I had scrubbed the cast-iron skillet until it gleamed. I had stood in that kitchen for an hour. And at the end of it all, I wasn’t even deemed worthy of a single bite. I didn’t pick my fork back up. I didn’t swallow my pride and stay silent like I had a thousand times before. I stood up, grabbed the platter of chicken wings, the salad, the braised fish, and the soup, and dumped every last bit of it straight into the garbage can. The entire room went dead silent. Helen was the first to recover. She slammed her hand flat against the table. “Paige, have you lost your mind?! What are you doing throwing perfectly good food away!” Trent shot up from his chair, pointing a finger at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ignored them. I crouched down so I was eye-level with my daughter. “Mia. I have raised you for six years, and I don’t even deserve a piece of chicken?” Mia burst into terrified, wailing sobs. Helen lunged forward, pulling the girl to her chest, screaming at me. “She’s a child! Why are you bullying a child! Is it really that serious?!” Trent stepped toward me, his face red. “She’s right! It’s just a damn chicken wing! Do you really need to throw a psycho tantrum over it?” Just a chicken wing? I stood up slowly, looking at the three of them. The family I had built. “Everyone in this house is allowed to eat the food I cook, except me. Fine. Then I’m done cooking.” I turned on my heel, walked into the master bedroom, and shut the door. Outside, Helen’s shrill voice bled through the wood. “Spoiled brat! Over nothing! If she won’t cook, fine! My son makes enough money to take us to a restaurant!” Trent’s voice followed, soothing her. “Mom, don’t let it get your blood pressure up. She’s probably pre-menopausal or something. Just ignore her.” I leaned my back against the heavy wooden door, listening to them, and suddenly found myself wanting to laugh. I had served as the lifeblood of this family for six years. I flipped one table, and suddenly I was the crazy woman. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the parents’ group chat. The teacher had posted an announcement: “Congratulations to Mia for winning first place in the first-grade essay contest with her piece, ‘My Mother’!” I tapped on the attached photo of the handwritten essay. “My mother is a piano teacher.” “She is very beautiful, and she has a very gentle voice. Every time she picks me up from school, all my friends tell me my mommy is so pretty.” “She is very classy and smart, and she plays the piano beautifully. I love my mommy the most. She is the best person I’ve ever met.” I stared at the glowing screen, reading every single word. My eyes began to burn. Because the mother in my daughter’s essay wasn’t me. It was her piano teacher, Queena. I wiped roughly at the corner of my eye. I couldn’t figure out when it happened. When did my little girl change so much? She used to cling to me. When she was a toddler, she would crawl under my covers every single night, begging me to read her Peppa Pig books. I would read them over and over until she finally drifted off, her soft little cheek pressed flush against my arm. Before I married Trent, I used to be just like Queena. Cultured. Gentle. Put-together. But then I got married. I had a baby. My entire universe shrank to the perimeter of a kitchen stove. Standing in the kitchen for hours every night, my skin constantly blasted by cooking steam, my hands perpetually pruned from washing dishes in freezing water. Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, on an endless, looping track. I took care of everyone else, and in the process, I ground myself down into a tired, invisible ghost of a woman. I took a long, shaky breath. Then, I pulled up my contacts and called my parents. “Dad? Mom? That next round of funding you were planning to inject into Trent’s company? Put a freeze on it.” “There’s something I need to figure out first.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “432226”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

After losing my leg in a car accident, my wife and my best friend took care of me devotedly. I was deeply moved and threw myself into rehabilitation. Until a message popped up on my newly opened online store. “Can you ship the cross necklace faster? I did something wrong and want to give it as an apology.” I asked curiously, “Apologize for what?” The reply came quickly: “I stole my best friend’s two wives…” “But I really didn’t mean to… His first wife was a doctor, smart and beautiful. I couldn’t resist. While he was on a business trip, I slept with her. Later he found out his wife cheated and divorced her, but never suspected me. I swore I’d never betray him again.” “But his second wife was even more beautiful, and a wealthy CEO. I fell for her too. I planned to sleep with her just once, but got addicted.” “Last month, for a thrill, we drugged him with sleeping pills and let him sleep in the back seat while we did it in the front. Then we had a sudden car accident. We escaped, but he lost his right leg and suffered permanent damage that left him unable to have children. I feel so guilty I can’t tell him the truth. All I can do is try to make amends.” Hearing this familiar story, my heart trembled. The next second, a shipping notification popped up, and I felt like I’d been thrown into an ice pit. The recipient information showed my best friend, Diallo.

I stared at the information on the screen, my fingertips shaking so badly I could barely hold the mouse. The severed bone at my amputation site throbbed with pain, but that was nothing compared to one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. How could this be? For the past month, Diallo had been by my side day and night, bringing me water and feeding me. My wife Victoria had also canceled all her work to stay by my side, wiping my body daily with meticulous care. Their companionship had been the only light in my dark days. How could they do this to me? An absurd sense of being torn apart instantly swept through my body. I was suffocating. With trembling hands, I took out my phone and called my ex-wife Lamoris. The call connected quickly, and I heard her somewhat joyful voice: “Hello, Theodore…” I cut straight to the point: “Lamoris, was Diallo the one you cheated with?” Lamoris fell silent. Silence was the best answer. My heart felt like it had been torn in half, the pain making my soul tremble. After a long while, Lamoris slowly spoke: “It was him, Theodore. I was possessed back then. I truly regret it. I wanted to tell you the truth long ago, but Diallo said if you knew it was him who betrayed you, you’d completely fall apart and couldn’t handle the blow. That’s why I kept it hidden…” I couldn’t listen anymore and abruptly hung up. Tears fell uncontrollably onto the desk, spreading into cold puddles. In a daze, I seemed to return to four years ago. I had been working on a project non-stop, neglecting Lamoris. After finishing, I planned to make it up to her, but found men’s underwear in her pocket that didn’t belong to me. Back then, I had been just like this, tears streaming down my face, clutching my chest as I asked Lamoris: “Who was it?” But she just pulled at her hair remorsefully, refusing to say the name. Later, I divorced. Victoria, who had been abroad, rushed back upon hearing the news. She was the heir to the Williams family and my childhood friend who had secretly loved me since we were young. Afraid I’d spiral into depression, she begged me with red eyes: “Don’t shut yourself away. I’ll be with you. From now on, I’ll take care of you.” I fell seriously ill and underwent major surgery with Diallo’s company. After the surgery, I was physically and mentally exhausted, weak all the time. As my good friend, Diallo looked at me with heartache and tried every way to cheer me up. Victoria didn’t mind the dirt or fatigue. She washed clothes, cooked, served tea and water, taking care of every detail. She even personally blew on each sip of water to cool it before bringing it to my lips. Back then, I thought they were my most trusted support. But now, I’d been betrayed twice in a row by the people I trusted most, working together. I felt the world had completely collapsed, leaving only bone-chilling cold in my heart. I suddenly remembered two years ago when I finally relented and agreed to Victoria’s proposal. She was as happy as a child, throwing herself into my arms and swearing: “Theodore, I’ll spend my life protecting and loving you.” Diallo had also looked sincere: “Me too, Theodore. As your friend, I’ll protect you for life and never let anyone bully you.” Turns out their “lifetime” was surprisingly short. Just two years, and it shattered completely. I covered my tearful eyes and let out a shrill, desperate laugh. With trembling hands, I pulled open the drawer and took out the bottle of pills used to suppress phantom limb pain. I shoved the pills into my mouth. One handful, then another. Until the bottle was empty, not a single pill left. But the excruciating pain in my severed limb and heart didn’t lessen at all, as if it would devour me. My throat turned sweet, and I suddenly spat out several mouthfuls of blood. Hurried footsteps came from outside the door, followed by heart-wrenching shouts: “Theodore!”

When I opened my eyes again, I was already in the hospital. Beside me was Victoria’s exhausted, haggard face. Seeing me awake, she didn’t care for me warmly as she used to. Instead, she frowned impatiently, her voice hoarse: “Theodore, can you stop making a scene? Do you know Diallo was so scared when he saw you try to kill yourself that he fainted on the spot? He’s still getting IV fluids in the next room.” “Is your life the only one that matters? It’s been a month already. How much longer are you going to be suicidal like this?” I opened my mouth, but before I could speak. The door burst open. Diallo pointed at her angrily and snapped: “Victoria, who gave you permission to talk to Theodore like that! Are you looking to die?” Victoria, who had been full of cold severity just moments ago, instantly suppressed all her hostility. She obediently lowered her eyes, her expression impossibly soft, her tone cautious: “Are you feeling better? Do you need more rest? I can take care of Theodore.” Diallo shot back mercilessly: “You? What good are you?” With that, Diallo walked to my side. Seeing my pale face, his eyes instantly reddened. “You fool, why are you so pessimistic? Didn’t I tell you that you still have me? I’m your best friend. If something’s bothering you, talk to me.” I pulled a mocking smile. Diallo didn’t notice my unusual reaction and continued: “Theodore, you’ve suffered so much. Maybe you have too much bad luck. I bought you a cross necklace to ward off the bad energy…” “Get out.” Before he could finish, I cut him off. At the mention of the cross necklace, all those disgusting things he’d done flooded my mind, torturing my nerves. Reason drowned in rage. I shoved him away viciously. I grabbed whatever I could reach and hurled it at them. “Get out! Both of you get out!” “I don’t want to see you anymore!” Diallo stumbled back several steps from my push. He tried to come forward to comfort me, but was hit by something I threw. He clutched his face, his whole body trembling in pain. Victoria finally lost her temper. She pushed me hard. I lost my balance and my lower back slammed hard into the corner of the table. The pain made my vision go black. Before I could steady myself, Victoria had already pulled Diallo behind her, her voice wrapped in bone-chilling coldness: “Theodore, that’s enough! Diallo doesn’t owe you anything. He’s not your dog that you can hit and scold whenever you want. What gives you the right to hurt him!” Perhaps it was the urgency of the moment, or perhaps she was too lazy to keep pretending. This extremely intimate way of addressing Diallo slipped right out, smashing my heart until it bled. This scene was so familiar. When we first got together, I worried Diallo was lonely and couldn’t take care of himself, so I brought him food every day. Once I accidentally burned my hand, and Victoria rarely got angry. “Diallo, always Diallo. You’re not his dog. Why do you have to revolve around him every day?” Seeing my face darken, she threw herself into my arms and acted cute: “Theodore, I just don’t want you to get hurt because of him. It hurts me. Plus, you care about him every day—I’m getting jealous.” But now, the person she loved had changed from me to him. Seeing my face pale and unsteady on my feet. Diallo anxiously tried to rush over, saying with concern: “Theodore, don’t listen to her. I’m fine. You’re just in a bad mood. I understand.” But Victoria kept him firmly protected in her arms, not letting him get close to me at all. She was silent for a moment, her voice carrying a hint of pleading: “Theodore, I’m begging you. Diallo still had a fever yesterday, and today you scared him into fainting. Let him rest properly, okay?” With that, she forcefully pulled Diallo’s hand and turned to leave the hospital room. I bent over sharply and began retching violently. The pain in my heart and body intertwined, making me wish for death. After they left, I took out my phone and opened the home surveillance system. I’d installed this when Victoria used to travel for work and I was afraid to be home alone. Soon, she and Diallo appeared in the video, the image and sound crystal clear. Victoria couldn’t wait to pull Diallo into her arms, her hand sliding downward. Diallo seemed to resist but didn’t, twisting his body and dodging continuously. Victoria’s eyes reddened: “Diallo, don’t dodge. I’ve held back for a month. I miss you so much.” Diallo buried his face in her shoulder: “But Theodore is still in the hospital. How can we do this?” Victoria didn’t answer, just straddled his lean waist and kept moving. Soon, Diallo was gritting his teeth, flipping over to take control, thrusting forcefully. The ambiguous sounds penetrated through flesh straight to my heart. My tears flowed uncontrollably.

My vision gradually blurred. Sweet memories from the past surged up uncontrollably, stabbing me painfully. I’ll never forget how hard Victoria fought to marry me back then. Once, someone maliciously drugged her drink with a powerful aphrodisiac. When the drug took effect, she forcibly endured it, using a knife to cut herself to stay conscious. She’d rather soak in cold water all night than touch anyone who approached her. Afterward, she held me, deadly serious: “Theodore, I won’t touch anyone but you. For this lifetime, I’ll only be faithful to you.” I believed her. And Diallo was my other salvation. During a rafting activity in freshman year, I accidentally fell into the water. He jumped in without hesitation to save me. In junior year, my parents died in a plane crash. Overnight, I went from wealthy heir to orphan. It was Diallo who took me into his home without a word, staying with me day and night. I gave him everything I had in return. I don’t understand what I did wrong. That he had to take both my women. I understand even less. Why Victoria, who had loved me to the bone, would change just like Lamoris did. The next day, Victoria came to pick me up from the hospital. Before I could expose her, she grabbed my hand and apologized: “Theodore, I didn’t mean to yell at you yesterday. I was afraid that if you treated Diallo like that, he’d be disappointed and hurt and leave you. You don’t want to lose this friend, do you?” I coldly withdrew my hand. My gaze swept over the center console where a cake sat—my favorite flavor from before. My heart stirred slightly. I reached out to open it, but Victoria pressed down on my hand. Her tone left no room for argument: “Don’t touch it. I bought this for Diallo.” After a pause, she added consolingly: “If you want some, I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.” I calmly withdrew my hand. So even a piece of cake no longer had my share. When we got home, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. As soon as I pushed open the door, I saw a conspicuous pregnancy test. In an instant, my heart felt like it was being cut by knives. There was only one woman in the house. The pregnant one could only be Victoria. And I had lost my ability to have children, so the baby was Diallo’s? I opened the surveillance feed. Diallo’s trembling voice came through the video. “Victoria, how could I get you pregnant? Theodore just lost his ability to have children. How can I do this? I’m such a terrible friend to him.” Victoria reached out and hugged Diallo tightly: “Diallo, this isn’t your fault. This is our child—it’s fate. Theodore can’t have children. This is my only child.” Diallo was silent for a while, then took Victoria’s hand: “Victoria, will you marry me? You can’t keep me nameless and titleless like this. I know this is unfair to Theodore. We can compensate him in other ways.” After a long silence, Victoria said heavily: “Diallo, I don’t know…” My chest felt nothing but numbness. All the pain reached its peak in this moment, then strangely returned to deathly silence. At dinner, I looked at them and asked: “I saw a pregnancy test in the bathroom. Whose is it?” Identical panic appeared on both their faces. Diallo’s face went white. He stammered for a long time before squeezing out: “It’s my new girlfriend’s. There was an accident…” I suddenly laughed, my laughter full of mockery: “You have a girlfriend but won’t introduce her to me? And you secretly got her pregnant? Is your girlfriend that shameful?” I paused, my gaze sweeping over Victoria’s grim expression, my tone growing sharper: “You got her pregnant and won’t take responsibility? Diallo, since when did you become so spineless? Or are you the other man, clinging to some rich woman? If you ask me, this kind of relationship that can’t see the light of day should be ended as soon as possible, before it becomes an embarrassment.” Diallo’s face turned deathly pale, his body trembling continuously. Victoria slammed the table and stood up, shouting at me: “Theodore, shut up!” She violently smashed the plate in front of her on the ground. Ceramic shards bounced up, cutting several bloody lines across my face. “He’s your best friend! If you won’t help him, fine, but how can you be so aggressive and viciously slander him like this? Do you have no conscience!” Diallo reached out and tightly grabbed Victoria’s sleeve, shaking his head with tears in his eyes to persuade her: “Victoria, don’t be angry. I’m fine. Don’t blame Theodore…” One protecting him with fury, one appearing weak and wronged—they were like a pair of mandarin ducks being persecuted. And I had become the villain trying to tear them apart. In that moment, I suddenly felt incredibly exhausted, without even the energy to argue or expose them. I stood up, didn’t look at them again, and turned back to my room.

The next few days, the house was terrifyingly quiet. Until this day, when Diallo offered to accompany me to check on my amputated limb. After thinking for a moment, I agreed. I had already had someone draft divorce papers. Between Diallo and me, there should also be a reckoning. But I didn’t expect that just as the examination finished, two criminals suddenly abducted Diallo and me from the basement. When Victoria arrived after getting the news, the out-of-control criminals were pressing Diallo and me against the stairwell. Knife blades rested against both our necks. The slightest movement would mean torn flesh. Horror appeared on Victoria’s face. Her gaze locked on Diallo, her voice hoarse with panic: “If you dare hurt him, I’ll kill you!” Diallo trembled all over with fear, tears falling uncontrollably. The criminal was pushed to emotional madness by her threat. He shoved us both further toward the edge of the stairs, roaring threats. In the chaos, the criminal’s grip became unbalanced and he pushed us violently down the stairs. “No!” Victoria’s eyes bloodshot with fury, she lunged toward Diallo without hesitation. As she rushed over, I was just falling. Her sharp stiletto heel stomped viciously on my amputated limb as she ran frantically toward Diallo. Sharp, bone-piercing pain instantly swept through my body. The already fragile stump oozed blood from being stepped on. I tumbled down the stairs, convulsing in pain, curled up on the ground unable to move. She paid no attention at all, didn’t even glance down at me. She caught Diallo firmly in her arms, her heart and soul trembling: “Diallo! Don’t scare me!” She supported Diallo, her fingertips trembling, stroking his face over and over, her eyes full of fear. I reached out with difficulty. Every movement pulled at the excruciating pain in my stump. I called out to her weakly: “Victoria…” This time, could she please not abandon me again… But Victoria didn’t even spare me a glance. Supporting the semi-conscious Diallo, she stumbled toward the bottom of the stairs. Her shrill shouts echoed through the stairwell: “Diallo, I promise you, as long as you’re okay, I’ll marry you. From now on, I only want you, I’ll only love you.” I lay on the ground, watching her resolute departing figure, then slowly looked back at my mangled stump. Then my vision went black and I completely lost consciousness. When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. Diallo and Victoria were sitting by my hospital bed. Seeing me awake, Diallo excitedly leaned forward, “Theodore, you’re finally awake. You scared me to death.” Victoria also looked distressed, hastily apologizing: “I’m sorry Theodore. It’s not that I didn’t want to save you, it’s just that Diallo is physically fragile and can’t withstand injury, so I saved him first. You understand, right?” I pulled my lips into a slight smile: “Victoria, let’s get divorced.” She stumbled back two steps in disbelief: “Divorce? Theodore, what are you talking about? Just because of this small thing…” I raised my hand to interrupt her: “I know everything about you and Diallo. If we don’t divorce, are you planning to keep sneaking around with Diallo?” Both of them froze in place, the color draining from their faces.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390575”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My husband Philip had late-stage liver cancer. Afraid of being a burden to me, he jumped into the river. I couldn’t swim, but I jumped in without hesitation to save him. To ignite his will to live, I told him about winning the lottery. He pretended to struggle, but pushed me underwater and drowned me! My body wasn’t even cold before he turned around and used my money to emigrate abroad with his first love, Kelly. Turns out he was faking his death to get rid of me! When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my husband jumped into the river. You want to die? Then let me give you a hand! “Oh my God, someone jumped into the river!” “Quick, save him! Call the police!!” The clamor of voices made me feel as if I were in another lifetime. Looking down, the river water had already risen past my knees. Wasn’t I already drowned? How did I end up back here?? Rebirth—such a stroke of luck, and it actually happened to me?! I watched the figure drifting toward the center of the river, my gaze heavy. Philip, this time I won’t sacrifice myself to save you. And you won’t get a single penny of my money! I loosened my grip, and the bamboo pole in my hand drifted away with the current. I pretended to panic and screamed. “Help! Someone help! I can’t swim! Someone please save my husband!” Philip was struggling in the water, but he managed to keep his chest above the surface the whole time. Where was the appearance of a drowning person?! On the shore, my in-laws were also shouting for help while urging me to come back to shore. But their expressions were very calm. This scene made me realize how stupid I’d been in my past life! So the whole family knew! Stopping me from saving him wasn’t out of concern for my safety—they just didn’t want me to ruin Philip’s fake death plan. Right up until the moment of my death, I’d been comforted by the thought that I’d risked my life to save Philip. But that bastard turned around and moved abroad with his first love. Philip was quickly rescued by several brave passersby. At the hospital during emergency treatment, the doctor called it a miracle. A suicide jumper who hadn’t swallowed a single mouthful of water. My in-laws put on a show of thanking their ancestors for protection, saying Philip’s time hadn’t come yet. I sneered inwardly and asked the doctor with feigned concern. “My husband has late-stage liver cancer. Could falling in the water affect his condition? Wouldn’t a more detailed examination be safer?” My in-laws panicked immediately and rushed to stop me. I saw right through them. Late-stage liver cancer—that was just an excuse for the fake death, wasn’t it? And to think in my past life I’d been naive enough to tell Philip about winning the hundred-million-dollar jackpot. Wasn’t that just driving myself to a dead end?! As soon as Philip was wheeled into the hospital room, a doctor came—but not the one from emergency. This female doctor wore a mask and went straight to the bed. Her concerned look and anxious way of flipping through the medical chart made me suspicious. She even bent down and grabbed Philip’s hand! Those vaguely familiar eyes—I’d seen them when I was a ghost. “Kelly, the ER doctor said Philip is fine.” Porter’s slip of the tongue confirmed my suspicion. Kelly was Philip’s first love. They’d dated for six years before breaking up. “Mom, are you guys that close?” I asked suddenly, and Porter didn’t dare meet my eyes. Only then did Kelly notice I was there too. She slid her hand up, pretending to check Philip’s pulse. I almost laughed out loud. Wasn’t she a Western medicine doctor? Why was she checking his pulse? My father-in-law Anthony forced himself to stay calm. “Kelly is Philip’s attending physician. We are quite familiar with each other.” Familiar enough not to call her “Dr. Kelly” and just use her first name? Porter took the opportunity to scold me, saying I didn’t care enough about Philip. It was because I hadn’t taken good care of Philip that he got cancer. I put on an expression of humbly accepting criticism and actively made a statement. “You’re right. That’s why I’ve decided to transfer Philip to a major hospital in New York. Worst case, we’ll do a liver transplant.” The other people in the room all changed color at this. Faking cancer, were you? Then I’ll just have your liver removed first and let you suffer slowly!

Porter took my hand and said earnestly. “Lester, I’m gratified that you can recognize your mistake. But since the doctor has already said Philip is in late stage, let’s just let him go with dignity!” Anthony snorted coldly and said sarcastically. “Do you know better or does the doctor? Stop making a fuss!” I forced out two tears. “Philip is still so young. I’m just afraid he’ll die before his time. I’ve already contacted specialists in New York.” “There happens to be a suitable liver donor available. As soon as we transfer there, we can arrange the liver transplant surgery immediately.” This was all made up to scare them. Sure enough, Kelly was shocked and blurted out. “No!” My in-laws also strongly objected. I looked coldly at Kelly. “I’ve never seen a doctor prevent a patient from getting treatment. Or is there a problem with your diagnosis?” Kelly’s eyes flickered, but she stubbornly insisted she couldn’t have misdiagnosed. Porter flew into a rage and scolded me, saying I was deliberately trying to kill her son. Getting to New York required flying. What if something happened to Philip during such an arduous journey? Anthony even stood in the doorway, absolutely refusing to let me take Philip to New York. I took out my phone and threatened coldly. “Fine, we don’t have to go to New York. Then I’ll just ask the specialists to come here for a consultation. I refuse to believe Philip can’t be saved!” When Kelly heard the word “consultation,” she panicked even more. Porter coughed lightly and gave her a look. Pretending to compromise: “Since Lester has already contacted the specialists, let’s do that!” “Lester, you go home and rest. Your dad and I will leave after the caregiver arrives.” They clearly wanted to send me away. I nodded and pretended to leave the hospital room with a worried expression. Once out of the hospital, I immediately disguised myself and went to claim the prize. I wouldn’t let anyone know about this hundred-million-dollar jackpot this time. I hid the money well, didn’t immediately buy anything, and even sold my car. When I got home, I discovered that the joint account Philip and I had agreed not to touch had a zero balance! After we got married, we’d each transfer part of our salary into it every month. It served as the family’s emergency fund and our future child’s education fund. This bastard had secretly withdrawn the money behind my back?! I had a bad feeling. I immediately made several phone calls, asking friends to help me investigate some things. I lay in bed, tossing and turning. Since Philip had originally planned to fake his death and run away with Kelly, he must have made thorough preparations long ago. Fortunately, the house and car were in my name. It would be difficult for him to sell them for cash without me. But that uneasy feeling in my heart wouldn’t go away. Just as I dozed off, my phone kept vibrating. At 3 a.m., Kelly’s sorrowful voice came through the phone. “Ms. Lester, your husband Mr. Philip’s condition suddenly deteriorated. After doing everything we could to save him, he still passed away. Please accept my condolences!” I put on a shocked expression and said with a sob in my voice. “What? How could this happen? I’ll be right there!” After hanging up, I couldn’t suppress the corners of my mouth. “Died” pretty quickly, didn’t you? I won’t let you go so comfortably. I took something from the drawer and hurried to the hospital. In the hospital room, Philip was already covered with a white sheet. I lifted the sheet and glanced at him. His face was peaceful. This was probably the best complexion I’d ever seen on a liver cancer patient, right? Weren’t others usually sallow and terribly thin? Let me see you keep pretending! “Slap! Slap!” Without warning, I delivered two slaps. Philip didn’t move a muscle. Looks like they gave him quite a dose! Porter was about to come pull me away, but I threw myself onto Philip first. “Philip, you heartless man, how could you just leave me like this??” I wailed while taking the opportunity to assess the situation. His body was warm, he still had a heartbeat—this confirmed my suspicion.

Porter pulled me up with fake sympathy. “Lester, the dead can’t come back to life. We still have to look forward.” Anthony also handed me a document. “This is Philip’s will. You’re his sole heir.” I wiped my eyes and straightened up. They were playing dead, fine, but they’d even prepared a will? Something fishy was going on! I took the will and skimmed through it. [The debts incurred during my lifetime shall also be repaid by Ms. Lester.] I sneered and pointed at this line. “What does this mean?” Anthony snorted coldly and muttered disdainfully. He said since I was enjoying everything Philip left behind, naturally I should also bear Philip’s debts. So this is what they were waiting for! The family emergency fund had been emptied. That bastard Philip must have been hiding other things from me. I suppressed my anger for the moment and took out the card I’d brought. “Philip applied for organ donation. I’ve already notified the donation center staff to come.” My in-laws and Kelly turned pale with fright. Porter was so angry she wanted to hit me, but I cleverly dodged. Anthony cursed me out, saying I wouldn’t even leave his son’s body intact and was vicious. Kelly stammered for a long time, using the excuse that Philip’s cancer cells had spread and metastasized, so his other organs probably weren’t in good condition either. I sighed. “I already asked, and they said there’s no problem, they can be used. Let’s just respect Philip’s wishes!” “Aren’t I Philip’s sole heir? What’s wrong with me making decisions on such small matters?” These people’s expressions were truly priceless. Kelly suddenly turned to pour water for us. I noticed that two cups were placed very close together. She handed those to my in-laws. A single cup placed separately was given to me. Just as I was about to take a sip, I noticed fine powder on the rim of the cup. At that moment, people from the donation center arrived. My in-laws made a scene and threatened suicide, while Kelly also urged against it. Because direct family members strongly objected, even though the deceased had applied during his lifetime, the donation center wouldn’t force it. After driving them away, Anthony glared at me. “Porter, hurry and call Paul. Why isn’t the car here yet? We need to take Philip back to our hometown!” Nice plan—trying to run away? I feigned surprise. “You’re going to bury Philip?” “Driving back to the hometown takes 7-8 hours. We’d need to order a refrigerated coffin and use the funeral home’s professional cold chain vehicle, right?” My in-laws exchanged guilty glances and didn’t dare respond. I pretended to be compliant. “We also need to notify all the relatives back home, have everyone come pay their respects to Philip and see him off one last time. Don’t the hometown customs require a three-day wake?” Under everyone’s watchful eyes, I’d like to see how you maintain Philip’s anesthesia. If I could personally witness him being buried alive, that would be truly satisfying! Anthony was sweating profusely with anxiety, speaking incoherently. “We feel we don’t need to follow the old ways… we just want Philip to return to his roots and rest in peace.” I almost laughed out loud. You’re talking to me about burial? Kelly pulled Porter’s hand and hinted with her eyes. “Auntie, these days everyone advocates for simple funerals. How about cremation instead! Taking the ashes back for burial is the same. I’ll contact the funeral home right away.” Hearing her say this, Porter knew there were other remedial measures and calmed down. What scheme was this mistress plotting now? When they weren’t paying attention, I tampered with the water in several cups. “Dad, Mom, have some water first!” My in-laws didn’t suspect anything and drank the cup of water Kelly had specially prepared for me. I didn’t know what was in it, but they both soon became dizzy, their eyes glazed.

Kelly came back to see this scene and was dumbstruck. I didn’t give her any time to hesitate. “Dr. Kelly, I don’t know what’s wrong with my parents. Please take them for an examination. I’ll take Philip to the funeral home.” I had just taken Philip’s death certificate from Porter. With this, how could I not have him cremated?? Kelly’s face turned deathly pale, and she stammered. “I’m more familiar with the funeral home procedures, so maybe I should…” Before she could finish, I said sternly. “Dr. Kelly, funeral home procedures must be handled by immediate family members. What relation are you to Philip? Did you issue the death certificate?” Kelly was left speechless by my questioning. Under my stare, her expression was extremely guilty. A mistress—what standing did she have to sign papers and handle procedures? Disgusting!! I didn’t delay for a moment and got in the vehicle with the funeral home staff. When the car went over a speed bump, I noticed Philip’s brow furrowed slightly. Oh no, was this guy about to wake up?? At that moment, my in-laws began calling me in turns. I didn’t answer. Porter’s text messages followed immediately. [Lester! If you dare cremate my son, I’ll never forgive you!!] [Lester! We’re on our way to the funeral home. Wait until we get there to discuss everything!] The screen full of exclamation marks—they must be going crazy with anxiety, right? After waiting so long for this opportunity, how could I let them ruin it?! I quickly tapped on the window and pleaded with the staff member sitting in front. “Our elderly family members couldn’t handle the shock and were sent for emergency treatment. I need to get back to the hospital right after finishing the paperwork at your facility.” The staff member was understanding and immediately told me to sit tight, flooring the gas pedal. I looked at Philip’s face, my heart filled with mixed emotions. In my past life, I gave you my whole heart, and in return, you betrayed me. Not only did you wrong my feelings, you also murdered me for money! This time I won’t be merciful to you anymore. I’ll personally see you off. What should have been a half-hour journey, the driver managed to complete in just 20 minutes. As luck would have it, there weren’t many people at the funeral home. I quickly completed the procedures and sent Philip to the cremation chamber. My phone was vibrating like crazy. After Anthony called, Porter called, and there was also an unknown number calling continuously. I expressionlessly turned off my phone so they could no longer reach me. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I seemed to see Philip’s fingertip move. I was so anxious sweat appeared on the tip of my nose. Just when revenge was about to succeed, nothing could go wrong at this critical moment! “Our elderly family member consulted an auspicious time. They’re anxious to take the ashes back home for burial. Could you please make an exception?” At my sincere request, the staff member readily agreed. Faced with this human consideration, the other families also expressed understanding and let Philip cut in line. I silently prayed in my heart. Faster, a little faster! The staff member pushed Philip to the cremation furnace and suddenly said puzzled. “Huh, still pretty soft. Never seen this before.” Oh no, did they discover something? I glimpsed several people running frantically in the distance—weren’t those my in-laws and Kelly? They got here so fast! Afraid of failure at the last moment, I quickly said. “Everyone’s different! The hospital issued a death certificate, and the cremation paperwork is all in order. There’s no mistake. You can rest assured!” The staff member nodded and pushed Philip in. A flurry of footsteps grew closer and closer. The moment I pressed the cremation button, Porter’s heart-wrenching shout came— “Wait!!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390574”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I saw an abandoned baby on the roadside this morning when I was heading out. Just as I was about to pick up the baby and take her home, I suddenly heard the baby’s thoughts. [My mom’s plan is brilliant. She deliberately left me in front of Johnson to make him pick me up and adopt me. That way, I can legitimately become the heir to the Johnson family.] [Back then, Johnson used his family background to viciously break up my parents. Now raising my mom’s illegitimate daughter is exactly what he deserves!] [Once I become Johnson’s daughter, I’ll help my mom get rid of that bastard Johnson as soon as possible, then bring my dad over so our family of three can reunite.] The baby on the ground was still grinning at me, but I had heard her thoughts loud and clear. So when Presley insisted on going abroad for a year-long business trip despite my objections, she was actually going to have a child behind my back. A cold smile crossed my lips as I made a phone call. Since it’s a bastard child, it should go where it belongs!

That evening, Presley came through the door carrying a large bag of formula and diapers. “Johnson, I heard you found an abandoned baby this morning when you went out.” “You can’t have children, so this baby’s arrival is fate. Let’s adopt her.” I looked at her with feigned surprise. “Presley, what are you talking about? When did I pick up a child?” A flash of anxiety crossed Presley’s face. “The child you found near our home this morning when you went out.” “Johnson, I know you have a kind heart. You definitely wouldn’t ignore an abandoned baby.” I smiled. “That’s natural. I rescue stray cats and dogs when I see them outside, let alone a child.” Hearing me say this, Presley visibly relaxed. “Then hurry and bring out the baby. She must be hungry. I bought formula and I’ll make her a bottle right away.” I said with an innocent expression, “But the problem is I didn’t find any child!” Presley’s whole body stiffened. “Johnson, stop joking with me. Are you trying to surprise me?” My expression turned serious. “This is a human life. How could I joke about that? If I really found a child, I would have called the police immediately! How could I just bring her home!” Presley said without thinking, “But he said he saw you carry the child home with his own eyes…” I raised an eyebrow at Presley. “Who is ‘he’?” Realizing she’d slipped up, Presley quickly covered. “The… the security guard. Yes, the security guard from our complex said he saw you pick up the child.” I said with a smile, “Then the guard must have been seeing things. After all, those guards aren’t young anymore. It’s normal for their eyes to play tricks on them.” “No, he absolutely couldn’t have been mistaken.” Presley was certain I had brought the child home. She searched every room in the house at lightning speed, but didn’t see any trace of a baby. She instantly panicked. “How is this possible? Where’s the child?” I walked over to comfort her. “Presley, if you want to be a mother, we can go to an orphanage and adopt one.” I was born infertile and hadn’t hidden this from Presley before marriage. At the time, she said she loved me as a person and was willing to be childfree with me for life. To show her commitment, she even voluntarily had a tubal ligation. Back then, I was deeply moved by her gesture, thinking I’d found a woman who truly loved me. Now thinking about that illegitimate daughter’s existence, I found it utterly laughable. I pulled her arm, heading toward the bedroom. “Presley, you’ve had a long day. Go get some rest.” Presley shook off my hand, saying anxiously, “I just remembered, I have some unfinished business at the office. I need to go handle it.” Watching her hurried departure, a cold smile crossed my lips. I knew she was going to look for the child, but right now, no one except me knew where the child was!

I slept until dawn. The next morning when I turned on my phone, I saw countless missed calls, all from Presley. Before I could do anything, another call came through. I answered, and Presley’s anxious voice came through the phone. “Johnson, where did you go? I’ve been looking for you all night.” I said in a relaxed tone, “I felt bored at home alone last night, so I stayed at my friend’s place. Why were you looking for me?” “Johnson, the child’s father came looking. He said he saw you take the child with his own eyes yesterday. If we don’t find the child, he’s going to call the police. Please return the child to him.” Perfect. I also wanted to see who the child’s father really was! After hanging up, I got up, washed up, and drove straight back to the complex. Presley was pacing anxiously at the complex entrance with a man in his thirties. As soon as I appeared, she rushed toward me, but her steps halted when she saw I was alone. “Johnson, where’s the child?” I looked puzzled. “What child? I told you yesterday, I didn’t find any child.” The middle-aged man behind her heard this and yelled at the top of his lungs, “It was you! I saw you take my child with my own eyes yesterday. Give me back my child!” His shouting attracted many onlookers to the entrance. I examined the man. He was short with a beer belly and many wrinkles on his face. More importantly, he was clearly several years older than Presley. Unless she was blind, she wouldn’t cheat on me with this kind of man. Obviously this man was just a smokescreen. Presley was protecting the child’s real father. I said, “You need evidence to make accusations. I’m not a human trafficker. Why would I take your child? Besides, I don’t even know you. How could I take your child?” “Making such baseless accusations against me is slander. I think I’m the one who should call the police.” He cried with tears and snot running down his face. “I’m a manual laborer. The child’s mother left after the baby was born. I was worried I couldn’t raise the child properly.” “So I left the child at the complex entrance, hoping someone wealthy would adopt her so she could have a comfortable life.” “But now I know I was wrong. After separating from my child yesterday, I didn’t sleep all night. Please return the child to me.” Presley chimed in from the side. “Johnson, since he’s realized his mistake, please return the child to him. Don’t let father and daughter be separated.” I frowned at Presley. “Presley, how many times do I have to say it? I didn’t find a child. How can you not believe me and instead believe a stranger?”

Presley was momentarily at a loss for words. The man next to her suddenly knelt in front of me, apologizing continuously. “Sir, I really know I was wrong. From now on, even if I have to sell everything I own or beg on the streets, I’ll never abandon my child again.” “I’m begging you, please return the child to me. The child is my life!” I said seriously, “I really didn’t take your child. Could you have remembered wrong or mistaken me for someone else?” The man immediately denied it. “Impossible. I remember clearly it was you. Yesterday you wore a blue T-shirt with a cat on it.” Presley immediately confirmed. “That’s right, Johnson. That’s exactly what you wore yesterday.” Led by him and Presley, everyone seemed to have decided I took the child, all urging me to return her. “Children are the apple of their parents’ eye. I think if he wasn’t desperate, he wouldn’t have considered abandoning his child.” “Although he was wrong first, he came to his senses in time, so it’s not too late. Just return the child to the father.” “Did you hide someone else’s child? If you don’t hand her over, we’ll call the police to arrest you.” I said somewhat helplessly, “If there really was a child abandoned at the complex entrance, the security guard at the gate would definitely know. If you don’t believe me, you can ask the guard.” A resident immediately went to the guard booth to bring over the security guard and asked directly: “When you were on duty yesterday, did you see this man take away a baby that was abandoned near the complex entrance?” The guard shook his head. “No, everything was normal during my shift yesterday. I didn’t see any child, let alone see this gentleman take away a child.” At these words, everyone turned to look at the middle-aged man still kneeling on the ground and accused him, “So you were the one lying all along. You almost fooled us.” “I heard there are criminal gangs specifically staking out high-end complexes, then using various pretexts to scam and extort money from residents!” “I think he’s exactly that type of person. He pretended a child was taken by one of our residents, then when the resident can’t produce the child, he extorts a large sum of money to settle the matter. We should call the police and have him arrested immediately!” The middle-aged man panicked immediately, waving his hands frantically. “No, I’m not a scammer, I’m really not a scammer…” “I really did leave my child at the entrance yesterday, and I really did see him take the child away.” He grabbed my clothes frantically. “Where did you take my child? Give me back my child!” Presley was also extremely anxious at this moment. “Johnson, I believe he’s not lying. It’s been a whole day and night. If something happens to the child, you could be a murderer!”

I looked at Presley coldly and questioned her sternly. “So you’re saying the guard and I are both lying? Presley, what’s wrong with you? You’d rather believe a stranger than your own husband!” The crowd also spoke up for me. “The average price per square foot in our complex is high. Everyone living here is either rich or privileged. Who would bother hiding a child!” “Exactly. I believe Johnson and the guard aren’t lying. This man must be deliberately slandering them!” Someone even looked at Presley. “Your attitude has been strange all along, so insistent that the child was hidden by your husband. Are you in cahoots with this fat man?” Presley said somewhat guiltily, “I… I just thought his anxious manner didn’t seem fake.” I stared at him intently. “Is that so? But didn’t you say last night that the security guard told you I picked up a child?” The guard immediately denied it. “I didn’t even speak to this resident yesterday. How could I have told him that!” “So tell me, Presley, why have you been so certain since last night that I picked up a child?” Presley was speechless under my questioning, cold sweat sliding continuously from her forehead. Just then, the fat man’s phone chimed. He took out his phone, looked at it, then said loudly, “I have evidence to prove you took the child!” He then opened a surveillance video on his phone for everyone to see. The video clearly showed me standing in front of a baby for several minutes, then making a phone call before carrying the child into the complex. With the surveillance video as evidence, Presley immediately regained her confidence. “Johnson, the evidence is irrefutable. How will you deny it now!” The onlookers also turned their opinions around, beginning to pressure and accuse the guard and me. The guard was the first to break under pressure and confessed the truth. “It was him. He gave me fifty thousand to cooperate and change my testimony. The child was taken by him. It has nothing to do with me.” This statement drew everyone’s attention to me. Presley assumed a posture of being concerned for me, earnestly trying to persuade me. “Johnson, just bring out the child. Otherwise when this gets to the police station, I won’t be able to protect you.” The fat man looked like he wanted to devour me. “Now the facts are clear. You conspired with the guard to abduct my child. Return the child to me now, or I’ll fight you!” The crowd looked at me with constant accusations. “I never thought he was this kind of person. Living in our complex is such a disgrace to us residents!” “I heard he’s been married for years without children. He must have wanted to abduct someone else’s child because he can’t have his own.” “Everyone call the police quickly and arrest this human trafficker. Let him rot in prison!” Facing the crowd’s accusations, I calmly pulled out a paternity test from my bag. “Presley, can you explain to me why the child he lost is identified as your biological daughter?”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390573”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I’m the most notorious woman in New York, and Jace Monroe is the clean-cut heir to a prestigious family. During that kidnapping, he was drugged with a powerful aphrodisiac, but he’d rather die than touch me. That was the first time I truly fell for someone. I thought he was honorable. A man who wouldn’t take advantage of a woman in distress. For three years of marriage, he shielded me from explosions and kept me safe. I thought this was love. Then I heard him tell his mother. “I married her to get revenge on you.” That kidnapping? His design. The car accident? His arrangement. The rumors that ruined my reputation? Spread by his own hand. The man I gave everything to for three years used me as a pawn to win another woman. After I disappeared, he searched the world for me. He knelt in the rain, begging me to come back. But I was already lying in someone else’s arms. I didn’t even bother to look at him. Jace Monroe, you’re tainted now. I don’t want you anymore. Ruby’s POV I’m the heir to a New York fortune with the worst reputation, and while my beauty is well-known, so is my heartlessness. I’m the wildest one in our circle, the one who changes boyfriends faster than handbags, the one photographed making out with strangers at nightclubs. I’m arrogant and reckless. And Jace Monroe is New York’s most famous heir to the Monroe family. He has an impeccable reputation. In his twenty-five years, he’s never had a single scandal, never even set foot in a bar. We were from two completely different worlds with no connection, until that citywide kidnapping case bound us together. In a dark, damp basement, Jace and I were locked in an iron cage. The kidnappers wanted to film our most degrading moment to extort a fortune in ransom and ensure we wouldn’t dare pursue them afterward. So I was stripped and tied to a bed, while Jace was forcibly drugged with a powerful aphrodisiac. But even burning with fever, he struggled to resist the desire and said, “I know you’re not like the rumors say. You’re not that kind of woman. So don’t be afraid. As long as you don’t agree, I’d rather die than touch you.” And he kept his word. When the drug ravaged his body like wildfire, he bit down hard on his own forearm until blood flowed, using pain to gain brief moments of clarity. The kidnappers weren’t satisfied. They forced a second dose of the drug down his throat, but he slammed his head against the iron bars, preferring death to making love to me. Watching him bloody and wounded, blood streaming down his face, in that moment, the walls I’d built around my heart completely crumbled. Unable to bear watching him hurt himself anymore, I said with a trembling, choked voice, “Jace, stop fighting it… You’ll die like this.” “But I promised…” “I’m willing.” My tears fell. “If it’s you, I’m willing.” Finally, with my consent and under the drug’s control, he was driven by desire. The moment he entered me, Jace discovered in shock that despite my countless boyfriends, I was still a virgin. For five whole days, we were forced to make love, filmed in countless obscene scenes. Five days later, Jace’s assistant arrived with a rescue team and all the kidnappers were captured. And Jace used every means at his disposal to destroy all footage of us. But somehow news leaked that I’d been kidnapped and filmed in pornographic videos, and it quickly spread throughout our social circle. Everyone in the circle said I was completely ruined, after all, I’d been in those kinds of videos. However, Jace publicly declared his love with over ten thousand drones. He presented me with a ten-carat pink diamond ring under fireworks, kneeling on one knee to propose. “Ruby, those five days were both the worst memory of my life and what I’m most grateful for.” He looked at me, his eyes full of deep affection and guilt. “I failed to protect you. Marry me. Let me spend my lifetime making it up to you, protecting you. Will you?” After that heart-stopping kidnapping, my heart, hardened like iron walls, had already softened for him. And now, it completely fell. I put on that ring. Our wedding was unprecedentedly grand, and also met with much ridicule. Almost none of his family attended our wedding. Only Jace held my hand, firmly making vows before the priest, as if standing against the whole world. After marriage, Jace treated me very well. I had a sensitive stomach, so he cooked stomach-soothing meals for me. During my period, he personally took care of me. I was ostracized by the elite wives’ circle because of my past, so he brought me to the most important occasions again and again, announcing his regard for me to everyone. So I also began to rein in my wild and arrogant nature, working hard to be a good wife. I knew the Monroe family elders strongly opposed my notorious self marrying into their family. So to change the Monroe family’s attitude toward me, I started learning flower arrangement, etiquette, all those things I’d once scorned. And Jace always held me gently and said, “Ruby, just be yourself. I didn’t marry you to make you change for me. No matter how my family views you, you’re the wife I’ve chosen. As long as I know how wonderful you are, that’s enough.” Whenever he said this, I felt so moved, felt he was the most unique man I’d ever met. Until that day when my car’s brakes failed and I plunged down a hillside. The moment before the explosion, it was Jace who pried open the deformed car door with his bare hands, dragged me out, and used his back to shield me from the blast and flames. The second before losing consciousness, I vowed to spend the rest of my life loving this man who valued me as much as his own life. I finally woke up in the hospital. The first thing I did was ask the nurse, “Where’s my husband? Where is he? Is he okay?” “Mr. Monroe has severe burns across his back, but he’s not in life-threatening danger. He’s in the VIP room next door.” Hearing this, my heart leapt with joy, and I stumbled to the room next door. I took a deep breath, about to push the door open, when I heard a sharp female voice suddenly rise from inside. “Jace! Three years! How much longer are you going to keep this up?!” It was the voice of Jace’s mother, Catherine, full of anger and a kind of… exhaustion and sarcasm I couldn’t understand. My hand froze in midair. “You know perfectly well that Ruby has had countless boyfriends! The whole circle is saying she was filmed in porn by those kidnappers!” “A woman with such a ruined reputation. Everyone wants to stay as far away from her as possible! But you? Not only did you confess your love, you actually married her and brought her to all kinds of elite social events, acting like you’re madly in love! Are you trying to kill us with anger?!” “This time, you even risked your own life to protect Ruby!” “You just hate us and want revenge because three years ago we stopped you from marrying that Serena girl, don’t you!” What are they talking about… who’s Serena? My heart contracted sharply, as if gripped by an invisible hand.

Ruby’s POV “Yes.” Then Jace’s voice rang out, cold as frost. “I am taking revenge.” That one sentence was like a sharp knife stabbing straight into my heart. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze instantly. My limbs went cold and numb, unable to move. I could only stand there rigidly. “What’s wrong with Serena? She’s kind and understanding, gentle and considerate. How is she inferior to those women you forced on me? But you looked down on her because her mother was our housekeeper and forcibly drove her away. You even said I could marry anyone among New York’s socialites except her.” He laughed lowly, the laugh devoid of any warmth. “Fine then. I’ll marry the most scandalous one, the one you hate most. I’ll use Ruby to slap you in the face. Every time I treat her well, you get angrier. It’s quite satisfying to watch.” “You’re insane!” His mother was so angry she smashed a cup on the spot. “Want me to end this charade?” Jace laughed lightly and cruelly. “Simple. Let Serena marry me. I’ll divorce Ruby immediately.” Catherine’s face turned livid, her tone resolute. “Let me tell you, as long as I’m alive, that bitch Serena will never enter our family! Using Ruby to pressure us won’t work!” Outside the door, I couldn’t hear anything anymore. A massive ringing drowned out everything. My vision went dark in waves. I leaned against the cold wall, barely managing not to collapse. I slowly backed away, returning silently to my own hospital room, frozen to the bone. After a few seconds, I took out my phone and sent a message to a private investigator. “Help me investigate someone named Serena. Focus on her relationship with Jace Monroe. The more detailed, the better.” The private investigator was efficient. In less than two hours, he replied. The first thing he sent was a photo. In the photo, a girl in a simple, clean cotton dress leaned on Jace’s shoulder, her smile gentle, her eyes as clear as spring water. This was followed by a paragraph. “Serena, 23 years old. Her mother was a housekeeper for the Monroe family. She grew up with Jace Monroe and they were very close. Three years ago, Jace wanted to marry her but was strongly opposed by the Monroe family and they were forcibly separated. Later her mother was fired by the Monroe family and Serena was forced to leave New York.” I see. I suddenly started laughing quietly, the sound echoing in the empty hospital room, more painful than crying. So that mutual rescue during the kidnapping, the affectionate proposal under countless drones, all those tender moments after marriage, and him shielding me from the explosion with his back… it was all an act. How ridiculous. How pathetic. Before today, I was thinking about spending the rest of my life loving this man with everything I had, but from beginning to end, he never loved me. He married me and treated me well for one purpose only. To use me, the most notorious socialite, to humiliate the Monroe family. He just used me as a pawn to take revenge on his family, wanting to force them to compromise with my scandalous reputation so he could achieve his goal of marrying Serena. My heart felt like it was being gripped by an icy hand, twisted and wrung, the pain making it almost impossible to breathe. Forcing back the moisture in my eyes, I picked up my phone again and dialed Catherine’s number. “I want to divorce Jace.” As soon as the call connected, I got straight to the point, my voice terrifyingly calm. “What did you say? Divorce?” Catherine hadn’t expected me to bring up divorce first. Her voice on the other end was furious. “Ruby, are you crazy? With your reputation that the whole circle mocks, hardly anyone would want you even if you were free! And you dare bring up divorce?!” “I will get this divorce.” I said, “Mutual consent divorce, or I’ll file for divorce. Your choice.” “Are you threatening me?” “It’s a notification.” I sneered. “I assume the Monroe family isn’t afraid of going to court with me?” I knew the Monroe family opposed Serena marrying in, and they didn’t like me either. They would love nothing more than for Jace and me to divorce. “Fine, divorce! I don’t want to see a woman like you contaminating our Monroe family for another day!” Finally, Catherine’s voice rang out. “But don’t expect to take a penny from the Monroe family! After the divorce, get as far away as possible and never appear in front of Jace again. Stop affecting him!” “Don’t worry. I won’t take anything from your Monroe family.”

Ruby’s POV After hanging up, thinking about Catherine’s disdain for me, as if I were something filthy, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. No one knew that in the past, I deliberately ruined my own reputation to the point where no one dared marry me, just so my biased father couldn’t use me for a marriage alliance, preventing me from ending up depressed and dead like my mother. But even though I’d changed boyfriends one after another, Jace was my first and, so far, my only man. Jace clearly knew that when we had sex during that kidnapping, I was still a virgin. He also knew that the rumors circulating in our circle about me being filmed in porn videos. He was one of the people in those videos too. But in three years, he never once explained it to anyone. I’d never thought much about it before. After all, those weren’t exactly glorious matters. It was normal for him to keep quiet about them. Only now do I understand. He didn’t explain to others because the more people despised me, the better I served his purpose of provoking his family. I was just a pawn he’d chosen. I took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the tumultuous emotions in my heart, and went straight to check myself out of the hospital and went home. The first thing I did when I got home was throw things away. I took out everything Jace had given me over the years. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, handbags, and so on. I threw away what should be thrown, donated what should be donated. Just like throwing away my three years of foolishness and self-deluded love. Afterward, Catherine sent a butler to deliver the divorce agreement. I looked it over briefly, and after confirming there were no issues, signed without any hesitation. “Miss Ruby, the Monroe family instructed me to tell you to wait a bit longer. Within half a month at most, the divorce certificate will be processed.” “Got it.” A few days after signing the agreement, Jace came home. The burns on his back hadn’t fully healed yet and his movements were somewhat slow, but he still wore a crisp suit, his features handsome. “Why are you sitting here?” he asked, his tone habitually gentle. “The servants said you’ve barely eaten these past few days.” I looked up at him. In the past, every time I saw this face, my heart would race and my face would flush. But now, looking at him again, I only felt strangeness and coldness. Jace didn’t seem to notice the change in my gaze. Perhaps he’d never truly cared about what was different about me. He sat down beside me, naturally taking my hand. “Are you in a bad mood because I wasn’t here with you?” He spoke in a soft, low voice, still with that gentle demeanor. “Today’s your birthday. I had them prepare a banquet at the most luxurious hotel downtown. There’s still time. Let me take you to pick out a dress first, okay?” In the past, hearing him remember my birthday and specially prepare a banquet, I would probably be delighted, moved by his thoughtfulness and care. But now, my heart was just a wasteland. But I didn’t want any complications with the divorce, so I didn’t expose his hypocrisy. “Okay.” After getting ready briefly, I left with Jace. He drove me to a high-end dress boutique. As soon as we entered, Jace’s phone rang. “You pick first. I’ll take this call,” he said, walking to the side. I didn’t pay attention and went upstairs to choose a dress. I spotted a water-blue gown, simple and elegant, and said to the sales assistant, “This one. Wrap it up for me.” “I want this dress.” A soft female voice suddenly came from behind me. I turned around and saw the woman speaking. My blood instantly ran cold. Serena. That face leaning on Jace’s shoulder in the photo was now standing right in front of me, alive and in person. Her long hair fell loose, her makeup clean and delicate, smiling as she stared at the water-blue dress in my hands. But hadn’t she been driven away by the Monroe family? Had Jace brought her back?

Ruby’s POV “I’m sorry.” Serena had a faint smile on her lips. “Miss, although you saw this dress first, I really like it. Would you let me have it?” Her voice was soft and clean, but her tone carried a sense of entitlement. “No.” I handed the dress to the sales assistant. “Ring it up.” Serena stepped forward and grabbed my hand. “But I really do love this dress. It suits my temperament better.” “What’s going on?” Jace had just finished his call and came upstairs. Seeing us facing off, he frowned slightly. Serena turned at the sound, delight climbing into her eyes. “Jace? What are you doing here?” Her gaze flowed between Jace and me. She seemed to suddenly understand. Then she showed me an apologetic expression. “So you’re… Mrs. Monroe. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you. I was presumptuous just now.” She lowered her head slightly, her posture extremely humble, like a startled fawn. Jace’s gaze fell on the dress in my hand, then looked at Serena’s careful, tentative expression. He didn’t ask many questions. He simply stepped forward, took the dress from my hand, and held it out to Serena. “Since you like it, take it.” My hand suddenly empty, I looked up at him in disbelief. Serena took the dress, showing surprise and unease. “This… isn’t this inappropriate? After all, Mrs. Monroe saw it first…” “It’s fine. This dress really does suit you better.” A gentle smile bloomed on Serena’s face. “Then I’ll go try it on?” After getting Jace’s tacit permission, she hugged the dress and turned toward the fitting room, her steps light. I slowly lowered my hand that had been frozen in midair, clenching it into a fist. My nails dug into my palm, bringing a faint stinging pain, but it couldn’t suppress the dull ache of a blade cutting through my heart. Only then did Jace look at me. He was silent for a moment, as if choosing his words. “Her name is Serena. She’s my… a friend.” “A friend?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. “Would anyone snatch a dress their wife chose first and give it to a so-called friend?” Perhaps because I’d never used such a sarcastic tone with him before, Jace frowned. “It’s just a dress. Why make such a fuss? Besides, that color really doesn’t suit your style. Pick another one, something that fits you better.” I looked at him quietly, a cold laugh forming in my heart. But I said nothing more and turned toward another rack. My fingers skimmed past dress after dress, finally stopping on a wine-red gown. Deep V neckline, open back. It was the style I’d favored most in the past. Bright as fire, bold and eye-catching. For him, I’d put away all the clothes I used to like, learning to be a gentle, virtuous Mrs. Monroe. But now, I didn’t need to anymore. I took down the red dress and said flatly to the sales assistant, “This one. Wrap it up.” Almost simultaneously, the fitting room curtain was pulled back. Serena walked out wearing that water-blue dress. The dress fit perfectly, making her skin look white as snow, her temperament refined and elegant. She smoothed the hem and looked up at Jace, her eyes seemingly filled with stars. “Jace, does it look good?” Jace’s gaze fell on her, his voice tender as water. “Yes, beautiful.” His eyes were deep, reflecting Serena’s figure, allowing me to clearly capture that trace of affection he’d never shown me. My heart felt like it was being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, the pain making it almost impossible to breathe. Serena’s smile grew even brighter. She walked to Jace’s side and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “By the way, I heard tonight is Mrs. Monroe’s birthday banquet?” Jace nodded. “Yes.” “I happen to be free tonight.” Serena looked at me with a gentle, proper smile. “Mrs. Monroe, you don’t mind if I come celebrate your birthday too, do you?” Before I could answer, Jace had already responded. “Of course not. Perfect, we’ll go together.”

Ruby’s POV In the banquet hall on the top floor of the Hilton Hotel, lights blazed brilliantly, the décor luxurious. The birthday banquet Jace threw for me invited most of New York’s notable figures. The scale was grand, showing his “importance” to me. When I appeared on Jace’s arm, the entire room fell silent for a moment. I wore that wine-red deep-V gown, my skin like snow, my lips red as fire. The radiance and boldness I’d deliberately restrained in the past bloomed on me once more in this moment, devastatingly beautiful with an aggressive edge, instantly stealing everyone’s breath. “That’s Mrs. Monroe? My God, she’s even more beautiful than in photos…” “What good is being pretty? She’s rotten through and through. She changes men faster than clothes. I heard in that kidnapping three years ago, she was even…” “Keep your voice down! In case it gets back to Jace. Though it is strange. Why would someone as outstanding as him take a liking to a woman with such a terrible reputation…” Those whispered, disdainful comments clearly drilled into my ears. I didn’t get angry on the spot, nor did I argue. Because I knew that in the eyes of these self-proclaimed nobles, any defense from me would be pale and powerless, only becoming new fodder for ridicule. But… My gaze still involuntarily turned to the man beside me. Jace was slightly turned, speaking in low tones with a wealthy businessman. His profile was smooth and gentle, as if he’d heard nothing. Of course. He wouldn’t explain my innocence. My last sliver of faint hope quietly extinguished. The banquet officially began. Jace held my wrist and walked to the center of the hall. He took a velvet gift box from a server. Opening it revealed a radiant ruby necklace, dazzling under the lights. “Ruby, happy birthday.” He said gently, taking out the necklace and personally fastening it around my neck. Gasps and applause rang out below. “Mrs. Monroe, happy birthday.” Serena had somehow approached. She still wore that water-blue dress, standing beside my dazzling self like an elegant narcissus. “I came in such a rush, I didn’t have time to prepare a proper gift.” Serena’s gaze was pure. “How about I play a piece for you as my birthday gift? Would that be okay?” Before I could answer, she’d already turned to Jace. “Jace, do you still remember that ‘Clair de Lune’ we used to play together? Today, let’s play it again for Mrs. Monroe as a birthday celebration, okay?” I noticed Jace looking at her, his eyes briefly distant, as if seeing past days through her. He nodded slightly. “Okay.” A white grand piano was wheeled to the center of the hall. Jace and Serena sat side by side. The man in his suit, devastatingly handsome; the woman in her blue dress, gentle and lovely. The image was harmoniously painful to watch. A piece by Debussy, “Clair de Lune,” their coordination perfect. Even an exchanged glance or subtle pause showed complete synchronicity. When the piece ended, everyone was immersed in the music. After a brief silence, applause erupted, mixed with genuine admiration. “That was incredible! Absolutely perfect!” “Who is that lady? Such refined temperament. Sitting with Jace, they look more like a married couple.” “Hey, I think I remember her… Isn’t she the one who almost became Jace’s fiancée a few years ago?” “Right, right, that’s her! I heard they were deeply in love but somehow separated… What a shame.” “Looking at it this way, this Miss Serena and Jace really are a matching pair. Much better than that woman who’s only pretty but has such a ruined reputation…” The commentary grew louder. Serena and Jace’s performance instantly stole all attention. And I, the supposed star of this banquet, had instead become a supporting character. I couldn’t listen anymore and quietly turned away. I stayed in the restroom for a full ten minutes. Only after my emotions settled did I finally open the door. However, looking up, I caught sight of Serena standing at the sink, touching up her makeup in the mirror. Hearing the sound, she looked at me through the mirror and slowly curved a flawless smile. I didn’t want any interaction with her and walked straight toward the door. “Mrs. Monroe.” Serena suddenly called out, her voice still soft but without the gentleness she showed in public, instead full of mockery and triumph. “Wearing the ruby he gave you, listening to our ‘Clair de Lune’… Are you enjoying this birthday gift?”

Ruby’s POV I finally turned back to meet her gaze. “Whether I’m satisfied doesn’t matter.” I pulled at the corner of my mouth, no warmth in my eyes. “What matters is, Miss Serena seems quite satisfied with herself tonight.” Serena’s smile didn’t change. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to steal everyone’s attention with Jace at your birthday banquet. It’s just been so long since we played together, I couldn’t help myself for a moment. You don’t mind, right?” Watching her disgusting performance, I only found it laughable. Too lazy to waste words on her, I turned to leave. “Wait.” Serena suddenly stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t you want to know… who was behind that kidnapping you experienced three years ago?” I frowned. “What do you mean by that?” Serena shook her head, her eyes full of pity and schadenfreude. “To still not know anything even now. How pitiful.” My heart plummeted. Could there be something about that kidnapping three years ago that I didn’t know? Serena enjoyed watching my expression change dramatically and smiled triumphantly. “Seeing you still in the dark like this, I might as well tell you the truth.” She paused, then spoke clearly and cruelly. “Actually, that kidnapping three years ago, Jace deliberately orchestrated it. Including the leaked news that you were filmed in videos. Jace had people deliberately spread that too, just to make your reputation as bad as possible and make the Monroe family detest you even more.” “And that brake failure car accident you had recently? Jace arranged that too. He calculated the timing perfectly, wanting to add fuel to the fire to make the Monroe family lose all patience with you. He wanted to use you to achieve his goal of marrying me.” Boom. I was thunderstruck, my entire body’s blood instantly freezing, as if even my breath was stolen away. The kidnapping was his design? The car accident was his arrangement? Even those humiliating rumors were deliberately spread by him? How could this be possible? I didn’t want to easily believe Serena’s words, but recalling what I’d recently heard Jace personally admit about taking revenge… someone like Jace might really be capable of such things. My heart felt like it was being wrung by an icy hand, the pain making my vision go black. I struggled to steady myself, looking up at Serena’s face written with triumph. Suddenly, I pulled an extremely cold smile. “Miss Serena so kindly came to tell me all this… is it because even you aren’t sure whether Jace’s heart still only holds you, like it did three years ago?” The triumph on Serena’s face instantly froze, a flash of panic crossing her eyes at being exposed. My beauty was enough to make many men overlook my reputation and become infatuated. Jace and I had lived together for three years, facing my stunningly beautiful face every day, playing the devoted husband in front of me. Acting for so long. Who knew if he might start believing his own performance? “You’re talking nonsense!” But Serena didn’t want to admit this. Humiliated and angry, she said, “How could Jace possibly fall in love with a woman like you? Everything he did was for me! Today I’ll let you see clearly whose heart he holds!” With that, before I could react, Serena suddenly grabbed my hand and with all her strength, swung it toward her own face. Slap! A crisp, loud slap echoed in the quiet restroom. I was completely stunned, never expecting her to pull this move. Almost simultaneously, the triumphant smile on Serena’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a look of panic and distress, tears quickly pooling in her eyes. “Serena, you-” Shocked and angry, I immediately tried to pull my hand back. But Serena held my hand tightly, refusing to let go. Her body even staggered backward, as if I’d forcefully shoved her. “Ruby! What are you doing?!”A voice full of fury suddenly exploded at the restroom door. I turned at the sound. Jace strode in and swatted my wrist away with such force that I staggered back several steps, my waist slamming hard against the cold edge of the sink. I frowned, and Jace shielded Serena behind him, reproaching me. “Are you crazy? Why did you hit her?” “Jace, it’s not Miss Ruby’s fault.” Serena’s eyes were moist. She tugged at his sleeve, sobbing softly. “I was too rude today, stealing everyone’s attention by performing with you at her birthday party. Miss Ruby had every right to be angry and slap me.” Hearing this, Jace’s eyes turned cold as ice. “Serena performed with me to celebrate your birthday, and you were so displeased you hit her?”

Ruby’s POV After Jace finished speaking, he didn’t spare me another glance and led Serena out of the restroom by the hand. Watching them leave, I leaned against the sink without offering a single explanation. Because I knew explanations were meaningless. Serena had won. A moment later, I pushed the door open and returned to the banquet hall. Guests were mingling at the party, but Jace and Serena were nowhere to be seen. Some people cast sympathetic, mocking, or curious glances my way. I ignored them all. When the party ended, I didn’t call Jace. Instead, I flagged down a taxi outside the hotel and gave the driver the address of the villa. The car merged smoothly into the night, driving onto the bridge spanning the river. Suddenly, blinding headlights shot from behind. A black car, like a beast out of control, suddenly accelerated and slammed hard into the back of the taxi. Bang! After three consecutive impacts, the massive collision force caused the taxi to lose control instantly, crashing through the bridge railing and tumbling into the river. After violent shaking, river water poured in from all directions, instantly flooding my nose and mouth. I couldn’t swim. My survival instinct made me struggle desperately, pounding on the car window. But water flooded into my lungs. Eventually, suffocating from lack of oxygen, my consciousness gradually blurred. I don’t know how much time passed. The smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils. I struggled to lift my eyelids and found myself lying in a hospital bed. …I was still alive. This realization left me dazed for a moment. Just then, I heard muffled voices coming from outside the hospital room door. “How’s that taxi driver?” It was Jace’s voice, very calm. Another male voice answered respectfully, “He’s fine, just some scrapes and shock. He’s already awake.” “Mm. He was innocently implicated. Give him compensation and make sure he keeps his mouth shut.” “Understood, Mr. Monroe.” The subordinate hesitated and asked, “But this attack on your wife. Was it also to make your parents agree to let you marry Miss Serena?” My heart contracted sharply, my nails digging deep into my palms. Outside the door, Jace’s voice was cold and emotionless. “Not this time.” “Then what was it?” “Serena has a gentle nature. Even if she’s hit, she’ll just endure it alone. I promised her I wouldn’t let her suffer any grievances. Ruby hit her. She had to pay some price.” The other person replied, “I see. Mr. Monroe is truly devoted to Miss Serena.” “She’s about to wake up. You leave first. Don’t let her see you.” “Yes.” Inside the hospital room, I lay on the bed, my whole body ice cold, as if even my blood had frozen into shards. Because Serena got slapped by me, he had someone run my car off the road into the river? What about that kidnapping? What about those rumors that ruined my reputation? What about that brake failure accident? Did he have people do all those too? Cold spread from the soles of my feet through my limbs, freezing me to the core. Click. The door was gently pushed open. I immediately closed my eyes, slowed my breathing, and pretended to still be unconscious. Footsteps approached and stopped beside the bed. I could feel a gaze fall on my face, scrutinizing. “Ruby?” Jace called tentatively. I showed no reaction. Seeing that I still hadn’t woken, he stayed in the room for about twenty minutes before leaving due to a phone call from the company. Only after hearing his footsteps fade at the end of the hallway did I slowly open my eyes. My eyes turned ice cold, as if wrapped in the harshest frost, no trace of warmth remaining. From this drowning, aside from lung infection from the water and some soft tissue contusions, I hadn’t suffered more serious injuries. I stayed in the hospital for three days. Jace came every day, bringing my favorite flowers and light porridge, sitting by the bed, gently asking about my condition, thoughtfully tucking in my blanket corners. He even personally came to pick me up when I was discharged. In front of me, he continued playing that devoted husband persona. He also explained that the person who deliberately drove into me had been found and sent to the police. And even though I knew it was all lies, I pretended not to know and played along. I didn’t want to tear off the mask before getting the divorce certificate in hand. Fortunately, Catherine was eager to get rid of the stain that was me. She was extremely efficient. A week after my discharge, she had someone deliver the divorce certificate to me. The butler relayed expressionlessly, “Now that the procedures are complete, Miss Ruby is requested not to claim to be the wife of the Monroe heir in front of others in the future.” “Go back and tell Catherine,” I said coldly, “Marrying into your Monroe family was the stupidest decision of my life. I want nothing to do with the Monroe family even more than she does.” After the butler left, I put away the divorce certificate and immediately took out my phone to book a flight out of New York. Just as I finished booking the ticket, Jace suddenly came home. His whole demeanor was sharp. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me out the door. “Come with me!” “Jace, what are you doing! Where are you taking me?” “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Ruby’s POV The car door was yanked open roughly. Jace dragged me out and pulled me into a spacious abandoned warehouse. “I brought her.” Jace shoved me forward, his voice cold and hard. “Let her go.” The five men inside exchanged glances. They grinned. “Jace Monroe keeps his word indeed.” He made a gesture. Immediately two men stepped forward, roughly grabbing my arms from both sides and holding me firmly. At the same time, another man untied Serena’s ropes and shoved her hard toward Jace. Jace rushed forward in panic, steadily catching Serena as she fell into his arms. Serena’s eyes filled with tears, her whole body trembling. “Jace, I was so scared… I knew you would come…” “It’s okay now.” Jace held her tightly, gently wiping the tears from her face. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” I was restrained by two men, my arms controlled. I looked at Jace in confusion. “…What is this?” Jace finally turned his gaze to me. His expression was complicated. There was struggle, but ultimately it was covered by cold indifference. He pressed his lips together and said, “They kidnapped Serena. They said they’d trade you for her.” “You’re trading me for her?” I found it absurd, even my voice trembling. “They don’t want money or anything else. They want you.” Jace’s tone was heavy, with a trace of barely perceptible irritation. “Think about it yourself. Were you too arrogant in the past? Did you offend someone?” Did I offend someone? Yes, I’d been arrogant and wild in the past, offending quite a few people. But these men in front of me. I had no recollection of them. “I don’t know them! Jace, I don’t know these people!” But Jace no longer looked at me. He just held Serena tighter in his arms. “Let’s go.” With that, he embraced Serena and turned toward the warehouse exit. “Jace! Jace!” My shouts echoed in the empty warehouse, hoarse with despair, but he didn’t turn back. The men sneered. “Stop shouting. Your dear husband has left with his precious one. He won’t come back to save you.” It seemed Jace had truly heartlessly abandoned me here. I forced myself to calm down. “I’m the heir to the Hayes family. Let me go now and I’ll give you whatever money you want. But if you dare harm me, the Hayes family absolutely won’t let you go!” Hearing this, the men were stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Hayes family heir? You think we don’t know that the Hayes family heir is your gentle sister, Aria Hayes. The Hayes family doesn’t care about you at all!” “That’s right. Without the Monroe family identity, you’re nothing, Ruby. In New York, who would stand up for you?” Another tall, thin man came closer, reaching out to touch my face. “This face is really beautiful. Truly New York’s number one beauty.” “Get away!” I turned my head to avoid him. Fury and humiliation burned my reason. I struggled with all my strength, kicking and hitting with my hands and feet. My resistance enraged these men. “You still dare resist!” Someone slapped me hard across the face. I was knocked to the side, my mouth instantly filled with the taste of iron, my ears ringing. “Hold her down!” Someone shouted. Several hands roughly tore at my clothes. I used the last of my strength to resist, biting down hard on the man trying to hurt me, before being knocked unconscious by someone’s slap. I don’t know how much time passed. I woke in severe pain. Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw were those five men, all sprawled on the ground groaning. Then I saw a man in a black T-shirt and camouflage pants, smoking while stepping on the bald man’s body. I couldn’t help sobbing from the pain. Hearing the sound, the man in camouflage pants turned his gaze to me. He curved his lips. “Ruby Hayes, New York’s worst reputation, rumored to have had countless men, actually refuses a man’s touch? I’m genuinely surprised.” My whole body tensed. I asked hoarsely, “Who are you? These men are…” “Who I am doesn’t matter. I just happened to be passing by.” He seemed to read my thoughts. “These men have nothing to do with me.” Then he put out his cigarette, walked over, and crouched down to my level. His fingers lifted my chin. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do with them? I can make it happen.” I looked straight into his deep, smiling eyes. No guilt there. Just curiosity. “If you really want to help,” my voice hoarse but steady, “then take me to the airport. I want to leave New York.” The man narrowed his eyes, studying my face for a moment. “Alright.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390572”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the day I divorced Damian, the Alpha of Thornmire pack, I wore exquisite makeup and a sexy deep-V dress. His face was filled with disgust: “Dressed so slutty! Are you that desperate to find a new man?” I touched the ruby necklace at my chest and smiled in response: “That’s right. And you actually know this man.” He sneered: “Stop fooling yourself! You’re already 40 years old. Who would want you? Beg me, and I might consider remarrying you.” I wasn’t angry. After all, last night at the Moonlight Ball, 20 men invited me to dance, and 7 men asked for my phone number. One young, handsome man even knelt down on one knee and proposed to me. The day before, Damian and I had already broken our mate bond. Today we just needed to go to the courthouse to finalize the divorce. But after getting in the car, Damian didn’t immediately head to the courthouse. Instead, he drove in the opposite direction. Meeting my puzzled eyes, the man’s attitude was cold: “Kalia is coming too. After we finish the divorce paperwork, I’m going to do the marriage paperwork with her. She’s waited twenty years. I don’t want to make her wait any longer.” So our marriage of convenience had actually lasted this long. Damian and I were fated mates. We fell in love at first sight when we first met, then entered a passionate romance. Back then, he was still the heir to the Thornmire pack Alpha position, and I was the sister of the Hailmark pack Alpha. Our packs’ alliance made our marriage the center of attention. Unfortunately, shortly after the wedding, Kalia appeared, and Damian changed his heart and fell in love with her. By the time I finished reminiscing, we’d arrived outside Kalia’s house. I was a bit thirsty, so I got out to buy a bottle of water. When I came back, Kalia was already sitting in the passenger seat. “Nyla, I’m used to sitting in the passenger seat in Damian’s car. You don’t mind, do you?” What was there to mind? We were getting divorced today anyway. I got directly into the back seat. At this moment, Kalia turned her head and stared at my wrist, saying: “What a beautiful bracelet!” “Nyla, give the bracelet to Kalia.” Damian gripped the steering wheel and issued the command without turning his head. This bracelet was a birthday gift Damian gave me three years ago. My fiancé wouldn’t let me wear jewelry from my ex-husband anyway, so I casually took it off and gave it to Kalia. “I have lots of jewelry at home. If you like it, I’ll give it all to you.” Seeing this, Damian nodded with satisfaction: “Nyla, as long as you don’t cause trouble, I guarantee no one in Thornmire pack will know about our divorce. To outsiders, you’ll still be the honorable Luna.” I didn’t respond. He didn’t know yet that I was about to remarry too. Suddenly, my phone started vibrating. It was my fiancé calling. “I’ve already boarded the plane. I’ll be there soon.” My fiancé’s voice was full of tenderness. “I miss you so much!” I answered happily too: “Okay, see you in a bit.” Through the rearview mirror, Damian caught the smile at the corner of my mouth. A surge of displeasure immediately ignited in his heart. Just as he was about to ask who it was, Kalia, sitting in the passenger seat, suddenly screamed. “What’s wrong?” Damian turned his head and asked gently. Kalia said: “How did this bracelet break? It was fine just now.” At that moment, I was still busy on the phone and didn’t notice the bracelet at all. The fire in Damian’s heart immediately flared up. He grabbed the bracelet and threw it at me. Before I could react, Damian snatched my phone and threw it out the car window. My phone was instantly crushed to pieces by a passing car. I yelled angrily: “Damian, what the hell is wrong with you!” Damian stopped the car by the roadside, then dragged me out. The moment I landed, a drunk stumbled over and knocked me to the ground, spraining my ankle. After hitting me, the drunk seemed to sober up a bit. Before I could complain, he’d already run away. Seeing my swollen ankle, Damian let go of my hand with contempt. “I just asked you to give Kalia a bracelet, and you deliberately broke it. Nyla, how can you be so vicious!”

Condemning me without even asking? I looked up at Kalia in the car. She nervously looked away. Ever since she appeared by Damian’s side and became his Beta, I became the most scheming woman in his heart. He thought I helped him handle pack affairs to pass Thornmire pack intelligence to my brother, the Hailmark pack Alpha. He thought I dressed beautifully to seduce other men and make him jealous. Now, when Kalia deliberately broke the bracelet, he also thought I did it. But today, I was too lazy to argue with him anymore. “Right, I just didn’t want to give it to her. I wanted to disgust her. Are you satisfied now?” Enduring the severe pain in my ankle, I straightened up, turned around, and walked toward the roadside without looking back. He stood by the car, arrogant: “Nyla, since you’ve admitted it, don’t blame me for punishing you! You can walk to the courthouse by yourself today!” Ha, leaving me behind? How many times had he abandoned me for Kalia? At the wedding, when he received a message from Kalia, he left without a word of explanation, right in front of all the guests. The night I had appendicitis, he directly abandoned me to see Kalia too. So many instances like this—my heart had long gone cold. By the time I reached the area near the courthouse, my foot was terribly swollen. I was leaning against a wall to rest when suddenly someone rushed up from behind and forcibly picked me up. “Damian, put me down!” Damian kept a straight face, acting as if he hadn’t heard me, and walked straight inside. As we passed Kalia, a flash of resentment crossed her eyes. As soon as we entered, a staff member said to us: “Sir, miss, are you here to register for marriage?” Damian’s face darkened, and he immediately loosened his grip and put me down: “No, we’re getting divorced.” After the paperwork was done and I got the divorce certificate, I sat to the side waiting for my fiancé to pick me up. “Nyla, aren’t you leaving? Your foot looks pretty bad. After Damian and I finish the marriage paperwork, we’ll take you to the hospital together!” Kalia intimately linked arms with Damian and smiled at me. I took out my mirror and touched up my lipstick: “No need, I’m waiting for my fiancé. He’ll take me to the hospital in a bit.” “Oh my~ What a coincidence! Damian, let’s wait with Nyla, okay?” Kalia pulled Damian to sit next to me: “By the time we finish our marriage paperwork, if Nyla’s fiancé still hasn’t come, we can still take her home.” Kalia probably thought I was deliberately making up a “fiancé” to save face. Damian considerately held her hand and put it in his pocket to warm it: “You always worry about others.” As it grew dark, my fiancé still hadn’t arrived. I reached into my pocket for my phone, only to realize it had just been crushed by a car. I regretfully stood up, about to leave. Kalia clutched her freshly obtained marriage certificate and walked over with a smile: “Nyla, why hasn’t your fiancé come yet? Actually, you don’t need to lie to us. How could you possibly have a fiancé? Let us take you to the hospital!” I patted my pockets again. I really didn’t have a penny on me. So I didn’t refuse her suggestion. As soon as we got outside, I carefully walked down the steps holding onto the railing. “Nyla, let me help you.” Kalia quickly caught up. I was about to wave her off. “Ah—” She screamed, her foot slipped, and she fell backward. Damian caught her steadily. She lay against Damian’s chest, tears in her eyes: “Nyla, I was trying to help you. Why did you push me?” Damian gently stroked her back with a heartbroken expression, then turned and grabbed my hand, pulling me down the steps. “Nyla, you really don’t know what’s good for you…” Seeing me clutch my ankle in pain, a trace of reluctance flashed in his eyes. He was about to tell me to get in the car. Kalia’s lips parted slightly, murmuring: “Damian…” He immediately embraced the person in his arms and got in the car. And drove away.

I limped to the Werewolf Council and asked the staff there to take me to the hospital. I had my assistant bring me a new phone. When I inserted my old SIM card into the new phone, a call immediately came through. “Nyla! You finally answered! What happened?” My fiancé Ethan was so anxious he was nearly crying. I looked at my freshly bandaged foot and said with downcast eyes: “Nothing serious, just sprained my ankle.” “What! Is it serious? Did you go to the hospital?” His words were urgent, as if he wished he could appear by my side immediately. “My plane was halfway through the flight when it had to turn back due to weather. As soon as the plane landed, I called you, but no one answered. I was scared to death.” I comforted Ethan for a while. After hanging up, I saw that Damian, who never posted on Ins, had actually made a post. It was a wedding photo of him and Kalia. I left a comment: [True lovers finally together, wishing you both happiness] Soon, Damian called me. I hung up and blocked the number. Just as I left the examination room, I ran into Damian and Kalia coming out from next door. “Alone?” Damian unconsciously furrowed his brow. Kalia’s face filled with hatred. She walked over and pressed against Damian, instantly changing her expression, linking his arm with a smile: “Nyla, hasn’t your fiancé arrived yet? If you really had a fiancé, how could he let you come to the hospital alone?” Just then, my phone rang again. I couldn’t bother explaining and quickly limped toward the hospital exit. They followed unhurriedly behind. “Nyla, you didn’t just make someone up because Damian and I are getting married, did you?” Hearing Kalia’s words, Damian’s face showed an expression of understanding. He touched Kalia’s head with a face full of tenderness: “Nyla, you don’t need to save face by saying you’re getting married too. After all, there aren’t many people in this world like Kalia who would wait over twenty years.” Kalia linked Damian’s arm and acted cute: “Damian~ Don’t bring up the past. For you, I’m willing to do anything.” My phone vibrated. I pointed at my phone to the people behind me: “Sorry, my ride is here. I’ll introduce him to you another day.” “Nyla, at this point, are you still going to lie to us?” Damian stood not far from me, apparently waiting to see if I’d actually called a car. A driver had just pulled over. Damian pulled out a wad of cash and threw it through the car window: “Cancel this ride. You don’t need to pick her up.” Then he turned back to look at me with a half-smile, seemingly convinced that the person I mentioned was fictitious: “Where are you going? I’ll take you.” Kalia enthusiastically opened the back door for me: “Nyla, why don’t you just admit it!” “Even if that person was just something you made up on the spot, it’s fine. Damian and I promise we won’t laugh at you.” I sighed, somewhat amused. Since these two were so eager to know who my fiancé was, a little earlier didn’t matter. Besides, they both knew him, and were very familiar with him. The car got on the road. Kalia kept feeding Damian fruit, then lay in his arms to sleep. Damian glanced at me from time to time, but only saw me holding my phone, replying to messages. A faint smile constantly hung at the corner of my mouth. His heart immediately filled with irritation. Messages kept popping up on my phone. It kept ringing nonstop. Seeing this, Damian felt even more stifled. “What, getting your friends to pretend to be that person looking for you?” I finished replying to the last message and locked my phone: “There’s no need for that.” He gritted his teeth, wanting to snatch my phone. I slightly shifted my hand, dodging: “Damian, you have no right to check my phone anymore.” Anger spread across his brow. Finally, he turned his head away and stopped looking at me: “Fine, I’ll see how long you can keep up this act.” When we arrived at the station, I naturally had to get out and wait. With the mentality of watching a good show, Kalia also pulled Damian out with her. The crowd gradually dispersed, and the smile on Kalia’s face grew deeper. “Nyla, it’s pretty cold today. Go home. This time I’ll definitely have Damian take you home…” But when Ethan walked up to me and hugged me tightly, kissing me. Damian and Kalia’s faces instantly turned deathly pale. Damian walked over with an ashen face and pulled me away: “Nyla, how can you be with him!” Kalia was even more angry, clutching her chest tightly. She grabbed Ethan’s hand and questioned loudly: “How can you be with her!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390571”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster